Making It All Better

Sometimes as mothers we desperately wish we could make everything all better for our kids, don't we? We want to provide them a nice, smooth path with no bumps, weeds, or bruises. And when something goes wrong, we want to do anything we can to fix it. I had one of those moments recently. Grace's finger had been caught in the screen door, and I could immediately tell from her cry that something was both different and wrong. I rocked her in our rocking chair, prayed, sang, kissed her finger over and over, and did everything I could think of to soothe her. And I thought about how life will present her with oh so many owies through the years that I will be powerless to heal.

I also thought of a day last summer when a sweet, well-meaning woman at church inquired after my health. Referencing my cancer, she looked carefully at my eyes and noted how similar they are even though one is plastic. "You would never know the difference, would you?" she asked. I wanted to tell her that I can tell a difference every time I look in the mirror, but I am slowly learning to bite my tongue. For a while afterwards the comment grated on me, and I finally realized why. So often people want to tell me that my eyes look exactly the same, and to me the message is, "Isn't this great? You had cancer and lost an eye but nothing has changed. Everything is all better now." They want to make my cancer all better. But I don't want them to. My cancer changed me forever, and I wouldn't want it any other way.

Because of my cancer I am much more personally acquainted with sudden, acute trauma. I know what it feels like to be told I have a life-threatening illness. I know what it is to worry if I will live to raise my children or wonder if it is safe to have more. I know what it feels like to look different, to have people stare and point. I know what it feels like to be afraid to go out in public and have people treat me like I’m handicapped. I know how awkward it feels to run into old friends who are afraid to talk about why I’m wearing an eye patch. I know how incredibly alone you can feel after a major loss when people don’t know what to say or do so they don’t say or do anything at all.

Now I know what all of these things feel like. And I hope I know in some small way how to better love and reach others who are hurting. I don't want anyone to make my cancer all better. That healing ultimately lies in the hands of my Savior, and He does an amazing job of providing the experiences I need to heal spiritually and emotionally from the trauma of my cancer.

In the same way, as much as I want to protect my kids and make everything all better, that really isn't my job. Its His. My job is to lead them to Him, let them feel His love, and know that in the end, no matter how many thorns and weeds are on the path, Jesus Christ will make it all better.

Learn to Love

Grace had just awoken from her nap, and she's not the type of toddler who always wakens with a smile and lots of energy to face her next adventure. She came out to the living room with a scowl and climbed up onto my lap. I just snuggled and talked to her for a while. And I thought, "I have the opportunity to teach my children how to love."

Teaching anyone how to love is sacred ground. And it's something our world is desperately in need of. Headlines, bumper stickers, billboards, and tee shirts everywhere are full of rude, arrogant statements or discouraging news. Has our world forgotten how to extend mercy, compassion, forgiveness, love, and respect? Have we forgotten how to give the benefit of the doubt, assume the best of someone, and remember that we are all stumbling through this life the best we can? Sometimes it seems we have. We live in a world obsessed with serving and fighting for number one at all costs.

But motherhood? Ahhh, God made mothers with a few goals in mind, and one of those goals is to teach women how to love unconditionally, when it's not convenient, when it requires great sacrifice--to give their lives for others. And if mothers can learn these lessons, they can inherently instill them in their children one smile, one hug, one teaching moment at a time.

Truthfully, I often feel woefully inadequate in this role. Do I respond to my kids with enough gentleness and patience? Do I hug them enough, look in their precious little faces, and fill them with the love that overflows for them in my heart? Such are the questions that fill the heart of any deliberate mother.

No mother is perfect. But when Grace wakes up from her nap with a scowl I can cuddle her and fill her with love. When Abby comes to me with an owie I can hug and kiss her. And when Jake has a tad more little-boy exuberance than is really in order at any given moment, I can remember that a little encouragement goes a long way.

I love my children with all of my soul. They are God's gift to me. And mine is the privilege to fill the world with love one beautiful, sweet child at a time.

What Kids Say

I was trying to put the girls down for a nap, and Jake kept interrupting me.

"Can I put dirt in this Cinderella cup?"

I wasn't sure the girls would want their princess cups used for one of Jake's mud-making adventures, so I helped him find an old juice container instead.

Minutes later I heard the door again, and Jake came into the girls' room. (The girls really appreciated these interruptions. I did not.)

"Mom, do you know where some ribbon is?"

"No."

Not long after I heard the door again, and both girls sat up in bed. Jake appeared in the doorway, and I cut him off before he spoke.

"Can you please leave me alone for a few minutes? I'll be out in a little while." He left, and I felt a little bad. I should have just listened to him and answered whatever question he had. It wouldn't have taken too long, I thought. 

So when he reappeared in the doorway a minute later I bit my tongue. And he showed me this bouquet he had made for me.

It is tender being the obvious object of your child's deepest affections. He left the room, and I sat thinking about the things kids say.

Sometimes I feel grumpy that no one thanks me for cleaning the bathrooms, doing the laundry, mopping the floor, doing the dishes, or making an endless parade of good, healthy meals. Sometimes I get tired of hearing, "Why are we having that for dinner?" or "I need heeeeelp!"

But when Jake makes me such a sweet bouquet he is really saying-

• Thank you for not coming unglued when I hammer on the kitchen table. 
• Thank you for not losing it when my friends and I track mud all over your freshly-cleaned floor.
• Thank you for not complaining when our basement looks like a Lego-covered minefield.
• Thank you for letting me spill dried barley all over the kitchen floor when I play "excavator".
• Thank you for letting me tear the living room apart day after day when I make blanket forts.

