My husband took my oldest son up the canyon for his first ski lesson of the season today and left me at home with our three littler boys. IT WAS SO NICE!
I can't remember the last time my house was so quiet. I can't remember the last time I've gone an entire day without yelling. It was fun to watch our 2-year-old playing what he wanted to play for as long as he wanted to play it. It was nice to read a book while feeding the babies instead of squeezing bottles into my role as referee. And it was really nice to be showered in hugs and help when the ski day was through.
Another day like this might not come again for quite some time, but that's okay. It's not one I plan on forgetting any time soon.
It made me think of the drawings plastered across my refrigerator door, my office space, and my children's bedroom walls. My boys are ALWAYS coloring, cutting, and pasting. I love watching them cultivate their creativity.
She (the bunny) looks like she's been through the wringer, or a war-zone, or my house today. My 5-year-old NEVER runs out of energy and if his mouth is running, then he is running. Literally. He does almost all his thinking out loud. And while he's telling himself whatever it is he's thinking, he's running laps through our living room, dining room, kitchen, and back again. All day long today. He was telling me the Cars 3 movie that was playing in his room with his Lego guys as the main characters. Believe me when I say it could be the next Disney feature-length film, both in content and length. At the end of the day, my head is SPINNING!
The most important things are not always the easiest to remember when I'm having a bad day. Sometimes it takes all I've got to remember what's really important when it comes to that little guy. He's going to grow up one day and I have no doubt I'll be so incredibly proud of him then. But I have the chance right now to marvel at the imagination that will catapult him to who he's going to become. I need to remember that instead of letting it annoy me.
With tears on my cheeks, I'm grateful for
that little 5-year-old boy
who loves life so much he can't help sharing it with me.
The first 4 months of my last pregnancy were not pleasant. I was exhausted and my body was broken down. Feeling completely different than I did when I was pregnant with both my boys, every person I know had decided I must be carrying a girl. I thought they must be right...but it didn't matter. I was sick and being tested to the edge of what I could bear.
There were days it took all I had to pour cold cereal and turn on the television for Beck and Peyton before falling back into bed for the rest of the day. It was on those days that I knew this was it for me. Three babies was going to have to be what made up our family. Doubled over and in tears I plead with the Lord to give me the strength and willpower to make it through my delivery and then apologized to my husband that this was going to have to be our last child. Enduring another pregnancy was just not going to happen for me.
At the same time my husband was secretly pleading with the Lord to take this burden from me. He was feeling guilty for the role he played in bringing this weakness upon me, and he was begging to be able to endure it for me. As blessed as he knew we are to bring newborn spirits into our family, he admitted to God that he never wanted to see me feeling this way again.
We both knew this would be the completing of our family.
And here brings in the focus of my gratitude today: The Lord knew too. He heard our prayers and listened to our pleas. He didn't chastise us for reacting in such a temporal moment, but wrapped his arms around our arms and answered back,
"I believe you and I understand what you are going through.
I am near you and I will continue to be right here with you."
That is when we found out we were having twins.
The Lord knew our hearts and recognized what he had asked of me. Yet He also knew he had a plan for our family and it included more than just one more being. He accepted my terms of defeat and did what he could to do to make sure His plan for us was complete. If I, with my earthly mind and suffering, had decided to not be pregnant ever again, He sent the spirits He had left for us into the world together.
I do not know what our future holds. There may be a day yet when we decide we do need to grow our family. What I do know is that in the moment when I needed the Lord to accept all I had left to give to Him, he kept in mind His plan for me.
I am grateful for a Heavenly Father so personally familiar with me and with His plan for me.
November could not have come at a better time for me with all it's thoughts of thankfulness. Please join me this month as I focus daily on something in my life deserving a moment of extra gratitude.
Every once in a while something we've taken for granted or not paid attention to at all becomes strikingly meaningful. This happened for me two months ago as I sat at home, awake late at night with my newborn babies miles away in our hospital NICU unit. Watching television as a distraction, I watched a March of Dimes commercial intently for the very first time. Never before I had really paid attention because never before had I considered the family the March of Dimes was helping could be mine.
It happened to me again this week as I watched live coverage of Superstorm Sandy hitting the eastern United States. I was struggling with the feeling that this magnificently devastating storm was not moving me like I thought it would if it was happening somewhere else in the world. And then came the images of precious but struggling newborn babies being evacuated at the height of the hurricane from the NICU unit of NYU Langone Medical Center.
An ordinary nurse suddenly thrust into an extraordinary situation, curling over her tiny precious charge as together they brave the harsh elements raging all around them.
