Motherhood Is...

It was Jake's birthday, and the basement was crammed with relatives who had come for his birthday dinner. After dinner and cake Jake started opening the presents, and his favorite was definitely this little fellow.

OK, I have to be really honest here. Jake's pet is completely nocturnal, I am not, and my attempts to catch a shot of our little guy have been completely unsuccessful. This pic was stolen from the internet. So just imagine this one is ours, because this is what he looks like. 

Yes, Jake is now the proud owner of a Madagascar hissing cockroach. And as I watched different relatives take turns letting this lovely little friend crawl all over them, I couldn't help musing about what motherhood is.

Motherhood is boldly going where you've never gone before...like to the pet store to inquire after the needs of your cockroach. (Yes, I am quite sure I never saw this coming back in my single days when I started tiara-wearing trends at work and actually paid attention to how my toenail polish was faring.)

Motherhood is full of amazing discoveries...like how low-quality crepe paper dye is. You get to discover this sort of thing when your kids leave their library art projects on the floor and then step on them with their nice wet feet after their bath. For good measure, they spread some of the dye to their towels which were unceremoniously forgotten on the floor rather than hung up or placed responsibly in a laundry hamper.

Motherhood is courage and strength when it's needed most...like when you are five months pregnant with your fourth child, your husband has to work 12 and 13 hour days (plus an 8-hour Saturday at school), and you are left home to care for your puking children and all the laundry and stains they generate.

Motherhood is sacrifice and wisdom...like when your family goes to the fun center and instead of mini golfing you try to keep your toddler out of the water, rocks, and bushes while everyone else golfs. But you realize that when you go to a fun center with your kids, you do it so they (and not you) can have fun. And you're OK with that.

Motherhood is full of discoveries you never thought you'd make--discoveries of strength, love, sacrifice, and joy you didn't know were possible...which reminds me, I need to go help Jake clean out his cockroach's cage.

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. 

Quiver Full

The snow pounded outside our living room window, silently coating the landscape in fluffy whiteness. Inside we were having a cozy Sunday afternoon. Cameron had retreated to the living room couch for a little snooze. I watched from the rocking chair as Jake and Abby gleefully retrieved blanket after blanket to bury Cameron in. He kept right on sleeping as the kids added pillows, stuffed animals, and love notes to the pile. I smiled contentedly and thought of Psalm 127: "Children are an heritage of the Lord...happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them." 

I love motherhood, and I believe family joy is one of the deepest joys you can experience in life. But the joys of family sacrifice and love aren't messages you hear out in the world today. You would be hard pressed to find hope or examples of such on newsstands, TV, or the radio. And there are lots of people who would think I am completely crazy for having a fourth child.

But perhaps such people have never felt the joy of watching their kids bury their dad in blankets during his Sunday afternoon nap.

They probably haven't listened while their little girl led her baby sister down a dark hallway with these reassuring words: "There aren't any monsters, and your big sister is here. And I'm not afraid."

Surely they haven't heard their little boy exclaim, "I love Mom because she's awesome."

I can't think of a better compliment. I'm so grateful for my little quiver full. And I'm grateful my quiver isn't quite full yet.

Motherhood Love, Joy, and Sacrifice

When I was pregnant with Jake I looked around in sheer awe at all the women I knew who had more than one child. I was miserably sick (though not as miserably sick as some women), and I couldn't believe women would endure such suffering multiple times.

A couple years later when I was pregnant with Abby I was once again sick and miserable. But this time I would look at my sweet toddler Jacob and think to myself, "It's worth it. It's worth it. It's all worth it." By then I was starting to suspect that there was a purpose behind the miseries of pregnancy, labor, and delivery.

