Come What May, and Love it

I've been thinking a lot lately about something Joseph B. Wirthlin said in his last General Conference address  before he passed away, "Come what may, and love it."  Such a poignant phrase coming from one of my favorite apostles and something I've drawn from often since he said it.

The word "tolerance" is one I've always had issues with.  Perhaps it's the way it's thrown around that makes me think of a tight-lipped, breath holding effort to grin and bear whatever it is you're tolerating.  I don't like the idea of tolerating the hard things in life, especially people (or tantrum-throwing toddlers). They're not skunks where you pinch your nose and hold your breath as they walk by- they're people.

I read an awesome article that was circulating on Facebook that perfectly described my feelings of being a mother.  It was as if the author was in my mind observing and taking notes on a day in the life of Rita.

I don't want to tolerate being a mother, I want to love it- all of it, but so many times I don't. And then I realize it's okay if I don't love it all. I can love things that are hard... and that make me want to pick up drinking... and that make 8:30pm (bedtime) the very best part of the day.  Sometimes it's because things are so hard that we love them so much.  It wasn't the exhaustion or throbbing knees of the 26.2 miles of my first marathon that make the memory of it so sweet.  It was the fact that I had done something hard.

Telling each other what comes out of our children's mouths is usually how Dennis and I are entertained now days.  Last week was full of these little moments that make us realize that while being a parent is by far the hardest things we'll ever do, it is also the most entertaining.  And it's often during those moments of unbelievable cheekiness coming out such a small little mouth in a Mickey Mouse voice that makes it all the better.

Dennis was running some errands with the kids in the van while I was at work.  Lauren kept unbuckling her seat belt and bouncing around in the back.  He turned to her and warned her, "Lauren, sit down. You're testing my patience."


To which she retorted, "Yeah? Well you're testing mine and I'm going to knock you out."


He may have felt a little more threatened if it hadn't come out of the mouth of a little nymph in pig-tails but all he could do was laugh and call me to tell me what "your daughter" had said.




The other day I sneaked up behind Luke and kissed him on the cheek while he was playing on the computer.  He turned to me with his finger up his nose (apparently he had been right in the middle of doing some serious gold mining when I kissed him) and said, "Mom, your kisses are SO gross."


To which I said, "Yeah?  Grosser than it was for me to kiss you with your finger halfway up your nose?"


"Yup... even grosser than that," as he triumphantly showed me the finding from his latest nasal dig.


Wow... well when you put it that way...




A few days ago I was showering Lauren as she howled and screamed bloody murder the entire time.  You'd think I was tearing her limbs off one by one instead of lathering her up.  After the shower was done and I was drying her off, Dennis came upstairs to see what all the screaming had been about.  "It was Mom.  She was totawee fweakeen out (totally freaking out),"  Lauren explained to him as she wrapped herself in a towel and huffed out the door.


Again, she instantly became "your daughter."



Yes, I can love hard things.

Lists and sticky notes

This picture correlates with #15.  I had a fleeting
 moment of  craftiness last week and made Lauren a tutu
out of some leftover tulle.  I had a blast watching her
prance around and ride her bike through the sprinklers
in it. My favorite picture of the week.

Lately I seem to have gotten into several sticky situations where I think to myself, "Aaah...crap.  I forgot about this.  Why do I keep doing this to myself?!"

I remember my sister, Patty saying several years ago, "I should make myself sticky notes to put up around the house to remind myself of things like this."  I hope her saying that means I'm not the only one that keeps doing the same dumb things to myself over and over again.

In lieu of sticky notes I decided to make myself a list since sticky notes have a way of magically disappearing or becoming cartoon flip pads.

(Written to myself in 2nd person.  Each of these unfortunately have several incidents to have qualified them to make the list.)

1.  Cutting bangs is a fun change for about a week, then you spend the next several months trying to grow them out.
2.  No matter how cute short hair looks on other people, it never looks that good on you.
3.  The fatigue and discomfort that come along with pregnancy are overwhelming and turn you into the biggest whiner you know...
4.  ...but newborns are magical and make it all worthwhile.
5.  You're busier than you think.  Will you quit adding things to your plate?!
6.  10 days on any vacation at any destination is more than enough.
7.  You love racquetball.
8.  You really don't like volleyball and usually come home in a bad mood after you've played.
9.  After 9pm, just shut your mouth and go to bed, Miss Grumpypants.
10.  You will always regret losing your temper.
11.  You will always regret gossiping.
12.  You could quite possibly be the best backwards bicycler with all the backpedaling you've done after trying to be clever or funny.  Keep those snarky comments to yourself, woman!
13.  If you're not cognisant, you will always revert to your default settings.
14.  Nickel and diming is the surest way to blow your budget.
15.  You love to be creative.  Find time for it no matter how busy you get.
16.  Couponing is enticing but quickly becomes a beast with a life of it's own.
17.  Nothing sucks your time faster than being on the computer.