It has reminded me today how grateful I am for the NICU nurses that so attentively watched over my little Jax and Lucca 24 hours a day for 16 days while I was unable to be with them. Clocking in each day for a 12 hour shift where their sole responsibility was to make sure our defenseless wee ones had any possible thing they would need. And assuring me that entrusting them with my two newest gifts from heaven was the way it needed to be.
Today I am grateful for those people in the world
who choose to live each day in the service of the littlest and weakest among us.
Recently my boys' best friends moved with their family to North Carolina to be closer to their grandparents. It was a sad day for us all. Driving home from their house the night before his friends would leave, Beck and my husband had a tender conversation about how life changes from time to time. It was one of those parenting moments when we wanted to wrap our arms around our little ones and protect them from all things sad that happen in the world.
The truth is, it was sad for me to. You see, I am supposed to be the one who moves away. I do the leaving. Working in the seasonal hospitality industry, it was my normal routine to move somewhere, make 2-3 close friends, and then wave good-bye as our contracts came to an end. Some tears, some sincere attempts to keep in touch, and then we'd simply find ourselves on our merry way. There are a few people I've kept in contact with over the years, but the reality of distance and time usually take their toll. Thinking back on the fabulous people I've been blessed to know makes me smile and hold back tears simultaneously, but that's the life I have become accustomed to. So when I tell you my boys' best friends moved away, I must also say that one of my good friends has moved away as well. And it's a very new feeling to be the person left behind, to watch somebody else do the leaving. Not because there aren't other people to hang around with, and not because I needed that relationship to validate me. Rather, because the event represents everything changing in my life as settled down mother of four in suburban America. Beck, Peyton, and I of course have other friends. For me that is still the same as before-a small group of beautiful people who make me better just by knowing them. Our old friends came into our lives when we joined an in-home Joy School, and now we've joined a new homeschool play group where we're getting to know a brand new group of people. Our lives will go on, they will just never be quite the same.
How have you helped your children deal with friends moving away?
On my new blog, Eating the Nibbly Bibs, the focus is 100% joy. Both for my two boys and for me. I'm working out of a fabulous book named Teaching Your Children Joy where I do a daily activity with them and then record my thoughts and observations on how it went.
Here is a post from last week:
I'm InWhat I'm learning about parenting is this: You have to be all in. Children grow up whether you're intensely involved or not. The opportunity we have is to be a part of that during the short amount of time we have with them. And we choose the degree of intensity.
During the past four years I've had ups and downs-periods of complete attention and periods of viewing from the sidelines. The last year I'd evaluate as fairly well checked out and the results are there to prove it. Beck and I argue like he's a teenager. Indeed I look at him and can see exactly what 14-year-old Beck will be. But the good news is that that's true for the good times too! I've noticed before, and I'm seeing it now...when I'm anxiously engaged in being mom to my two boys, they smile and laugh and want to be anxiously engaged with me. It's a lesson worth learning, and one I'm sure I'll need to keep learning again and again.
Today's Teaching Your Children Joy activity was to "make spontaneity a high priority." Be open to letting it happen anytime and anyplace. It's hard to get past the point when you holler "No," or "Stop," "Sshhh!", but when you do it makes the world more interesting for both you and your child.
So try it. Let them splash in a puddle. Follow the direction of their pointing fingers and over-enthusiastic shouts of "LOOK!" Clear the way and let them spin the kid cart while walking through the grocery store. They'll be happier and you might just find yourself barefooted squishing mud between your toes.
If you have little ones, or if you don't, I'd love to have you come on over and check it out...
Yesterday I had the great privilege to teach a lesson at church on family responsibility (basically, parenting). A week ago I was irrevocably convinced I was the last person on earth qualified to teach that particular lesson and almost called to back out. As the week progressed I thought to myself, "If any of my neighbors are in class on Sunday, I'll have to feign immediate illness." They would surely call me out as a completely unqualified hypocrite. But the Holy Ghost does wonderful things when you turn over your life in humility. When it was all said and done, the 35 minutes I spent in front of the class was the most spiritual time I've ever felt while teaching.
Here are some of the things the spirit taught to me:
My kids are children of our Heavenly Father. They have His spirit, and their spirits studied with Him, learned from Him, and grew to maturity before they were given the opportunity to come to me. When I look at them I need to see what He sees and ask, "Who are you?" instead of "Why are you doing that?" or "What were you thinking." My role as their mother is as much to learn from them as it is to teach them the things that I know.
