defeated

When we lived in Texas, there was this man that would roam the halls of church, trying to wrangle his head-strong and wild toddler. His slow walk, his slumped shoulders, and his tired eyes revealed his defeat. I would often whisper to no one but myself when I would see him in the halls, "Defeated." 

To be honest, I don't really know if he was defeated or not. We never actually conversed so it was just my mere observation, and I have learned over my life not to take observation at face value without a deeper context, but when I think of defeat, I think of that man trudging the halls of church.

Tonight I feel like that man. I feel defeated.

It has been a hell of a week in motherhood. One of my children wrote me a note that revealed a deeper sense of sadness and loneliness that I could not have anticipated. I'm sure she wrote it in a furry a couple nights ago after being scolded for not doing what she was told, but in the end I don't know that motive even matters--what matter is that I have a very unhappy child, and I don't know what I could possibly do to change that.

Well, I do know because she spelled it out in the letter: "Mom, the only time I am happy is when you are gone." But I can't be gone all the time and we are rarely separated (except for school hours), so that solution isn't really a solution at all. Leaving her alone, ghosting her if you will, would just be a bandaid at best, but it would not be a cure. 

So what do I do? Essentially everything I am as a person eats away at who she is as a person. I drip with sarcasm, and she abhors it. I try to be loose and flexible, and she is rigid and steadfast. I make jokes, and she scowls at every one. I talk, but she ignores or screams over me. I am a doer, she is well, not a doer. I don't want to say lazy, but she definitely doesn't see a need and try to make it better. She sees a need and figures someone else will get around to it. I break rules, she is a little nuts about keeping them. The list goes on.

And yet, with all those differences, we share some stark similarities. She has a need to be alone. She doesn't like too many people begging for her attention at once. She likes to make people feel as miserable as she does. She gloats when she does something someone else didn't do, even if in the actual moment of doing the thing, she hates the thing (still with me?). She is a natural pessimist. She is a deep thinker.

When I bring up our similarities, I often feel like the canyon between us widens. It's as if she says to me, I don't care how much we are alike at our core, I dislike you anyway. 

Parenting is so hard. Having five children with different needs keeps me awake at night and on my toes during the day. I try to create meaningful moments where each child can thrive in their own strengths, and I often succeed with 3 or 4 out of 5, but rarely do I reach all 5. Someone always reminds me how much I come up short. And for the most part, I take it in stride, but this week has felt particularly heavy and hard. I feel like running and hiding and reemerging at high school graduation.

You hear all the time that each kid needs his own manual. Yes that's true. But kids should also get a manual for their moms too. I often remind myself and my kids that this my first time being a parent at whatever stage we happen to enter. I am often boxed in and nervous at the idea of failure, and yet I almost always find an opening--a window if you will that helps bring new perspective. I'm still waiting for perspective this week. 

I don't really know what else to say. I just wanted to write down for myself so one day when I've weathered this storm I can look back and say, "Yep Janine, you were defeated, but only for a moment." Please let this only be a moment. It feels like an eternal minute, but I know it will end. I think the hardest thing about being labeled a failure as a mother is for me is that I waste my days away in the service of my kids. I constantly think about them, create things for them, write them notes, clean their rooms so they can skip chores and hop in the lake, hug their necks repeatedly, and love them endlessly. So when I'm called a failure I look at all that and wonder what more can I do? WHAT MORE CAN I DO?!

Motherhood is the one thing I absolutely don't want to fail at.

a couple of thoughts on the world today.

Today I sent these goofballs off to third and first grade, respectively. These two don't get enough credit for all they do around the house, and having them in school will be a difficult transition for all of us--especially the babies--because they just add so much light, imagination, laughter and craziness to our daily routine. Without them, I swear my babies just look at me like I'm chopped liver, which I sort of am some days.

As I watched them hop out of the van and walk confidently into their elementary school, a piece of my heart sank--as it always does--at the beginning of each school year, knowing that not only will I miss the added joy they bring to our home but also that I cannot be with them everyday to protect them from any danger. As much as I love public school, I do not find it a safe place anymore.

In fact, I don't find many places safe anymore. I find myself shying away from big events such as concerts, parades, sporting events because you just never know what could happen. Obviously if the special event is something I've been dreaming of seeing/doing, then I can be persuaded out of of my fear, but for the most part, I don't like being in uncertain places.

I sound paranoid. I'm not. I promise. But I realize I sound like I am. Oh well.

On my walk with Blue tonight I thought of a phrase in The Book of Mormon that always remains in the back of my mind. I remember I was in Argentina when I felt the words first jump out at me. As a quick background of The Book of Mormon, it is a book of scripture, written anciently by prophets in the Americas. Tandem with the Bible, which I read almost daily, it helps me come to know Jesus Christ better.

But back to that particular phrase. In addition to spiritual guidance, the Book of Mormon also details the history of two different civilizations--their ups and downs, their strengths and weaknesses, and their wars against each other. Near the end of the book, the final prophet, Moroni, writes of the destruction of his people. He is alone and hiding from the people of the other civilization so as to stay alive. Describing his people (who were supposed to be the good guys), Moroni writes that they were a people "without civilization."

I had read this phrase a number of times before it stood out to me in Argentina, but I happened to read it the day after I heard of rioting in a well-known town below Buenos Aires. George W. Bush was visiting the country, and the Argentines of the area were not happy with his visit, so they burned most of the main drag by throwing torches through store windows and lighting fire to cars and buildings all over the place. The damage was tremendous. I saw the pictures in a newspaper that our neighbor had on his kitchen table. I was appalled. I couldn't believe something like this could happen, and then I remembered that phrase: a people "without civilization." And it hit me, they were no longer acting like humans, they were acting like animals, without regard for anyone or anything.

I remember saying a prayer that night, thanking God that riots weren't usual in the United States.

But now they are. Riots are normal now. People aren't considerate of others. Kindness is waning, especially where the roots of racism run deep. Not only are we fighting racism in our own communities, but we also have to be aware of imminent threats of terrorism, which has become so imbedded in the society that it's hard to be sure who is good and who is bad. It feels crazy. It really does.

I try to teach my kids kindness and respect. Believe me--we have had our fair share of difficult discussions; my kids do not live in a bubble. But I do not want them to live in fear, so I put on a brave front and do my best to smile as I let them walk away from me and into a school where I cannot be to protect them. I also don't want them to grow up thinking certain people act a certain way or are a certain way. I did not grow up that way, and I am doing my best to instill in them a way of seeing everyone in the best light possible. Whether someone else is a different race, religion, gender, etc., I try to help them find common ground. And we talk about the uncommon ground too because I would rather them be open about their questions with me than forming an incorrect opinion without all the facts.

We talk a lot about facts, but we also talk a lot about feelings. I think this is perhaps what is missing in society today. Everyone wants all the facts, and they aren't really concerned about the feeling aspect. You see it with religion. You see it in politics. You see it in the news. You see it everywhere. But what if we go back to feeling love for one another, and what if we go back to hoping that God is real and is actually watching all the craziness happen, and what if we go back to desiring the best for our neighbor. Wouldn't the world be a better place? Wouldn't our homes?

I guess my biggest fear these days is that people will lose themselves and become as the people of The Book of Mormon--without civilization. I am doing my part to fight this. Are you?


(On a side note: In an effort to be more neighborly, we invited our entire street over to our house for dinner this weekend. We were overwhelmed by the turnout. Every single family we invited came. Tim snapped this picture of our neighbors mingling and getting to know each other. I truly believe people want to and can be kind--sometimes they just need a little nudge in the right direction.)