That last one being said, I think it's time to finish this post and get a move on for the day.

On growing up

My supervisor at work called me a few months ago and asked if I'd be interested in changing my job description and going from being a charge nurse to an assessment nurse.  I eagerly agreed as I had decided that me and supervising weren't a good fit.  My new role at work is awesome and I've enjoyed the patient interaction and being able to take my time and be meticulous at what I do which in the nursing world is a rarity.

This past Friday I was doing a quarterly assessment for the sweetest older lady.  Completely toothless, but with a constant smile on her face, she just melts my heart.  When I finished her assessment I asked if there was anything I could do for her.  She looked up at me and said, "Honey, I'd just really love a back rub."  So I reached behind her as she sat in her wheel chair and rubbed her back for a few minutes as she closed her eyes and sighed in delight.  When I was finished, I gave her a hug and turned to walk out of her room.  As I passed her roommate who was laying in her bed, she reached out her hand and weakly asked if I would consider giving her one too.  She also closed her eyes and sighed as I rubbed.  Those are the few but cherished moments that as healthcare providers we get to enjoy.

This week has been pretty busy for me.  Between throwing a baby shower on Thursday and a bridal shower today, it's been hectic and I haven't had much time to slow down.  This morning as I was rushing around trying to get things ready, I noticed Camden sitting quietly on the floor in my room going through a file folder of papers and letters of his that I've kept over the years.  He asked if I'd stop for a minute and look through some of the papers with him.  He held out one for me to read, saying he couldn't read it because it was in cursive.  

Immediately I recognized the handwriting as my mom's on one side of the paper and my dad's on the back side.  They had written the letter almost three years ago when they lived in Indonesia.  As I read the words of encouragement and love they had written to their grandson, I got a lump in my throat.  Unbidden, I had the image of the sweet, lonely woman in the nursing home flash through my mind.  What would she give to have a letter like this from her parents to read?  What would she do to be able to have just one mealtime filled with children's squealing and laughter instead of the sound of oxygen tanks and commands from the CNA's?  

How I miss my parents at times, even though they're still alive and well and just a phone call away.  As I read the letter, I could almost hear my dad's voice as he encouraged Camden to keep riding his bike so he'd be a strong rider when he serves a mission.  I could feel the warmth in my mother's words as she told him how much she looked forward to having him come visit her on their little farm when they returned.  

Getting older has it's perks...wonderful ones.  People finally take you seriously for a change and stop calling you "kid." I'm more confident in who I am and find myself hesitating less to speak my mind.  I love the independence of deciding who I'm going to be and what I will believe.

But what I would give to turn back the clock, just for a few hours from time to time, to find myself sitting in my living room with one of my siblings playing the piano, my little sister bouncing around cheerfully, mother cooking in the kitchen, and my dad bargaining with one of us on the terms and conditions of the upcoming party this weekend.

It's no wonder that so many times I've seen people go to the grave talking of mother and father and reminiscing on the cherished, magical days of childhood.  

Sunday

This month marks 6 years that we've been living in our house.  I remember once saying to Dennis that the thought of staying in one house for the rest of my life was about as unfathomable as comprehending the size of the universe... I just couldn't wrap my mind around it.  For as restless as I get living in such a quiet town, I realize that in all reality there is no where else I'd rather raise my children.  The area can seem pretty dull at times, but truth be told, I've never known better, kinder people than the people of southwest Idaho.  I'm amazed at the kindness of strangers as they see me with my four little ones and try to help me in anyway they can.  Motorists are uncommonly courteous and traffic is often held up as they wave each other on through stop signs and slow down for each other to merge.  There doesn't seem to be what I call the "Us and Them" feeling that is often present in communities where there are large numbers of LDS people.  People of all faiths come together, not seeming to care whose side of the fence you're on.

Today as I taught my Sunday school class of 15 and 16 year olds, I was reminded again how blessed I am to be among such remarkable people.  This week got pretty busy and I since I wasn't able to prepare the lesson, I asked them to each take a few minutes and talk to us about their favorite scripture.  I asked that they not just read it, but talk a little about why it was special to them and how it was that Spirit testified to them that it was true.

As they went around the circle, I was amazed and humbled at the depth of their testimonies.  The things they shared were surprisingly insightful and far deeper than anything I was capable of at their age.  Their expressions were heartfelt and at times tearful as they talked about how the scriptures encouraged them to keep moving and to become better.  I wanted to hug each of them and tell them how moved and inspired I am by their strength.  I told them that they could possibly be my children's church leaders someday and that if so, I knew my children would be in good hands.

...One more reminder how remarkably blessed I am.

