Looking For Advice

January 28, 2011 by · 5 Comments

We are a pretty tight family.  I don’t mean “tight” like “cool” or “totes awesome.”  I mean “tight” like “we spend a lot of time together.”  I sense it won’t always be this way.  The children will inevitably grow up and have a say in what we do together.  Maybe they’ll grow up a little and realize that I’m a weirdy, but until they do, I’m obliged to make them spend time with each other and with me and with their Daddy.

The problem I’m having is this: we watch too many movies.  I can’t say that we watch too much TV because we don’t have cable or satellite or anything like unto it.  But DVDs?  We have so many of those that it doesn’t matter.  Basically, that’s how we spend the majority of our time together.  We watch DVDs.

I want to branch out more.  I mean, I do more than just watch TV with my kids.  I teach preschool to my kids from home and we do ALL sorts of fun stuff together!  We mix play dough colored red and yellow together and make orange.  We make slime out of cornstarch, water, and baking soda.  We make recycled crayons and we stretch and we read books!  Yesterday we didn’t have preschool, but we raked leaves and played with the neighbor’s dog and made cookies and took a trip to the gas station for a treat.

BUT Dad’s not here for those things.  And by the time Dad IS here, Mom’s too exhausted to do anything but cook dinner for us to eat together and then pick a movie for us all to watch after family prayers.

I want ideas.  I want your ideas.

What do you do as an entire family unit?  My husband wants us all to spend the day together tomorrow, bonding.

He has his own ideas for us. He wants me to make a picnic lunch, which I’m happy to do.  But then what?

Hit me with your best shot.  My creativity is tired.

Filed Under: Family ·

Son Rise

January 27, 2011 by · 1 Comment

He’s getting older.Photobucket Why is it that as young mothers, we feel like time is FLYING by but we also feel that it isn’t moving at all?  And not only “not moving” but actually standing STONE STILL?  I’m talking about those days when they won’t nap, when they scream all through the shopping aisles/church/street, when they argue with you… you get the point.  Days like that, I wonder if the day is ever going to end.  I wonder how my pillow is.  I look up in the sky and hope the sun is setting, which it never is.  A watched pot never boils, mama says.

Then I blink and my son has gone from nursing to speaking in full sentences.  So what the heck? I feel this overwhelming urge to treasure every minute, and YET I find every time I wrap my arms around him and go in for kiss, he inevitably screams in my ear!  Treasures aren’t supposed to do that!

But what can you do?  Kiss them anyway, says I.  Kiss them anyway.

Today as I was raking up leaves (interjection: how about this warmish weather?!  I literally begged the kids to play outside with me and I just soaked in the fresh air while a raked for an hour), Trenton ran over to me and asked for a hug.  Then he asked for a kiss.  Then he looked into my eyes and said, “Happy Birthday, Mom.”

Uh, thanks?

“Happy Birthday, Trent,” I said.

“Banks!” He said, running away.  Neither one of us will celebrate a birthday until fall, but it was still nice to hear it.  Never hesitate to tell someone you love happy birthday.  You never know when it will be too late.

Saturday night, I was craving enchiladas.  I felt bad asking my husband if we could go out.  The fridge was full of food -I was just too lazy to cook it.  He agreed to take us all out if I could get the Christmas tree back in the box.  He had undecorated it and pulled it apart while I was on a youth trip, and it was just sitting out by the box with all of it’s branches sticking out in every direction.  I set to work, and I defeated that tree.

I won.

What did I win?  Enchiladas.  We called up my folks -my sister was in town -and we made a family ordeal of it.  Restaurants in these parts are all very charmingly Southwest.  In the gift shop of this restaurant, there is a wooden Indian Chief.  He’s a good 3 1/2″ tall, at least, and the feathers in his headdress aren’t feathers at all.  They’re suckers made to look like feather.  You can pluck them out.  My kids have been enamored with those suckers since they first saw them.  I’ve always told them they can’t have one on account of the fact that I just bought them a lunch they didn’t eat, but Saturday night was different.

The fact that they didn’t eat remained, but the fact that GRANDPA was with us was something mighty different.  Needless to say, each child plucked their own feather and went home with it.  My husband opened Lacy’s up effortlessly and handed it to her.  Trent handed his to Dad.

“Ope’ it, pees!” he cried.  My husband tried and tried, but he couldn’t get the wrapping off.

