Trees

Last night, we took our family up in the mountains.  We have been living together in close quarters for- I've lost count.  Three weeks?  I can't take on the true heaviness and ripple effects of a world wide Covid 19 pandemic today, but I can take on the effects on my little(ish) family.  Last night, I took a picture of them all standing down by the water at a reservoir.  Jeff pointed out the trees.  They all have a very distinct water line marking high water levels.  Temporary high water levels.  In life, we are currently in high water levels.  As a world, as a nation, as a family.  But I would hope that, despite not every moment being pretty, we can look back later and remember the time we had to bond and be marked by it in good ways, too.

And this about sums up all of the rest of the moments:

Progress

Remember that place on the movie Inside Out where forgotten memories go to die? Sometimes I start blog posts and forget about them. I have a whole wasteland of partial thoughts and half stories that never made their point. Many die an unknown death. Some actually get revived in time and have life. Today I sifted through my lost thoughts and found some sweet little gems.  And I actually made some revelations.  About life and motherhood, because that's what I've got to work with right now.  

Today, I lost my patience and used my mean voice on one of my children at bedtime. Over a misunderstanding.  I wish that this were shockingly unusual.  I made him cry.  And I felt really bad for it.  I said sorry.  I gave him hugs.  I held his hand for awhile and sang songs.  But in the end, I was more of a distraction than a help, and so I left.  He was sad, and I was sad, and I thought about how one day Jeff and I will look back and think that these days were a struggle.  He has such long days, and I have such long days. Then I started digging through my old thoughts.  

"Sometimes we don't see our progress until we really remember what we were like before.  I teach the four year old Sunday School class in church.  Ha ha!  Teach.  But seriously.  I remember when Elias was a baby, I substituted for the teacher one week.  I remember thinking that it was the longest hour of my life and I had no idea what to do with them.  Well, I have built up a tolerance now."

I distinctly remember that long, long hour, teaching those four year olds.  It wouldn't even phase me now.  I know, because I live with them.  Hours, and hours and hours of toddler time. And, I taught them in church for a few years.  And I loved it!

Next, I found this:

"I am generally what is known as a laggard.  You know, the very last one to jump on the bandwagon.  I am also a procrastinator.  Why fold that gigantic mountain of laundry that has been stacked on my couch for three days today, (Okay, I'm lying.  It's more like a week.  Okay, I'm lying again.  Trust me, you don't even want to know) when I can easily do it tomorrow?"

Laundry used to be the bane of my existence.  The thorn in my side.  I always, always, ALWAYS had a giant pile of laundry to fold, and I'm talking entire couch, cushion to ceiling.  Once, we slept on the couch for two weeks because I had moved the pile to the bed, and that was that.  But on a side note, it broke Elias and Isaac from coming to sleep in our bed at night.  They would hit the wall of laundry and give up.  A win!  

Not to brag, but I currently have no laundry piled up waiting to wash, and nothing but an empty laundry basket sitting on my floor.  (Thank you, thank you.)  I mean, the dishes aren't done, and I'm still trying to find time to clean the bathroom, but I have finally conquered that mountain.  And it was a big mountain.  I still have gigantic piles to fold, they just don't feel nearly as insurmountable as before.  

I have been praying for literally years now for more patience.  To be able to be kind when I'm tired and frustrated, and to be able to lighten up when no one is going along with the plan in my head.  Especially the one where the house stays clean, or the one where they all go to bed on time and without complaint so that I can have a few selfish moments of alone time at the end of the day.  You know, where I park it with a book and take a bath.  Ha!  I was dreaming.  More like where I catch up on all of the dishes, sweep up, wipe up, clean up.  Ah, me time.  But the more they drag it out, the shorter goes my fuse.  

Even though it feels like we are getting nowhere, these hard moments are necessary to stretch us a little more.  Without the chance to work at it, we would never make progress.  And maybe we are doing better than we think we are.  We are just lacking in perspective, waiting to be gained in hindsight.  

Once, I took my kids swimming in my neighbor's pool.  At one point, Isaac lost his footing and started flailing around, flapping his arms and legs, sure he was drowning.  Rather than save him, my neighbor and I stood next to him, calmly watching.  After a few seconds of panic, he put his feet down and realized that he could stand up.  He stood up and then laughed at himself.  I love Isaac like crazy and would never intentionally leave my child to drown.  I knew he could do it.

This has become one of my favorite analogies ever. We may think we are drowning, but the Lord has a better perspective.  He loves us like crazy and would never leave us to drown.  And looking back, like with enduring and then enjoying teaching the four year olds, and overcoming my mountainous laundry issues, we see improvement.  Life is long for a reason.  At least for the lucky ones.  And for those whose time here is cut short, I have a feeling that they will have their opportunities to grow, also.  