In the grand scheme of things, what is really important for me to teach them? To have faith. To believe in the power of repentance. That by making right choices, they can have the Holy Ghost as a constant guide. And to pray (D&C 68:25, 28). And if these are the things they are to learn, then I need to be sure to teach them in meekness and with patience. I need to be ever kind and focused on true knowledge rather than my human confusions. I need to be able and willing to clarify their mistakes with love. Everything I do needs to pull them closer towards me rather than build up a moat that pushes them away (D&C 121:41-44)
It is a marvelous thing to have a family and that part of that family compound is a spouse to share both the burdens and the joys. I appreciated the council provided in my lesson material for my husband laying out simply the three things which are essential in his role as a father:
Being worthy of the sacred calling to be a father and living in a way that allows him to perform in that capacity
Making it a priority to spend time individually with each of his kids. To get to know them and build a relationship where they can always feel comfortable calling on him.
To provide for his family
I especially appreciated the order of those three things. His focus, and our focus together, should always be on the spiritual things first. And while it is his responsibility, if possible, to provide for us, it should never become his main priority.
That brings me, then, to what I should be doing as a mother. More than anything, my little boys need me to be spending time with them. They need me to play with them and teach them life doesn't always have to be serious. Children learn the best through play and I should never pass up the opportunity to listen to the things they are imagining and dreaming.
I need to do everything in my power to provide the best example of faithfulness and spiritual strength. My actions and attitudes go a long way in allowing the spirit to dwell in our home and bring the peace children need to feel when surrounded by family. Someday they will leave our home and head out into the world. When they do it won't matter if someone else has to teach them to sew on a button or properly wash the dishes. I would never dream of leaving their seeds of testimony to be planted and cultivated by the outside world.
A story in The Book of Mormon teaches about of a group of 2000 young men who fought valiantly for their families and their communities in battle. Through trouble and strife, they ever laid the source of their courage at the feet of their mothers.
...and they were all young men, and they were exceedingly valiant for courage...but behold, this was not all-they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted. Yea, they were men of truth and soberness, for they had been taught to keep the commandments of God and to walk uprightly before him...yea, they had been taught by their mothers, that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them. And they rehearsed unto me the words of their mothers, saying, : "We do not doubt our mothers knew it." Alma 53:20-21, 56:47-48
That brings me to the last, and most important, thing I took away from my lesson yesterday: A mother's testimony can have a profound influence on her children. I would add that a mother without a strong testimony will have an equally profound influence on the testimonies of the spirits with which she has been entrusted. And yet, we are not alone. Being a parent is far from easy and there will continue to be times when my spirit is dampened and trampled. Yet I know there is no need to worry. The Lord is watching over me.
I cry when the flag goes by. I try to stop, to hold it in, but the tears escape every time. I still love parades like a little kid, and that is the reason why; a community joined together in reverence to salute the essence of what it is to live in our country.
Sunday I attended the Freedom Festival Patriotic Service in Provo, UT. My family and 15,000 of our closest friends gathered together for 90-minutes of independence-focused singing and dancing. One of my favorite songs is the Armed Forces Medley. I only have one relative that ever served in the military and he never speaks about it. It is touching beyond description to watch as members of each branch of the service stand proudly to receive the recognition they deserve. I love to watch the eldest veterans and their wives and their generations of family. And I especially love to see our current or recently discharged soldiers standing at full salute with all the seriousness upon their faces that that office holds. If I managed to hold in the waterworks during the presenting of the colors, I guarantee you my mascara is running by the time this song ends.
The entertainment on Sunday was enjoyable, but I will forever remember the more serious event of the evening. An audience of grateful Americans watched as the flag of the fallen soldier was ceremonially folded and presented to the mother of fallen Army Chief Warrant Office 3 Matthew G. Wagstaff. She has been dealing with the grief that comes with losing a son for 10 months now, but not a person experiencing that moment with her would have denied the opportunity to take that burden away from her.
I cannot put into words the degree of gratitude and sadness I felt as I watched her stand with composure while tears streamed down her face. Every American who has not experienced the sacrifice of military life personally owes it to themselves to be in a place where they can witness an event similar to this. I will never have another day when I get out of bed and take for granted the acts of courageous selflessness enacted on my behalf each day.
And, so, we move closer and closer to the 2011 celebration of the United States' Independence Day. If you have a soldier in your midst, please reach out in any way you can to give them a hug and thank them for me, and for my children, and my neighbors, and every person walking free around me. If you do not have that special privilege, try this week-try hard-to make put yourself in a place that will make the cost of freedom real to you and your family. You'll never regret that you did!
Interesting Fact #1: Duane and his wife Diane brought 15 hilarious and thoughtful people into the world. After Diane passed away from ovarian cancer, Duane and his 15 kids relied on their faith that the family is central to the Lord's plan and that He had a plan for each one of them. A year later an equally faith-filled woman named Sharon came into their lives and together the 17 of them continued onward into the world. Now, nearly 25 years later 17 has grown to 87 with 15 spouses, 54 grandchildren, and the oldest grandchild's fiance joining the family this year.
