Growing Up

I find myself wondering, when did this happen? And how did it happen? And I want to yell to the person driving the train STOP. STOP. RIGHT. NOW. But even that isn’t true because I want to see your life unfold and continue to marvel at the great gift that is you. And when I look at you, though time speeds forward, you are all the ages you’ve ever been to me. You are years and seasons and growth and pain and humility and joy. You are my tiny, tiny babes and my teenage sons in the same breath. You are every moment we’ve ever shared and this is a beautiful thing. 

Our Gifts Don't Have to Be Perfect

I've just spent a chunk of time reading some blog posts from 2011. 

My gosh, it makes me miss my own life!

 I've been walking down memory lane (as I lie in my bed) and realizing, again, how much I love what I do every day.

Today, though, my life feels 1000% times more busy than it did then.

I don't spend lazy mornings writing letters with the kids 

or admiring pirate ships in the neighborhood on morning walks in October. My boys aren't 5 anymore; they're turning 12 and will be ordained deacons next month. (Insert: What. Is. Happening?)

I'm sending my baby to kindergarten this year. She's ready and confident and happy.

I work now, for pay, something I didn't have on the plate years ago.

Life has gotten busier as the kids have gotten bigger, which seems ironic, right? I mean...they actually become more independent than they were in younger years. Shouldn't I have more time, not less?

I'm totally aware that these four hearts are growing up fast.

Just tonight, I was shutting down lights and checking locks and realizing that my boys probably have 7 more Christmases at home, including this year.

I've said it before, but I'll say it again:

I would do this thing again, in a heartbeat. Being a mother has been the greatest 

privilege of my life.

I was watching a friend's Instagram story yesterday afternoon and thinking what a beautiful childhood she and her husband are giving to their two small children (3 and 1). 

So I messaged her and told her.

I'm going to quote the conversation at this point, because I want to share something I've learned in my mothering journey. But it's actually really something I have learned over the last few years of my life--in the wake of losing my father to cancer, having my husband leave, going through a divorce, trying to pick up the pieces, accepting huge changes, beginning the journey of being a single mother, starting a job, and?

Just. trying. to. juggle. everything. 

These years have been exhausting--in basically every way. 

But honestly? 

They have also been the deepest and most beautiful years of my spiritual life to this point.

I have known intense sorrow and grief and self-criticism and pain, but I've also known shocking joy. I have felt incredible happiness and relief and hope and forgiveness and light and God's love in astounding measures. 

I love my life! And I wouldn't trade the experiences in to have my former self.

But, I digress.

So, I complimented my friend. 

And she responded: "Thank you so much for saying that, that's so kind. It's getting harder as they get older (in a different way)."

And I responded: "I think what matters is that they have your heart. And your attention. There was a time for me, a few years ago, when I had an important realization that brought a lot of peace, and it was this: My gifts were imperfect. I was imperfect. Mothering was staring me in the face and it was so much bigger than what I had anticipated. And I knew that what I had to give wouldn't always measure up. I knew I'd fall apart, become the worst version of myself sometimes, and that I wouldn't always be happy with my performance. Those days are hard. I still don't like those days. And honestly, as my kids have gotten bigger, so have the questions and challenges. But, here's the thing. I remember having this realization, though I don't remember how it happened. But one day I asked myself this question: "Do you love them with everything you have? Are they the most important thing? Do they have your whole heart?" And suddenly I felt such peace because there was no confusion there. It was an immediate, "YES! SO MUCH YES!" And it was like I realized that was enough. The spirit taught me something important

then. Despite the difficulty and challenges and questions and my obvious imperfections,

it was okay. They have my whole heart and they know that I love being their mother.

And you know what? I hope that, one day, they see Elizabeth, not just their mom. 

They see me as a person trying to figure it out, and maybe that will help them when 

they're trying to figure it out too. 

The other part is that I trust in the atonement so much more to make up the gaps where 

my trying falls short. So, I guess in the end, that's why I say I think it's all about love. 

Yours, and His. I truly trust that, and know that our gifts don't have to be perfect."

