I've had an interesting realization lately.  There have been several times I've sat in classes, meetings or discussions on womanhood and gotten the very uncomfortable feeling that I don't quite fit in. As women discuss feeling inadequate, guilty and overwhelmed, I couldn't quite relate.  As I've reflected upon this, I realized I haven't always been secure and self-confident.  It's taken quite a bit of work, which is why I decided to write this post.

The day Joshua was diagnosed with a brain tumor, I sat in the hospital panicking over SO MANY different things.  One of  many panics was remembering the statistic that the stress of a critically ill child can lead parents to divorce and families to disintegrate.  I knew I had to do everything in my power to avoid this... and this revelation helped me to realize that I HAD to make this a good time.  Either Joshua was going to die, and these would be my last memories with him, or he was going to live, and I didn't for him to forever be a victim.  We had to take these difficult, stressful times and somehow turn them in to good memories.  It took a lot of conscious thought.  How do you make living in an ICU fun????  It was a lot of hard work, especially since we all felt self pity,  stress, depression and anxiety.  There were times that I didn't know if Joshua would live.  This all strengthened my resolve.  Joshua couldn't walk or talk and could only lay in bed.  I discovered that because laughing is involuntary he could still do it!  I worked hard to make him laugh as much as possible.  I sang silly songs, told jokes, perfected fake laughing and silly voices, and played harmless pranks on orderlies and nurses.  Even though it was the worst time of our lives it also became the best!  I learned that fake laughing turns into real laughing, even in the worst circumstances.

Joshua and I ended up in therapy for a few years dealing with the difficult aftermath of the brain tumor.  One thing I learned in therapy that helps me every single day is to re-frame my thoughts.  I had to learn to take a negative thought and turn it around.  This has taken years and I still haven't mastered it.  For example, as I look around my house I think "this is a disaster!  Why can't I keep my house clean like everyone else?  It's a bio hazard and it's all my fault for not teaching my children to clean nor taking the time to do it myself!"  That's the original thought.... then I catch myself and am so much kinder as I re-frame my thoughts.  This time I think "STOP!  That's not true.  Yesterday during your cleaning time, you took a struggling kid out for ice cream.  Eternally more important! You spend hours a day nursing a baby.  And the children do know how to work - when you asked the most difficult child to clean the kitchen, he did it!  It took four hours, but he got it done independently.  Let it go and get to it when you can!"  When I am able to re-frame, I am more loving and forgiving not only of myself, but of others.  Other than the messy house thoughts, I've gotten really good at re-framing.  Actually, I don't have to catch myself and do it any more.  Now (messy house aside), I skip over the negative and destructive thoughts and jump to the kinder, more hopeful and optimistic ones.  It's taken years, but is so worth it!

I've also learned to take time to care for myself, and even deeper, to teach the children to think about and fulfill my needs.  When the first kids were five, three and baby, I took them swimming with friends.  For two hours, I juggled all three kids in the pool, playing with and chasing after them.  The mothers were all exhausted when we were done.  I knew I had to go home, wash towels, bathe kids, put away toys, etc etc etc and the thought was absolutely nauseating....  so I announced to everyone I was getting in the hot tub for a while.  The other mothers were visibly aghast... but I didn't care.  I put baby in the stroller and lined kids up next to the hot tub.  I put the five year old in charge of baby, and told them all to wait there.  Then I relaxed.  By myself.  When I got out, I was renewed and ready to nicely take care of my responsibilities.  I want to be a nice mother, but if I don't care for myself, I am nasty.  Even more, I want the children to think and care for others, and it needs to be taught in the family.  Now when I'm tired and out of sorts, children volunteer to watch each other so I can nap (in fact, they're the ones to suggest it!)  When I announce that I'm going to the library for alone time, and could really use the living room to be cleaned while I'm gone, I can generally rely on them to do it. They have learned that if they don't help me take care of myself, their quality of life goes down.  Why should I feel guilty?  My children and learning empathy, selflessness and love.  They're learning to communicate their needs and express their feelings.  Isn't that what we want?