It really is a temple

A month and half ago I ran in the Chicago Ragnar, which means I, along with 11 other tough women, ran from Madison, Wisconsin to Chicago, Illinois in leg increments. The race itself was grueling; it was hot, my legs barely had time to recover between increments, and we got little to no sleep; however, it was one of the most exhilarating things I have ever done in my life. I had so much fun with the women in my van, and I was able to push my body to new limits. I am extremely grateful for the opportunity, and I am still so proud of myself and the other women on my team.

I came home from the race determined to sign up for a couple half marathons before the end of the year, but after a few days of light running post-race, I realized something was wrong with my hip. It hurt to walk, stand up straight, sit, and run. I couldn't do it without wincing. I gave myself a few weeks to rest, hoping time would heal it, but it didn't. I tried stretching, but that didn't really help either. Two days before I left for a family vacation to California, I called a nearby chiropractor (after some serious convincing from my mom), and I have started doing to some therapy on my hip and leg. It is slowly starting to feel better, and I am adding miles daily.

What this experience has taught me--as with other experiences in my life--is that the body is an amazing gift. I have always felt incredibly blessed to have such a healthy body that allows me to run, hike, walk, and exercise whenever I choose because I realize this is not the case for everyone. Whenever I have pain or cannot exercise for a time, I am reminded how fragile the body is and the responsibility we have to care for it.

Yesterday while cleaning the house, I listened to a podcast about trauma from Michael Stone, who recently passed away. In the podcast, Stone said something that really resonated with my healing body. He talked about how the body is a temple, which I absolutely believe, and he said that if a person doesn't actually believe their body is a temple, then of course it wouldn't matter to them what type of food they put into it, and it wouldn't matter if they exercised, and it would matter if they let themselves heal. I've thought about this a lot in the last 24 hours. I thought about all the healing that happens within the walls of temples, and I realized I really need to do all I can to heal the broken parts of my body--physically, emotionally and spiritually. And that's what I plan to do.

Thinking about the idea that our bodies are temples, I've also been pondering something else. So many people comment about my "thinness." I get comments like this: "You're just skinny." "You've never had to worry about your weight." And so on and so on. The truth of the matter is I work really hard on my body. I may have been thin in high school and college because of luck, genes and good metabolism, but that is not the case now. I have had 5 babies. My body has shifted in ways I never anticipated. It is weak in areas and strong in other areas. I have diastasis recti. My stomach will never look the way it did before kids no matter how many ab workouts I do. But more than having abs and muscles, I really believe my body is a temple, and I choose to treat it as such. I am careful about the substances I put into it, and I am mindful of when and how to push it to new limits. The definition of a temple is "a building devoted to worship, or regarded as the dwelling place of god or gods or other objects of religious reverence." So no matter the religion, if one believes the body can be a dwelling place for God, then perhaps how we treat our bodies should reflect this thought.

forever.

It's been forever. Since I've last written, I've visited Wisconsin, Illinois, Texas, and Michigan, and I've seen several states in between. The kids and I are having a wonderful summer--full of swimming in the lake, building endless sand castles, kayaking, visiting friends, playing with cousins, reading books, catching fish, coloring pictures, and being together. The television has remained off much of the summer, and it's just the way I want it. Sure, there are silly squabbles about so and so stealing someone's t-shirt or toy, and there is a lot of attitude that comes out when chores need to be done, but it's all within the range of normal, and I feel that so far summer has been a success.

I'm sorry that I've been absent for so long. As you can imagine, I have little to no free time so I am unable to work at all during the day, which means I have to work at night, and after I finish working at night, I have little to no brain power left to write or even upload pictures. Sorry dad....I know how much you wait to see your grandkids. And for the rest of you who happen to be more interested in my writing (if anyone is still there), I'm sorry that I've been gone.

Speaking candidly, pieces of my life feel very heavy right now. I am confident it will not always be this way, but right now, I seem to be stuck on a slow downhill progression, and no matter what I do to pull the brakes, the brakes squeal but cannot stop me. So even though summer has felt like a really good dream, I have to be honest and say that even though the dream is grand, there are still gray clouds looming overhead.

I think the darkest cloud that follows me and sometimes rains down on me wherever I go is the cloud of faith. I keep trying to feel God's presence but come up empty, and the distance makes my heart grow weaker by the day. There has been too much commotion in my heart, especially as of late and especially in regards to religion. I have felt so little peace, and so I find myself drawing inward and away from people.

The last time I struggled with anything in regards to my faith was after my miscarriage, when I grew so dark and angry at God and the world and finally just shut it all out for awhile. I gradually found new footing and felt the distance between God and me lessen, and I rebuilt my faith. And as shaky as it sometimes was, it was always there. I seem to be in a different place than I was 5 years ago. I am not angry. I don't really have any doubts about my own personal religion. I just don't feel anything for or against it. The absence of feeling has created this hole in my heart where loneliness and sadness just linger constantly. Constantly.

I don't really know what to do. I guess the only thing that keeps me going is the lesson that came to me 13ish years ago as an EFY counselor in Idaho. I sat in a room full of people discussing church topics that didn't interest me, so I opened my Bible (Matthew 26) to the chapter where Christ asks his disciples to "tarry ye here, and watch (stay awake) with [him]." Those words really struck me all those years ago because it seemed like such an easy invitation that he gave his apostles, but they fell asleep. This happened three times. I feel like this is so indicative of life. How many times does he ask us just to "tarry" or stay somewhere and not go away, even when it may seem hard? How many times does he ask us to stay awake? We can't feel anything if we fall asleep.

I refuse to go away or fall asleep. I owe the man who gave me everything that much. I may take a slight pause for awhile as I sort out matters of the heart, but I will not go away. I will just wait and do what I can to hopefully close the distance between me and heaven.

What I hope to teach her about faith someday

Mya was baptized on Saturday October 29th. She looked like an angel in her jumpsuit and dress. In the moment, I felt a million emotions, and only now after a few days have passed am I able to articulate my feelings of that day.

We had been preparing Mya for baptism for over a year. We'd teach her an aspect of Christ's gospel and ask, "Does that make sense? Do you have any questions? Would you like to follow....(honesty, tithing, chastity, etc.)?" Sometimes she'd say yes. Other times she'd say no. Oddly enough I was never discouraged by her occasional no. I felt each answer led to more teaching and more understanding, and I believe becoming a disciple of Christ is a lifelong mission so I was very accepting of every step she took that led her to her decision to be baptized.

Of course as the months ticked off the calendar and she watched more and more of her peers choose to be baptized, her desire to be baptized grew stronger, and she finally asked to be baptized. The days leading up to her baptism were filled with innocent and hopeful questions like "Mama, what if I mess up? What if I don't know everything? Will I feel Him?" Each query resonated in my pondering heart, and I reflected on how I felt all those years ago when I too chose to be baptized. I think the biggest memory I have of my experience was returning home from the church and sitting on my bed alone. I remember thinking how I wanted to do everything right so I didn't have to say I'm sorry to anyone, especially God. I think I made it to 6pm that day without making a single mistake, and I thought that was quite the accomplishment.

As I shared my story with Mya, I reminded her that baptism is just a step, albeit an important one, on our faith journey. And I told her that I was proud of her for wanting to be like Jesus and that no matter what He and I would always love her, even if she made a mistake. I could've told her a million other things that I've learned about faith and Christ, but I kept it simple. Time will gift me the opportunity to teach her what I know as she grows and matures.

What I hope to tell her someday is that faith in Jesus Christ is more than an institution or a religion. It's more than words or hymns in a book. It can't be proven with facts, but it certainly isn't fiction. Faith in Jesus Christ isn't (or at least it shouldn't be) passive or dormant. It isn't something someone can convince you of no matter how hard they try. It is something you have to want--want so badly that your body literally hungers and thirsts to know Him and then to be like Him. Faith will ebb and flow. There will be years she will feel so close to God, and then there will be years she'll wonder where He is at all. Faith will feel like a light in this somewhat confusing and dark tunnel we call life.