I'm sharing that because I hang my hat on those two thoughts. And because maybe it will help someone else who struggles when they feel they don't measure up, in any capacity; when they're staring down the barrel of their lives wishing they were better than they are, or that they'd done things differently, or made different choices, 

or been more (fill in the blank).

I think life becomes bigger than we anticipated, and the questions and challenges

and heartache do too. But, at least for me, that has been the price of learning and authenticity and growth and JOY.

Our lives are My life is messy and gloriously imperfect and I've come to love it that way.

I'm so glad I get to make mistakes and learn! 

And so thankful for beauty and grace and joy.

And I absolutely trust God's love for me and for you as we're figuring things out.

11

They turned 11, and the day was much like the Monday afternoon of the day they were born.

I remember laying there, pushing those boys out of my body, and noticing the bright blue sky outside and the sunshine.

It was a beautiful day.

Funny what you remember. 

We had friends show up at 7:45 this morning with donuts, a sweet and lovely surprise for the boys.

I was already cooking sausage and planning to make scrambled eggs, but it turned out they ate donuts and sausage instead.
(Healthy.)

When we dropped them off at school, Claire and I ran errands and then came home to do party prep:

making chocolate cake (scratch chocolate cake with scratch peanut butter frosting and crumbled peanut butter cups)

and filling favor bags.

Then it was time to make the relay lists for the party. I split the boys into two teams and explained what they had to do: an act of service, 50 jumping jacks, a round of pictionary, a round of tricks on the trampoline, an egg/spoon relay down the backyard, 2 times around the block, and a scavenger hunt for 4 things. The winning team got full-size candy bars.

They nailed it, it was entertaining, and it kept things from getting too crazy. (You've got to harness the energy of all those tween boys!)

After the party was over, a lazy couple of glorious hours ensued. My sister and I talked on the deck. After she left, I sent friends home and made tacos and we took some pictures and then sat down to eat.

And then we gathered round for a new tradition: drawing words for the birthday peeps from the "oracle" box one of my sisters gave to me on my birthday this year, and writing wishes for the birthday peeps for the coming year. 

I choked up with one of Claire's simple messages:

Dear Isaiah, On your birthday I want to tell you that I love you always. Love, Claire

Mia wished that Benji would get a lego set that would end up being one of his all-time favorites and that Isaiah would make a meaningful friend.

Isaiah capitalized on a family joke when he wished Benji a bowl of salad.

And me? I offered a wish about Benj not letting fear hold him back, and I choked up when I read it out loud. (Isn't that one of those life lessons that most of us have to learn again and again?) And for Isaiah? That he'd make a delectable cake and get some new cologne, among other things.

And tonight, after the sound effects of a "fart in a can" gift Benji got had died down (You should have seen the laughter and fart imitations going down among all those boys while we were eating cake and ice cream and opening presents on the back lawn. I couldn't help it. I could. not. restrain. my laughter.), they read in their beds and then made me laugh with a rendition of "Do Your Ears Hang Low" that references the male anatomy as taught to them by a friend. 
(Insert: "Do your balls hang low?")

Oh. my. word.

And due to party prep, I didn't get to work today. The result? I worked late and looked up from my screen periodically at the three of them that fell asleep in my room. 

And you know what?

Tonight I’m feeling very aware of something as I look at each of them; their lengthening bodies, their peaceful faces, the noise of the day now quiet and still. 

It's that gentle, beautiful ache that reminds me they’ll be gone before I know it.

They have been--and are--the greatest privilege of my life.

On Name Calling and Expletives

On Saturday night, the kids got home and we read a lot from 

To Kill A Mockingbird. 

(We were in the heat of the trial and it was getting intense.)

When I stopped reading, we were all clustered at the bottom of the stairs talking.

And I don't know what I was doing, but at one point, Isaiah said,

"Mom, are you hearing this? Did you hear what Claire just said?!"

I looked at him quizzically. No, I hadn't heard.

"She just called Benji a butthole."

Special.

From my cute, sweet, hilarious 4-year-old.

A few minutes later, she was laying back in my arms on my lap as we were all still sitting there and I looked down and said quietly,

"Claire, don't say butthole."

And she said, 

"Okay."

