Noah, Reagan, McKay, Cannon





I think the approaching Mother's Day has me waxing sentimental. I love this day almost more than any other day of the year. I look forward to the hand made gifts from my children and the scheduled "me time" that I inevitably get because I am married to the most thoughtful man alive. But, these aren't what make the day so good for me.  This is my day to sit and reflect on how blessed I am to be a mother and particularly the relationship I have with each of these little people I have been given the sacred responsibility to watch over. I really wish I could say that I am the kind of person who appreciates each day with my children, living in the moment and enjoying myself despite the lunacy of it all. Don't get me wrong, hide and seek for the poop sessions, middle of the night  efforts to just get someone to "fall the H&!! asleep", and cleaning only to have someone follow right behind me to mess it up can be fun, but it can get a bit monotonous. I tend to be the type of girl who puts tasks before people, a trait I am ashamed of and am constantly trying to improve. This is why I love Mother's Day so much. I can appreciate my children for the amazing people they are and really enjoy what it means to be a mom. These special souls are so awesome, and this is why:

 

Noah

I haven't known you for your whole life, but I know that you've been cool since the very beginning because of this picture here.

 

 



 When your dad and I got married when you were 5, the only thing I could really say that I knew about you was that you only ate a careful combination of carbs and cheese, and you seemed to cry about EVERYTHING. It intimidated the snot out of me to begin parenting a child "mid stream".

Though I think we did pretty well under the circumstances, it was an unavoidable rough start. I am so glad that those days are behind us. Now that sweet little baby face with its pudgy cheeks has been replaced with the face of a young man. Here are a few things I have learned about you since then:

 

You have a sensitivity for others' feelings and the compassion of a much older person that comes only from experiencing intense difficulty and loss at a very young age.
You eat like a horse now. I suppose there is no happy medium.
You set your eyes on a goal with steely determination and work at it until you achieve your desires.
You work really, really hard. No one will ever be able to call you lazy.
You set the tone for sibling relations in our family, and its a really good tone. I can't believe my luck that my children never fight and rarely disagree.
You still forgive me every time I screw up. I am hoping (but not betting) that this will continue as you get older.
You genuinely want to do what is right.
You would play basketball every day, hour, minute, and second of your life if you were allowed.
You're a great reader! They won't even let you check out the books at the school library that are in your reading level because they said they would be "too mature" for you. Whatever that means.
Your jokes don't suck anymore.

Reagan
My buddy. I feel like you were a gift from God to get me through hell and back again.

 

 

I thank my lucky stars every day that I have a piece of your daddy with me as I go through this life. I don't think we have a whole lot in common, at least not yet, but I think this is a case of opposites attract. I love what makes you, well, YOU. 

You look exactly like your daddy. I can see him staring back at me through your droopy little eyes.
You have the best memory of any kid I have ever seen. I knew I was in trouble when you memorized all of the Articles of Faith when you were in nursery. All I could think about was that I better never ever do you wrong or you would never forget it.
You are all girl. You love dresses, makeup, and dolls (so unlike me).
Inversely, you like to be viewed as tough, getting in there and doing what the boys are doing. You hate when people see you cry.
You want to please your parents and your leaders. You never want to disappoint us and in your school class you have never once "clipped down". Apparently, that's a big deal.
Somehow you have managed to feel a close connection to your daddy, even though you have no memories of him.
You.are.smart. Oh, my heck. I am dreading the approach of the 4th grade when you will undoubtedly pass me up in intelligence and ability level.
You are a perfectionist.
Despite being bit, pinched and having your hair pulled on an almost daily basis, you deal with your little sister with the patience of Job. You're a better woman than I.

McKay
For me, you will always be the glue that truly united this family. You are the child that I was able to have after fearing that I may never get the chance again. You signify hope and renewal.

McKay. McKay. McKay......McKay. What can I say? Words cannot express the personality contained in this 27 pound body.

