A Day in the Trenches

Yesterday morning, my mom sent me an email asking me to share the day with her by emailing her and "chronicling all the things we do in a day that wouldn't happen if we didn't do them." 

I'm an Aggie, so I've been trained to meet a challenge. This is what I did yesterday.


11:11AM
Woke up and got Scott off to work
Wished a friend happy birthday on Facebook
Checked blood sugar and took medicine
Put a second coat of paint on the chalkboard wall 



Got Sly up
Got us both breakfast
Played with him for a long time
Put him back to bed
Loaded the dishwasher
Wrote a birthday card
Worked on a family project for the Fowlers
Cuddled Kevin after she woke up
Got her breakfast
Tracked down the air pump and blew up the swimming pool
Cleaned up the breakfast spills from while I was outside
Took Kevin to the bathroom
Got her ready to go swim
Got Sly up again


Changed a poopy diaper
Got Sly and I ready to swim
Sunscreen for everyone




12:37PM

Took the kids swimming


Came in
Got everyone dressed
Hung up the wet clothes
Emailed Daddy
Instagrammed the experience and sent new pictures to family frames
Got us all water to re-hydrate
Snack time


Emailed my sister-in-aw back about the family project
Finished eating Kevin's breakfast
Gave Sly more food
Opened the baby gate for Kevin 
Dance party in the kitchen with Sly


1:08PM
Took the kids downstairs
Put up the baby gate and moved the broom so Sly wouldn't eat it
Did an art project with Kevin
Read two books to the kids
Broke up a fight over a basketball
Saved Sly's life half a dozen times
Sent Kevin up to use the bathroom
Put Sly in the jumper so he wouldn't eat anything off the floor while I was upstairs with his sister
Checked on Kevin, who decided she didn't need to go after all



1:40PM
Helped Kevin change her clothes since she didn't like the ones she had picked earlier
Put in a movie for her
Put Sly down for a nap
Sorted laundry
Started laundry
Checked my blood sugar again and made a mental note to call the doctor
Took three loads of junk back downstairs where it belongs
Picked up the family room
Answered a dozen "why?" Questions from Kevin
Swept the family room
Sat down to cuddle with Kevin and watch her movie with her
Checked and responded to emails

2;27PM
Took a 20 min rest
Helped Kevin go potty
Picked up my bathroom
Started picking up the living room
Helped Kevin change into outfit #3
Turned off the movie that she had stopped watching 20 minutes ago
Got a puzzle down for her so I could unload the dishwasher
Told her she couldn't have another snack
Explained that some elephants have tusks and others don't and the fact that cows don't eat people, people eat cows
Fixed her hair clip again
Realized unloading the dishwasher wasn't going to happen and helped her with the alphabet train puzzle

3:03PM
Taught Kevin about "big" letters and "little" letters
Put away the puzzle
Read a story to Kevin
Emailed Scott
Texted two friends
Planned BBQ menu for a friend's  moving party tomorrow
Took Kevin to the potty again
Went in to see why Sly woke up screaming
Gave him cuddles and distracted him by taking selfies on my phone
Caught him before he crawled out of the room
Started playtime in Kevin's room
Moved her garbage out of his reach

3:38 PM
Broke up several fights in the process of playing in Kevin's room
Went downstairs intending to switch the wash
Got distracted pulling the painter's tape off the chalk wall
Listened to both children banshee screaming 
Washed out a bottle and made a new one for Sly
Rescued screaming children
Fed Sly a bottle
Fixed a toy for Kevin

3:55PM
Switched the wash
Folded the load in the dryer and took it upstairs
Rescued library book from Sly's clutches
Told Kevin to go in the bathroom after she told me she pooped in her underwears
Found out that she lied and had a little talk about that
Put away the clean linens and hung up the line dry laundry
Got her a new pair of underwear anyway
Cleaned up the mess of hair stuff from when I asked her to bring me a ponytail holder this morning
Talked to her about choking hazards and little brothers
Pulled Sly out of the kitchen
Fished dried waffle crumbs out of his mouth
Blocked off the kitchen with a barstool
Rescued another library book from Sly