It's a term she's no doubt heard from her brothers---so I told them, again, that I don't want them using that word.

(I've always hated that word.)

I told them it was gross and beneath them.

But since we're talking about telling kids not to say stuff, let's talk about that one time last week when I was telling my boys not to swear. I was standing there in the kitchen, and as the words were coming out of my mouth, I realized what a joke it was because I've become quite fond of saying hell. Awesome.

(#motherhoodforthewin)

TBT

I looked back in Picasa tonight at photos from a year ago today.

These.

I remember exactly what was going on.

It was after dinner.

Music was on.

I was chasing her round and round the front room.

She was running and laughing.

You know, as a parent, you could talk about a lot of things.

It's exhausting, and there's always more to do than can be done.

It can be so totally emotionally draining.

You lose sleep.

Sometimes you don't know what to do. 

No one prepared you for the ways it would stretch you,

the way it would bring out the best and the worst you have to offer.

But, you know what?  

I look at these photos of my smallest daughter tonight, and my heart kind of weeps.

Weeps, because the time is going.

But weeps because there has been SO MUCH JOY.

They are joy.

They are my best teachers.

I can't think of a single thing I wish I would have done instead, or a single place I would rather be.

I can't think of one other thing I'd rather do.

What an incredible ride.

At Day's Close

See those two squares of blanket out there in my darkening yard?

They were my patches of hope tonight.

Sometimes I'm amazed how, all in one day, I can feel deflated by discouragement and frustration, be crying and quiet and a poor excuse for company, and then come back again.

It happened today.

I was feeling down about my life.

Feeling like I'm failing at motherhood, and mothering, and nurturing, and the whole deal.

Full of doubt about the future.

(That one happens a lot, and I have to fight it off pretty vigorously.)  

I felt completely exhausted, on an absolute emotional empty.

We went out for an outing and I was upset and quiet and discouraged.

But then, miraculously, things flipped around.

When we got home, something switched.

My patience was recharged.

I gave my gal some doritos.  

I showered the pool off of me and set to making dinner.

I cut up cold melons that were sweet and juicy and mixed them with grapes.

I sliced and spiced chicken and started it cooking.

I picked warm tomatoes from the garden and chopped them up, mixing them with greens and cucs and purple onion and avocado and feta. 

My boys got themselves bathed and I went down the stairs to pick up my screaming, exhausted baby, wet from the bath.

I toweled her off, got her diaper and jams on, and brought her upstairs.

Served up dinner to everyone, and then loved watching Claire go at her food.

My favorite part?  

She told me, "Mom, I love salad."

And then I watched her sift through it, looking for all the bits of feta cheese.

I told her I love feta cheese.

Her response?

"I love it, too."

And just when it was one of those days when it felt like God is distant, I took that little babe downstairs to my bed.

I attempted not nursing her tonight because I'm finally coming around to the idea that it may be about that time.

(Makes me mama heart ache.  Like, super ache.)

I snuggled her in to my body, put her bink in her mouth, snuggled the fuzzy, soft part of her blanket all around her, and started to sing, rubbing her forehead with my fingers.

We made it through "Twinkle," and then "I Am A Child of God," and came around to "I Feel My Savior's Love."

My voice caught in my throat, and peace came in to my heart.

Not that things are fixed or the way ahead is suddenly clear and bright, but peace.  

I felt it again, and it soothed this weary heart.

(And, unrelated, but I just have to say it.  I know she's mine, but I look at this photo and wonder if God ever made a more beautiful baby.  For real.)

That was followed by an exchange with one of my sons that also followed the same pattern: frustration to peace, to communicating, to being able to tell him that I love him.

From a flustered, fast, quick exchange, to one with tears and closeness and actual talking.  It was a gift for me.  I sat there feeling like this is what it's about -- the struggle, up close flaws, acknowledgement, apologizing, trying to be there for each other in all the ways that we are so imperfect.

We ended up out on those blankets, that same son snuggled in next to me for the duration of our reading, an exciting bit where two kids are off on an Arctic adventure, lost in a blizzard while skating on a lake.

Hard to imagine when we are barefoot in the backyard, short sleeved, blankets and pillows, enjoying what couldn't be a more comfortable summer night.