Interesting Fact #2: There is a fairly short song every LDS Primary child knows called, "Follow the Prophet," (9 verses is short for a kid's song, right?). Asked to write the song only weeks after Diane had passed away, the song holds special meaning to our family and Duane continues to share the message portrayed in the song whenever he has the opportunity.
Interesting Fact #3 Duane is the only rock star I know. Really! In the days of Elvis and the Beetles he performed in a band called "The Three D's." Touring across the United States, Canada, and Asia in a time when the face of music was changing, they found increasing success by keeping a clean image and entertaining without lowering their moral standards. Their music is particularly refreshing today when #1 hits too often are denigrating and evocatively offensive. Covering both religious and secular subjects and songs, each album has distinct character. My personal favorite album is Rhyme, Rhythm, and Reason-Great Poetry Set to Music.
My father-in-law has lived a full life and earned the right to sit and rest, but that's not who he is. He continues guiding the people around him with big ideas and entertaining delivery. The Three D's message is as essential and applicable as it was when three young family men first took it out on the road and that is the reason I'm sharing this part of my life with you!
For your last chance at an early entry in my A Blogtastic Extravaganza giveaway, leave a comment here telling me something from this post that has peaked your curiosity!
That's what my husband said to me last night. I had just told him I was really unhappy and felt like I was being punished for 15 years of selfish decisions. He saw it differently. This is what he had to say:
We have two incredible children. The older is brilliant and funny and incredibly hard to lead. He lives life with complete emotion and isn't easily swayed to do what he knows is wrong. The younger brought to earth the joy of heaven and a smile that can brighten even the darkest day. They are both supported by the love of their Heavenly Father and my role is to raise them righteously. As strong as they are, they will still need a mother who can teach them how to love and serve and rely on the powers of the Atonement in hopes of returning to live with their Father in Heaven.
The devil is aware. He knows the struggle it's going to be to get at my children and attacks the target he sees as weak. That's me.
"...and he shall wear out the saints of the most High..."-Daniel 7:25
A few weeks ago I read an enlightening commentary on the Devil as Accuser. The author described Satan as the one who incites us to sin and then stands by to remind us, accuse us, and taunt us about every thing we have ever done wrong. My husband equated the devil to "The Big Tattle-Tale." When he stands before God and brags about the terrible we are doing, the Lord turns away without giving his words one moment of thought. Not to be rebuked, though, the devil retreats and returns to working on an audience more receptive to his message.
"And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ."-Revelations 12:17
It became clear to me after reading this article and doing my own study of the scriptures that Satan is after the righteous. He has nothing to gain from a person living a life less than that. That is the point my husband, last night, was making. As I try to follow the commandments of God and raise my boys to make righteous choices, the devil attacks me. He gets afraid of losing ground and when I don't make it easy for him he sends his minions to surround me with a constant barrage of evil thoughts, self doubt, and thoughts of giving in to make sure that he wins in the end.
"Submit yourselves, therefore to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you...For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us...that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord."-James 4:7, Romans 8:18,38-39
My night and conversation with my husband did not end with a great lightening of worries and cares; the devil's stronghold is hard to break. But I was able to get out of bed this morning knowing that I have a new opportunity each day to access the blessings of the Savior's Atonement for me. The Devil may hate me, but the Lord has not given up on me. He will protect me, and my boys, until that day when I can once again stand before Him full of humility and account that I tried my hardest with the life that was given to me.
I got my first scanner recently and have been excitedly digging through boxes of photos and momentos looking for items to give a renewed online life. One of the things I've found are Ziploc bags full of magazine cut-outs that once upon a time I used in my scrapbooking; so many cute sayings and moving illustrations that aren't doing me much good in a drawer.
Sorting through the piles I found this cute cut-out and thought it would make a great banner for my blog. So, combining it with random photos I've unearthed, welcome to my new feature, Back in the day;). Let me know what you think!
This photo invoked a belly-aching fit of laughter from my husband once I explained that the very professional looking clowns were my mom, my sisters, and me (that's me on the tricycle).
He's hardly one to be surprised at the things our parents make us do-he grew up performing in his own eclectic line of "family shows." But, nonetheless, he thought it was pretty funny.
My mom was a creative and motivated lady when her girls were little. There were always craft projects in progress and new ideas brewing. My five sisters and I always knew she was a great artist and her most impressive talent was being able to use her beautiful handwriting completely backwards. I don't know how or when she honed that skill, but little girls don't think there's anything much cooler than seing their names written in reverse cursive.