3:57PM
Rescued Sly and discovered the barstool trick doesn't work anymore


4:36PM
Gave a poop pep talk
Saved Sly again
Took Sly "flying" then became a human trampoline
Helped Kevin get dressed again after she decided she didn't want to go potty
Played the piano to try and distract them
Cleaned up Sly's spit up
Played the piano with Sly on my lap
Practiced the piano a a few more minutes and tried to plan Primary sharing time in my head
Broke up a few fights
Worked on Scott's birthday surprises
Breathed a sigh of relief when Scott walked in the door an hour earlier than anticipated


At the end of the day, my mom sent me this email:
" Now you have reinforcements. This has been fun to share the day with you. Have to admit I had ulterior motives. I needed someone to share the day with but most importantly I wanted you to see how full and valuable your days are. I guarantee that no one can do what you do and do it as beautifully as you do it....Your trenches are so much more important than a novel or a clean bathroom. Take it from me. I have navigated the trenches and it is worth it!"

I wanted to have a record of this day and this experience. Friday was a pretty typical day for me: by 2:00 I was tired and by 3:30 I wanted to give my kids away. This record doesn't show the emotional ups and downs. It doesn't reflect how I fell asleep with tears on my face the night before, wondering what the heck I was doing with my life and if I was using my time to do anything worthwhile. Most days I don't feel like much of a mother. For someone who was once used to excelling at everything she did, feeling like I'm floundering on a daily basis is beyond difficult, especially since motherhood is my life these days. There just isn't time or energy for anything else, as much as I wish I could be writing and publishing the stories flying around in my head.

My health has been crazy for the past few weeks. I'm not sure what is going on, if this chronic fatigue can be chalked up to my faulty body or the fact that I have two extremely active children and get literally no breaks during the day (except to use the bathroom maybe once, for thirty seconds, because I fully believe that everyone is entitled to use the bathroom without an audience). In the process of trying to figure out my body and my head and my life, I've come to some realizations.

Although my diabetes is something that gets put on the backburner most days, I can't ignore the fact that it has dictated my life for the past six years, in both good and bad ways. It changed the shape and speed of my mission, it led to my marriage to Scott, changed our family planning to have a baby earlier than what we had planned, defined my motherhood career. I don't have energy for a side job, or the career I once thought I wanted. This is what I am doing with my life these days. And although it is hard to be okay with that, I am beyond grateful that my diabetes took away the option of "something on the side" and led me to making my family my main focus.

I think sometimes, it is hard to see the war--or even the battle--when you are fighting from the trenches. All you see are sandbags. All you feel is sand and grit and exhaustion. Sometimes, you risk peeking your head above the walls to see the horizon and try and place yourself in the grander scheme of things, and inevitably you fail.

That's because it's not your job to plan the battle or singlehandedly win the war. Leave that to the General.

All He asks us to do is man the trenches.

Watchful unto Prayer

Kevin has known how to pray for months now. The trouble is, she has put up a big fight about saying any prayer, even with our help. She refuses at breakfast, lunch, dinner, family prayer, personal prayer, famoween prayer--you name it, she doesn't want to say it.

I haven't pressed the issue. I feel like the desire to pray is as much a part of prayer as the words you say, and I want her to know real prayer, not just the rotary. So, we've taken the approach of giving her opportunities, and having her help us, telling her she is an example and needs to help us teach Sly, and just talking to her about when and where she can prayer (always and anywhere) and what she can pray about. If she says she doesn't want to say it, we very rarely make her say it.

I don't know when exactly prayer clicked in her mind and became her sincere desire. Maybe it was last night, when she heard her cousins say prayers on their own in front of the whole extended Fowler family. Maybe she had a lesson in nursery about praying. Maybe she saw me kneel down in the private of my room to break my fast and saw her father do the same, on his own, a few minutes later. Maybe it was a lot of little, quiet moments throughout the past year when she has seen and heard me say prayers at all times of the day, when I didn't even know she was listening or watching.

Last week, she hit three firsts in one 24-hour-period (and I hope she will forgive me, someday, the slight embarrassment of divulging what these three firsts were): sleeping in underwear for the first time, clogging the toilet for the first time, and saying a prayer on her own for the very first time. She was so proud of herself, and my heart was so full, it needed a bit of plunging in addition to the toilet.