The sky had soft, wispy clouds, and as I read, they changed from pale pink to something deep and vibrant before vanishing into the darkening sky.

We said prayer on those blankets and then I tucked them in.

So often I feel so out of steam by the end of the day that I don't feel I'm I'm not very meaningful in my goodnight, don't feel a lot of love in that process.  (It's more like---just please get in bed and be quiet and stay there. #truth)

But tonight?

I kissed their heads, and it wasn't rushed for me.  It was quiet and purposeful inside.

And I returned to my still-dirty kitchen and began cleaning while listening to some quiet Patty Griffin in the background.

These people and this life stretch me.  

I don't often know the way or the why or the how.

But loving and trying make sense.

I'm trying, and you, wherever and whoever you are, you're trying.

That's a beautiful thing, and sometimes the only honest thing we have to offer.

Some Days Are Like That

Remember that line at the very end of Alexander and The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day?

Alexander finishes the book by saying: "My mom says some days are like that.  Even in Australia."

Ringing a bell?

Well.

Let me tell you about last night.

It was late. I had an energy crash after supper and laid down on the couch for about 30.

It was while laying there that I decided I was going to clean up my kitchen and then mow the lawn and get that out of the way before projected rainstorms for today.

While I was mowing, I was watching the girls riding their bikes up and down the driveway.  The boys were in and out, goofing around.  It was really breezy out.  The sky was littered with clouds, occasional blue peeking in and mixing with yellows and reds as dusk came on.  I watched the way that feathery light kissed the mountains on the east side of the valley.

On one particular pass with the mower, I found myself thinking about how lucky I am, how lucky I feel inside.

Filled me right up, to the very tip top, with gratitude.

But it got better.

I came in and showered, changed the Little Miss and got her ready for bed, and nursed her to sleep.

It was after 10:00 when I told the older kids to grab their pillows and blankets.

We went outside, spread big blankets on the deck, and lay down under blankets and on pillows.  I scooped them up chocolate and vanilla ice cream and stuck an Oreo in the top.  They ate ice cream while I read, with light coming out from the kitchen windows.  It was super windy, and the huge trees in the backyard were delightful to listen to, the loud rustling a continuous backdrop.  Gorgeous, really.

After reading, we burrowed under the blankets, pushed our heads together, and proceeded to take family selfie after family selfie, completely cracking ourselves up.  I started to sing them silly camp songs and more laughter ensued.  After that, we just laid there in the dark for a few minutes, talking and looking at the sky, trying to find stars behind that blanket of clouds.

It was perfect.

And I felt like pinching myself.  Even now, I still do.

Some days are like that, but in such a good way.

My Favorite Thing

Last night I was cleaning up after I got the kids in bed.

Pulled out birthday streamers again and taped them up.

Loaded the dishwasher.

Picked up in the front room and the schoolroom.  

I had music playing, the tree lights on, the mantle lit with candles.

The lights were on low in the kitchen and it was peaceful.

My gal came upstairs to tell me something, and then she said, "Mom, I was lying there wondering what it will be like when I am a mother."

Without hesitating, I said, 

"It's the coolest."

And then, 

"It's my favorite thing in 

the whole world."

Because, it really is.

Watching these babies of mine grow up has been my greatest privilege.

Side by side

I was all set to do lots of posts last week and then I got sick.

Like couldn't get out of bed sick on Wednesday.

And then, the holidays...

My apologies.

It's sunny and crisp out, and my backyard looks like we didn't spend hours out there on Friday raking and cleaning up.  (Cheers to a tree that doesn't drop its leaves until super late in the year.)

But today, I want to come to this.

One of my new favorite photos.

There is so much love here.

It captures the love I have for this little girl.
And really, for all my kids.
In so much sorrow, she has been sunshine.
She is funny, kind, spunky, insistent, sweet.

I also feel like it captures, perfectly, the absolute contentment I find in mothering, the sheer joy that it brings me.

And I just recently realized that I have a photo similar to this with my other little gal when she was a baby, one that has been in several previous posts cuz it's a favorite.

