All in a Day's Work

The other day I overheard Abby using her toy cell phone to conduct a very serious conversation. Abby asked Malificent (you know, arch-enemy of Sleeping Beauty) not to cast a spell on her baby. Of course, Malificent agreed. I smiled and thought about how Abby fills her days--caring for her baby dolls, cooking up play-doh concoctions, reading books, playing with her doctor's kit, and battling the powers of darkness. All in a day's work for my sweet, imaginative little girl.

I was startled by my next thought: Abby does the same things I do. Caring for babies. Cooking. Doctoring owies and illnesses. Reading to my sweet little ones. Battling the powers of darkness by filling the world with love one child at a time. All in a day's work for a mom.

Of Carrots and Christmas

It was just a routine household task--peeling and chopping carrots for our dinner. Jake was watching. "Why do you chop the ends off?" he asked.

"Because they don't taste good."

"Have you ever tasted them?"

"No."

"Then why do you do that?"

"Because when I was little Grandpa Fred taught me to chop the ends off carrots when I peel them."

Whoa, I thought. I've been peeling and cutting carrots this way my whole life because it's what my dad taught me to do. Now I'm a parent. What things am I teaching or not teaching my children that will affect them for the rest of their lives? Boy am I in trouble. 

How often do I inadequately teach or fail to teach or inadvertently teach the wrong thing? The mind reels with the possibilities.

A few days later I was helping Jake get ready for bed. I picked up a copy of Santa Claus Is Coming to Town that he had borrowed from the library.

"I don't want a Christmas book about Santa," Jake said. "I want a Christmas book about Jesus. Christmas is really about Jesus and how He came to be our Savior."

Whoa. Did I teach him that?

How many times do I miss the mark in teaching my kids? More than I can count. But there are some things--really one thing--that is more important than anything else. If I can teach them to treasure Jesus Christ and His gospel, everything else is going to be OK.

O Come Let Us Adore Him

We will be spending Christmas Eve morning this year cooking and serving breakfast at the local Ronald McDonald House. Early in the year I was praying about how to help one of our kids, and I felt that we needed to provide them more service opportunities. We did a bit of research and felt good about the Ronald McDonald House.

For those who aren't aware, Ronald McDonald Houses are built around the world to serve families of sick kids who are staying in nearby hospitals. They provide a temporary group home for these families who are enduring medical trauma. After our little road trip to San Francisco a few years ago, we have a lot of compassion for people in these circumstances. We were incredibly blessed that during my cancer adventure Cameron's parents came to San Francisco to care for us and help with Jake, and Cameron's Aunt Kim and Uncle Craig provided a place for us to stay, love, and warm meals when we weren't in the hospital. We will always love all of them for the way they jumped to care for us.

The first time we made breakfast at the Ronald McDonald House I struck up a conversation with a young mother from Idaho. I asked about her baby, and the woman told me the baby was four months old and had cancer in her eye. They were going to the doctor that day to find out whether she would need to have her whole eye removed.

What would it be like to be told that your beautiful baby daughter has cancer and might need to lose an eye?

I told her my story and indicated which of my eyes is a prosthesis. She commented that she felt a lot better after seeing my eye and talking to me. I hope that she went to their doctor's appointments that day with a bit more hope.

The Babe born in Bethlehem so long ago whose birth we celebrate each year with gifts and carols lives today and guides our lives.

He sent dozens of people to my rescue during my cancer ordeal.

And He sent me to a local Ronald McDonald House this year to comfort a young mother whose baby had cancer, too.

O, come let us adore Him.

Like Him

It all began on the first Father's Day after Jake was born. I got Jake a red bow tie to match the tie Cameron had from our wedding. I thought my boys were so handsome that day.

That was the first of many times through the years that they have dressed alike. They seem to both like it. A few weeks ago when Jake wanted to dress like Cameron for church we paused for a photo.

Then the girls wanted to join the fun.