Onto some other exciting news for us, my Calista is finally crawling at almost 11 months!  Last Wednesday she timidly coordinated the movement of her hands and knees moving together in sync.  I say timidly because of all of my kids, she gets embarrassed the easiest.  As Dennis and I clapped and cheered her on as she tried out her newly acquired skill, she would turn her head away and tuck her chin into her shoulder in a bashful smile.  Since then she has been off, crawling anywhere her pudgy little knees will take her.  I love to see her shyly smile and hide her face when she gets attention from others.  It's just about the cutest thing I've ever seen.  Her next milestone will probably be the transition to vampire baby.  Just as with Lauren, Calista's canines are breaking through before her front teeth making her the cutest little roly-poly vampire baby you've ever seen.

Revelations

Disclaimer:  With self-disclosure come feelings of vulnerability.  I realize some of the things I share on my blog are personal, but then my first goal is to stay real... and sometimes staying real can feel like one of those dreams where you forgot to wear clothes on your first day of school.  

As I decide what I want to blog about, I usually just try to write about what's on my mind.  Some weeks my thoughts are swimming and some weeks they're wonderfully empty.  This week was a refreshingly empty week in my head for a change, but I have had a couple things on my mind most of the day today.

During a conversation I was having with my counselor a couple days ago (yes, I've started seeing a counselor...no need for alarm :) ), I mentioned something that had irked me the day before.  Without missing a beat, she said, "And what does that remind you of?"

"What do you mean?"  I asked.

"Usually when something triggers someone to be irritated, sad, angry, or uncomfortable without cause- it's because it reminds them of something in their past that has led that to become a trigger point in them."

Huh...  Immediately I knew what that was.  It wasn't the situation that had irked me, but it was it's similarity to something I wanted to forget.

That little chat with my counselor also reminded me of a conversation I had with my brother Jimmy while we were in Chile this past February.  We were on our way to meet up with a friend in Santiago.  Due to a series of events that were out of our control, we were running behind and my friend had been waiting for us at the subway station for 45 minutes.  I was a frazzled and stressed thinking about her standing there searching the crowds for us for 45 minutes!  After probably the 3rd time of muttering how much it stresses me out to be late, he turned to me, and without missing a beat said, "That's probably because you really hate it when people are late to meet you."

Huh...  What a simple concept, and in 30 years I had never put it together.

My wonderful counselor said that we often set up triggers to react to certain situations initially as coping mechanisms, often when we are children, at times as adults.   They can serve their purpose initially, but as things change those reactions are no longer necessary because we are out of the situation that necessitated the reaction.  Not only are they no longer necessary, but can become hindrances, trapping us in a downward spiral of negative thought processes.  By identifying what it was in our past that led us up to being triggered, she said, our reaction holds less power over us and we are able to regain control.

It got me thinking how much easier I could make my life if I knew more of those little pearls of wisdom that are so simple but so liberating.

Later in that evening I decided to take Lauren to the church orchards for some mother-daughter time in hopes of photographing some of the blossoms on the trees.  Unfortunately most of them were gone but we were still able to get some cute pictures of her.  She did pretty well but after a few dozen pictures she stomped off muttering under her breath, "This is stupid..."  Fun times with the little lady.

Next on my list of upcoming purchases is a new lens.  This darn lens is about as temperamental as a premenstrual 13 year old girl.  It either knocks my socks off or it's a total flop and I miss the perfect image because it decided it didn't feel like focusing.  I think it's time for it to go. I took well over a hundred pictures this evening and had to delete over half of them because they were randomly too soft and out of focus.  How frustrating that I had researched this particular lens for hours and finally decided it was exactly what I wanted.  Back to the drawing boards, I guess.

The Terrible Awful

A few days ago I had a wake up call that reminded me that motherhood will not always be as I know it now.  One of our children did something that in our house will probably always be remembered as "the Terrible Awful" (name taken from the book "The Help").  I was shocked, disappointed, angry, and just about every other emotion that comes along when your child does something that it is far beneath them.

After a severe reprimand and taking away some privileges, I stood at the kitchen sink fuming as I washed the dinner dishes.  Where had I failed as a mother to make him think that would ever be okay?  Is this how it feels to be truly disappointed in someone?  Because if it is, this is a first for me.  So this is what mothers with older children mean when they look at me with my four little ducklings and tell me to enjoy these days- it's because after the diapers, sleepless nights, and car seats comes this.

After simmering down a bit I went up to his room and found him huddled in a corner with his head in his knees, sobbing.  I sat down next to him and asked him, "Why are you crying?  Are you sad that you were grounded?"

He looked up with red, swollen, watery eyes and sobbed, "No... I just can't believe I did that!"  He reached up, wrapped his little arms around my neck and continued to sob.  As we talked more about it, he never mentioned the privileges lost, only heart-wrenching remorse for his actions.