Lastly, I've heard women express that they feel they're more, they can do more, and want more.   Thankfully for me, motherhood was my ambition, but I know not everyone is the same.  I think it helps to have an eternal perspective, to understand that we are eternal beings with eternal capacity to grow and learn.  As a mother, I'm learning all the time. Because of my individual circumstance, I've found it necessary to learn about the brain, child development, etc.  Thankfully I enjoy it!  We are in a world where all the learning we want is at our fingertips!  Find something interesting and devour it! Craft if that's your thing!  Teach your children the importance of creating, learning, finding a passion, and then teach them to respect your time as you do!  It will make us happier mamas!

I know I'm nowhere NEAR being a perfect mother.  It's a daily work in progress.  But by being forgiving and loving of myself, I get closer. I feel peace, contentment and happiness.  I remember revelation I received once, that God needs homes for children where they will be loved and taught.  That's it.  He doesn't need His children to get straight A's, be on varsity sports, win beauty pageants, and live in Pottery Barn perfect homes.  He needs us to love and teach our children.    By remembering this, I find happiness and joy in womanhood.

I'd like to reflect for a moment on parenting.  I have been giving a lot of though to what we give our children.  For a long time, I felt badly that I couldn't provide my children with the lifestyle I had thought they would have.  However, I have come to realize a few things.

Firstly, it's ok.  My children are learning from the sacrifice.  The things I MOST want for my children are not cool vacations, electronics, fancy clothes or cars, or a nice house.  I MOST want them to be kind, to be selfless, to be loving and generous.  I want them to have a good perspective.  Recently, a dear friend gave me a tour of her 9,000 square foot house.  It was perfect and beautiful.  I was envious, especially when I saw they had a guest apartment that was almost the size of my entire house... until the moment when the friend said that a desperate person in the ward had asked to rent it. She said that she felt bad saying no, as they have frequent guests that use the space.  She said she didn't think her children should have to give up their personal space, just because guests were invited. Again, I envied the options, even as my heart screamed NO!  No!  Don't teach your children that they are entitled to their own suites. Don't teach your children that their needs come before everyone else. Teach them to be so, so thankful for their beautiful bedrooms.  Teach them that they are very blessed, very privileged to have a nice place to sleep.  Teach them to be thrilled to share, to make someone else feel comfortable, and to be happy to have a turn on your parents bedroom floor, because you were lucky enough to have something worth sharing (for the record, my friend is a wonderful mother, with kind children).

I am forced to teach my children these things by circumstance; my parents taught us by choice, which is so much more admirable.  When I was 16, my peer group received cars.  Some were hand-me-downs from older siblings, some were new and shiny.  Many received gas cards for fill-ups.  Maintenance was provided by dealers.  When I turned 16, I got a stereo.  I was thrilled - I never expected a car.  My parents left me to my own craftiness to figure out how to get home from school. Usually, I rode with friends blessed with cars.  Sometimes I walked (gasp!)  I learned resilience, self-reliance, negotiation skills.  I learned to swallow my pride.  When I began my senior year, my schedule was chaos - early morning seminary, work across town at Dow Chemical, then afternoon at high school.  After school I cleaned houses four days a week, and my evenings were frequently spent babysitting.  A car became less of a luxury and more of a necessity.  I did not get a shiny new car with a maintenance package and gas card.  I got a 1983 Toyota Supra.  It was beautiful.  It was my dad's car - he had to get rides to work with a friend.  His sacrifice made my blessing all the more poignant. The Supra was a fun car, but had its problems.  It had rusted around the top of the windshield.  When it rained, or the snow was really wet, water poured in from the top of the car.  We kept yellow Mickey Mouse ponchos in the car, and had to put them on the seat when the car was parked.  When I wanted to drive, I shook out the poncho and wore it.  Water would drip down my left hand to my arm and pool in my armpit.  The car burnt oil, so every single Friday I would check the level, and add oil as needed.  I also had to check the tires when I gassed up, as they had slow leaks.   I paid for gas with my checkbook, using my earnings from my actual, real life job(s).  Oh, how I loved that car and these memories!  I remember feeling honored, yes, honored, when friends would ask me for a ride home from school.  So, the question to ask myself now: did my parents do me a disservice when I turned 16 and they didn't buy me a new car?