Our hometown held an annual summer "Old Settlers" celebration with a special morning parade. These were where I remember my mom's biggest ideas coming forth, as can be witnessed in the photo above. There was no special reason for us to be in the parade. We weren't promoting a cause or advertising a business. My mom just set to work making each of us our very own clown costume and put us in the parade. Naturally. Why wouldn't your family parade in front of the entire town and half the county for the fun of it?
I'm sure there were other times we entered the parade as a family. I don't remember. When I was older I do remember my mom being in charge of the PTA float. She dressed all the neighborhood kids (including my sisters still in elementary) in different occupational uniforms and spent hours dubbing a cassette tape (that's right, I said dubbing a cassette tape) with the opening lines of Whitney Houston's "Greatest Love of All" to play as they proceeded past the crowds.
I feel my mom's influences in my life nearly everyday. Often it's in the times I'm wondering why I struggle so much with being a fun and loving parent, wondering where my anger and quickness to punish come from. My husband looks at me peculiarly each time he comes home to find a brand new craft project splayed across our dining table. He completely doesn't understand the fun in working side by side my sisters at a weekend craft show. Or why I get so excited about our children winning cheesy baby contests so we can decorate a "float" and be in the parade.
This photo of my family "clowning" around is a joyful reminder that my creative and positive quirks come from my mom as well.
The Relief Society room filled with gentle chuckles when a sister offered this as one of the most important things we can teach our children in our homes. In preparing the lesson I had anticipated many more answers like this-the temporal lessons taught by parents. Instead, the ladies in the room had humbled me with long lists of values and attributes they've taught their little ones-honesty, respect, to love the scriptures. I secretly cheered that there was at least one sister in the room who's home, like mine, has not yet become a permanent haven of heaven on earth. She continued, "If the Saviour were on the Earth today, would he want to come into your home?"
It seemed like a simple enough thought to me and we returned to listing divine characteristics all children are apparently supposed to know before they head off to school. Then, a screeching halt. A sister in the back row raised her hand and proclaimed, "I'm going to have to disagree with that sister over there." She went on to voice her opinion that the Saviour is not going to care what your house looks like when he comes again. Her intention was good, but the comment was actually quite offensive, and standing in the front of the room I could see the first sister's feelings had been hurt. Unfortunately, I have not yet become perfect at diffusing these types of situations in class and I chose to move on to the next part of the lesson rather than make this a point of discussion. That was two days ago and the entire event keeps playing itself out in my mind.
Here is how I now know I should have responded:
I understand both viewpoints and don't believe either one of them is completely wrong. The Lord has said, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." (Rev. 3:20) The question needs to be not whether or not the Saviour will want to visit me, but whether or not I keep my home in order so as to feel comfortable when the Saviour comes to visit me.
Latter-Day Saints have been instructed to keep their homes like a temple. I'm sure similar sentiments are taught across many world religions. The Holy Ghost does not dwell in unholy places, places of clutter and disorganization. And certainly it is much more difficult to recognize the promptings of the Spirit when our minds are distracted by busyness and a backlog of responsibilities. As with the story of Martha and Mary we need to ask ourselves if we have prepared well enough for the Saviour's arrival so that we might sit at His feet and absorb the love He brings for us.
It is important to keep an orderly home and to teach our children that importance. Associate Professor Shirley R. Klein remarked, "Everyday activities in our homes may be simple, but because they are simple, frequent, and repeated, they offer important opportunities to build individuals and families." So where do we find the balance? I've often been told that a home where children are loved is a home well-lived in. In other words, there are going to be toys on the floor. The dishes may not always be done and the beds may not always be made. Is this the sign of a sloppy lazy family? Not necessarily.
Look around a little further. Is there children's artwork hanging on the refrigerator? Are the little ones playing together while their parents help older siblings with homework? Have the children been taught by example that there is a time and place for controlled chaos as well as for quiet and order? Or, are the children's toys under lock and key for fear of appearing less than perfect to the visiting teachers? Are the floors shining and the windows gleaming in the middle of the day even though the children are bored and begging for attention and love? The Saviour will recognize our best intentions. We need to determine whether or not our best intentions will have been enough on that great and glorious day.
Had I been brilliant enough to spout out all that to the class on Sunday, I'd either have received oodles of hallway compliments after class or been quickly released from my calling. Either way, it has left me thinking more deeply. Obviously the state of our earthly home is not going to be what keeps us from being embraced by the Saviour. That will be determined by the state of our hearts in the moment He arrives. Our work until then is to strive towards living in a "house of order."
So let me ask these questions to the class: If the Saviour came today could He dwell within your heart? Would the clutter and distraction make you unable to recognize the lightness of your burdens being lifted? Is the balance between your devotion to the Lord and Jesus Christ weighted with things of this world or divine desires of the soul?