I will also tell her throughout her life that I believe in Jesus Christ. I know He is real. I felt His presence as she gracefully entered the waters of baptism at the hand of her father. I know of Christ's love. The very thought of his love makes my heart feel joy, even and perhaps especially when life doesn't feel very joyful. Becoming like Him is my ultimate goal. It's a bit of a challenge in my current life situation because I don't always have time to read His words, and I often fall asleep during my prayers at night, but I'm trying. And I absolutely believe He knows that.

Someday I will tell her all these things, but for now I will keep theses feelings of love and gratitude close to my heart because it truly is a remarkable thing to help God's children on their path back to Him.

Understanding postpartum depression

I've been fairly open about my postpartum depression (PPD). Some people shake their heads at this, and sometimes I get disapproving phone calls or messages, telling me that perhaps I should deal with things in a more private manner.

I absolutely disagree. Before I had Timmy, I read a story about a mother from Utah that suffered from PPD after her 5th child. She had never experienced PPD before, and the effects of the disease crippled her in the most tragic way. She died as a result of PPD, and she was seeking professional help and had the support of her family and friends. 

I remember aching for her young family and grieving husband, and I remember hoping I would not suffer from the disease after Timmy's birth; I felt, perhaps foolishly, that I had already been through so much during my pregnancy that I might sail through postpartum easily. Within weeks, I realized this would not be the case. Because I had been diagnosed with PPD before, I recognized the signs. I expressed concern to Tim and my closest family and friends and immediately received love and support. 

The thing about PPD is that it's never the same. It changes from woman to woman, and baby to baby. My experience with it after my miscarriage was much darker than what I currently feel (so much so that I even wondered if there was a God). I received an email a week ago asking me if I was not connecting with Timmy, and although it is a valid question (because most people associate PPD with not connecting with children or wanting to hurt oneself or the baby), this has not been my experience with Timmy. In fact, he and I have a very special bond. His smile feels like sunshine; it hits me with such a wave of warmth that I truly feel special everyday. So for those of you wondering how I'm doing with Timmy, the answer is remarkably well.

So if that is not my problem, what is? I feel I am in a constant state of spinning, like I'm standing in the middle of a tornado, and I can't quite grasp solid ground. I reach out, but things and people slip through my fingers. It is exhausting and overwhelming. I continuously feel like I'm letting people down, and I apologize so much that I'm tired of apologizing. I feel like wearing a shirt that reads: I'm sorry. It's probably my fault. Obviously I'm not always at fault, but my brain refuses to process that fact so I just feel a lot of exhaustion and guilt, which leads me to feel sad and angry a lot. More than a lot. I have a difficult time enjoying myself because I never get to relax. Every moment of life is calculated; I am excellent at multitasking, which is great, but it also means I don't rest. I'm always doing 3 things at once, and I almost feel like I'm failing at 1 or more thing. 

So that's where I am. I want you to know I have superb help, and I do feel a lot of love. After having a severe panic attack on Sunday, I have been the recipient of so much goodness. A friend took my kids to church, fed them dinner, and let them play so I could rest. My neighbor helped me pick everything off the ground so I could sweep and vacuum any potential fleas. On Monday, a friend helped me fold 10 loads of laundry and she took Elle home with her to give me an afternoon break, another friend took over my duty at carpool this morning, and another friend watched Timmy and Felicity while I went grocery shopping this morning. 

My world often feels crazy, but even with the constant crazy, there is so much goodness. So much kindness. I am undeserving of much of it, but I am grateful for all of it. I hope I grow out of PPD as time goes on, but while I'm experiencing it, I'm learning to do less.

deciding when to be done having children

A few days ago as I cuddled into my sheets for a short nap time before Mya came bouncing through the door after school, I received a text from a dear friend about deciding when it was the right time to stop having children. Part of her text read: "I don't know if I can bear seeing friends have new babies and know I'll never have another newborn of my own. But I also wonder if I'm just afraid to not have a baby anymore because it means I'm moving  on from this stage of life I've been in for so long. It's insanely busy, stressful, and exhausting, but also so rewarding. And I feel like my identity is completely wrapped up in being the mother to many tiny children. Who am I without that when my hands aren't 'full' in the same way? It scares me. It really does. I feel like my self worth rests on mothering babies. I know I'll still have plenty of mothering years left, but moving on from my years of having babies and toddlers seems like such a huge change."

Her thoughtful words and questions stung my mama heart because she, like me, has had multiple children in a short amount of time, and for the past 7+ years, our lives have been consumed with babies--housing them, feeding them, clothing them, changing them, and teaching them to sit, stand, walk, learn letters, etc. In so many ways, we have been their lifeline, but they have also been ours. So the question remains, how do we know if it is the right time to move on from this stage? (Extra emphasis on the how.)

Here is my response, knowing the answer to this question is extremely personal and will/should vary from person to person and family to family.

This baby will be our last. The reality of that stings, but it is what it is. I remember before Birdie was born--even up to the moment after I delivered--that I wavered back and forth on whether or not she would be our last. Moments after the delivery as I shivered with chills, I looked at Tim and whispered, "We are not done. She is not the last one." Of course, I was slightly delirious after losing so much water and blood in a quick delivery that neither of us really committed to the idea in that moment, but there it hung for months and months. I even remember feeling uneasy when I went to get the IUD placed, as if something were telling me not to go through with it, but neither Tim or I wanted another baby right away so I ignored the feeling and went ahead and had the IUD planted. We all know the outcome of that story. ;(

The idea of a fifth floated in my head for months until it materialized with two pink lines one hot August day. The idea was no longer an idea; it was reality. It is a reality I am still working through (see yesterday's post).

Aside from the fact that this pregnancy has humbled me and my body in ways I'm embarrassed to admit, for the past eight months, I have questioned, is this baby boy the last person I will ever create and deliver? Of course, Tim nodded his head emphatically each time; he really doesn't want six kids. I, however, needed my own confirmation. You see--the power of creation is an addicting thing (at least to me), and I don't take the honor lightly. In a sense, creating all these tiny lives has helped me appreciate art and artists so much more than I ever did in my youth. I now understand why artists continued to produce pieces, even when their hands began to ache and their minds began to wane. The power of creation is real, and it is magical.

And so I waited for my answer. I even signed papers for a tubal ligation without really knowing if I could commit, but the other night as Tim and I discussed the subject for what seemed like the hundredth time, I felt a connection to him and to the fact that--yes, this baby is the final piece to our family puzzle.

I expected to feel fear of the unknown, but what I felt instead was peace. I have no idea what I will do when I don't have a baby attached to my side, but I assume my role as a mother will gradually morph into something more (probably without me even knowing it), and in a lot of ways, it makes me excited. Both Tim and I relish our time reading chapter books and discussing deeper topics with the older girls, and I know time will only make those conversations more interesting and entertaining. I am not excited, however, to become an endless chauffeur. When I think of how much of my days will be spent taking one kid here and another kid there, I think--nope I'd rather create babies forever. But that will be part of my experience as a mother, and I will have to find joy in it somehow.

So as I approach my final delivery and meet my last creation, I do so with some trepidation because my mother heart will always be sad to see this phase end, but I also do so with a bit of wonder and excitement because I have always loved the idea of change, and I know that my role as a mother will change a lot over the next few years. I will probably ache inside with each passing milestone this baby boy makes, and I'm going to allow myself time to ache. But as the days and months pass, and I creep farther and farther away from babyhood and toddlerhood and closer and closer into tween and teenage years, I will not only enjoy watching the development of my children but of myself as well.