“Sorry, son,” he said, handing it back, “I can’t open it, you’re just going to have to throw it away.”  To our surprise, he didn’t argue.

“Okay,” he said, taking it back, hanging his head and walking toward the trash.  A few steps into his walk, he turned back and looked at his dad, “Are ‘oo kidding me?” He asked, honestly wanting to know.

We wanted to answer, but we were laughing so hard we couldn’t.  You can imagine his relief.  The sucker stayed.

He took a late, late nap on Monday.  He woke up grouchy and clingy.  He didn’t want anything, and he let me know it.  He only wanted to be a grouch.  Lacy had been watching “A Christmas Story” -a movie both of the kids have seen over and over, especially in the last three months.  I tried to get him interested in the movie, but he wasn’t having it.

As The Old Man started opening his wooden box, marked “FRAGILE,” I started poking my son.

“What is he doing?” I asked, my enthusiasm exaggerated, “He’s opening that!  Look at that!  He’s doing it!  He’s opening it!  What’s inside?  What’s inside?!”

My son wasn’t having it.  He looked at me and very factually said, “A shoe.”

Well, you can’t argue his point. Nevermind the sensual leg or the whole “lamp” idea. That there’s a SHOE.

Mothering, mothering.  Mothering boys.

My life is so full.  Of what?  We’ll talk about it later.

Filed Under: The Boy ·

Um, hi.

January 25, 2011 by · 4 Comments

So I’v been cleaning for the past four years.  It’s TRUE.  It’s TRUE.  I’m not good at it.  I’m inclined to think that if I WERE good at it, I wouldn’t have to do it as much.  I mean, I spend all morning cleaning one area of the house and by the early evening, it looks just as bad as it did before I cleaned it.  It’s moments like that I think one of two things.

#1) What did I do wrong?

#2) What in the blazes am I DOING with my life?

Usually I think #2 because, let’s face it, it’s the easiest conclusion to draw from the situation.  Anyway, I’ve been walking around all day hampered by thought #2, and I’m really pretty overwhelmed in housework.  And when I say “really pretty overwhelmed” I mean “My house is trying to eat me -starting with my mush-for-brains.”

I read a quote by an upstanding housekeeper once.  She said that it is important to remember when you visit mothers of young children that, in general, the mother used to be a good housekeeper, and someday she WOULD BE again.  I have always believed that to be true for myself.  Not for anyone else, though, because I never go into other people’s houses and think something like, “Geez, lady.  Nice mess.”  In fact, I never really notice there is a mess unless the woman points it out.

Anyway, there once was this ecstatic, brief period when my husband was gone all of the time for work training and my daughter was a newborn (read: completely immobile) when my house was nice and clean.  I spend a lot of time thinking about that because when I do, I convince myself that YES I WAS a good housekeeper once and YES I WILL be one again.

Right?

Well, today has been one of those days where I solidly disbelieve it.

Today has been one of those days where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that someday someone will make a bad example of me.

Naughty, naughty woman.  She took time to blog, but she didn’t take time to clean.  And then there’s the loooooonnnnng list of “if’s”

If I had the money to just go out and buy everything little organizational thing I need…

If I just had a bookcase…

If I just had a somewhere to keep my linens…

If I just had access to a housekeeper…

If I just had access to a professional organizer…

If I only had a brain…

I believe in every one of those “if’s.”  I really, really believe in them.  And yes, it is one of my vain dreams to hire a professional organizer.  I’m hoping that he or she turns out to be like a dentist -the kind of person that has ALWAYS seen worse than what you’re showing (which is doing a pretty good job of being horribly bad).  I hope they’ll just “tsk, tsk” and ask me if I clean (much like the hygienist asks me if I floss) and then start teaching me just how certain things are done.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to brave my kitchen.  I’ve been working tirelessly on it but it doesn’t show and I’m still frightened of it.

But I’m more hungry than scared at this point.

Also, I need a thicker, uglier apron.

Filed Under: Family ·

Generations

January 24, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

What is it about seeing Generations that makes us all happy?Photobucket
I get happy over “Generation” pictures even when they aren’t mine. There’s something golden about them, and I’m not talking about the grandparents in them.
Sometimes, the grandparents don’t have to physically BE in the them to be in them. Take this, for instance:Photobucket
My son has his pants tucked in his boot -his great-grandpa’s trademark. Whenever I see my son walking around with his pants in his boot, I automatically think of my grandpa and it makes me smile.
Of course, I’m not trying to say that I PREFER grandpa NOT to be in the picture. Heavens, no!
No, no!
Generation pictures are ALWAYS better with them. Always, always, and without fail. And constantly. Photobucket
There’s Granny. And Mommy. And Lacy. And Me.
Here we are together in our family.