As I looked at these beautiful people I love so much, something tugged at my heart strings. How many more years will Jake want to dress like Cameron? How many more years will Abby talk about how she's going to marry Daddy? How many more years will Grace feel seriously snubbed if Cameron forgets to give her a kiss whenever he comes home or leaves to go somewhere? How many more years will they want to be with us and like us?

Of course, in the end we hope they don't grow up to be like us at all but like Christ. We hope that as we work and strive and learn ways to use the Atonement and grow more like Him, our children will follow suit. We hope that the more Cameron and I try to be like Jesus, the more our children will feel His love reflected through us. We hope that we can lead them to Him. Hopefully in the end they won't want to look like us or be like us at all. They'll want to be like Him.

Personal Cheer Squad

Jake and Abby have been performing various tasks around the house the past few weeks to earn money for Christmas presents. (It's going to be a rough break in January when Mom and Dad are no longer shelling out the change every time they sweep, help cook, or tend Grace.) Jake had agreed to vacuum the basement, but he was running out of steam.

"I want you to help me!" he whined.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked. It seemed obvious that if I did it for him, he wouldn't get the money. Jokingly I continued, "Should I cheer for you?" I put on my most dramatic cheer moves (be grateful you weren't there to witness this) and shouted, "Go Jacob! Go Jacob! Go Jacob! Go!"

Much to my surprise, he agreed. "Sit on the couch and cheer," he instructed.

I did, and I've never seen such zealous vacuuming.

But then again, who wouldn't want a cheering section?

Mom is awesome, Mom is cool! Watch her use those cleaning tools!

Go, Mom, go! Iron those clothes!

Hip hip hooray! Pancakes today!

Watch out dust and watch out crumbs! Watch out dirt 'cause here she comes!

Our Mom rocks! She washes all our socks!

Maybe I'll add "Mom's personal cheer squad" to the kids' Christmas fundraising options. I better go buy some pom poms.

Letting Go

Recently I took Jake to take a test for advanced learning placement in school. It was a decision Cameron and I had debated and ultimately left in Jake's hands, and he elected to take the test. So one afternoon (the day after Jake had the flu) we sprinted across town in rush-hour traffic for day one of a three-day testing process. We met Cameron there and he went with Jake while I took the girls home.

I was surprised by the flood of emotions I felt as I walked away holding Abby's hand on one side and balancing Grace on my other hip. Jake has always been very intelligent--at times I have wondered if I have the capacity to provide the right opportunities to sufficiently challenge his growth. I felt a calm confidence that Jake was prepared and I had done what I could as a mother to prepare him. I could walk away, let go, and trust his abilities.

Then my mind sprinted forward through the decades. He will graduate from high school, serve a mission, go to college, marry, start a family. In each instance I will need to take another step back, trust his innate goodness and abilities, and let go. I will hope and pray for his success.

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. 

  It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking 

around outside your body,"--Elizabeth Stone

Motherhood is a paradoxical journey. It is loving your children so deeply and fiercely and sacrificing yourself to teach and prepare them. Then it is releasing them, letting them go, hoping you've given them the right tools, trusting, and standing back to watch them fly.

Two days later Cameron and Jake left early on a Saturday morning for the final day of testing. Five minutes later the phone rang; Jake was calling because he hadn't given me and the girls hugs and kisses before leaving. He blew a kiss into the phone for me. I silently cried. One day my boy will grow up and move away. Thank goodness for now he's still mine to hold.

Seven Years

Seven years ago today I awoke early. Cameron called me while I was driving to my hair appointment--somewhere around 6:45am. He joked that he had always been an early riser. We still laugh about it because we both know he actually isn't a morning person at all--we were both just so excited to be getting married that day.

He picked me up from my hair appointment and we drove to the temple talking giddily about how happy we were and what a perfect day it was. It was the beginning of many incredibly wonderful days and a few miserable ones. Through pregnancies, sleepless nights, juggling little people's needs, temper tantrums, sick kids, cancer trauma, and ocular dismemberment, he has been incredibly steady, selfless, and faithful. Thank goodness I found him. Seven years later I still think I am one lucky wife!