Who knows what I can become? One thing I know is that I have so much potential. I never knew how well I could teach little children, and now I do it in a semi-classroom setting every afternoon, and my kids are thriving. Just wait until I can introduce them to William Shakespeare and help them understand his words. Or when I can help them review their college essays or memorize their vocabulary lists. All these things make my heart beat a little faster because I know my kids will always need me and I them, and we will grow up together.

After rereading the post, I realized I didn't completely answer the question; I only shared the thoughts on my experience so I am adding a final section. Because the answer unique to each person, the best thing I can say is that there will be some women that will just know when to stop having children. I've met many women who say they just knew that their time of creation had come to an end; however, I've met far more women who are uncertain about being done bearing children. So for the women who don't know with certainty whether or not the time has come to move on from babies and toddlers, I would say talk to your spouse. Put it all on the table, and let him do the same. Tim's thoughts added so much clarity to my muddled mess of a mama brain. He helped me see what would be best for me and our family, and I am so grateful my heart was open to his thoughts. After you talk everything through, be hopeful for the future. Recognize your potential does not solely reside in motherhood. And lastly, pray--pray to know who you are to become as a woman, wife, and mother. I believe in the power of women.

small sacrifices

This morning as I walked briskly through my neighborhood, I talked to God. Walking alone provides me ample time to talk things out thoroughly. Today I talked to God about sacrifice. The subject itself has weighed heavily on my mind for some time, but it resurfaced yesterday around 1:15pm when I wanted to be napping but found myself cutting round circles for yesterday's afternoon "learning craft" that the girls would eventually use to create ice cream cones. You see, we were learning the letter "I" so it was the best my tired mind could come up with at the last minute.

I sat silently at my kitchen table, methodically cutting the pieces for the craft while listening to the girls giggle as they jumped high in the air on the trampoline. Everyday after lunch I think, "Maybe today they'll see my tired eyes and let me off the hook for learning," but everyday both girls excitedly ask me, "Mom, what are we doing for learning today? Are we painting? Are we using sponges? What letter is it?" I am not exaggerating even the slightest bit when I say my girls are very into learning. Like obsessively so. Yesterday was no different. And so I did what I always do and I wrote the letter in their individual notebooks for them to trace and I found the appropriate pages for them to work on in their respective workbooks and I came up with a craft for them to work on to round out the hour of learning.

I give up a potential hour of nap time/work time everyday to be with my girls. To teach them. To learn with them. Being with them is easy. I can't tell you how gratifying it is to watch them read or recognize letters and sounds, but it's the staying awake and alert during a time of day that tells my 27-week pregnant body that it's time to sleep that can make it hard.

But that's life, isn't it? I've decided life is about sacrifice. Everything else is just an appendage to it. Love, faith, honesty, kindness, bravery--all these things hinge on sacrifice. Whether we give up an hour of nap time or we save the last bite of a delicious treat for a hungry spouse or we refrain from yelling at a child who doesn't want to get ready for school, knowing it will only make things worse or we stay up a few extra minutes at night to talk to God or we push ourselves to exercise even though our bodies are sluggish--all these things are sacrifices. Everyday, all over the world people are sacrificing, and it's hard, and sometimes it hurts, but it's worth it.

I don't always see immediate returns or rewards for the sacrifices I make, but that's not what makes it worth it. I suppose if you live your life always looking for the return or reward then you don't really understand the purpose of sacrifice, and you'll end up a bit foolish when you realize you've completely missed the mark. What makes it worth it is that in the act of sacrificing, you give of yourself. You stretch, you bend, you morph. And with any luck, you become the person you are supposed to become.

becoming an optimist

I just got off the phone with my dad. He's hundreds of miles away, but I love that the telephone connects us. His optimistic voice booms through my receiving end, and I feel peace. Just before we hung up, he asked me if I was writing. I laughed, "Oh dad, I don't write anymore. I don't have time for it. Between the girls and work and basic survival, I just can't fit it in like I want to." His voice instantly deflated with a long "Ooooohhhhh, I understand." And then there was an audible sigh.

So tonight, in honor of my dad's audible sigh, I will write a little something because apparently I do have at least one reader. ;)

Over the past few months, I have undertaken a mammoth-sized personal project of becoming an optimist. Do you know how hard it is to become an optimist (isn't that something a pessimist would say)? I actually just told my brother that very thing this morning, and he just laughed and laughed because he knows me. He knows me well. I knew this goal would be hard, but I didn't realize what hard actually meant. The thing about my pessimism is that it seeps deep into the fleshy fibers of my heart, and its grumpy voice wraps around the neural tissue in the cerebrum and makes me feel like whatever experience I happen to be going through is meant to be dreary and dark. I've long known that this is an absolute lie, but man, changing behavior and thought patterns is an uphill battle.

This weekend Tim attended the Michigan/BYU football in Ann Arbor. I was so excited for him to go. He never does anything for himself. He's so dang selfless that he always allows me to go on my trips while never asking for a weekend away for himself. (Disclaimer: He really wanted me to be with him in Ann Arbor because being by himself actually sounds terrible to him, but we just couldn't swing it.) So I put my happy face on and pushed him out the door, reminding him to buy himself a shirt or something for his birthday since the only selection of shirts I find around here are the wrong shade of blue.

I had all these plans for the weekend. I was going to paint the girls' nails. We were going to eat popcorn and watch movies before bed. And I was going to color with them during Felicity's nap. But as luck would have it, I was sick for the better part of the weekend, and the girls clued in to my weakened state, and they pounced. They were like a pack of lions attacking a poor gazelle. (If I could be an African animal, I would totally be a gazelle. They are so beautiful. A gazelle or a hippo. Sitting knee deep in cool mud sounds really nice too. ;)) Anyway, I digress.

By Saturday afternoon, I had thrown in the towel. I was willing to do just about anything to get the girls to bed by 4pm. My mom called, and I cried. Then she cried. Then we both cried until I asked, "Why are you crying anyways?" My mom is always really good at giving me a good empathetic cry. She told me not to give up on myself. Her little pep talk, corny as it was, propelled me off my bed and back into the kitchen where I asked the girls to help me make dinner. I talked to the girls about what had happened throughout the weekend and how badly I felt because of they way they treated me. They stared at me in disbelief. I even uttered the words, "I failed you this weekend even though I wanted to have a fun time."

Mya came running over at those words. She looked at me and said, "Mom, you didn't fail. You just aren't as calm as dad is when he's home with us. It's like you look for things to get mad about. Dad doesn't do that." That little piece of truth hit me square between the eyes.

The pessimist in me has a hard time letting go of the little mishaps or mistakes that occur during the day. The optimist I'm trying to become sees light at the end of the tunnel but doesn't quite know how to get through the dark tunnel. There are days I succeed at reaching the light, and there are days I fail. I am obviously happier on days I succeed.

Unless it is innate, I believe optimism is something to fight for. There are a million reasons to feel down about life, but there are just as many reasons to feel joyful about it too. Every morning on my walks I try to say prayers of gratitude. I don't ask for anything. I just say thank you for the sunrise, the wind, the trees, the green patches of grass, the smell of donuts, the families piling into minivans, the women out walking their dogs with coffee in their hands, etc. When I come through my front door and am immediately bombarded with chocolate milk or Mickey requests, it would be easy to forget the gratitude I so recently felt, but I try to keep it present in my mind as I routinely pour the milk and add the chocolate while being poked by a little 3 year old.

This was and still is the first step in my process to becoming an optimist: being grateful. There are about a dozen more steps I have jotted down in my notebook that help me stay on the bright path of life. Even if I am not in the moment something is going awry, I am eventually kind to myself when it comes to optimism. I've spent the better part of 31 years living with a wary eye, and it's not something that can be changed over night, but I know it can be changed. I hope you'll stick around as I document some of what I've learned over the past few months.

talking to kids about pornography.