Filed Under: Family · Tagged With:

Where’s My Stationery?

January 21, 2011 by · 7 Comments

Before logging into my blog today, I half-read/half-skimmed an article.  It was written by a Sports writer, and he addressed the matter of internet rudeness.  I loved it.

First of all, I hate whiners.  I didn’t read his article to listen to him whine about the hate mail he gets.  I didn’t read his article to hear him moan about how it hurts his heart when someone disagrees with something he says.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything like that at all.

He just told a couple of stories to illustrate his point.  We all know how I feel about stories… It turns out someone disagreed with something he’d said, so they tweeted him something hateful. They exchanged a few messages, and finally the offended man apologized for how rude he’d been, citing the anonymity of the Internet making easy to be so (rude, that is), and included a link with his apology.  A link, he said, that went to an article where he’d written out his criticism.  The link, it turned out, led to hard core porn.  The offender was trying to be funny.

Funny?

I’m disconcerted.  Before the Internet, offended media-readers would write and mail their complaints in.  I’m inclined to think the porn stayed under the mattress.

This just bothers me.  It BOTHERS me.

The most I can do about it is try to close my eyes between coughs and losing games of Candyland and softly chant “Be the change you want to see in the world.  Be the CHANGE you want to see the world.  BE the change you want to see in the world.”

When you accent different words every time you say them, the quotes sound way cooler.

How this story ended was really great.  The sports writer looked the man up.  It turns out… the Internet?  Not so anonymous.  He called him and talked to him about what had happened. The guy apologized for it, but felt strangely honored that a great sports writer had actually tracked him down and called him.

I found that to be also disconcerting.

“Oh, you clicked on that?  Oh, you tracked me down?  Me?  Little me?  Well, how ’bout that?”

Don’t you think the reaction should be more like, “Oh!  This is… who?  Oh…. ahem… wrong number.  Sorry.  This isn’t he.  I lied.  I’m sorry.  I’m hanging up now.”

Stories like these are the very reasons I make sock monkeys, you know.  There’s something so safe about them.  Something innocent -something simple.  When you look at a sock monkey you feel like maybe the world is going to turn out alright.  When you flick their button eyes, you can almost imagine a world connected only by radio, telephone, and The Hand-Written Letter.  It makes you feel safe and warm and at home with yourself.

Oh I can’t tell you enough how much I long to simplify my life down to the dang wire.  Harboring sickness in my home for the last three weeks had made me have to cancel everything, stay home, and “just” be a mom.  I mean, I thought I already was “just” a mom, but I haven’t been.  I’ve been bopping around all of tarnation, leaving bits and pieces of my mind’s clarity along the way.  After three weeks of staying home and one weekend of solitude, I’m coming to realize that playing Candyland is really fun.  I mean, I’d rather play Candyland with my daughter than “chat” with “friends” on facebook.

I don’t really feel like I’m chatting, though.  I don’t.  Because they’re just words on a screen next to a picture.  But when I play Candyland with my daughter, she’s actually here.  She’s not halfway across the country clicking her little red gingerbread man up candy mountain.  She’s flesh and blood, sitting next to me, giggling, laughing, asking if she can draw the star card, even if she’s all the way to the chocolate space.

There’s more than something to be said for human contact. Internet “anonymity” is definitely worth forsaking in the interest of flesh and blood.  How I wish I knew exactly who read my site, and how much I appreciate the friends I’ve made because of it.  I’ll have you know, though, that there’s NOTHING I say here that I wouldn’t say if you weren’t sitting on my couch next to me right now.  I only wish that you really were.

I hope postcards come back into fashion.

I hope daily tea with friends comes into modern fashion.

I hope we can put down our phones and close our computers and GET BACK TO REALITY (and not the “reality” we see on TV).

In reality, it does not do to send sickening images around as a joke.  In reality, it does not do to let down our guard and show our worst just because we can and no one is looking directly at us when we do.  Social networking is somehow uprooting everything our mother’s taught us about being, well, sociable.