Since then, she has said about one prayer a day on her own, sometimes needing help and sometimes not. Even with this recent progress, she blew me away today, when she said every.single.prayer on her own.

It started with breakfast. She asked me if she could say it and I told her of course. And for three full minutes, she talked to "Henly Fader."  And it wasn't just her usual "thank you for da day"--she asked Him to be present throughout our whole day--from asking for Daddy to be good at work to Sly smiling for his nine-month pictures to the bike ride we were going to take for famoween.

Lunch was a similar repeat, with extra blessings on Mom and Sly. Then she said the prayer for dinner, and thanked Heavenly Fader that Daddy could come home from work and we could be together. And then her prayer for family home evening, thanking Him for the bike ride and that we could have famoween and a testimony (the word she uses to describe our lessons) and Mom could make a treat.

After we finished reading the scriptures and Dad said he was going to say the family prayer before she went up to bed, she asked to say it instead. Who were we to stop her? She went on for five or six minutes. She got so involved in her conversation with Heavenly Fader, saying His name multiple times, that sometimes we would have to remind her with a word or a phrase to get her back on track. She blessed Mommy and Graham twice, forgot about Daddy (she'd later told us she prayed for him at breakfast, so it was okay), asked to be good for bedtime, and then.

And then she ended in the most tender way:
"And Henly Fader? I love Jesus. Amen."

Over the past few weeks, I have noticed more and more that she is paying attention. I hear words from my mouth come out of hers as she interacts with her brother and her baby dolls. I hear her asking to do the things I do. Today, as we were coloring, she opened a notebook and asked me if she could write in her journal, which is something she sees me do on a regular basis. She asks me to read her books and an hour later I come into the room to find her repeating similar words to whichever doll is settled squarely on her lap, as she points out part of the picture. She even tried putting her brother to bed today by giving him a binky and leaving the room. From her play makeup, to her projects, to her fake phone calls, all she wants is to do what I do. All day long.

I was flattered, and humbled, then, when I realized that of all the things that she knows are important to me, this is one that is truly important to her, too. And not just in a casual, repetitive way. In a way that she knows He hears her. She knows he will listen to anything she has to say. She knows He will help her whenever she needs Him to.

She knows because she watches.
And she knows I know, too.

In Summer

It feels like summer.

Have you noticed?

Nothing much changes for me from season to season. Scott's work and school schedule are the same. We don't have any fancy vacations planned, or even camping trips, or anything like that. Life is the same in June as it was in January--take care of the children, do the laundry, pick up the masses of toys, wait for Scott to come home from all he has going on so bedtime can commence (because both the sun and Kevin refuse to go to sleep before 9:00 pm).

Still, summer feels good to me.

It's the little things that make this time of year different, like waking up to kisses from the sun streaming in through my bedroom window, or leaving the windows open while the fans blow the fresh air around, or nightly walks around the block to wear Kevin out. It's flowers blooming in our yard (because the early warm temperatures followed by a day of frost and snow killed all of our spring plants) and getting my hands dirty from the constant weeds. It's the lawn needing to be mowed once a week and the sweet neighbor boy ringing my doorbell to ask if he wants us to do it for him, because he knows Scott is busy. It's the sounds of children playing up and down our street, and the smell of the neighbor's fire pit smoke wafting into our yard, and the sounds of hundreds of birds chattering to one another over our heads.

Someday, summer begin and end because of a school calendar.

For now, however, summer begins because my senses tell me it is here and to enjoy it while it lasts.

Thunder and Lightning, a Prayer and a Song

Last night we had a severe thunderstorm with lightning in our neighborhood. It was sudden, loud, and scary. The lightning lit up the windows and the thunder felt oppressively on top of us. 

Scott was at school so it was just me and the kids. I don't remember ever being scared of a storm before, but I was scared of this one. Watching the lighting through our front window was probably not the best choice of keeping myself calm, but I couldn't look away. I tried my hardest not to let Kevin know I was terrified, because she has recently developed a fear of thunder. Sly was unphased and happily went about playing with the air vents.