Look at her. Isn't she one of the most beautiful little people you have ever seen? Even with the permanent teeth taking over her mouth, she still takes my breath away, especially when she wears a hint of mascara and light lipstick (emphasis on the light).

Today she and I had a discussion I was not prepared to have. We talked about pornography. Tim and I found a few links on the iPad recently that concerned us so we felt it was necessary to approach the subject quickly, but we knew we needed to be gentle and understanding. The links on the iPad were probably links she got to by watching makeup tutorials; regardless, the discussion was necessary.

As a quick back story, you should know that I never had a talk like this with my mom; she attempted to teach me about the birds and the bees several times, but I was so awkward about the subject that I just declined each time she wanted to talk. I even had her sign me out of those terrible middle school health classes where they go over the subject because I was that girl--that oddly quiet, nervous one that cried when anyone talked about sex. Even now as an adult, I find myself out of the loop on so many things related to sex that I often have to ask Tim or some other trusted adult because heaven knows, I wouldn't want to do any type of internet search to find the answer.

Anyway, back to today, after lunch I asked Mya if we could talk for a few minutes in my room. We cozied up on the bed with Mr. Bear between us, and we started talking about nothing really until finally I felt like she wouldn't completely shut down if I asked her a few questions:

• Was she curious about her body? 
• Was she curious about my body?
• Was she curious about dad's body? 

To each of these questions, she gave a resounding NO. Hmm. I probed a little further. 

• When you're not watching Star Wars on the iPad, what do you like to watch/play? 
• Do you ever search the internet? (I had to explain what the internet was...haha)
• How do you find YouTube without the app?

She started getting a little nervous at this point because I think she knew I was up to something. I noticed immediately the "shut down" signs because I'm a master at shutting down, and I grabbed her hand and held it softly. I reminded her she wasn't in trouble, but that I needed to make sure she was safe. We talked about choices, and how some people make good choices and others make bad ones. And then I introduced pornography as a bad choice. I told her that lots of people show off their bodies inappropriately for the benefit of other people. I asked her how she feels when someone sees her naked (she hates being naked and hates it even more if anyone ever sees her). I asked her what she thought the girls/boys used in pornography felt like being photographed or taped (she said she thought they'd feel embarrassed and sad), and then I told her that we need to be careful of the words we use to search for things on the internet because we can't ever be sure what the internet will spit back at us. 

We discussed the topic a little more before I felt she understood, and then I just sat there with her looking at me and me looking at her, and I reminded her how much I loved her and how much I loved being able to talk to her about things that she's curious about. I told her how funny I felt as a little girl when my mom attempted to talk to me about such things so I told her I understood, but then I promised her that I would always listen to her and respond as necessary. 

Before she left the room, she gave me a big hug. She told me she was embarrassed still and needed some time, and I told her I'd give her the time she needed to digest it but that I would talk to her more throughout the week. I feel the first discussion on the subject was a success. 

This whole thing caught Tim and I off guard because we have always been extra careful with the shows the girls watch, but we realized that we became a little more liberal this summer with the iPads so we told the girls the iPads need new batteries, and we implemented new rules for watching TV. I believe there is strength in numbers so allowing kids to have their own iPads in their own rooms is not very safe, even if you think they are only playing games or watching kid shows. 

We're new at all this, but man, I'm almost thinking it was easier to have Mya be little than it is to have her grow up and encounter all these new challenges. 

conscious uncoupling

I've recently had a few conversations about marriage and divorce with friends. In one conversation, two of my friends told me they didn't believe in divorce. I gasped silently inside. I listened to their reasonings, and although I understood them, I respectfully told them I disagreed, which I do.

I believe in marriage, but I also believe in divorce. And these days, I believe even more in conscious uncoupling. (Thank you Gwyneth Paltrow for calling out ugly divorces and forcing adults to act like adults and find a way to get divorced in a civilized manner, especially if children are involved.) See here and here about why I like the idea of conscious uncoupling.

I'm not sure why as a society we seem open to forgiving people of small errors/mistakes/shortcomings/failings, but we can't do the same for bigger errors/mistakes/shortcomings/failings. I'd put marriage in the latter category. Sometimes marriages just don't work out. There are usually a dozen reasons why they don't work out, but simply put, they just need to end for the benefit of both parties involved. Whenever two people decide to part ways, it seems like everyone starts to chime in and give their opinion on why the marriage didn't work and whether or not the couple tried hard enough to make the marriage work (and I have to say out the handful of marriages I'm privy to know well, I'd say 95% have really tried to make the marriage work). Once people pass their blind judgement, they feel they must take a side. The whole thing is so sad and messy, but mostly just sad.

I'm approaching a stage of life where several of my friends are in this crux of life where their marriages haven't turned out quite as planned (although who can plan anything in the future), and they are questioning whether or not they should stay married or get divorced. It's no longer my parents' friends; these are my friends. And in many cases, I love both the husband and the wife separately and together, so this line of questioning has made my heart ache in the quiet of the night.

Ideally, I wish every marriage would be work out beautifully, but we live in a real world where ideals are rarely realized, and I have come to believe that some people would be better divorced. Why? I'm not sure it matters why. But I believe that God put us on this earth to be happy (like really happy not just grin-and-bear-it kind of happy), and if happiness is not achieved after a lot of trying, then perhaps there is another route to happiness.

Over the past few years as I've watched marriages/families dissolve, I have learned a thing or two. I have learned to listen without passing judgement on either party. I think I am particularly good at this because I grew up knowing a lot of tumultuous marriages--one inside the walls of my own home--and I learned to see both sides because everyone has a side that deserves to be heard and understood. I may not agree with a side, but it really doesn't matter what I think because I'm just there to listen.

I've learned to say, "I'm so sorry you're going through this," "I don't know why you have to do this," and "I love you no matter what." It's so easy to spout off a million things when someone calls and asks for help, but I have found that most people just want to hear "I'm sorry" and "I love you." Sometimes I'll sit in silence on the phone or I'll pause before returning the text because I think people just need to let words hang out in the open space. It is never easy to admit, "I want a divorce," especially when that admonition has come after years of fighting for something you truly believe in. And there is nothing I can ever say that will make someone feel better so I just sit there with them on the other end of the line, and it's like we're hugging in some alternate universe. Damn distance. If I had it my way, I'd live within a 20 mile radius of my closest friends so I could run to them in hard moments such as these.

My dear friend got divorced earlier this year, and she taught me something so special. Gwyneth Paltrow could learn a thing or two from her. She taught me that everyone deserves a support system. There is no reason to choose sides. Both people are hurting. Both people feel crippled by the fate of unrealized and failed dreams. Both people need love. My friend even encouraged me to reach out to her ex-husband just so he knew he had support if he needed it in the future. I did so nervously, but he did respond to me, and now he knows if he needs me, I'm here for him too. Isn't she brilliant?

Divorce/conscious uncoupling is not easy. It is a painful process, but from my experience, friends and family can do a lot just by remaining open minded and kind. A listening ear goes a long way. In the end, I know after the darkness of the unknown disappears, there is always hope and a fresh start. And I probably believe in fresh starts most of all.

the thing about feeling joy

The thing about feeling joy is that it is absolutely different than feeling happy.

Joy. I've been thinking a lot about this word all week. As I've studied the word, both in secular and religious platforms, I have come to the consensus that joy has a sense of permanency, as it is not achieved in an hour, a day or even a year. Although moments of happiness may help someone feel joy, joy is not always associated with happiness. Sometimes pain is associated with joy, especially when the pain humbles us to reach out to the true source of joy.