I have previously written about Claire's dissatisfaction with sharing a room with brothers.  I agree with her, I long to give her her own room.  I long to spread out, and have more space.  Our current house is small, and the floor plan is a little ridiculous.  There is a tiny entrance to the kitchen.  The pantry door is within that entrance, so if it's open, we can't get in or out.  We can only open one appliance at a time, so we frequently hear "Can you please close the dishwasher for a sec so I can get this out of the oven?"  The laundry room is off of the kitchen, and the bathroom is through the laundry room.  If the refrigerator is open, it blocks the entrance to laundry, so if you're using the bathroom, you can't get out until the fridge is closed.  If there's laundry in front of the washer, it blocks access to the bathroom as well.  The kitchen is so small, we have to keep the trash in the dining area, which is carpeted.... imagine what that carpet looks like.  It's maddening, as was having a wet left armpit when I was 17.  But as I look back at the car experience, is this house really doing us a disservice?  Will I look back on this in 20 years and laugh?  Remember this as a time of great personal growth and joy?  If not, I need to really start re-framing my perspective fast!

I have discovered that my children take their cues from me.  When things are frustrating, if I get upset, so do they.  If I laugh and tell them it's not a big deal, it's not a big deal.  When I complain that our home is inadequate, they see it as inadequate.  The weight of this responsibility rests on me, and I plan to take it seriously.  When the kids complain that they're the only kids without iphones, I congratulate them on all the blessings of NOT having an iphone.  I have decided to teach them to be thankful for a million little things, to always look for the good, and find joy in the moment.  We will have to see how it goes.

I think we all occasionally struggle with the question of why God allows difficult things to happen to us if he really loves us.  Especially, as we fast and pray, we feel ignored.  I have had many opportunities to ponder this, and would like to record my thoughts.

First, I'd like to offer perspective.  In possibly the most awesome cartoon segment ever, Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck are trying to find a meeting place.  Donald is walking up a hill, and via telephone tells Mickey to meet him at the triangle shaped tree.  Mickey, flying overhead in an airplane, cannot find a triangle shaped tree.  He can only find a round tree.  Frustration and chaos ensue.  Finally, they come to a resolution when they realize they are looking at the same tree from different perspectives.  Both are simultaneously correct and incorrect when they find the tree is actually conical.

Without trials, we are all Donald Duck, continually arguing with Mickey Mouse about the shape of the tree.  Our difficulties force us to walk around the tree, climb it, and look down from below.  We are able to see more completely and fully.  I grew up in Midland, MI, a town that came into existence when Herbert Henry Dow discovered Bromine there in 1897.  Midland is full of affluent chemists, attorneys, and executives.  I grew up with the perspective that hard work combined with a good education automatically lead to prosperity.  Thankfully, I've learned some perspective on this one. One day when prosperity finds me, my new perspective will give me gratitude, and any previous feeling of entitlement will be obsolete.

I also feel this perspective with health.  They say youth is wasted on the young.  After five pregnancies, I hope I'm not wasting my youth.  Every night I can sleep without getting up to use the bathroom is a miracle.  Walking through Costco without resting on the display furniture is a joy.  I purposely park at the back of parking lots, full of gratitude that I can easily walk to the store.

Our testimonies can easily be a matter of perspective.  How did I ever believe the gospel to be true (round tree) when it is so obviously bull (triangle!)  I love President Uchdorf's quote to "doubt your doubts."  Doubt that the tree is either round or triangle, and study it until you can see it's beautiful conical splendor!

A second answer to the question of why we have trials can be found in the purpose of life.  We chose to come to an earth where we have agency.  In fact, agency is our great blessing!  We get to choose! We choose wickedness or righteousness, kindness or evil, obedience or rebellion.  So here's the flip side: if deadly car accidents, claiming the life of our children, only happened to parents who were negligent, we would have NO CHOICE but to be the most devoted.  If poor health only happened to those who were wicked, we would have NO CHOICE but to be righteous.  If infertility only happened to unfit parents, we would have NO CHOICE but to be the best we can.  Our agency would be diminished by the consequence of our actions.  God gives uneven action/consequence sequences to allow us to choose because we desire it, not out of fear of consequence.  Paring bad with bad and good with good undermines the very freedom we so cherish.

Thirdly, we are sitting in a refiners fire.  This life is the time to prepare to meet God.  Life is meant to stretch us, to test us, to make sure that we're ready to receive the blessings ahead (hence, the forfeiting of our entitlement feelings).  This is our chance to prove that we will stand up and bear testimony while enduring our own Gethsemane.