After a particularly scary and beautiful blast of lighting, I started to say a simple prayer out loud. When I finished, I felt a tug on my shirt.

"Mom, why you say a prayer?" asked Kevin. 

I knelt down to her level and told her it was because I was a little bit scared.

She smiled, put her arms around me, and in a matter of fact way said, "When you was a girl, Grandma sing you songs to help you feel better." 

Although I am sure I have told her that I like to sing songs to keep from being scared, I don't remember telling her that it was Grandma (whom she is just starting to realize is my Mommy) who first sang them to me. 

"Would you like to sing a song to help you feel better?" I asked, putting my arms around her. She nodded, and we started singing I am a Child of God (the only song she wants these days). After every line, thunder roared or lightning terrorized the grayish purple sky. 

She was right. The song did help me feel better. Enough to take both kids downstairs (where we couldn't see the storm, only hear it) and let them play until the storm blew over or Daddy came home, whichever happened first. 

I sat there, watching the Disney channel for probably the fourth hour that day (don't judge, school days are LONG), and smiled as I thought about the Primary songs my mom would sing to me when I was a scared little girl, and how, in my teenage years, after watching many a horror movie with my crush (totally not worth it, btw), I would go to bed with both the lights on and primary songs playing softly on my stereo.

I simply remember my favorite things, and then I don't feel so bad.

Love Changes

A few nights ago, I was on my knees and closing my day and asking for Heavenly Father's forgiveness for not loving my children enough.

I was feeling guilty because there were multiple times that day when one or both children had caused me to think, "I really don't love you right now. I would like to give you away."

And then I would think, that's just so WRONG! Why and how could I possibly think that? Did I not take my anti-depressant last night? I did, I'm sure I did. So why do I feel this way?

And so I decided to talk all this over with Heavenly Father. And to repent. Because clearly I was doing something wrong.

The response I got from the spirit was not the one I expected. I expected to feel chastened and then get up and be better. I did not expect to be told that I was repenting for something I didn't truly do. The feeling was quiet, and subtle, but strong: You do love your children. You just don't love them in the same way that you used to, and that's okay.

That's okay.

Perhaps this conversation happened because I was jealous of a friend's testimony of the all-encompassing love of motherhood during Sacrament Meeting the day before. It was so obvious to me that she loved her baby. And I thought, I was that way once too, wasn't I? How come my daughter drives me bonkers now? Why can't I love her as much as I used to? And why do I suddenly run out of patience with my baby boy?

I finally figured it out, as I was pondering the Spirit's response to my prayer. It's true, I don't love my children the way that I used to, I still love them just as much, if not more. I just love them differently.

This didn't make a whole lot of sense to me until I realized that, once again, Heavenly Father has a plan, and when we figure little pieces of The Plan out, all of the sudden this life makes much more sense. As I finished my prayer, I looked at my husband, kneeling and running his hands through his hair like he does when he is concentrating on his personal prayers.

And I realized, I don't love him the same way that I once did. We started out as friends, a gentle kind of caring that gradually developed into an infatuation and obsession. I thought about him every minute of every day, checked my email obsessively until I saw that bolded "Scott Fowler" in my inbox, spent hours saying good-bye to him on the phone. We couldn't get enough of each other.

And then we got married.

And that all-consuming fascination changed. I won't say it went away, because it still pops up every once in a while (and I still constantly check my email hoping to see a message from him come through). I will say, however, that it developed into something both more and less. More comfortable, less consuming. More intricate, less intense. More dependence, less addiction.

In other words, sometimes I get fed up with him. Sometimes I need some space. Sometimes life isn't peachy-keen. Sometimes I have a hard time saying "I forgive you" and "I love you" on demand.

And sometimes, I get lost just looking at him because I could never have imagined loving and needing someone this much.

And then it clicks--this! this is why Heavenly Father intends for children to be born into a marriage between a man and a woman. Marriage is a training ground for parenthood. True, the relationship between husband and wife is very different than the one between a parent and child, but the love in these bonds grows in similar patterns.