This week I read an article by a woman who wrote about joy. It is, in part, why this word has been on my mind all week. This woman spoke about a recent experience with religion, and she encouraged others who found themselves in similar situations to her own to evaluate their lives, decide whether their religious beliefs sparked joy, and make a decision to stay if the answer was yes and to leave if the answer was no. I understand her train of thought (although I thought the comparison she drew upon was weak), but I feel the need express my firm opposition to her encouragement.

Life is full of hills and valleys, and from my experience, the hills don't always seems as great as the valleys. The valleys seem deep, dark, and vast, and at first glance, it would seem they go on forever. But they don't. They don't. They stop. You eventually reach a plateau or a hill. And you eventually find that you can breathe again. And then come the small, rolling hills that roll on for a little while letting you bask in the sunlight and feel warm again.

Every relationship, whether it be with God, religion, a spouse, a child, a friend, a parent, will experience all the hills and valleys of life. Without them, the relationship would remain stagnant and boring. Sometimes, relationships (whatever they may be) will be painful because they will force us to wait in those deep valleys longer than we'd like without a clear understanding of the road that lies ahead. In those moments of confusion, will we feel happiness? Probably not. We won't because we aren't getting what we want and we aren't moving forward as fast as we would like. But can we feel joy? Absolutely. We can hang on a little longer to our faith in a religion, in a spouse, in a child, in a friend, in a parent, if we believe that joy is felt in the assurance that God is in control. It will take time, perhaps a lifetime, but it is possible to hang on, believing that joy is attainable in every relationship.

All week I thought about what would happen if everyone applied her logic to the different relationships in life. I worry what would happen if all husbands/wives evaluated their lives and asked themselves if their marriage sparked joy? I doubt the results would be desirable. And what about those stay-at-home-moms who are new to the gig and who don't know how to deal with 2-year-old tantrums or babies screaming. What then? And how many people, upon evaluating their current job situation, would say their job brought them joy? I suspect not many.

So do we all just run screaming from our current situations and relationships? If so, where should we go? Is there a meeting place for us all to commiserate about our lack of joy? Can you imagine that reunion?

Or do we see life for what it is. It is a place to gain experience. We learn to enjoy the hills when they come, and we learn to appreciate the valleys for the way they push us to bend in ways we didn't know possible. And they force us to realize we are not in control.

This past week, I have been pulled in several directions. It has been a grueling and hard week. Between making meals for women who recently gave birth to visiting a teenage girl who lost her baby at 34 weeks, I have felt a million emotions each night. I don't really think joy was ever one of those feelings. But tonight as I write and as I feel the exhaustion in my back and feet, I do feel a glimpse of joy. I don't understand why I was asked to do all I was asked to do nor do I understand why this girl lost her baby, but I feel joy in knowing that I have gone outside of my normal limits to comfort someone in a situation I cannot understand.

So joy. It's real. It's there. It isn't always felt in the same ways we feel happiness. I hope that people--no matter what relationship they happen to evaluate--will be patient in the valleys and plateaus of life. Hills will come. Understanding will come. And it will all be right in the end. I believe this. I believe in having faith in God and in others.

What are your thoughts?

the thing about my eating disorder

The thing about my eating disorder is that even though the physical actions of the disorder ceased years ago, the mind battle is so very present on a day-to-day, and sometime moment-to-moment basis. Some days, I find myself knee deep in the murky battlefield, struggling to find relief.

And yes, I know what some of you are thinking, "What do you have to worry about? You're thin." I know I'm thin. This has nothing to do with being thin.

Nearly everyday, I receive comments about how quickly I lost the baby weight or how people can't believe my body could ever birth four babies or how I need to be eating more to sustain Birdie, and the list goes on and on. The comments, as kind as they are, attack me at my very core because no matter how hard I try, I cannot see what others see. They see the real me. But when I look in the mirror, I see the me plus twenty fictitious pounds.

I never know what to say when people talk to me about my weight. Ninety five percent of them have no knowledge of my prior eating disorder, and they in no way mean to hurt me by showering me with compliments, but for some reason, their comments make my insides ache, and sometimes boil. I usually reply, "My mom gave me her thin frame, and I'm a runner." But the questions and comments continue. The more they ask, the more I shut down.

Eating disorders are a lifetime struggle for most people, whether they struggle with overeating, anxious eating, eating too little, or purging. Even if a person is seemingly healthy in the eyes of medical professionals or society, no one knows how dark it feels on the inside. I can't really describe the darkness, mostly because it isn't always present, but when it is, it is suffocating. Lately, I have been avoiding all mirrors. It started a little over a month ago when a few women really badgered and belittled me about my weight, and I came home to see someone very different in the mirror. I burst into tears and fell face first on my bed to collect myself so my kids wouldn't know something was wrong.

I'm not sure there is a resolution to this post because I am struggling to find one, but I just wanted to write my thoughts down because surely there must be someone else out there that feels this way. In my perfect world, no one would care what one another looks like. I'd hope we could look past outward appearances and just find beauty in all its forms. It amazes me how quickly I can see beauty in art or in the world around me, but I struggle to find it in myself, even if I look for hours.

I wish this disease on no one. No one.

light

I wanted to write on Easter, but we arrived home from Houston late, and I didn't have a chance to sit down let alone write a few feelings on the blog. But today, I continue to have that feeling that I should must write some of my feelings about Jesus Christ.

If I could describe the relationship I have with Christ in one word, that word would be light. The very thought of him fills my mind and heart with light and seems to edge out the uninvited darkness that creeps in from time to time. The thing about life is that life is full of darkness: temptations, addictions, hatred, judgment, regret, insecurities, loneliness, anger, depression, rebellion, doubt, self pity. And there are moments were the darkness, in whatever form it may present itself, may attempt to swallow us whole and leave us feeling abandoned and ashamed. I've been there. There are days I find myself there still. And with a head hanging down and a heavy heart, I feel powerless. I feel powerless until I remember the source of all power, and with just the flick of a switch, such as a light switch, the light dispels the darkness. And even if the light isn't bright enough to dispel all of the darkness, there is usually just enough light for me to begin navigating back to an area beaming full of light.

I believe Jesus Christ is the source of all the light in my life. Even if I don't think directly of Him every minute of every day, my knowledge of Him influences every thought I have and every action I make. His life continues to teach me how I should be as a person. He is and was the perfect teacher, the perfect son, the perfect friend, the perfect guide, the perfect judge, and the perfect example.

I would not have made out of my momentary darkness without Him. In every way, I am grateful for a loving God, who gave His Son to the world, whether the world chooses to believe in Him or not. I too am grateful for a religion that is focused on Him. I was lucky enough to be raised in a religion that has taught me to search for truth, even if it meant struggling through doubts. I have had my doubts. I still have a few, but I am holding fast to the truths that I know.

God is so good to us. So, so good. Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. He is the light of my life. And I hope that during the peaceful Easter season we just enjoyed that you were able to feel His light too.

just in case

When I was fifteen, I couldn't sleep one night because my mind weighed heavily on the unknown--mostly death. I got out of bed, turned on the closet light, and wrote letters to each member of my family for no apparent reason except "just in case." I have always been oddly preoccupied with death, and perhaps it is because as of yet I have not lost anyone close to me. And although I believe there is an afterlife, and my heart is generally uneasy with the subject.

Lately, I can't shake the feeling that Tim and I need to get some of our affairs in order, and we are slowly beginning to do so just in case. There are so many questions that need to be answered just in case something unexpected happens. (Please note that we do not anticipate anything happening at the moment. I suppose we are just tightening our grown-up pants and tightening up loose ends.)