I love looking at these, side by side, turning back time.

My, how it's flying.

Just Another Thursday

This morning, I woke up thinking about iced raspberry pastries.

Mmm hmm.
(Because, why isn't this a good thought?)

I lay there, thinking about it for a while, how I would make them.

Individual pastries, like a danish?

I carried these thoughts in with me to the bathroom as I wondered whether it would be better as raspberry swirl bread?

And then, back in my bed, I settled on making mini sweet rolls, of sorts.

Gonna have to try that.

When I couldn't go back to sleep (Claire woke me up before 6:00 to nurse), I eventually turned my lamp on and read for a luxurious 45 minutes or so.  Claire kept coming in from being with the older kids -- she'd climb up on the bed, snuggle in, bargain with me to nurse again, or just sit and lean against me.  At one point, I sat there and stopped reading to watch her and I stroked her hair and face.  She sat there, quiet, leaning into my hand.  

It was beautiful.

Eventually, she got Goodnight Moon and we read it through together, followed by We're Going on a Bear Hunt -- just the two of us, in my bed.

Decided it was time to get up.

We padded upstairs.  The light streams in through all the windows upstairs in the morning, and it's a glorious thing.

I walked outside, and cold air hit my nose.  Looked at the leaves in the morning sunlight.

I found the older three busy in imaginative play.

They'd built a castle with blocks, and Mia was playing with her figurines inside of it. 

Isaiah and Benj had built new lego deals -- and Benj was wielding a sword like a madman, how he often does.  

I walked through the house, opening curtains, and feeling happy from watching them.

I made breakfast and read scriptures to them while they ate (it's often what we do).  

When I came to the term harlot, a lengthy discussion ensued.

We have discussed sex, openly, before, but we had a pretty explicit, direct, and simple explanation about it this morning. 

(I believe in speaking honestly and openly about stuff like this -- no spoon feeding, here.)

My favorite was Benji's immediate response, which cracks me up.  

I hope it gives you a laugh, too.

"Wait.  You guys did THAT??!!!"

Isaiah's face was a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and somewhere along the lines of disturbing.  

Their responses kind of cracked me up, but we talked about how it is sacred and beautiful and not something we talk about lightly or with friends or in jest.

Then, as we continued on with our reading after that diversion, we came to the part in 1 Nephi 13 where it talks about the plain and precious truths being removed from the Bible and how the Gentiles stumbled because of it.  When I asked why they were stumbling, I loved Isaiah's simple response:

"Because the scriptures got all messed up."

We talked about the beautiful promise of latter-day records, how precious truth would come again to the earth, and how all these records would teach the same thing: the reality of a Savior and Redeemer of the world.  

So super cool.

And awesome.

And beautiful.

We read stories (a good Zen tale, philosophizing on how to live in the present and focus on those you are with, and a nursery rhyme book for Claire).  Claire suddenly loves to be read to, too, and it makes me super happy to have a chum on my lap again.

Journal writing began and we had music on -- Alison Krauss and Union Station playing "Bright Sunny South," and I strutted around like a chicken.

Isaiah buried his face in embarrassment of his ridiculous mother.

Mia laughed.

Claire loved it, standing by the fireplace and grinning ear to ear.

As for the rest of the day?

I've declared it a fast-from-social-media day today, and vowed I will not open up Facebook or Instagram on my phone.  Not once.  So far so good, and fingers crossed.

Going to finish up school with the kids.

Need to call a local nursing home to find out if there are folks that never get visited that the kids and I could go visit (as a follow-up to our FHE discussion this week).

Pay bills.

Take a shower.

(I'm smiling here, because just as I wrote this, I could hear my dad's response to that in my head.  Sometimes, if you'd say that, he'd reply in kind of a funny voice and say, "Yes, thank you."  And I'll respond, now, by saying, "Mmm hmm.  Thanks, Dad.  Sure appreciate your affirming that I smell of sleep.")

Put all the laundry away in my room and make my bed.

Have the kids follow suit -- fold their laundry and clean their rooms.

And I'm headed to dinner tonight at my childhood home.

Getting to know the folks who bought it is a pleasure.

It's just another Thursday.