“Be sociable,” she’d tell us, and we’d reluctantly get off the wall and head toward the crowd and engage in conversation.

“Be sociable,” the Internet tells us, and we open five different accounts with cool usernames and start typing all sorts of oddities at the crowd, be they nice or mean or sugary-coated in green.

Last year, I made a goal to spend a week writing letters instead of sending emails and I never did it.  Today, though, I’m making that goal again.  I’ve HAD it.  HAD IT.

Don’t you want a letter?  Don’t you sort of get a little blue when you go to your mail box and find junk mail on top of a few bills?  Don’t you pacify yourself with a few facebook comments, but still wish you had a letter to read -a hand-written letter?

I want a letter.  I want to delete my facebook account.  I want to have my friends over for tea, even though my house is dirty.  Know why?  Because they don’t care.  And if they do, they’ll have manners enough not to say anything.  Being face-to-face with someone does that to you.  It enriches you.  It teaches you patience.  It teaches you how to find humor.  It teaches you to have joy.  It teaches you temperance.  It teaches you how to hold your dang-blasted tongue (sometimes the hard way).  It teaches you how to be polite.

Be the change, says I.  Be the change.

Letter writing starts the minute I log off.  I’ve got stamps at the ready, and I’m excited to use them.  Send me your addresses.  Send me your sister’s address.  Send me the Senator’s address!

I’ve got a world to change.

I’ve got stamps, herbal tea, a dirty house, and a world to change.

Thank goodness I’ve got my “bathing suit” on.

Filed Under: Family ·

Conversations: Part II

January 20, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

I have to add one more conversation to the list before I forget.  My brother, Steve, left a comment on the “Conversations” post about how Lacy asked him draw a giraffe, telling him that her Daddy didn’t know how to.  It reminded me…

Well, the kids just got new curtains.  About time, too.  The ones they had were thin and constantly fluttered from the draft that came through the winder.  My husband bought some of those energy efficient curtains.  He’s 100% sold on them, by the way.  Good bye fashion.

I will admit, though, that there is a noticeable difference in the way our house holds heat since we’ve changed out the curtains.  I held Lacy last night and asked her how she liked her new curtains.

“Good,” she said, “They just keep the giraffe away.”

Giraffe = draft.

Oh, the things they hear.

Filed Under: The Girl ·

Resties

January 20, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

The kids and I are pathetic.

My fever went down yesterday, so LIKE A DANG FOOL I got up and slowly cleaned.  I thought the whole “slowly” thing justified it.

“I am taking it easy,” I told myself, “By doing it slowly.”  And then I thought how nice it would be for my husband -who has been running himself ragged trying to take care of us and work -to come home to some corn chowder, one of his favorite dishes.

I even took plenty of time to lie down between picking-up jobs and dish washings.

Right before the chowder finished cooking, my fever returned and I had to run to the bathroom for the first of what turned out to be three terrible bloody noses.  Okay, did I phrase that right?  It makes it sound like I have three noses.

Anyway, last night turned out to be really bad.  The poor kids’ bodies have HAD it, and though mine has too, I hate that I can’t get up and get back to life as I know it.  But I know if I don’t take it easy today, I’ll have another night like last night and I really think I’d rather slit my wrists and do a handstand in saltwater at this point.

BUT during the times that I actually did rest yesterday, I was able to snap a few pictures that I wanted to share.  The first is of my legs.  Have I ever told you how much I hate them?  Well, I USED to.  They were the bane of my existence.  They were awkward and long, and I was just sure that my life would never achieve it’s true measure of happiness until someone came along with a miracle medical procedure that would shave off a good 5 inches from both sides.

I blamed them for my utter lack of grace.

I blamed my utter lack of grace for my lack of popularity.

I blamed my lack of popularity on my acne.

I blamed my acne for never having any boys interested in me.

So really, my legs were at the root of all these rather radical evils.  Somewhere between living with a roommate with long legs like mine and being six years into marriage, I quit worrying about my legs.

I stopped hating them.

Remarkably, I made more friends, experienced significantly less acne problems, developed a serious relationship with a seriously hot boy (I thought he was a man until I looked at those pictures we developed a couple weeks ago.  Shoot, he was just a kid!), and became magnificently graceful!

Okay, that last one was a lie wishful thinking.