The Lord can see what we are struggling with. He knows I've been praying for patience for years. I don't feel patient. But with each opportunity to try, maybe I'm building a little bit of endurance.

Marjorie Pay Hinckley said, “The only way to get through life is to laugh your way through it. You either have to laugh or cry. I prefer to laugh. Crying gives me a headache.”  Some perspective for tomorrow.


And to finish in the words of Anne of Green Gables, put there by L.M. Montgomery, “Tomorrow is a new day with no mistakes in it... Yet.” 

Of Dogs and Men

Growing up, we had a dog.  Taffy.  She was great.  She was a big golden retriever who escaped her pen like Houdini, chased our chickens, left presents on the neighbors' lawns.  More particularly, one neighbor.  But since they lived three blocks away, forget cleaning it up!  We just ran as fast as our skinny little legs would carry us.  Taffy regularly raced down the street, dragging us racing behind her, desperately gripping the leash.  She was a giant pillow for us to lay on, a stinky, dependable friend.  We loved her like another sibling.  One that really needed a bath and got left outside, staring with those sad puppy eyes, begging to come in, waiting for her moment to dash, guiltily, inside the house.  Just to get kicked right back out.  And only got the table scraps.  Poor other sibling.

I have nothing but good memories of Taffy and always thought I would have a house full of animals when I grew up.  Then I grew up.  But I was talking to my sister, Monica, about her giant of a dog and it started to pull at those heart strings once again.  He was the pillow, the friend, the confidant her children needed!  After that, she gave me a nice dose of reality to clear the clouds.  Chewed shoes.  Accidents.  Chases from a grasp at freedom.  Going outside in the cold, like it or not.  I already have five young children.  I'm not quite ready for another one.

When Elias and Isaac were little, I discovered a book.  Good Boy, Fergus!  By David Shannon.  

The dog in the book was a terrible listener, followed all the wrong commands, repeated bad behavior, got rewarded for it, peed everywhere, and walked all over everybody, but was always excitable and happy and so lovable that he got whatever he wanted.  Hmmm...  I felt like I was reading my life's story.  Parenthood is not the endless fun, giggles, picnics in the park, clean house, games and laughter every night that we hoped it would be.  But sometimes it is.  We're not always the patient, kind, loving parents we thought that we would be.  But sometimes we are.  Our kids aren't the obedient, sweet, chore-and-homework-doing-without-complaining kids that we had imagined.  But sometimes, by miracle, they are.  We get glimpses of who they, and we, can become and we feel hope and excitement for life. 

So sometimes they disgust us.  And sometimes they make us want to pull our hair out.  And sometimes they bring out a monster inside of us we didn't even know existed, and quite frankly, are a little ashamed of.  But only sometimes!  They are also so excitable and happy and so lovable that sometimes they get whatever they want.  It's really not such a bad life story.

Flying

So, I don't fly well.  And by not well, I mean, I'm holding my breath waiting for the inevitable engine failure because I am pretty much sure we're going to plummet to our death at any moment for the entire ride.  But despite this small hiccup, I like to travel.  See new places, try new things.  Well, recently, Jeff was kind enough to volunteer to watch the kids for six days so that I could go to St. Kitts, a small island in the West Indies, for a much needed break (What?!!).  I can't tell you how nice it was to sit on the beach, toes in the sand, slathered head to toe in unbreakable SPF 2000, reading, sleeping, eating food I didn't prepare, swimming in the ocean, avoiding sea urchins.

On the way there, our 737 was swerving down the runway (takeoff and landing) like the pilot had had one too many.  Or ten too many.  Or maybe we were the guinea pigs- his first real run.  Either way, I spent the entire trip trying to keep thoughts of the return flight at bay.  But, as all things do, my vacation eventually came to an end.

The flight home was perfectly flawless.  Smooth as could be, not a bump to be felt.  No dramatic engine changes (aka speed drops 150mph in three seconds flat.  Yikes!)  And yet, by the end, I was about to jump out of my skin.  I can NOT sleep on planes and had been awake for almost 24 hours straight.  I was feeling crazy anxious, like I was about to explode.  I wandered the isles for a bit, staring longingly (resentfully) at all of the sleeping passengers, and then began to pray.  I needed help to endure the next few hours.  I really felt like I couldn't do it anymore.  I know it sounds trivial, but I truly felt like I wasn't going to make it.

Right then, the pilot's voice came over the intercom announcing very professionally that the flight attendants needed to take their seats as we would be heading into a storm and were in for a bit of a bumpy ride.  As backward as it seems, this was the answer to my prayer.  The turbulence calms me.  It tricks my mind into thinking it is bumps on a road.  I spent the end of the ride totally relaxed, calm, peaceful and very thankful.