When He stands outside and knocks will you hear His voice and let Him enter in or will the rush to clean up the house keep you from opening the door?
"One of our sons was spending a few days incarcerated in a local facility to 'pay his debt to society.' As I looked at his sorrowful countenance behind that glass wall, my heart nearly broken, I only wished I had held and rocked that baby boy. I couldn't, as hard as I tried, think of a specific time when I had held him on my lap and kissed his head, face, and ears and held him close to my heart.
I had washed that boy, scolded him for misdeeds, sent him to school, even taken pictures of him, but I couldn't remember putting my lips next to his ear and whispering tender, loving, happy words that might have echoed in his memory when he needed them. When my arms couldn't get to him through that terrible glass barrier, I wanted to remember how it felt to hold him and I wanted him to remember how it felt to be held and loved by his mother. So, if I could go back, I would hold and rock and sing and whisper love to my child every single day." -Excerpt from Delta, Utah, Ensign Magazine, July 1996
I was really good at firing people. Don't do the job right and get sent packing. A few people I let go had managed to find my emotional side and they might have seen me a little more generous in the time allowed to get out, but they still had to go. My world is completely black and white. There are rules, expectations, and consequences or rewards for work done or not done. It's as simple as that.
My working years were great because I was the person in control. I was good at what I did and received the feedback satisfactory to go along with it. Since leaving the workplace and starting a family I have been in a constant daily struggle. Today it has finally occurred to me that this is the reason why.
Kids (and husbands, too, I suppose) do not live in a black and white world. They don't receive instructions one time and follow them to the letter. They don't respond well to constructive criticism, if they respond at all. I can't fill my filing cabinet with their performance reviews and letters of recommendation. Nobody is punching a time clock with the outlook of freedom at the end of an eight hour day. And I can't print a paycheck for last days work and send them on their way.
My kids are here to stay and it's my job now to fit into their colorful world. I need to let them encourage me. Rather then looking for an opportunity to get rid of me, they greet me each morning with a giggle and a smile. In their world there's no such thing as "hurry." Instead of typing memos and conducting meetings, they beg me to plop down and play...all day...that's it mom...let's just play...
The winter holidays are meant for kids. Santa Claus is real, snow falls solely for sledding and building snow families, and a baby (just like I used to be, they'll say) was born in the hay. When else do we let them bring trees in the house or bury them with brand new toys, shiny paper, and glittery ribbon? In the thick of it, they'll tell you every bit of it is magical. It's not until we get a little older that particular pieces of that holiday magic begin to plant themselves in a special part of our memory. For me, the enchantment was the Christmas tree.
Growing up in Iowa, the formula for the perfect Christmas tree involved waiting for a bitter cold day and swirling biting winds. The whole family piled out of the station wagon at the country Christmas tree farm, picked up a hacksaw and trudged acres and acres to the farthest, most un-harvested hill. The arguments then ensued as six girls poured out their hearts in defense of their " perfect" tree. Ultimately, Mom got the one she wanted, and the saw went to work chopping down her tree.
The adventure continued on as we dragged our enormous tree back across the snow-laden hills looking for a tractor and trailer willing to give us a ride back to our car. If we were lucky, the tree would fit in the baler-one year it would not-and a great big Christmas tree bundle got strapped to the top of the car. Piling back into the station wagon, we raced home to set up our tree.
The happy memories don't end there. Getting the tree home was only half the act. Enter Pa-pa and his voice of reason. "Dawn, that tree is too big. It won't fit in our house." He was right nearly every year. The tree's trunk always received a second round of shearing before taking it's place front and center in the living room window.
After the tree was decorated and lit, we enjoyed seeing more and more presents accumulate underneath. We would plug in the lights in the late afternoon and sometime before going to bed, Mom and Dad would unplug it again. Until Christmas Eve. On Christmas Eve we all knew the twinkling lights stayed on all night. Early in the morning (or later in the morning depending on how old we were getting to be), six girls would tumble out of bed, shuffle into the living room and be greeted with the most breathtaking sight! The glow of the Christmas tree illuminated the room, shining off wrapping paper, and calling attention to a big bag from Santa. Spread out on the floor, in front of the tree, were six stuffed-to-the-brim stockings inviting us to come and partake. With the allure of new toys, the moment was over in the blink of an eye, but the living room aglow on Christmas morning is what Christmas time magical to me.
Imagine then, the struggle it's been with a husband who grew up a little bit differently. In a home that in all ways seemed even more frugal than my own, the electric bill at Christmas time apparently just went out the window. He wants the lights on all the time, day and night and any extra time in between. Last year we followed each other around, secretly plugging and unplugging. I was certain he was being obstinate only because he didn't like digging around for the loose cords to fit into the socket. There had to be a solution before we started our holiday celebrating again this year.