Yesterday as my son slept on the floor next to the couch, I had to snap a picture.  This angle isn’t the best to see it, but my son is SO tiny!  He has the littlest bones and the tiniest frame.  The best part about his body is his big rolly-polly head.  I love to watch him walk around.  I’ve got my very own LIVE little bobble-head.Photobucket
As I sat and watching him sleep, I looked over his thin little body and I couldn’t help but think of “My Big, Fat, Greek Wedding” when Toula’s aunt pinched someone’s (can’t remember whose) collar bone and says, “I could snap you like a chicken!”

I love my little guy. I love that he is sleeping less (though he is sleeping now) and I love that he woke up throwing punches about thirty minutes ago. Must’ve been SOME dream.
While he took the nap you see in the picture above, Lacy crawled on my lap. I let her, and we watched a movie together. Soon enough I looked down and noticed something.
My legs.
Guess what? I LOVE them! I LOVE my legs. I love my long, covered-in-black-hair-but-glaringly-white-underneath LEGS! They’re still long. They’re still awkward. But guess what else they are?Photobucket
Best dang recliner on the block, by jingo!Photobucket
They aren’t sexy, but they’re able.
Hm.
That sentence might just be the theme for my entire body. I’ll have a shirt made, shall I? Have those words emblazoned across the chest?Photobucket

The last picture I have to share with you is revealing. I’m not talking about my chest anymore, so don’t get any ideas.
I’m talking about my housekeeping.
Keep in mind, I’ve been playing nurse since Jan.1, breaking only to be sick myself.
Yes, my tree is still up. I haven’t had a second to take it down, and that’s the gospel truth. But look past that, if you can, to see my daughter with my lap apron tied across her chest. She’s washing the windows with a baby wipe.
They’re so “clean” now!Photobucket
Doesn’t that picture make you happy?

Well, SOMEONE has got to pick up the slack since mom’s literally fallen down on the job -might as well be Lace.

Filed Under: Family, The Boy, The Girl, The Husband ·

…and then some

January 19, 2011 by · 2 Comments

I’m about to sit and write another thoughtful post, but before I do I want to take a minute to sincerely THANK you guys for the comments you left me yesterday!  I’m having one heck of a time with this flu, and just reading your short little messages did me a world of good.  Thanks for taking the time to write them.  It boosted my spirits this morning.  Trenton has been sleeping abnormal lengths of time, and I’m severely worried about him.  Danny took him in yesterday and (aside from two very minor ear infections) the doctor wasn’t worried at all.  But I am.  Because he’s STILL sleeping.  Last night, he slept for 19 hours.  Can you even begin to wrap your mind around that?!  And I wasn’t thinking ‘Hey, nice!  I’m feverish and coughing my brains out of my nose and my youngest is nice enough to sleep through it all!’

I was actually thinking ‘What is wrong with my baby?’ And I didn’t rest at all.  I’m still worried, and I believe it is given unto mothers to be so whenever they choose.  Lacy’s recovered just fine, so far.  She crawled up on me yesterday, put her hand on my face, softly stroked it, and said, “Mama, you are warm on you head and you neck and cheeks. I will just take such good care of you and I can SHARE the medicine Daddy bought for me.” I melted right there on the spot, which didn’t help the fever a’tall.

As I said before, I’m going to write another thoughtful post.  Reason being: I learned a lot while I was gone on my little weekend “retreat” and I don’t want it to be forgotten.  I want to store it up -remember it -so I don’t have to spend that amount of money again just to gain a little insight into my life.  I had to spend a weekend in virtual silence to really figure everything out.  From now on, I’m hoping to spend a fraction of each day in silence and a good chunk of Saturday in silence each week.  The plan is: hoard the silence so I don’t have to spend money to get it.  I like to think of it as my year’s supply.

While I was sitting on the ultra-tall bed in my room, I was struck with a sudden memory which I would now like to pass on to you, should you choose to accept it.

When I was 17, a tremendously generous friend of mine paid for a plane ticket for me.  The destination?  Hawaii.  My friend’s mother was already there, was renting a condo and relaxing on account of her health, and we (my friend and I) were set to meet her there and spend the week visiting her.

Getting to Hawaii was an adventure all it’s own -a story for another day, but once we arrived the beauty of island of Maui made it all worth it.  From the balcony of the condo, we could see the beach, right across the street.  The air was warm and beautiful -the colors of the island seemed unreal -especially to an Arizona girl who was used to seeing only brown and brown and petrified wood.