I thought a lot about that during the rest of the flight.  You know.  Because I wasn't sleeping.  Sometimes when we pray, we aren't given a calm.  We're given a storm.  It gives us a chance, and a reason, to re-ground ourselves.  Not too long ago, I found myself praying for something in our family, and rather than receiving peace, the answer came in turbulence.  

When I was in college, my roommate and good friend Nancy prayed for humility.  Then she had the WORST week.  Quite frankly, it was amazing that that many bad things could happen to one person in such a short time.  But she did get humbled.

In St. Kitts, I got a pedicure.  Time for pampering can be scarce around here!  All I wanted was for someone to massage my calves and feet, rub me down in lotion, lull me to sleep in a complete calm.  Instead, I got an intense hour of callous scraping.  Seriously.  Think Dumb and Dumber.  Not what I had in mind, but in the end, the results were better.

President Monson, in general conference, quoted the poet Douglas Malloch,

Good timber does not grow with ease,
The stronger wind, the stronger trees.
The further sky, the greater length.
The more the storm, the more the strength.
By sun and cold, by rain and snow,
In trees and men good timbers grow.

So, I don't fly well.  In planes.  Sometimes in life.  A quiet, uneventful ride is nice.  Turbulence, with some perspective, is better.  

Spice

We had one of those nights tonight.  Those deer in the headlight, can't believe you survived kind of nights.  The kind where you could really use a good cry or a good laugh.  So I pulled out the list.  You know the list.  The one we keep of all the funny, goofy, insulting things our children say and do.  The one that makes us question why we ever thought that we were fit to be parents.

It's a good thing that our memories are more kind and forgiving of a situation than what may have actually been in the moment.

Isaac once told me, and he was SO amazed, "toilet water tastes just like bath water!"  I don't even want to know the context behind that one.

And once, you know, last week,  we took a trip to New Mexico for a family funeral.  It was someone from my husband's extended family who he hadn't seen in years and I had never met.  We spent the entire day driving, making a 45 minute bathroom stop every half an hour, and got there thirty minutes into the viewing.  We walked as somberly as possible into a silent room full of grieving individuals, took our seats, and Addie immediately proceeded to ask, very loudly, over and over again, if it's dead.  It's amazing how far a toddler voice carries in a silent, somewhat echo-y room.  She then declared loudly that she pooped.  Sorry Mom, went #2.  At this point, I'm starting to lose it.  Laughter is the best medicine unless it's in response to a completely awkward and inappropriate situation.  Jeff was giving me death glares and probably regretting decisions he had made some 12 years ago.

The other day, Addie woke up in the night, so of course, rather than suffer through the torture of trying to get her to go back to her own bed, I put her in mine.  Sometime in the wee hours, she woke me up saying, "poopy, mommy!"  Knowing that she was in a full body suit jammie and couldn't get out, and not actually smelling anything, I told her to go to sleep and then rolled over and took my own advice.  Countless hours later, I woke to find that I was sleeping next to a buck naked baby.  Who, unbelievably fortunately, was not actually poopy.  At some point, they just start taking care of themselves I guess.

Once, we had my grandparents sleep over, and about midnight, we realized that our feisty cat was locked in the room with them under the bed.  Not sure how that one ended.  Hopefully no one got their ankles swiped.

Here's a good one.  We started a new chore chart that has been LIFE CHANGING for us.  No holds barred, I put everything on there.  Sweep, mop, vacuum, load dishwasher, scrub bathroom.  All of the worst things that I used to save for myself.  My kids have taken on more responsibility, we're working hard as a family, I have more time to actually do leisurely things, like fold the laundry.  Win, win, win.  Until last week.  When someone went to clean the toilet.  And we realized that the toilet brush was gone.  The one we use to scrub the inside of the toilet.  Gone.  Misplaced.  Somewhere lost in the house.  Just let that sink in.  I dread the day we find it.

Sometimes I'm not sure if I want to always remember these moments or forget that they ever happened.

But as parents, we have our moments, too.  On my birthday, my sweet neighbor made these pumpkin bars and shared some with us.  They were a light, fluffy, melt in your mouth kind of delicious.  And I knew that we would be having pumpkin pie after dinner because that's what we DO for my birthday.  So just before dinner, while everyone was so selflessly wrapping thoughtful presents for me, I hid out in the pantry and devoured those pumpkin bars.  Then I cut up the few remaining into 1" squares and spread them out on the plate to make it look full.  Well, after dinner, Jeff informed me that he hadn't had time to get a pie.  Yep.  So I pulled out the 1" pumpkin bars, stuck a tiny square on each plate as I was dying inside of laughter and a little bit of unrepentant shame, and passed out the birthday cake to everyone.  They were none the wiser.