After the kids were tucked into bed with hugs and reassurances that "mom and dad still love you very much" and that "it's in the past," I couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief.  It was there- the pricking of the heart when wrong is done and a desire to make things right again.

And so that night a sliver of light was shed on some of the obstacles that lay ahead... and it terrifies me.  I realize that as a mother I will never be able to squeeze them into a little mold of who I think they should be no matter how noble my motives might be.  The decisions they make and who they choose to be are wild cards and in a way it leaves me feeling terribly helpless.  But even as I sense the unchartered mine fields that lay ahead, there come moments of sweetness as I see them into growing loving little people.  Little people with a sincere desire to be good and kind despite my own poor example at times.  I realize there will be many times when all I can do is hold on tight and provide a soft place to fall after the tumble.  It's this realization that makes me savor these times of formula, potty-training, and high chairs, and brace myself for the ride ahead.

Enjoying the gift of mediocrity

I remember once in college talking with some roommates about what each other's strengths were.  One was a phenomenal athlete, one had a magnetic energy and attracted everyone within 100 feet around her, another had never gotten lower than an A in school.  As I got to thinking about what my strengths were I was devastated to realize I couldn't think of anything that I really shined in.  I had always been a student who got B's and C's with the occasional A, I often observed social scenes feeling like the awkward wallflower, and I was never the star of any sports team.  But the more we talked, the more I realized that I did have a strength.  At the time I called it the "gift of mediocrity."  While there is nothing I do exceptionally well, there are many things that I do moderately well and I have learned to love the variety of things I am able to enjoy.

I realize I'll never win any photography competitions (or probably any competitions for that matter) but contrary to what reality TV shows and websites like Pinterest tell us, it's okay to fly under the radar of excellence and still enjoy the ride.

After buying my first DSLR camera I decided that if I had spent that much money on something, by golly I was going to learn to take it off auto and actually learn how to use it.  I devoured several books and read a number of photography websites and blogs.  Somewhere along the way I got in my noggin that if I really wanted to get good, I had to be a photographer like so many others I saw and admired.  They did it all and pulled it off flawlessly: families, babies, pregnant women, toddlers.  It wasn't until I read one book in particular that I realized I was setting myself up for burnout and disappointment.  The author, an accomplished photographer, admitted that she really didn't care for taking pictures of families.  She had done family pictures for years out of a feeling of obligation but as she began to teeter on the verge of burnout she realized that what she was doing just wasn't her thing.  So, she found what she did love and went with it- and that was photographing whatever the heck she wanted, however she wanted.  She admitted there were plenty of naysayers who claimed she wasn't a real photographer because she didn't fall into a conventional category, but this was her art form she said, not theirs.  

One night the instructor for a photography class I was taking had us meet in the middle of town and we were given certain assignments and a time limit on when to be back.  I partnered up with a dear, sweet older lady who turned out to be such a good sport.  As we worked on our assignments which mainly involved using different shutter speeds and apertures, I started feeling a little bored.  I turned to her and asked, "What would you think if we found a bar?"  

With eyes as round as saucers she spun around, "What?!"

I quickly explained that I don't drink, nor was I interested in picking it up, but that interesting characters have a way of finding their way into bars and could provide some interesting subjects. I pointed out that the lighting in a bar is tricky since you're dealing with low-light, florescent lighting, and incandescent lighting often simultaneously, so technically there was a lot we could learn.

She was hesitant but said she would come along if our instructor, who was a man, would come with us for protection.  

He laughed when I told him my plan but agreed and texted his son to find out the safest bar in downtown and the bar.

As we walked toward the designated "safe" bar I found myself getting side tracked by anything interesting or quirky that caught my eye: the glow of a cigarette held by the old man with the fur coat, the quilter's club showing off their creations at their weekly meeting, the pottery students throwing pots.  

This guy insisted that if I was going to take a
picture of him it needed to be by his pink fire
hydrant that he proudly painted last fall.  He was
my favorite find of the evening.

After I had stopped for the tenth time to talk to a random stranger to ask them for their picture, my partner grabbed me by the arm and said, "Okay, honey... Let's pretend I'm your mother for tonight.  And your mother says, 'Stop talking to so many strangers!'"

By the time I got home, I was elated.  I had had more fun walking around with a camera for 2 hours in our small downtown than I had in years.  Even the bar, which turned out to be void of any customers, had two friendly bartenders that were more than happy to pose as our subjects.

I couldn't believe what people will tell you about their lives when you walk up to them with a camera, ask a couple questions and ask to take their picture.    

A friend of mine saw the collage of pictures I did of my kids and asked if I would create a similar one of her kids.  Oh my... I've been having so much fun.