Motherhood is governed by the same law as the rest of life: we care more about the things we work for. So if we spend a few months feeling pregnant and miserable, or a few years wondering if we will ever be blessed with a child, perhaps we are being silently, slowly, imperceptibly transformed from women with slightly more self-centered motives to mothers--people who are called upon at all times of day and night to care for little people who can't provide for themselves. Our souls are being stretched to love another person with a love that is more pure and deep than any other force on earth. We become mothers through our sacrifices.

I have thought of that concept the past few weeks as I have wished that my morning sickness would go away. The house hasn't been as clean because I have been too sick to care. And I have spent lots of time lounging on the couch because I have been too tired to do much else. So I have sat and read books, snuggled my kids, told them how much I love them, and gazed with wonder into their precious faces. I have marveled at the beauty of motherhood, that I am allowed the privilege of getting to know these delightful little souls who are entrusted to my care. It is a beautiful journey and a sacred trust.

I have also thought about joy. I feel joy when I look into the faces of my children, and the beauty of their little eyes, cheeks, noses, and mouths takes my breath away. I feel joy when they play nicely together, share, help, and comfort each other, and I rejoice in the choice we have made to give them another little sibling to love. I feel joy when they know I am sick and offer to bring me a snack or let me rest a while. I take joy in the little moments of motherhood that I might otherwise be too hurried to even notice.

The pains and sacrifices of motherhood and the joy of motherhood are just two separate sides of the same coin. And I rejoice that I can sacrifice and be on the journey of motherhood. I thank heaven for little children--for my children--and that I can be their mother. Yes, it is worth it. All of it. Even morning sickness.

Cupid Week Summary

One thing that I absolutely love about motherhood is seeking out and creating meaningful family traditions. I love caroling with our family and friends at Christmas, passing our bowl of rocks around during Thanksgiving, attending Fourth of July parades, and driving around while Cameron and the kids dash in and out of the van to heart attack a few local widows and beloved neighbors in February. I love all of the traditions that surround General Conference weekends at our house. And last week when Abby asked when we were going to have our Passover dinner that we have the week of Easter, I had to smile. Traditions are fun to anticipate and wonderful to enjoy. Hopefully as the years pass our children will pick up a few things that we deliberately look to instill like faith, gratitude, service, patriotism, and love.

So last fall when I saw a post on Power of Moms that mentioned one family's Cupid Week tradition, I made a mental note. Any tradition that teaches my children to perform acts of kindness for each other sounds like a winner to me. The basic idea is to assign your children to each other as secret pals, then encourage them to give small treats and do small kindnesses for each other throughout the week. Of course, our children are young, so this year our rendition of Cupid Week was fairly basic and will definitely need some future alterations. For starters, in future years I will hold a little planning session with all the local germs to make sure two-thirds of my kids aren't sick the week of Valentine's. But also, this year Grace was too young to really participate, so Jake and Abby were assigned to each other and there wasn't much secrecy about that. Small though our numbers were, I think they still had fun.

I admittedly didn't love waiting in the grocery store aisles with Jake and Abby individually while they chose surprises for each other. But I did love talking to them about thoughtful things they could do for each other, listening to their ideas for service, and watching schemes unfold. Abby did one of Jake's jobs for him one day and surprised him with treats when he came home from school another day. Jake spent a few days listlessly lying on the couch...but before all that he made a cute little trail of M&Ms for Abby that led to a little plate of conversation hearts.

Jake decided to keep things sanitary by putting each M&M in its own little plate or bowl

If you can't actually see the M&Ms in those bowls, just trust me. They were in there. 

                                   
Cupid Week also inspired me to do a few extra nice things for Cameron throughout the week. I love surprises.

We don't drink a lot of soda, but Cameron sure loves an occasional mug of root beer when we have it.

If you are looking for a fun family Valentine's Day tradition, we definitely recommend Cupid Week.