In come our kids. Even before talking about getting a tree, Beck was telling us excitedly and assuredly that Christmas trees have lots of presents and candy canes. I have no idea where the candy canes came from, but he was certain and now our tree is covered in candy canes and he's eating one every day. The first night we had our tree up I heard Beck telling his dad that if he couldn't sleep he would just come out and look at the tree. The second night we had our tree up, I found him Beck sleeping on the couch and when he woke up the first thing he said was, "I just wanted to lay here and look at this beautiful tree."
A mom's heart melts. It's a struggle to walk by and see the lights on at all times of the day. I want my family to know joy the way I remember it as a child. At the same time, who am I to take away a three-year-old's joy? Children make the holidays!
My house stinks! It has been nice in Utah lately so the windows can be wide open, but as soon as they're closed my nose thinks it's standing in a public swimming pool shower room. I've tried every air freshening technique on the earth and nothing has taken it away. Going out of my mind a few days ago, I asked Ben, "Do you think it smells in here? What do you think the smell is?" Without looking up from his book he replied, "It stinks like perfume and candles."
I share this story not to start a fight with my husband, but to illustrate a topic that's recently been on my mind: how am I supposed to raise a boy. I grew up in a family with six girls and remember friends and relatives jovially laying on us a curse to have all boys when we were grown. So far the ratio of boys to girls in our up-and-coming generation is 4:2. To that we could send a curse back on all their heads!
Raising Beck has been pretty easy thus far, but Ben is gone quite a bit and will be more so as we move into summer. I wonder what kind of impact that might have on Beck and whether there is anything I can do to counteract it. Also, I figured it was about time I start to figure out how this person we call a boy will think and develop differently than the little girls with which I'm much more familiar. I'm not looking to get caught up in the trends of the day or a bunch of scientific mumbo-jumbo, but do want a knowledge and better understanding of how Beck's brain is developing and what I can do as a parent to help him grow up confident and happy. Fortunately, I found a book titled The Wonder of Boys by Michael Gurian which so far has given me some insightful information.
Reading first about the way an infant boy's brain develops differently than a girl's encouraged me to continue along with my questioning. Generally, the part of the brain connecting the two sides of the brain has far fewer/slower connectors in young boys than in young girls. Having more connectors helps girls to multi-task while the development of the connectors in a boy's brain later manifest themselves in a singularly task-oriented approach to work and activities. More simply put, boys will tend to complete one project or thought before moving onto the next, while girls are working on several different ideas at a time. I know I see that difference between myself and Ben, and so it was interesting to understand the reasoning behind it.
The next information I found intriguing in the book actually quite surprised me. Not because I don't believe it's true, but because it's not a topic the mainstream media emphasizes anymore. Mr. Gurian stressed the need to use strong men in the Bible, Koran, and other scriptures as role models for our sons. We teach our kids the great stories from the scriptures, but I'm intrigued by the idea of really using the men in those stories as guides and examples of who they can become. If we're faith-believing people, then we believe Moses, Noah, Nephi, or Alma were living breathing people to be studied and looked up to for their strengths and their weaknesses. Boys need those examples to emulate as they learn to make choices of their own.
A particular stress has been made in what I've read so far for boys to have a large group of people surrounding them as they learn and grow. This will be the part that is hardest for me. I'm private and independent and I've known from the day Beck was born that branching out would be difficult for me. I'm extremely fortunate, in that regard, to have Ben's family so close and so outreaching. The number of cousins for Beck to watch and learn from is an initial blessing, but his uncles are outwardly loving and active and a little crazy and create an additional comfort to me. I'm grateful as I look forward, as well, for programs in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that place a focus on raising healthy and happy boys. Without me having to step too far out of my comfort zone, those two communities will always be there to provide an additional support system.
My little boy is growing. He's already two! Having a question in my head on how to raise him and then starting to research that question has assured me that I'm doing okay. I know that I need to play with him more when Ben's away and when Ben's home I need to let the two of them rough-house until they cry. I know that one day Beck won't want as many hugs from me and won't be so cute smelling candles with me while we're shopping. But he is going to grow up loving me and that already means everything.
From time to time we hear on the news how a parent or guardian has abandoned their child. This summer in Salt Lake there were several different accounts of parents locking their kids in the car and running off to run errands or catch a movie while their child overheated in the vehicle-sometimes leading to fatal extremes. Other times we hear of children being dropped off and left or a child who's parents leave and never come home. Fortunately, in most circumstances, we don't feel a personal connection to those stories. This week, however, I caught a small glimpse into the eyes of my own child and was remarkably saddened to think of the little boy or girl who's parents walk away.