I think we all have subconscious beliefs, some more deeply held than others.  One of mine has always been that as two reasonably smart, hard working, well educated people, we would always be able to provide well for our children.  The last few years has proved that this is not always the case.  It has been difficult, and at times, downright depressing.  However, as so much of life is perspective, I've decided to change mine!  There's not a lot I can do to change our economic situation, but I can learn, grow and teach from it.

I have always been weary of raising entitled children.  Sometimes I have done better than others at curbing this.  However, nothing quite knocks out entitlement like poverty!  I suppose we could max out every line of credit possible to provide our children with more, but the damage to both them and us would be long-lasting.  Lately my children having been complaining that we need a bigger house.  This is true, I don't disagree.  But my inability to change the situation has led us to some interesting conversations.  Recently, we had a discussion about entitlement.  It went something like this:

Kid: "You need to buy a bigger house! I shouldn't have to share a room with them!  None of my friends share rooms with little brothers.  I DESERVE my own room! I need it!"

This was perfect!  It opened a discussion about entitlement.  I explained to my children that they are entitled to certain things from parents: adequate amounts of nutritious food, a few changes of clean clothes, shelter and a bed, affection, love, nurturing, medical and dental care, educational needs met.  Which of these needs were not met?  Where, on the list, did it say OWN BEDROOM?  We had this discussion a week later about newer, trendier clothing... where was that on the list?  This particular child has a cache of personal spending money.  Why not spend that on the clothes?  Apparently, according to the child, buying clothes is MY responsibility as a parent.  Again, I don't disagree - but that is limited to necessity.  I think under a normal situation I would have taken the child shopping for a few new things, not realizing I was feeding the entitlement monster.  Our scarce funds are keeping things in check!

I hope, during these difficult times, that my children are learning to work for what they want.  My boys have been taking karate lessons for the last year.  When our contract expired in May, I tearfully told the instructor that we could not afford to return.  I was shocked when he said that he didn't want to lose good students, and to continue to come anyway.  Poverty has shown us the good in others at every turn!  I am thankful to have my children see this, and to want to think about ways to give back. 

This week, Jared starts a new job... not a career job, but an hourly wage job to pay the rent.  I am thankful for his example to our children - that although he has a good education and skills for a great career, he is not too proud to do what's necessary to provide for our family.  I want the children to learn the value of work, and that when something is given to you, it's a blessing to be treasured, not a right.  As Jared is now working, we have signed a contract at karate once again.  However, the full monthly payment for three boys is hefty, and we volunteered to clean the karate studio in exchange for a monthly discount.  All three boys now go and scrub and mop the studio.   How wonderful to realize that they're not entitled to lessons!  How wonderful that they're learning to problem solve, and figure out ways to work for what they want!

During this time, we've had to go on Food Stamps.  This was a hard decision to make, and somewhat humiliating.  At first, I was tempted to hide it from the world, my private badge of shame.  Then I realized we were given a wonderful blessing!  I realized that, after doing all we could do, we were getting help, and I needed to acknowledge the blessing.  We told the children all about it, explaining how richly blessed we've been in the face of trial.  We told the children that in all the pre-poverty years, we faithfully and ungrudgingly paid taxes and gave to charity, never expecting to be on the receiving end of welfare service.  We told them how lucky we are, how blessed, to live in a time and place where we can get help.  We explained that, once Daddy has that great job, we will have to remember others in our current situation with love and sympathy, that we can't judge, and that we can have compassion and understanding.

We have been so, so lucky to be surrounded by loving and giving people.  We are thankful for grandparents who take kids shoe shopping and give generous birthday gifts.  We are thankful for friends who take our kids out to dinner, give them rides, love and acceptance.  We are thankful for neighbors who find ways to funnel money our way - babysitting, dog walking, etc.  We are thankful for teachers who overlook the fact that our name is missing from the list of class funds and extra school supplies contributors.  We are thankful to point out these gifts to our children, to help them really SEE.