You march to the beat of you own drum. Somehow you manage to have your own style at only 2 years old and it expresses itself like a second hand store exploded on you.
You are naughty, naughty naughty. I know this is supposed be a list of strengths, so here is the strength. I don't know how you do it, but you commit your naughtiness with a charisma that makes it hard to get mad at you. I am sure this is a recipe for creating a horrible teenager, but I suppose we will cross that bridge when it comes.
You are independent. You want to do everything yourself.
You look up to your older sister like she is a Hollywood star. You even stated this morning that "I hate Elsa", a fact we all know to be the opposite of true. You were just trying to be like Reagan.
You are sensitive to others feelings and are able to sense when someone needs a pick me up.
You have a bottomless pit of energy that I am sure will service you well someday. I just hope I live to see that day.
You have a close relationship with your dad that is so endearing. You two really get each other :)
You love to hear a good book and have an above average ability to sit and listen.
You always clean up your own messes.

Cannon
There was a time when I was afraid of having a little boy. I had never done it before, and it seemed so different from having a girl, so I didn't want to do it. I was nervous at first, but I am a believer now. You have me wrapped around your little finger. I could eat your face. Literally. Who could resist that little baby hairless rat face? (I don't do a very good job making fat babies).

It has been a treat watching your personality develop. Its still early yet to tell, but so far it seems like you are going to be rad.

 

You are physically more advanced than my other kids. You sat, stood, and took steps light years before the others.

You are cuddly. You like to snuggle up to me and you make me feel like you like me.



You laugh is infectious, coming from deep down in yo' belly.
You really like books. Both eating them and reading them.
Your head is really lumpy and misshapen. It gives you personality.
You can go from minding your own business playing where you are supposed to downstairs to finding your sisters money on her floor upstairs in a matter of 20 seconds flat.
You started sleeping through the night pretty early (for the most part). Thanks for that.
You absolutely refuse to drink anything from a bottle. Sorry. That's not a strength. That's just plain defiance.

I am so grateful for the gift it is to be these tiny people's mother. Here's to remembering that fact every day, even during the crazy times :)

Good Grief

I went out on a date with my hot boyfriend tonight, a practice we are struggling to make habit in our crazy lives. Ryan loves movies, and he loves superhero movies the most. Lucky for him, there is a never ending supply of those on the market right now. They are not my favorite (I struggle with swallowing the unbelievable), but am happy to go with him because I know he enjoys them so much. It is a very rare occasion that a movie comes out that peeks my interest. I love a good historical piece, but often those end up containing more violence and carry a higher rating than my pre-pubescent sentiments can handle. I must admit that I am also a sucker for a good romance. Unfortunately for me, a movie fitting my definition of a good romance hasn't come around since, oh, lets say "While You Were Sleeping". These movies so often focus on the sexual/physical aspect of a relationship. Now don't get me wrong, I know that this is an important part, but it isn't the deepest most abiding part. The part that gets me coming back for more is the emotional aspect of a relationship. "The Age of Adeline" seemed to fit this bill, so I drug my ever cooperative husband to it(who, let's face it, owed me one after 10 superhero movies in a row. He had no choice). The premise of the movie is that Adeline, who is born in 1908, endures a freak accident at the age of 29 that stops her age progression. One would think that the ability to never age would be an amazing gift, a fountain of youth with limitless possibilities worth an invaluable price. But, she will forever remain the same age, causing her to have to move from place to place and avoid any close personal relationships in order to keep her from becoming an oddity and a government experimental rat. She eventually gets tired of running and the avoidance of emotional ties and decides to take a risk. She begins dating a young man with whom she feels a very strong connection. Lucky for her, she miraculously experiences another freak accident that reverses the effects of the first, causing her to age again. I could feel the relief in myself and in the entire movie theater as she discovers her first gray hair. Why was that so relieving? It seems counterintuitive. As I though about it, the relief came because, even though youth is highly valued, there is greater value in the experiences we have with those we love as we grow old with them.  Pain, loss, and life's let downs all forge the relationships that we cherish into something stronger than we could ever experience otherwise.