Monday is my cleaning day. Last Monday Beck was playing and I was trying to do the laundry. We live in a basement apartment and our laundry room is upstairs on the landlord's back porch. I almost always throw Beck on top of the dirty clothes in the clothes basket and tote him up to the washer & dryer with me, but this particular moment he was content with what he was doing and I knew I wasn't going to be long. I ran up the stairs to switch my laundry loads and hurried back to the stairs as quickly as I could. As I came around the corner and started down the stairs my eyes fell upon Beck waiting for me at the bottom. His blond curls on his tiny head were leaning out the door, his big eyes were sparkling, and he wore a humongous grin. I chuckled out loud as I hurried down to scoop him up and give him a big hug. He knew I had gone and trusted that I would be right back. He knew he wasn't allowed to go up the stairs without me, so he excitedly waited at the bottom to see me reappear. That's exactly what the faith of a child teaches us to do.
As I hugged Beck and we walked back inside I began to think about stories I'd heard recently of children being abandoned for both long and short periods of time. Every child is born with faith to trust the people who love and take care of them. Tears began to well up as I imagined the faces of innocent children, with the same trust in their eyes, watching their loved ones walk away and anticipating their speedy return. I want to know how long children stay where they are before their lips begin to quiver and they start to wonder what happened to mommy and daddy. My heart aches to think of Beck waiting so long that he falls asleep in the middle of the doorway or gets bored and goes back to his toys until gets hungry, or thirsty, or needs his diaper changed.
I'm getting better at putting Beck down for his afternoon nap and leaving him there whether he falls asleep or not. I know he needs time to wind down and be quiet and rest-and quite frankly, I need that too. It was hard at first to listen to him cry and call, "Mommy," but I know it's best for him and after a few days we developed an understanding that after he had rested, Mommy would come back to get him up. It still breaks my heart to hear him crying and I peek in on him from time to time to make sure he's not just staring at the door, but usually he quickly finds his monkeys and puppies and lays down to have a quiet conversation with them before succumbing to a good long nap. I imagine that most children, if left long enough, will find themselves asleep and resting. I can't imagine having my child wake up and not have someone come in shortly to pick him up and tell him that he's loved. I don't want to know how a child entertains themselves until somebody happens to come looking for them.
That brings to mind, too, the stories we sometimes hear of children saving their parents by calling 911 or, more sadly, not being able to help a parent who has a medical emergency and loses consciousness or even dies with only a child there to watch. What a sad thing to see your parent not responding or able to get up and help you in anyway. I'm thinking of one story in particular where the mother had passed out and her young child, after not being able to get mommy's attention, curled up on the floor next to her and fell asleep. Somebody stopped by hours later and found the two of them laying on the living room floor-sleeping child wrapped in the arms of her mother who had passed away.
Our children love and trust us and for that we can be eternally grateful.
Ben and I watched the Italian movie Life is Beautiful this weekend. I had never seen it and was a little surprised when he recommended it with such high praise. I'm truly glad he did. It has given me thoughts and emotions to act as a balance against these sad thoughts swirling around in my head.
The movie takes place in WWII Italy and involves an Italian woman and a Jewish man who marry and have a child together. The man is quite creative and spontaneous and a little ridiculous and it's fun to watch them courting and beginning their little family. Then he and his son are taken and put onto train cars bound for Hitler's abhorrent concentration camps. In a touching way, the plot twists for a moment while the woman becomes the character wearing her heart on her sleeve and insists on riding on the train wherever it is going.
The love of this man for his son was overwhelming. From the moment they were taken his only desire was to protect his son from fear and the awful reality of what was happening. They were suffering greatly, but his son did not need to know. The man continued to be creative and spontaneous and went from being ridiculous to being brave. His son did have moments of fear and doubt and sadness, but his father determined to be there for him every step of the way. Even while taking his last march, the man's focus and goal was on his family and getting them through the horror so they could once again see the color and light and blessing of life.
Most parents I know would give everything to protect their children from harm and evil. I don't know anybody heartless enough to turn and walk away from the loving upturned eyes of their children. On the contrary, I'm blessed to have people like my sister Brooke and my sisters-in-law Callie and Angie, who embody the spirit and action of the Jewish man in Life is Beautiful. In their everyday lives they are full of life and creativity and sometimes are just a little bit ridiculous. They are inspiring (and a little bit intimidating) and show me a better way to be.
Children are an incredible blessing. Having a family and raising my own child is an incredible blessing to me. My prayers are filled with hope and love for anybody who is suffering, but especially for the lonely child who is wondering when their parent is going to come back home.