Of course, the children still want to be involved in activities like every other kid.  This year Claire is in 6th grade, the first year of band.  She really wanted to join and play the clarinet.  Instruments are expensive!  Joshua plays the trumpet, because thankfully, we own a trumpet.  However, we don't have a clarinet.... so Claire and I had to have a discussion.  I told her that the school has a few instruments for the most needy children, and that we would try to borrow a clarinet.  However, if they couldn't give her one, we would figure out a way to get her a clarinet.  We're learning to be scrappy!  Claire understood the sacrifice we were willing to make on her behalf, and was grateful! How different is this from pre-poverty, where the clarinet would have magically appeared without preamble?  How much more willing is she to practice, knowing the sacrifice?  Thankfully, the school was able to provide her with a clarinet.  Still, I hope she understands that her receiving the clarinet kept it from going to another needy student.  I hope that she plays it with gratitude in her heart, with understanding, and with more desire to take advantage of the blessing.

I still can't say that I love poverty, of laying in bed and staring at the ceiling.  However, when the sun rises and prosperity dawns, I hope we can take these lessons with us.  I hope that James still saves his birthday money until May, when he spends the bulk on a gift for Claire, and then the rest until September, when Claire gives him enough money to combine with his for a nice gift for Joshua.  I hope that they look at their schools supplies with wonder and appreciation, and tell me that I can return the box of pencils because they have old pencils from last year.  I hope they still ask for the right glue for shoe repair.  I hope that when they see a child struggling, they will look deep to find what they can give.  And most of all, I hope that when their lives give them dark and desperate times, that they will find resilience and gratitude, scrappiness and happiness.

First day of school

It's past midnight and I can't sleep.  Maybe it's anxiety.  Maybe it's because I have a new baby and have been sleeping weird hours.  Maybe it's the 20 oz of Mountain Dew I consumed tonight.  Whatever the reason, I've given up lying in bed and have decided to celebrate the first day of school by writing about it

Today was the first day of school for four of my five children.  I've always loved the first day of school.  I love the newness of pencil erasers and notebooks.  I love new school clothes.  I love the beginning of the fall season.  However, the school year has a progression that, in spite of my best efforts, continues every year.

I'll start with the evening before the first day, when we lay out carefully selected outfits.  The children all shower before bed.  We trim hair and nails.  We make sure bedrooms are straightened up, in order to ease the morning chaos.  Backpacks and lunches are carefully packed.  This kind of super organization will last a few weeks into the school year, and then it will slowly erode.  One kid will miss a shower one night.  Two nights later, the laundry will still be in the dryer and we won't be able to lay out clothes.  Someone will need to finish homework in the morning, so a backpack won't get packed.  By thanksgiving, the whole system will have imploded.  Kids will be showering when I have the energy to nag for twenty minutes.  The next morning, they'll pick clothes from the mixture of dirty and clean laundry on the floor.  Backpacks will be stuffed as they walk out the door to the bus, and will consist of a mixture of wadded up old assignments, notes from teachers I never received, and current homework. At various points throughout the school year, I will make valiant efforts to get back on track.  After Christmas, everything will be better.  I'll stay on top of it all.

Breakfast is another landslide waiting to happen.  This morning we sat down, as a family, to hot, fresh cinnamon rolls (thank you Jared).  Tomorrow, scrambled eggs.  Friday, oatmeal.  Next week, we will still have family breakfast, although once or twice we'll give in to the temptation of cold cereal.  In two weeks, the children will help themselves to cold cereal as they wake up.  In a few months, we'll be handing them granola bars as they walk out the door.  Eventually, they'll have to scavenge for stale popcorn for breakfast. 

Tomorrow, I will spend the first half hour after school totally devoted to my children.  We will go through backpacks.  I will admire the work they accomplished that day.  Together, we will lovingly hang their artwork.  I will know all about little Johnny getting sick in the bathroom, and the hilarious thing Suzie said on the bus.  In March, there will be heaps of paper scattered about.  I will spend precious time deciphering whether homework has been turned in and returned, or still a work-in-progress.  The teacher emails will be rolling in, saying "Child X is missing assignments A, B, C and D" and "Child Y STILL hasn't turned in a book report from last month."

Don't even get me started on reading logs!  This month, we will hang them in a prominent location.  We will read and mark the calendar EVERY DAY!  In two months, I will mark every day at the end of the month, sign it, and the child will turn it in.  Eventually (at parent teacher conference), the teacher will point out that we're missing the last two reading logs.  I will feel like a deer in the headlights.

So, I'm taking this moment to enjoy today.  Pencils have full erasers and sharp points. The bottoms of the backpacks aren't full of crayon papers and candy wrappers.  The principal and I haven't had any heart to hearts yet.  I am superwoman, organized and on top of it all.  This week.