For Vanya

I have a very sweet husband. A month or two ago he noticed a new local restaurant that touted southern soul food. Having spent years listening to me comment about the food I ate on my mission, he decided that for the 15-year anniversary of the day I arrived in my mission we would all go eat at Papa O's. So Monday night I ate hush puppies, collard greens, pulled pork, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, baked beans, coleslaw, grits, and cornbread for dinner. And I was transported back to the precious time I spent in the Virginia Richmond Mission--a time when I was led by the Spirit, discovered sacred truths about my Savior Jesus Christ and His Atonement, and loved the people I met so much I thought my heart would burst. I have spent the last few days lost in my memories. And I have wept tears of sheer gratitude for the opportunity I had to serve and the beautiful experiences I still treasure.

In the beginning of my mission I served in Smithfield, Virginia--a quaint little town with people I adored.

My heart has turned to Vanya, a wonderful girl I know from Wales who will arrive in the Missionary Training Center this week for a few weeks of Slovakian language training before heading out to the Czech Slovak Mission in March. What would I tell Vanya (or any other prospective missionary)?

First, I would say that the decision to serve a mission is one of the best you can ever make. No, missions aren't for everyone. But if you serve a mission you will benefit from it the rest of your life. I can think of no better preparation for motherhood or life in general. Fifteen years later I still think of my mission often. And I have always been so deeply grateful I got to serve.

I would tell her that missions are hard, hard work--harder than anyone can really comprehend before they go. But I would give her the advice my mission president gave me: "Get addicted to the Spirit." As you dive into the work and throw yourself into the scriptures you will develop a sweet relationship with the Spirit. You will see miracles, have beautiful experiences, and feel a deep peace, happiness, and joy that is unmatched in life.

I would tell her to love the people. The richness of a mission (and life) is in the depth of the love you feel. So love the people you teach, the local church members, the other missionaries, and the people you meet every day. The more you feel the Spirit, the more you will love them. That love will mean deep disappointment with some people's choices. But in missions and life the best choice is always to love people anyway.

Finally, I would tell her that the best convert she will gain on her mission will be herself. Some missionaries teach and baptize many; some teach and baptize few. But if you are changed throughout your mission--if you come to know your Savior, learn to lean on His Spirit, feel your infinite worth as a child of God, discover the power of the scriptures, and see God's power operating in your life--you will come home a forever better person. And as the years pass you will look back and realize that as much as you loved the people and experiences you had, you are eternally grateful for the deeply personal ways that you were changed. It is a sweet, sweet discovery.

Of course, Vanya is a bright, talented girl who is probably a much better prepared missionary than I was, and she probably doesn't need my advice. But this week as I have been summoning up memories and basking in their warm glow, I have thought of the people I loved and the things I learned. And I couldn't help but share.

I love you, Vanya! You will be an awesome missionary!

Love Me

When I was Primary president we had a boy in one of our classes who was adept at trying people's patience. On more than one Sunday I would sigh as I climbed into the car after church and exclaim to Cameron, "That boy needs a flashing neon sign above his head that says 'love me'!" His behavior issues stemmed from his background, and he was silently crying out for love, acceptance, and approval. If he had a sign reminding those around him of what his real goal was, it might have been easier to remember why he was misbehaving.

Now sometimes I think of that boy and when one of my kids misbehaves or a loved one disappoints me, I can almost hear them whispering, "Love me." When people aren't at their best they are silently, probably unconsciously, crying out for us to love them anyway, love them unconditionally, and not get too frustrated or impatient.

When I am feeling tired of little people's constant needs and acting rather grumpily...love me.

When Cameron comes home late from work feeling tired and worn out...love me.

When Jake misbehaves and tries my patience...love me.

When Abby is overtired and whiny...love me.

When Grace wakes up at night craving closeness...love me.

I wish I could say that realizing this makes me better at doing it. I'm not sure it does. But perhaps if I keep trying next year I'll be a bit better. Hopefully the year after that I'll be a step better still. And then perhaps the trend can continue. In the mean time, thank heavens for a sweet husband and children who on some level recognize that when I am flawed and not responding very well, I am really crying out...love me.