Cocoons

Since my cancer, I find myself even more drawn to scriptural accounts of Christ's healing power.

Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.

I picture myself at the feet of the Savior. He would heal my eye. I close my eyes and try to remember what it was like to see out of both eyes. I'm starting to forget.

And it came to pass that when he had thus spoken, all the multitude, with one accord, did go forth with their sick and their afflicted, and their lame, and with their blind, and with their dumb, and with all them that were afflicted in any manner; and he did heal them every one as they were brought forth unto him.

 And they did all, both they who had been healed and they who were whole, bow down at his feet, and did worship him; and as many as could come for the multitude did kiss his feet, insomuch that they did bathe his feet with their tears.

Recently when I saw a depiction of Christ's marvelous healing recorded in the Book of Mormon in 3 Nephi 17, I was struck with a new thought: If Christ were here to heal me now, what growing experiences would I miss? How would my eternal progression be stunted? What would I not become?

And then I thought of butterflies and cocoons. Butterflies must struggle and work to emerge from their cocoons. But if that struggle is cut prematurely short, their wings don't have the strength to fly. They are forever stunted.

The Lord gives each of us cocoons to struggle against. One of mine is living with one eye. Like Paul, we may sometimes wish to be healed of our "thorn in the flesh". But if His perfect wisdom was overcome by His mercy and He cut our struggles prematurely short, our growth would be forever stunted. We wouldn't become what He made us to be.

Photos courtesy of Wikipedia commons

Little Bedlamites

“So if you are trying to do the best you can—if, for example, 

you keep trying to hold family home evening in spite of the 

bedlam that sometimes reigns in a houseful of little 

bedlamites—then give yourself high marks”

--Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Sometimes as I wade through the cacauphony and chaos that characterize life with a young family, I remember Elder Holland's quote. "Little bedlamites. I am surrounded by little bedlamites," I think to myself. Then one day the title to this poem popped into my head, and I had to write a poem to match :) 

Good Night Sleep Tight Little Bedlamite

                   The darkness comes so slowly on evenings such as this,

           When I am all too eager to bestow a goodnight kiss

           And move on with my evening, put up my feet and read,

           Forget my frantic, daytime, care-for-kids-each-moment speed.

           I hit the couch and heave a sigh, I’m starting to unwind
            When from the doorway down the hall my children start to whine:
           “I need a drink! I’m thirsty!” I hear their voices call.

           I fill a cup, deliver it, then head back down the hall.

           Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

           I glance into the kitchen, with dishes everywhere.

           Why clean them up tonight? I don’t have energy to spare.

           Tomorrow will come soon enough, right now it’s time for me.

           I get a snack and sit back down, then hear another plea.

          “I need to use the bathroom!” my little one insists.

           She meant to make the potty—it's too bad for me she missed.

            It’s just another clean-up job to top a lovely day.

           I send her back to bed and hope that this time she will stay.

           Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

           I find a cozy spot and settle in to rest once more

           (With just a little effort I ignore my spotted floor).

           “This is my time,” from way deep down I feel like I could scream.

          My kids don’t think that they should drift off to the land of dreams.

          “I think I see the big bad wolf! He’s underneath my bed.

           “I’m pretty sure the dark spot that I see there is his head.”

            In no time flat I show them that the dark spot is a shirt.

           “I think you’re safe. Just go to sleep. You’re not going to get hurt.”

            Sweet dreams, don’t let the bed bugs bite.

           Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.

            Just one more time I dare to put my feet up and relax.

            I wearily lean down to pick a book up from my stack.

            The words start to go blurry and my head begins to bob.

            I’m dreaming of my little energetic, sleepless mob.

            They might peek out to check on me, but I will never know.

            I’m out too cold to answer one more urgent bedtime woe.

            Tomorrow I’ll be wise and feign fatigue at 7:10;

            They’ll go to sleep and I will have some time for me again.

            Sweet dreams, don’t let the bedbugs bite.

            Good night, sleep tight little bedlamite.