A couple of weeks ago, I attended the marriage ceremony of a young lady who I have had the privilege of watching grow up over the last several years. When I met her, she was 14 years old, with braces and nothing more to worry about than a history quiz to study for and the boy she was into that particular week. Today she is still young, only 20 years old, and her new husband not much more than that. As I sat in that ceremony, just a few feet from them, I couldn't help but reflect on what their lives had in store for them. Some might say that it is foolish to commit yourself to someone at so young an age, that you can't truly know if that person will make you happy in 10, 20, or even 50 years. I don't think it is about someone "making" us happy though. So many of the experiences that lay in front of them will undoubtedly be very difficult. Everybody has their own package of uniquely designed hardships. As we approach those difficulties together, we develop the kind of bonds that are the stuff of true happiness. Welding requires intense heat, but without that heat the two objects cannot be joined together.

Different experience, same vein. I attended a funeral today of the husband of a good friend. He was an even better friend to Cory. In fact, they finally get to hang out again because they are buried a mere 10 yards from each other. He was 46 years old. Beautiful wife. 4 kids. They have endured more family hardships than anyone should be asked to endure at that age. Not fair. At least at first glance it doesn't seem that way. I think this is the point of marriage though. We have no idea how long we are going to be allowed to stay together on this ride called life. Could be 1 year and 8 months. Could be 28 years. Could be 72 years. The beauty of marriage is that the commitment says "No matter how long we are here together, I take care of you and you take care of me. I will sacrifice for you and put our needs above mine. At times it may get pretty ugly and one or the other of us is probably going to get pretty darn banged up, but I am staying on the ride for the whole ride". The trick is to thank God that you got to take the ride at all.

Weaning, a weekend getaway, and pine trees

I have been thinking obsessively lately about bristlecone pines. Fascinating topic, I know.

Ryan and I had the rare treat this weekend of escaping for a few days almost completely sans munchkins. Cannon decided he simply would not be left out of the action and brought his desire to fruition by simply refusing to drink anything out of a bottle. Ever. Under any circumstances. Even to save his own precious life.

The weekend was spent leisurely exploring and reacquainting ourselves with who we are behind all the children. It boggles my mind how easy it is to forget how to give of myself to my husband amidst the never ending stream of dishes, laundry, church obligations, and homework assignments. I swear, the days, weeks and months of my life could be measured by the cycle of the dishwasher and the washing machine. Really fulfilling stuff.

During our hours of meandering, we did something that I have been wanting to do for years but have never found the time. We took a tour of the roof of the Conference Center in Salt Lake City. I know that this reveals how much of a tragic nerd I really am, but it's been working for me for 33 years now, so I am just going to continue rolling with it. Judge not that ye be not judged.

Anyway, during our tour, which was conducted by a darling grandma with a head full of the kind of historical facts that make my little heart go pitter-pat, she explained to us the vegetation that was used in the landscaping of the roof. I was transformed to a mountain side with quaking aspens, blue spruce, and yellow meadow grass dotted with wild flowers and flowing streams instead of where I really was, which was atop a 4 story building in the middle of the down town center of a major U.S. city.

As she explained the details of one particular type of tree, I couldn't help but feel a draw to it, as if we were siblings born of the same parents who reunite after a long separation. I wanted to approach it (very tentatively of course, because I struggle to put myself out there in new relationships), and introduce myself. I wanted to sit under its branches and listen to it tell the story of what it has seen and experienced.  I felt like we share a similar existence.

The bristlecone pine grows in isolation just below the tree line. It grows in soil that is too hostile for most other plants to survive, so it lives its life mostly alone. But that's okay. It seems to like the extra space. Because of cold temperatures, high winds, dry soils, and short growing seasons, it grows extremely slowly, almost imperceptibly. The outer protective layer, its wood, is so dense that it makes it almost impervious to disease, harsh climates, fungi, and insects. The trees longevity is due in part to this dense protective layer.