When Abby comes in with a huge smile and a handful of dandelions that she announces she is going to put in my "love-note box", she is really saying-

• Thank you for taking me to story time and helping me find fun books to read.
• Thank you for walking with me to the park and pushing me on the swings.
• Thank you for not complaining when I accidentally smear mud on the doors, walls, and counters.
• Thank you for praying with me when I am scared at night.
• Thank you for letting me splash water all over the bathroom every time I take a tub.

When I come home and Grace grins and shrieks, "Mommy!", she is really saying-

• Thank you for taking care of me at night.
• Thank you for picking me up when I cry.
• Thank you for helping me pet the neighbor's dog.
• Thank you for helping me with my dolls.
• Thank you for playing with me.

Sometimes I wish my kids would thank me more. Really, my kids say "thank you" and "I love you" all the time. I just have to notice how they say it. 

Childhood Games and the Afterlife

Just before bed Cameron had humored the kids in a little round of hide-and-seek. It was fun to watch them all running around the house searching for hiding spots.

A short while later I was tucking Jake in bed, and he had some questions for me.

Jake: Can Jesus see us right now?

Me: Yes.

Jake: Can Jesus see through walls?

Me: Yes.

Jake: When we're resurrected will we be able to see through walls?

Me: Yes.

Jake: We're not going to be able to play very good hide-and-seek when we're resurrected.

Our Little General Conference Challenge

Some of you may remember at the end of President Monson's welcome remarks during April's Saturday morning conference session when he asked members to contribute to the missionary fund as they are able. At that moment little bells started ringing in my head, and I began brainstorming ways to use this as a teaching opportunity for our kids.

Cameron and I chatted a bit, then we brought it up with our kids. The kids set a goal to earn $100 by doing extra jobs around the house and yard. (No shortage of help needed these days with a pregnant mom, a dad in school, and dandelions making a strong comeback in our front yard.) When they reach their goal we'll all go out to a nice (read: not Arctic Circle or Ikea) dinner. And we'll match their contribution at some generous percentage and then send in our family's donation. We told the kids that we would be paying a little more generously for jobs than usual since it was for such a good cause.

We made a little chart, and they get to put on a sticker every time they earn a dollar. I have to say I've been thrilled with their response so far. Some mornings they come and ask me what jobs they can do to earn more stickers. I don't know about you, but this actually is not how my kids usually wake up. Sometimes I debate about whether now is the time to introduce them to basics of cleaning or emphasize excellence in housekeeping when they leave big streaks on the windows or spots on other surfaces. (Admittedly, excellence in housekeeping isn't my strength these days, and they're pretty young, so I'm pretty soft here.) Now is also a great time for "green cleaning"--if they sample vinegar solution or baking soda, that's OK. I try to keep the harsher chemicals pushed to the back of my cupboards. But vinegar and baking soda can go a long ways, particularly if you're a die-hard non-perfectionist like myself (or if you're surrounded by kids looking for something new to clean every day).

Grace decided to follow her siblings' good examples and shampoo our toilet

Window streaks and supervision aside, I am loving watching my kids so excited to work and contribute every penny to missionaries around the world who need a little financial help. Frankly, I can see only one downside: at this rate they're going to fill that chart waaaaaay before this baby is born. And I could really use the extra help a little bit longer.

Our Irresponsible Rocking Chair

Abby was rocking in the rocking chair.

Grace started to cry, and I turned to see that Abby had just run into Grace.

Me: Abby, you need to fix things with Grace.

Abby: (crouching down on Grace's level) Grace, I'm sorry the rocking chair didn't see you.

Wow. What were we thinking buying such an irresponsible rocking chair?

Luxury Bathrooms and Life Lessons

We recently finished re-doing our master bathroom. Last summer Cameron found some water damage and gutted the whole room. I should have taken some pictures, but if you can just imagine a room without a floor and with only some of the walls left intact, you'll pretty much have it. The last several months we talked to plumbers and shopped for fixtures and parts. And boy is it nice to have a bathroom again.

We got a luxury two-person tub on clearance.

And we finally have the dual shower heads we've always wanted.

Of course, pregnancies spent working on home renovation projects remind me of June 4, 2009, when Cameron spent the evening hammering baseboards into the playroom we were building. We were so excited for our second baby, who was due the next month, and we couldn't wait to watch our kids play together. The next day I walked into a doctor's office and was diagnosed with cancer. Quite suddenly finishing the playroom didn't matter. Purchasing the last couple baby items didn't matter. Eating didn't matter--I had no appetite. All that mattered was our marriage--our covenants with God and each other. All that I cared about was whether I would live to raise my children.

Months later as we started trying to regroup and crawl away from the trauma that encompassed that summer, we talked about what we had learned from my cancer, and we formulated what we now refer to as the cancer test. In the midst of my cancer all that mattered was our faith and our family. Life is so easily filled with things of no worth. Now when we make decisions, we hold our options up to the cancer test. If choices don't bring us closer to each other or to Jesus Christ, there's an excellent chance they aren't worth our time and money.

I think of the cancer test as I look at our bathroom now. If a fancy tub and shower gives me and Cameron a few extra minutes together, that time is precious to us. And if our three little monkeys all want to splash together in Mom and Dad's huge new tub or use it for their "cave" the answer is always yes.

Bathrooms come and bathrooms go, but families are forever. Thank goodness.