One day, my friend’s mother suggested we take a drive.  The drive, she pointed out, was the thing.  Not the destination.  The drive was famous for being incredible gorgeous, but apparently where the drive ended up was in a little town that didn’t take kindly to tourists and thus did everything in their power to discourage them.  My friend and I hopped in the car with my friend’s mother, and we began the drive.

We all wore our bathing suits, and it felt very natural to.  In fact, since I’d landed in Hawaii, I’d hardly taken my bathing suit off.  Wearing my bathing suit ensured that I could readily take advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the water.

The drive turned out to have MORE than it’s fair share of water.  We would pull off the the side of the road and eagerly jump into the crystal clear water that formed into giant pools under spontaneous waterfalls.  We bought fresh pineapple from roadside farmers, and took pictures of the wonderful nature scenes that surrounded us on all sides of the road.

Oh, the road.  I will never forget that road.  It was narrow -so narrow in parts that only one car could fit at a time.  There were sharp curves and a definite lack of guard rails.  While coming around a curve, a person would have to honk to let anyone who might be coming the other way to stop.  We took the drive very slowly -very, very slowly, and very very cautiously.

When we arrived at our destination, we were greeted by a very unfriendly village and ONE single, solitary, run-down, stocked with overpriced food… concession stand.

I think about that now and realize that I spend too much time focusing on a “destination.”  In fact, I’m so busy thinking about the “when I get there,” I’m forgetting about what’s happening all around me right now!  There’s certainly no lack of spontaneous waterfalls and brilliant scenes worthy of photographing, and I’m afraid I’ve missed out on the opportunity to more fully enjoy them because, quite frankly, I haven’t had my metaphorical bathing suit on.  The road is tough, to be sure.  It’s narrow and scary and there’s sharp turns that I’d just rather not take, but the breathtaking beauty all around me is what makes it worth it.

The truth is: I’m scared over my future.  I’m scared to take that road.  But what good am I doing thinking so much about it?  The fact that I will take it is certain!  Now is the time to pull off the road for a bit, jump into the water, laugh, and enjoy what priceless beauty there is.

I’m not talking about ACTUAL beautiful scenery because if you could see my house right now, you’d never ever come over again. (We’ve been sick since New Year’s, mmm k?) I’m talking about my kids and my husband and the brown, brown desert that actually IS quite beautiful in it’s own unique way.

Now if you’ll excuse me, my daughter woke my son up and he’s performing a wide range of gastrointestinal pyrotechnics.

Somebody? Find my bathing suit.

Filed Under: Family ·

Conversations

January 18, 2011 by · 3 Comments

My daughter is a source of true joy in my life.  She’s has certain independence about her that I just LOVE.  Through dating her Daddy, I learned something remarkable about him: when someone told him not to do something, it piqued his interest rather than put him on guard.

He passed that trait directly on to his daughter.

“Sweetie, don’t spill that.” Automatically makes her think, “but WHY?” and she proceeds to spill.  She knows what she’s doing is naughty, but she does it anyway on account of insatiable curiosity and a small degree of stubborness.

The great side-effect of this trait is that she believes she can do anything.  Anything at all.  And I’ll TAKE that, by jingo!  I love watching her make her way through life perfectly content on believing that there isn’t anything she can’t do.  She’s got confidence in spades.

I’ve been trying to remember to record my latest favorite of her conversational cuteness.  It’s “up yer…”

As in, “Mom, get my crayons.  They’re up yer closet.”

“Mom, can you see my fishy?  She’s up my dresser.”

It sounds so rude when she says it, and her innocent tone makes it all the more funny.

The other thing she likes to do is use “very” in the place of “really.”

As in, “Mom, I very love you.”  It actually does sound sweeter than “I really love you.”

Right now, though, she’s sick.  She feels better today than she did yesterday, and I’m grateful for that.  The worst part about really sick kids (aside from the constant worry, of course) is the way you seem to “lose” your child’s personality.  I sometimes have to keep from tapping on their head and asking, “Are you still in there?”  They always come back, though.  After about three doses of medicine and a few days of mostly sleeping, they always come back.

Last night, she called for me from her bedroom.  I was on the couch on account of my OWN sickness.  I walked in, and she said, “Mom, I just need a hug.”  I crawled under her thick blanket with her and loved on her.  I asked her if she wanted medicine, and she said that she did.   I explained to her what a Priesthood Blessing was (she’s had one before, but little minds sometimes forget) and asked her if she wanted one.