Oh.My.Gosh. Looking at that scrubby, scraggly, wind beaten, darn ugly tree was like looking in a mirror. And as all moments of self realization do, it taught me something very valuable about myself as I reflected on it. I often find myself just inside the circle of socialization, barely doing enough to maintain relationships and get to know new people. The environment I create around me may not be considered hostile (though I would be lying if I said it never was), but most often isn't very warm and fuzzy. While this may lend to lonely moments, I am used to it and even find comfort in its familiarity at times.  I am capable of learning and growth, and if you look at the current product compared to the one from many years ago, the difference is noticeable. But, if you look at the day to day, week to week, and month to month growth pattern, it is quickly evident that I am on the slow train to becoming what I need to become. That's okay. "Slow and steady wins the race" has always been my motto. Unless I am rolling so slowly that I actually start rolling backwards but never notice the change in direction. That's been known to happen. I have built an impenetrable outer layer to protect me from the fungi of this world. (You KNOW you know someone who fits this description). It protects me from pain, betrayal, embarrassment, loss, and just plain making a stupid fool of myself, which happens more than I care to admit. It is this very shell that has allowed me to make it this far intact. A little beat up, but still smiling.

I have often thought of these attributes of mine as something to be ashamed of, something that I needed to work on to become my best self.  But as I listened to our tour guide delve into the details of this unassuming little tree, I could hear a sense of wonder and pride in her voice at what it was capable of and what it must have seen and endured during its lifetime  And I thought "Yea. She's right"! So, here's to being proud of who I am and making the most of the God-given attributes I came with.

What Memorial Day Means to Me

A couple of months back, a young friend of mine asked me to answer a question for one of her school projects. The question was "What does the American Dream mean to you"? As I struggled to fully answer her question, I remembered a quote from the revolutionary patriot Thomas Paine that has always struck me as very profound. It was affecting to me as a college student when I first heard it, and it carries increasingly more weight with continued life experience. In trying to incite the common man to take up the cross of liberty and defiance against the English before the Revolutionary War, he said "What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. It is dearness only that gives everything it's value. Heaven knows how to put a proper price upon it's goods; and it would be strange indeed if such a celestial article of freedom should not be highly rated". Think about that for a moment. What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly. If it doesn't come at a cost, we don't truly appreciate it's value....and, if anything deserves to be valued, it is freedom.

You had better believe that my freedom is valuable to me. I PAID for that freedom. I paid for my freedom with the most valuable possession I had, my best friend and father of my child.  I paid for my freedom with tears. There were the tears that fell as I watched my husband kiss our baby, quickly hug me, and then load onto a bus, headed for a country that I couldn't even imagine if I tried. Those tears awakened in me a sense of longing. There were the tears that fell as I sat across from two men in army uniform, as they informed me that he was never coming home. Those tears numbed me to the core. There were the tears that fell as I lay in bed that night, and felt the loneliness wash over me like a tidal wave so heavy that I thought I was doomed to be crushed. Those tears cut into me like a hot knife. There were the tears that fell as I sat in the shower after the funeral, tears that would not stop because it had taken a monumental feat to hold them in for an entire day. Those tears pushed me towards the very edge. There were the tears that fell as I stood hand in hand with a good friend whose husband had died with mine, as we forced ourselves to attend each and every memorial service for the soldiers from our husbands unit who died after they did. Those tears began to heal my heart. There are the tears that fall each and every time I stand to sing a patriotic song. "Oh, beautiful for heroes proved in liberating strife. Who more themselves their country loved, and mercy more than life". Those tears make me feel proud.

So, what does Memorial Day mean to me? I will tell you what it does not mean. It does not mean a carefree day off of work, a light-hearted barbecue, a killer sale on mattresses, drinking excessive amounts of alcohol, or a trip to the lake to water ski. It does mean that a whole lot of somebodies paid for my freedom, and one of those somebodies was pretty darn important.