Here are a list of random things that run through my head whenever I ponder death:
-Who will become guardians of our kids if something were to happen to both Tim and me?
-Do I know all the bank/bill/email passwords?
-Where will we be buried? We have no central family location.
-What will I do if something happens to Tim? Where will I go? Will I stay here? Will I go home? Will I try somewhere new? Who will I ask for help?
-What will Tim do if something happens to me? Who will come to help him with the girls? Will he find a suitable nanny/daycare? Will he remarry? How long will it take for him to remarry? Will he miss me?
-How will my girls remember me? Are there enough home movies that they can watch to remember my smile? My scowl? My laugh? My tickles? My melodies?
-Who will teach my girls how to wear makeup?
-Who will hug and kiss the girls as much as we do?
-Do I know how to work the grill? Or use Tim's tools correctly?
-Does Tim know how to trim the girls hair? Or create whatever hairdo they ask for?
-What are the things we will remember most?
-How will we retain a testimony that God has a plan?
-How will our parents react? Will they understand the depth of our love and appreciation for the support they've offered over the years? Will they be okay?
-Will our dear friends know how much they have meant to us?

The list is obviously not all inclusive, but these things are often on my mind. A couple of weeks ago, Tim and I went out on a rather slippery night, and I was actually fearful that we might not make it home. I wrote the babysitter to cancel, but then Tim and the babysitter thought it would be better for us to go out as planned because the next day was supposed to have worse weather. I regretted the decision the moment I stepped into the car. I probably asked Tim about fifty times if the roads were icy until we made it to our destination.

Clearly, we returned home safely, but we decided that night that we would never put ourselves in obvious danger just to make it somewhere as originally planned. We need to be smarter; a lesson was learned. I worry so much for our girls. I would never want them to live a life without one of us, and I could not imagine a life without one of them. I am probably the biggest worrier on the block, which is always noted by the other moms as I run behind my girls, securing helmets on their heads and reminding them to stay out of the street when they ride their bikes and scooters. I believe very much in preventing as many problems, or in our case boo-boos, as possible. ;)

We always think time is on our side. How often do we hear, "Oh I'll just do it tomorrow? Or I'll worry about that another time?" I was recently reminded that time isn't always linear. We expect it to keep going on and on in front of us, but sometimes that linear line disappears, and all we are left with is static space. I am trying to be mindful of time, and I am trying to be grateful for each new day we are granted as a family. Life is such a blessing, but I think enjoying life is an even greater gift.

What are your thoughts on the subject?

You will never be this loved again.

"You will never be this loved again. So on those days where you are feeling stressed out, touched out, and depleted, just remember that you will never be this loved again. One day you will long for their affection. So choose a soft voice, choose gentle hands, choose love."

--AK

A friend of mine posted this quote to her Instagram after experiencing a long day with her teething baby boy, and when I read it, I cried. I sat upstairs on my couch, staring at my phone and listening to my girls tumble around me, and I just cried. I wish I knew who "AK" was because I'd email her and thank her for reminding me how truly wonderful it is to be filled each day with the amount of love that my heart is filled with. 

It's true. Never in my life have I felt so loved as I have over the past six plus years. My girls hold me so tight so frequently that I often wonder if my skin is really my own anymore, or if it is just an extension of theirs now. I'm sticky when they're sticky. I'm covered in frosting if they're covered in frosting. My clothes are decorated with dozens of stickers just as their clothes are. Who would I be without them? What would my wardrobe look like minus those Frozen and Tinkerbell stickers? I suppose they'd be pretty boring. 

I have decided the hardest thing for me as a parent is coming to terms with the fact that some of my goals, desires and dreams must be put on hold as I tend to this incredible duty I've chosen. A few weeks ago a friend asked me about my goals for the new year, and I immediately felt embarrassed when I admitted that I am pretty goal-less. I used to make goals to visit a certain number of museums a year or to read a certain number of novels, but I have learned that it is useless and very frustrating to make such goals, knowing they cannot be completed without a miracle. I told her that my main focus was enjoying motherhood in the moment. I tend to miss out on special moments happening right before my eyes because I am so focused on what I need to do next. I've been this way my whole life. I didn't love being a student until my final year and a half at college. I didn't fully embrace being a missionary until I was saying goodbye to friends in my second area (11 months into my mission). And it took me over a year to really love the idea of being someone's wife. Although our first year of marriage was rather blissful, I fought a brutal inner battle as I tried to figure out what the hell I was doing. The same thing happened to my first two years as a mother.

I quickly realized I was missing the moments that mattered when we began moving for Tim's job. Being alone in a new state every year helped me come to grips with who I was as a woman, a daughter, a granddaughter, a friend, and especially, a wife and mother. Each year I would go through pictures we had taken in the previous location and feel ashamed that I couldn't recall memories without the help of pictures. I would remember an event, but instead of enjoying the event, all I could remember was feeling stressed because so-and-so was throwing a tantrum or whatever the situation happened to be at the moment. Halfway through our time in Wisconsin I decided I wanted to stop being that person; I wanted to stop stressing out about the unexpected happenings and enjoy the moment. 

For the most part, I'm succeeding. I still stress out about things I have no control over. I think it's going to take me a lifetime to learn how not to do this. The past two days have been snow days here in Texas, which I know is laughable to my Wisconsin friends, but because Texas doesn't put salt anywhere after freezing rain, it actually is pretty gnarly outside. When I woke up yesterday, I threw the covers over my head and grumbled how yesterday was going to be sooooo long. Knowing I'd have all the kids all day long made me cringe, especially because I figured we'd be stuck inside all day. By 9:30am, I had nearly had it with them and their constant whining when I remembered the above quote. I came downstairs, collected my wits, and invited the girls to join me in the kitchen to make cookies. We laughed as the mixer flung cookie dough all over the counter, spurring a quick race to see who could collect the most dough. After I put the cookies in the oven, I looked out the window and saw some of our neighbors taking advantage of the slanted driveways that had been iced over by sledding down them at rapid speeds. I urged the girls to get their winter clothes on and we tiptoed outside and went slip-sliding down the driveway. We borrowed our neighbor's sled and took a few runs down the other driveways in the neighborhood. I haven't laughed that hard in such a long time. By the time we came inside, my attitude about the day had dramatically changed.

This morning I did not grumble even though I knew my kids would not be venturing outside due to the crazy ice. I decided I would be happy no matter what, and I was for 90% of the day (navigating a packed grocery store with four kids--three of whom were determined to push their own mini-carts--only to find one gallon of milk left in the dairy department was not very fun). We gave each other manicures, painted pictures, made pizza, played sorry, built towers with legos, stuck stickers on all parts of my clothing and hugged a lot today. Today I felt so loved. I really will miss these days because it seems like no matter what I do--be it good or bad--my kids love me completely. They are forgiving and kind to me as I continue to learn about motherhood.

How I am as a mother, wife, daughter, granddaughter, friend, and woman is my choice. 

gratitude trumps insecurity

Smell: warm chocolate chip cookies
Feel: the soft clank, clank, clank of my macbook keys
Hear: a piano rendition of Celine Dion's "My heart will go on"
See: bold-colored markers on my messy kitchen table and glitter-stained tile floor
Taste: cold, crisp ice dissolving in freezing water

This post may feel a little disconnected, but just go with it.

It's 7:56 and I'm sitting at my kitchen table, feeling consumed with a sense of gratitude for this life that I have chosen. Not two hours ago, I feel completely overwhelmed by the whole of it, but after an hour of washing dishes, coloring a "My Little Pony" and a few snowflakes with the girls, reading James and the Giant Peach with Mya, and singing the girls their bedtimes songs, I feel renewed for a new day. Gratitude always trumps every insecurity I ever feel about this beautiful and crazy life I've chosen.