“Jesus,” I said, pointing to the picture on her wall, “Doesn’t want you to be sick.  It makes him so sad because he loves you so much.”  I softly stroked her cheeks that had turned red on account of her very high fever.

“Jesus wants to help make you all better, but he’s in Heaven right now.  He lives in Heaven, but He can help through the Priesthood that Daddy has.  If you let Daddy give you a blessing, Jesus can help make you all better.”  I then asked her if she would want a blessing.

“Yes,” she said, hoarsely.

“Okay, ” I said, “Daddy is going to give it to you because Jesus lives in…” I paused to let her finish the sentence.

“Church,” she croaked out.  I giggled.  Giggling makes me cough, but I couldn’t help it.  Just then, a truck pulled into our driveway and it just happened to be PAPA who lives about 4 hours away!  We couldn’t believe it!  He came at just the right time.  After her Daddy and Papa gave her a blessing, she took a little bit of medicine and went to bed.  She woke up several times during the night.  I was able to help her once, but that was it.  After helping her only once, I literally stumbled back to the couch and sank into it, nevermore to rise.

Sunday night, I had started to run a slight fever.  I knew what was coming, so I used what strength I still had to take care of my sick daughter.  She’d had to miss out on her own birthday shin-dig of cake and ice cream and Great-Grandma’s house on account of her running a temperature.

“Sweetie,” I said, holding her in my arms and looking down into her red, watery eyes, “I’m SO sorry you’re sick!  I just want to take care of you.  I bet Grandpa would be SO SAD to hear that his Lacy was sick.  I bet if he came over, he would read a book to you.  Can I read a book to you?”

“Yeah, you can just read Jim’s book that he gived to me.” She said.  Before I could even ask what book that was or where it was, she added, “It’s under the counter about the kitchen.”

Sure enough, under the kitchen counter there was one book.  I took it into her room, sat on her bed, and started reading to her.  Between page turns, she would ask me questions that had nothing WHATSOEVER to do with the book.

“Bryce is mean to me,” she would say.

“How is he mean?” I would asked.

“He just CRUNCHED my fishy cracker,” she thrust one finger held up high in my face, “Just ONE fishy cracker.  Not ALL of them,” she opened her palm, wiggling all five fingers, and then quickly tucked them all under except one, “Just ONE.”

“What did you say to him?” I asked, holding back a laugh.

“I just telled him to STOP IT,” she said, “And he did.  But sometimes he hits me.”

“He hits you?” I asked, suddenly not even THINKING about laughing.

“Yeah, and he just gets in very trouvle. And they tell him, ‘stand in the corner, fold your arms,’ and he does but he still tries to KICK like this,” she said, flailing her little legs under the thick blanket, “He is mean to me,” she repeated, “And mean to all of us at Primary.”

“And he gets in trouble from the teachers?” I asked.

“Yep!”

“Who are your teachers?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“I dunno!” She shrugged, “I just know that Jesus loves me and even Bryce and you and Daddy and Trenton and EVERYONE!”

“That’s right,” I replied, smiling.

“Mom, what is service?” She asked.  I went on to take full advantage of the “teaching” moment and talked to her about service and why we do it and what kinds of services she can do at her age. I was so excited to have a little discussion with her, and got so wrapped up in it that she took me by surprise when she interrupted me.

“Mom,” she said, “Just read my book to me.”

I couldn’t help but all out laugh out loud.  Every time she woke up last night, she was still burning up with fever, but she popped out of bed this morning, ran into the living room where I was still in a half-dazed Nyquill induced coma and said, “MOM!  LOOK at the SKY!  It is SO BEAUTIFUL.  It’s PINK!” I reached up to find her fever 100% gone.

She crawled on top of me and cracked the curtain open, forcing me to see the goodness of morning.  The trick today will be getting her to REST her little body so the fever doesn’t come back full-force like it did with her brother.

After croup, pink eye, and this obstinate and terrible cold dovetailing each other, I’m MORE than ready for spring.  Who’s with me?!

Filed Under: The Girl ·

Sunrise

January 17, 2011 by · 1 Comment

I didn’t want to step outside.

I cracked open my screen door and hesitated.  I can’t remember the last time I watched the sunrise -I can’t remember if there has ever been a first time.  I woke up this morning determined to watch it -determined to see what I KNEW to be a glorious and beautiful transformation of nature.