Mom Guilt

I can't be the only one with this problem. I suffer from a sickness that eats at me everyday of my life, possibly every hour. It causes me mental, emotional, and spiritual stress. I have a horrible case of "Mom Guilt". If you are anything like me, this phrase requires no explanation. But, for those of you who happen to have all of your ducks in a row or more free time than anyone I know, I will give an explanation. "Mom Guilt" is that pit in your stomach you feel when you go through a whole day without having read one word to your child. Its the nagging feeling you get when you realize you chose to spend 30 minutes on Pinterest and therefore did not have time to dance around the living room to Disney songs with your daughter. Heck! Forget about personal time on Pinterest! Its the dilemma you face when you know you have multiple loads of laundry, an entire house to vacuum, and 3 bathrooms to get clean and your son wants you to sit still and listen to his account of the game "Boys Chase Girls" that he played during recess today. In short, "Mom Guilt"  is the feeling we get when we have chosen something, ANYTHING really, over quality time spent with our children.

I am going to be very straightforward and admit that most of the time my guilt does not come from chosing personal time and interests over my children. My guilt comes from an Obssessive Compulsive (self-diagnosed :) need to engage in homemaking activities 24/7. Making my own baby food. Cooking from scratch every night. Sticking to a very rigid daily cleaning schedule. Researching food storage techniques. I am telling you..... I have a problem. Aha! I can feel it right this very second picking away at my conscience. My children are out back playing some ridiculous game involving trolls and basketball players and instead of watching them, cheering them on, laughing at their ridiculousness, I sit on the computer and try to analyze why I am not out there playing with them. Its a vicious cycle, really.

I have tried to pinpoint the source of this guilt that we feel. I became a single mother when my first baby was very young. 5 weeks old. We spent so much quality time together that it was coming out of our ears. I never got a babysitter for her unless it was the most extenuating of circumstances. Then, every couple of months, all of a sudden I would feel this pressure building up from a complete lack of personal time. I would call my mother or mother-in-law and try to hold back the tears as I asked them if I could drop off my baby right this very instant. I think I felt like this was my chosen career, my God-given destiny, to be a mother, and that it was wrong somehow to try and get a break from it.  That if I wasn't enjoying every single second spent with my child, that something was wrong with me.

I was wrong. Dead wrong.

The blame can be placed on a lot of things. I can blame it on the idealism of Pinterest, the "putting my best foot forward" anecdotes from Mom blogs, the perceived competition I sometimes feel with other mothers about our homemaking or child rearing skills, or even quotes from my church leaders or other great women and men about the unparalleled influence that a mother has on her children. The truth is though, that I have to embrace two facts. The first is that no one has control over me and no one can influence my feelings unless I let them. I need to take charge of the way that I feel. The second is that I AM ENOUGH. As long as I am doing my best and showing love to my children, my efforts will be multiplied and magnified by Him whose sacrafice enables us all to be more than we could ever be on our own. And once in awhile my best means we just didn't find the time to intricately braid the 3 year old's hair, drop everything to read a tall stack of picture books, or make my own household cleaners. Heck, sometimes it means we didn't have time to put clothes on, brush teeth, or eat something other than Top Ramen for dinner. And do you know what? That's okay!

A New Beginning

I have had a lot of thoughts on my mind over the last little while. They have been picking at me, struggling for an outlet. I feel like I am at my best when I am expressing myself through writing. Journaling has been helpful in the past,  but I feel as if I need something with a little more
purpose. God has bestowed upon me some pretty intense lessons, lessons that inspire awe in me when I really stop to think about it. I feel like I would be selfish if I didn't experience out loud, so that others who are searching for a beacon of light in their own night of blackness can learn along with me. Thus begins this new blog: a place for me to learn as I write and others to experience along with me. Now, to decide what to write about ;)