Mya had to make a shirt to celebrate surviving the first 100 days of school. She chose to make 100 glittery snowflakes in honor of Frozen, which she hasn't seen in almost a year (girls can be so easily persuaded to follow trends). If you know me, you know I hate glitter. It is probably my least favorite crafting tool ever; however, I was lying in bed on Sunday and the thought occurred to me that glitter is going to be a staple in our house for quite some time due to the fact that we are way in over our heads with girls over here and that I should probably just get over it. So when Mya approached me with the idea, I just smiled and nodded my head. And boy was I ever patient as I watched her spill glitter all over the shirt, table and floor. I saw Mya cower when she accidentally knocked over an entire bottle of blue glitter on the floor, and I'm not going to lie, my heart sank just a bit, but I saw her face and quickly grabbed the broom without even losing my mind. I'd call that remarkable. I wish you could've seen her sweet smile as she turned to wave to me before school. She was confident and happy with the shirt that we created together, and that made all the difference. All too often I ruin some really fun projects by being too concerned by the mess it makes to complete the project. It is my goal to change that about my personality.

Two days ago I decided to pick up a children's novel at the library in town. The library here looks like it was converted from an old trailer into a small library so the selection isn't great, but it works. I asked the librarian to point me in the direction for some good old fashion Road Dahl books; I thought Mya would adore Matilda. They didn't have Matilda so I opted for James and the Giant Peach. (P.S. The librarian didn't know how to spell Road Dahl, and it took all the kindness I possess to let that one slide.) Mya scoffed at me when I suggested reading it and told her it didn't have many pictures, but we're five chapters in, and she's hooked. I'm going to have to work on my voices because she isn't a fan of a few of the ones I've been using. While we read, I have been working on her reading comprehension by stopping to ask her questions every once in awhile. It is my hope to instill a love of reading and writing in my girls.

Sometimes being a mom is grueling. Okay, there are a lot of really tough days, but at the end of the day when I sit and think about all I do to teach my girls and how much they've grown over the past 2, 3, 6 years, I am also amazed at how much I've grown. No one taught me how to potty train a child, but I've successfully trained two of my girls (and I'm about to start with Elle soon). No one taught me how to stay sane when all four kids are crying/whining/screaming, but I do it every day. No one taught me how to cook for two or three or four or five, but I'm figuring it out with each new hungry mouth to feed. No one taught me how to draw a My Little Pony or Princess Aurora, but I've almost mastered the two perfectly now. No one taught me how to manage my time between playing make believe, building tall towers, cooking lunches/dinners, cleaning the house, folding a million loads of laundry, walking a very large dog, nursing an endless supply of babies (should I go on?), but I do it every day. I've grown a lot in the past 6+ years. Admittedly, I've taken a few steps backwards only to take a few giant ones forward.

I've decided being a mom in my house is really about finding love and loyalty amidst the craziness and chaos. Everyday I tell myself to be proud that I manage a great deal of chaos with a lot of patience and grace. Sometimes I totally fail, but for the most part I am succeeding, and I can tell that I am by the way my kids beg for one more kiss, one more hug, one more story, one more song. I pray they will love me, their dad, and each other fiercely, and so far I feel like we are doing okay, and for that I feel a great deal of gratitude and love on this cold, wintery Thursday night.

honor

After a tumultuous and painful 2013, 2014 brought my heart so much peace and understanding. I remember sitting downstairs on our leather couch in our cramped townhouse in San Diego drafting all my goals for 2014. They were the normal, run-of-the-mill type of goals--you know the ones--be healthy, find a hobby, make smart choices, find more friends, be better, etc. Within ten minutes I was bored of my list, and I ripped the paper from the yellow-lined notepad I was scribbling on and tossed it into the garbage. I sat in silence watching Tim flip through channels and football games, and I thought about how much our relationship had flourished in spite of all the pain we endured throughout the previous year, and I knew immediately I only needed one word to be my goal for 2014, and that word was grow.

I wanted/needed so many areas in my life to grow. They had become dead, dried up, or washed up. The me I really wanted to become was empty. She was lifeless. And I knew a lifeless vessel couldn't weather the storm with three--soon to be four--small vessels following her. I made a list of all the relationships that needed weeding, all my weaknesses that needed pruning, and all my strengths that needed fortifying, and I got to work. The work was hard and tiresome, and I gave up a few times in the middle, but now at the end of the year, I see a small, budding garden of people I've grown to love and weaknesses I've grown to be strengths.

In the midst of my personal gardening if you will, I learned a very important lesson--I learned to accept things/people/relationships for what they are and not for what I hoped they'd become because the hoping they'd be more than they actually were was oh so exhausting. For example, I mended a relationship (that unbeknownst to the other person in the relationship) caused me a lot of heartache. I'd lie awake at night wondering how to make it better when in reality it was just as it needed to be--it just took me years to see that. I wanted something more out of a relationship that I ultimately learned exists to serve a few purposes and nothing more. I wrestled with that idea for months, but when I finally let go of my unrealistic expectations for the person and said relationship, peace filled my heart in a way I could never have imagined.

Allowing myself and others the opportunity the chance to grow brought renewed life to my soul. I started seeing light where I once saw so much darkness. Tonight as I sit in a new state, in a new house and on a new couch in a room filled with so much light, I have decided this year my word will be honor.

I intend to honor the friendships I took time to grow last year by showing my gratitude in different ways whether it be through an unexpected phone call, email, text, or letter. I want the people in my life to know how much I love and respect them.

I intend to honor my body. Since Felicity's birth, I have struggled to look in the mirror. My mind plays tricks on me, and I am finding it hard to help my brain see past what it thinks are imperfections. When I think through my 31 years on this earth, I realize how lucky I am to have a healthy and able body that allowed me to ice skate for more than 10 years, run for more than 16 years, walk hundreds of miles through the streets of Argentina and Europe, and give life to five kids, and birth four beautiful girls. It is time I start honoring this beautiful creation I've been given.

I intend to honor to my husband. People always ask me how I survive so much chaos, and I always point at Tim and say, "I make it because of him." Tim is the best person I know. He gives way more than he receives. He loves me in a way I can't really describe. He sat with me when I hit rock bottom, held my hand, past no judgment, and without saying a word--he pushed me to higher ground. I am going to find ways to honor him and our relationship.

I intend to honor my girls. They are growing so fast. Tonight I was running my fingers through Genevieve's curls as I sang her bedtime songs, and I couldn't believe how long her hair was. It's like she grew a foot in a day and her hair grew too. All the girls are in different stages. Some of the stages make my blood boil, but for the most part, the stages are fun and interesting. I love seeing who they are becoming, and I love being a part of it.

I intend to honor myself. There are so many things I want to do--like I want to start drawing again and I want to cook for 50 people and I want to read 10 books and I want to be more consistent with my blog writing and I want to learn how to do about a million things (like start our grill for example), but I never do any of them. I claim I don't have enough time in the day. And it's true, my time--you know the minutes I actually spend alone--are very few. If I'm not with the kids or making meals, I am working. If I'm not working, I am usually putting off work to cuddle with Tim because the man just needs a good cuddle every now and again, but then I get stressed that I put off work and I work double time the next day. It is a vicious cycle. But this year, I think I am going to try and organize my life a little better so as to find ways to develop talents and return to old interests. I'm tired of not doing what I intend to do because of excuses. Excuses are the worst.

And lastly, I intend to honor my God. Just as soon as Felicity's schedule begins to take shape, which I anticipate happening rather soon because it's already beginning to happen, I am going to go back to some sort of normal scripture reading pattern. I was doing really well with my early morning readings until November 18th. I just need to find a new schedule and a new way to squeeze in some one on one time with the man upstairs.

Well, there you have it. There's my word for the year. Felicity is screaming for food upstairs so I better go. Be kind to us 2015! Please be kind.