But there I stood on the precipice of my personal morning devotional… scared.  I’ve always been afraid of the dark, and I began to doubt if my determination to see the sunrise was enough to get me to step over the line between the comfort of my warm home to the darkness that enveloped my front yard.

With a deep breath, I gripped my quart-size mason jar filled with hot herbal tea, straightened the beenie I crocheted for my husband last year (which he insisted on plunking on my head as I dressed this morning), and I took that first step.

I could barely see a thing.  I looked around for a source of light and found only stars, those “rulers of the night” who persist in feigning the glory of the sun.  They barely glimmered enough light to make themselves known, save one.

One stood out above all the rest.  His glow was far brighter, far stronger than all the rest, yet it was not nearly bright enough.  I looked out on the horizon and saw a hope of a sunrise, and that was enough to satisfy me for the moment.  I gripped my hot tea close to my body and looked around.  In the darkness, there was little movement.  The last few stubborn leaves of fall clung to my trees, rustling in the very slight breeze.  There were no birds singing -no birds flying.  I looked back to the horizon and saw little change.

I folded my arms and asked my Father in Heaven to help me see the beauty of the sunrise -to fully FEEL of it.  I closed my prayer, opened my eyes, and the horizon was glowing brighter.

I looked to the sky and noticed the stars had seemed to vanish completely.  The soft glow of promised sunlight was enough to beat them into silent submission.  In earnest, I looked for the brightest of the stars.  He was still making his presence very much known -still clinging on in the foolish hope that he would come off conquerer.

A movement on my left caught my eye, and I turned to see a bird flying low to the ground as if to test the first light.  The morning breeze picked up, and I took sips from my warm tea in hopes that my body would store up some heat.

The colors of the horizon continued to shift and change, and I watched.

The distant clouds radiated indescribable hues of pinks, golds, blues, and violets.  It was breathtaking.  I fixated my eyes on it, giving myself up to it’s spell-like state.

How is the stubborn star fending? I wondered.  Glancing up, I saw that he had diminished to a tiny fleck, but still glowing.  How badly I wanted to tell him to fade, to give up.  He looked so sad, standing up against the unconquerable force of the Sun.

All at once, I became aware of the freezing temperature around me. Had it actually gotten colder?  I sipped on my tepid tea, and shifted my weight from one leg to the other.  The thought came to me to just… go inside.  Give up.  The sun would rise tomorrow and the next day and the next week and the next year.

Why should you endure it today? The stubborn star seemed to ask.

Had I endured the initial fear of darkness and the bitterness of cold to simply turn back now?  Now?  Just when the Sun was so close I felt as if I could climb a tree and SEE it?

No, I shook my head at the faint star.

No, I will not give up.  I will stand to see you fail.  I will stand to see the Sun.

In a sudden stroke of genius put on by the utter lack of bodily warmth, I put my cold herbal tea down, sipped my thick leather coat up, and began walking.  I turned and walked toward the Sun.

The early morning wind picked up more speed, biting at my face.  I found a safe place to shield me from the wind and offer me a better view of the Sun and waited.  The dim star begged me to return indoors.

I refused to yield, though my resolve was weakening.  I glanced around to see more birds flying, but now they had lifted themselves high off the ground.  The Sun had instilled confidence in their flight.  In the distance, a rooster crowed.  As if the Chorus of the Birds had taken it as their cue, their quiet, soothing sounds permeated the silence of morning.

I stretched out my frame -stretching it out until it was AS TALL as it could be.  I fixed my eyes on the horizon and strained to see…

And there He was.  Rising up against the darkness of night, the Sun transformed the earth with his brilliance.  I took in a deep, satisfying breath.

The fear I had felt upon leaving my front door was completely wiped away, and I took the short walk back home with all of the confidence in the world.  Just as I turned away, I looked up.

The Star was barely discernable in the sky, flickering out his last lights before succumbing to the Sun’s extinguishing powers.  He had lost, but he meant to rise again.

And he will rise again.  Every night, he’ll come out to rule.

But how pathetic is the kingdom he rules -how short-lived is his reign.

There is hope smiling brightly before him and behind him, and that hope is greater than he.  That hope is greater than little me.  That hope is the reason life comes out and fear dissipates.

That hope is the reason I have confidence in today.

Filed Under: Family · Tagged With: , ,