But we survive these rough nights and we look back with kinder eyes and less stress and remember how blessed we are and how sweet and loving they are and we realize that these hard things and the good things shape who we become and add spice to what could have been a really boring night.

Close Encounters of the Weird Kind

Jeff woke up this morning singing "Happy Birthday to you, you're as old as Kung Fu!"  I thought he was going to say you live in a zoo.  Which would be more accurate.

It's no secret that my children horrify me regularly.  And I sincerely mean that.  Especially when it's time to clean the bathroom for the third time THAT DAY.  Sometimes I think my germaphobe self isn't going to survive.  I am pretty frequently left in a stupor of shock at what they do or come up with, whatever it is.  You would think it's Halloween around here all of the time.

Sometimes I'm not so sure I don't live in the Twilight Zone.  We definitely dabble in legends and paranormal activity.   You've just seen our monsters and zombies.  This summer, we took our family back to the Seattle area, where Jeff and I met.  While there, we drove past the building where I used to work.  It had been an old, abandoned hospital that was known throughout the community to be haunted.  I can't confirm anything, but I, in a professional manner, of course, speed-walked in fear through the still-abandoned section every time I had to cut through it.  I may or may not have felt a hand on my shoulder once.  Okay, I made that up.  

I think the ghosts may have followed us home.

Also a dementor.

This summer we were visited by Swamp Thing and her cousins.  And her brother.

Even if we hadn't caught it on camera, the evidence was everywhere.

We also took a family drive searching local reservoirs and lakes for prime camping/fishing territory.  Well, in our wanderings, we found the spookiest deserted reservoir tucked back across private property.  It had the eeriest feel of anywhere I've ever been.  INCLUDING the abandoned hospital.  It looks pretty in the picture, but don't be deceived.  It's pure creepiness.  I thought for sure we were going to be taken by wildlife or aliens.

So, I may not live in a zoo (although that is still up for debate).  Instead, I live in a cross between an episode of X-Files and Sesame Street.  But I'll take it.  Not a bad ending to close my decade.

Life

This morning as I was preparing a delicious and un-burnt breakfast, my children, who had gotten up with a smile, bathed and gotten themselves dressed, made their beds and quickly straightened their rooms, which were already clean from the night before, were politely reading on the couch while they patiently waited for breakfast... Oh wait!  That's not how it went.  Insert the opposite.  Yep, that's more like our usual routine.

I spent the night trying to endure a mini-toddler who took a very late afternoon nap.  We had fun until about 1 am.  I tell you, it was a blast.  Then that same baby who's no longer a baby had a little too much fun in the crib this morning while I was sleeping peacefully (for once) in my bed.  My kids' usual routine is to frighten me awake by staring deeply into my closed eyes about two inches from my face.  But this time, they left me peacefully sleeping, blissfully unaware.  I'll spare you the details of the morning, but they involve a crib, a diaper and a complete scrubbing down of everything and everyone within reach.  Including myself by the end.

But luckily, I've mastered the art of getting ready in ten minutes flat.  Ask any of my sisters and they'll tell you what a feat that is.  But I can't take all of the credit.  The main bulk of it goes to my children.  When you say you'll only be five minutes in the shower and someone sets the timer for you and then keeps you updated on the countdown in 30 second intervals, you get the job done quickly.

Sure, it would be nice to take a long, hot shower.  Or read a good book for hours.  Or have ten minutes to type up a blog post.  Ahem...  Or type without someone sitting on your lap.  But I'm afraid this just isn't the stuff of parenting.

I once read something that said basically: You know you're a parent if you've ever gone to the bathroom with a child sitting on your lap.  Yep.

My favorite was the day, during our bathroom renovations in which we had no doorknob, that I accidentally sent this voice text to Jeff:

TSometimes it se 7that yhou're missing out - that 5f88 idf uuo're not 8ge8ttig gym tnimme mamn nd re7j6ah dr ??

Okay- Addie is back on the floor.

Sometimes I get it in my head that chaos and some, uh, disagreement, equal failure in parenting.  But I'm afraid that this is just life.  Despite the sleep deprivation, constant reminding, constant fight-breaking-up, and general lack of privacy, there is a lot of happiness to be had in moments.  I once heard the saying that a goal unwritten is only a wish.  Family life is like that.  Happiness unrecognized can be overlooked.  But on the flip side, those painfully difficult moments also pass and the frustration often leaves with them.  What is left is the knowledge that we did something hard and we DID it!  We endured, and that is satisfying.  We loved each other despite the ugly moments and we forgave each other our shortcomings in the end.

As I was looking through the countless impromptu photos and videos on my phone, I stumbled across this masterpiece that seems to sum up the insanity perfectly.

You're welcome.