First, there was a comfortable connection (morning sickness aside), a sense of potential between us. As my pregnancies developed, this grew into, yes, an infatuation with all things my baby. Once my babies were born, everything centered around their existence (this was the obsession phase). Everything about them was perfect, and their flaws went largely unseen (with only an occasional complaint about sleeping patterns. I had issues with Scott's snoring at first too). And then, without me even noticing it, I became so accustomed to their presence in my life, that my relationships with my children became comfortable. I now know who they are, although they change every day. I anticipate their reactions to every little and big situation, and they know what makes me tick. They put this knowledge to good use.

And sometimes, it is hard to say, "I love you" at all times.

And sometimes, I stare at them--usually while they are sleeping--and wonder at loving and caring for another person more than I love myself.

My love for my husband changes every day. And it doesn't just change, it grows. In all directions.

And so I am starting to understand that, perhaps, Heavenly Father is teaching us how to love each other first, so that we can love our children second.

In all directions.

Perspective

So, Kevin has developed a severe dislike of having dirty hands. I'm not sure if this is a sensory thing, or a phase, or something she is doing just to drive me batty, but after ten days of her begging for napkins, wipes, magic soap (germx), or to have her hands washed every five minutes, I'd just about had it.

Then I found out that my nephew has Giardia.

Poor kid.

And, in the process of texting back and forth with my sister-in-law to see how their family is doing, she shared with me that this particular child is OCD about hand-washing, and in this case, it paid off, because his four brothers are perfectly healthy and he has been carrying the extremely contagious parasite around for more than two weeks.

So, there's that.

Have another baby wipe, Kevin.

FHE: A Blesson

The Anecdote

Kevin coined a new term tonight: "Blesson." She was downstairs playing and I called down to her, telling her it was her turn to teach the lesson tonight and I asked her what she wanted to teach. I didn't get much of a response, but I did overhear her tell her baby doll that we were going to have "a blesson and a test-a-mode-ee for famoween."

A couple of hours later, after Sly had gone to bed and Daddy had finished working on the still-not-finished sprinkler system (don't worry, neighbors, we are getting there! It's just a matter of moving dirt!), we sat down on the floor for a short FHE. Kevin had told me a couple of times that she wanted to share her testimony for FHE, so I figured we would just run with that and have a brief discussion about a what a testimony includes. I tried to let Kevin take the lead in the discussion (because, after all, she was in charge of the blesson), but after five minutes of hearing about her baby's screaming problem, we took back the reins.

I asked her what a testimony is (three times). She finally quit obsessing over her doll's behavior long enough to look to Daddy for help. He told her that a testimony is something we believe in and share with others.

"Kevin, do you love Jesus?"
"Yes, I love him!"
"Then that is part of your testimony."
"I love him and I want to go to him's house."
"Where is Jesus' house?"
"You want to come to him's house too, Mommy?"
"Yes. Did you know that Jesus' house is the Temple? Do you love the temple?"
"Yes."
"Then that is part of your testimony!"

We went on to talk about the prophet, and our family, and how we want our family to be forever, and how all of those things are part of her testimony. I ended the lesson by telling her, "even though you are small, you still have a testimony. And as you get bigger, if you work hard, your testimony will grow too."

"Yes," she said, "Because you will teach me."

The Epilogue:

Daddy tells her someday she could go on a mission and share her testimony every day, and she says, "On my mission?" and he says, "Yes. When you get bigger." Then she said, "I'm going to need a wedding dress, a small one."  And then Daddy tries to change the subject from her getting married someday (because, for some reason, a daughter's mission is easier for a Dad to handle than the thought of her getting married--even though Mommy was in tears when she heard the phrase "my mission" come out of her preschooler's mouth), and tells her about how when he decided he wanted to marry Mommy, he asked her to marry him and she said yes. Kevin then responds, "I would have said no." Then, because she knows she has somehow wounded her father, she quickly adds, "But when I am bigger I will say yes! Can we have a treat?" She didn't say no to the cookies.

The Moral of the Story

Blessons don't have to be long. They don't have to be planned in advance. They don't have to be full of object lessons, activities, pictures, puppets, or youtube videos. They don't even have to be about gospel topics.

They just have to happen. 

And when lessons happen, miracles happen. 

Lessons full of blessings=blessons.

Kevin was on to something after all.