I have given prayer a lot of thought lately.  Two years ago, Jared quit his job, we sold our house, said goodbye to our friends and family, and moved across the country.  Jared started the MBA program at BYU.  We prayed and felt peace and confidence in our decision.  We knew we were doing the right thing.  We had faith that BYU's excellent job placement would provide us with a dream job to meet the needs of our family.  Two years later, things have not worked out as planned.  Jared struggled to find an internship, finally taking an almost unpaid local offer, which greatly altered our financial plan.  Now, three weeks before graduation, we still have no job, and no plan for our future. We are expecting baby number 5, and our money runneth dry.

So, here lies the foundation of my thoughts on prayer: if we are doing what we are supposed to do, trying our hardest, have righteous desires, and are fasting and praying, why is God not answering our prayers?  I have given this a lot of thought, and want to record my feelings.

Firstly, I think sometimes we imagine God as a genie in a bottle.  If we ask nicely, we will receive the blessings we desire (or even think we've earned or deserve).  We expect God to give us what is due. We become disheartened, depressed, or hopeless when we don't feel our prayers are being adequately answered.  We try to have faith, but cannot understand God's timing or ways.  I have often seen, when looking back at previous trials, the hand of God and His blessings in answer to prayers. However, in the moment, it is hard to see that He is answering our prayers in other ways, with other blessings.  I have hope that, in five years, we will look back on this time and see that He did answer our prayers.  By being denied the immediate gratification of the answer we sought, we learned something or were in the right place at the right time for other blessings.  Eventually, the right job will come and maybe isn't ready yet.  Maybe we really haven't exercised enough faith.  Someday, I will understand.  For now, I just have to have a lot more faith and hope.

Additionally, I have to remind myself of the difference between temporal and eternal or spritual problems.  Spiritual problems will effect us for eternity.  Temporal problems can make our lives on Earth painful and difficult, but will only effect this life.  Joblessness is a temporal problem.  I need to remember an ETERNAL perspective, and not let the temporal problems destroy me.  Losing faith because I don't feel my prayers have been answered can MAKE a temporal problem an eternal problem.  I need to hold fast to what will matter longer, and use faith as an anchor to guide me through these difficult trials.

Finally, sometimes the answer to our problem lies in other people.  One of the beauties of the Earth is that God has given us agency, and He will never force anyone to do anything.  Therefore, if I am praying for Jared to get a job, ultimately job offers come from people.  I can pray that these people will hire Jared, BUT God is not going to force them to do so.  I suppose a better prayer would be to pray that Jared will be given clarity of speech, and the ability to interview to the best of his capabilities.  I may be able to pray that the recruiters will see his potential, but again, whether or not the person is able and capable of receiving that revelation is up to the agency of the recruiter.  I can't expect it both ways: we can pray that others will do exactly what we want, and yet have our own agency to make choices.

I am hoping that writing these thoughts will bring me some comfort.  I am writing here, as both our computers' hard drives fried in the last month, and we lost all our documents.  I now feel safer putting things where I can get to them from anywhere.  The loss of the computers is yet another trial to endure.  Someday it will all make sense.  In the meantime, I will look at this as an opportunity to ponder, learn and strengthen my faith.

When you're a mother....

You reach into your coat pocket, only to find it full of plastic beads.

You wake up at 2 am to help a child use the bathroom.

You step on Legos.  A lot.

You paint your house to sell it.  A week later the walls are filthy.

There's always somebody sitting in your chair.

Someone has usually tried your porridge.

Frequently, someone is in your bed.

You eat peanut butter, knowing that little hands have been inside the jar.

If you choose to go to the bathroom alone, it's at the risk of someone screaming at the door.

You've memorized Goodnight Moon.

You spend the day looking forward to alone time after kids go to bed, only to discover that you're too tired to enjoy it.

You can't clean the sliding glass doors enough.

Your nightstand is crammed full of scribbled pictures, given to you by big-eyed, loving little ones.

You hide the candy you intend to give to trick-or-treaters.

You either detest the Elf on the Shelf, or count your blessings that no one has gifted it to you.

When you buy your last pack of diapers, you both rejoice and cry.


This is a brief synopsis of the last 24 hours of my life.