Grown and Flown

 Many times as a mom I've spent time documenting, memorizing and counting the firsts: first smile, first step, first day of school. But sometimes you don't know the lasts until they are passed: the last climb-in-your-lap snuggle, the last time saying amp-elope instead of antelope, the last time asking for help zipping a coat.

On Sunday, with a small "holiday weekend" congregation, Dallin was asked to sit at the sacrament table, which hasn't happened in a while. The current Priests Quorum has it covered and Dal has been busy leading the music as the chorister, so I couldn't remember the last time I'd heard him bless the sacrament, but as he knelt to pray over the bread I knew that this was a last...likely the last time he'd bless the sacrament in our home ward. I wanted to memorize his voice, his inflection, the feeling of gratitude that my boy is worthy to perform this ordinance on behalf of our ward. I remembered the first time he blessed it; I felt nervous for him, hoping he'd get it right, hoping he was ready, hoping we'd reviewed with him all the things he needed to know.

He's grown in height and maturity since then. He's become so responsible, so capable, so grown! And tomorrow he's flying from the nest, away from home to experience his first apartment, his first time in college, his first foray into adulthood. I'm feeling those same feelings: Will he get it right? Is he ready? Did we review with him all the things he needs to know?

This morning I woke up with an ache to hike, and I wanted Dallin to come with me. Luckily, he's easy to convince so we headed to Pulpit Rock after we dropped Annie off at school. We followed worn trails, winding our way toward the steep climb up the rock formation that overlooks our city: Dallin's home since kindergarten. He doesn't seem nervous to leave or worried about college. The anxiety is left for me to hold, as it always has been at each of his first steps onto new paths. His new paths have always been mine, too. His growing was my growing; his new phase ushered in a new chapter for me, too. Sometimes, I didn't feel ready. 

When he was four years old and out playing the front yard of our new home in North Ogden, he met the neighbor kids and raced in to say, "Mom, they all are playing with squirt guns. Can I get mine out?" And then "Mom, they are all having popsicles. Can I have one?" And lastly, "Mom, they are going to play on the playset next door. Can I go?" It was hard letting him out of the yard on his own that first time. I feel the same with this new phase of parenting an adult. Except I can't spy on him through the kitchen window to make sure he's doing okay.  I'm wondering if I'll get it right? Am I ready? Do I get a review of the things I need to know? Luckily for me, Dallin has always been a most patient first child, forgiving of my shortcomings and full of grace for all my foibles. I'm sure we'll navigate this new chapter together, like we always have, but separate, too, which will be new. 

Sending all my love, and a bit of my heart, to Idaho tomorrow with my baby boy. Love you, Dal!

heart hands

"I can get out by myself, mom. You don't need to take me up."

"Okay," I say. But, I'm wondering when she suddenly switched from wanting me to walk her all the way to the door at preschool.

"I can open the car door myself, too. You don't need to get out."

"Did you get your lunch? Your jacket?"

"Yep! I've got it. Ohhh. The door is heavy. But, I got it! Bye, Mom!"

I watch as she skips up the walk (a newly perfected skill from dance class), her cute a-lined hair bobbing up and down. She stands on the porch and knocks. She turns and waves. She knocks again and peeks in the window. She turns and smiles.

Then, still waiting for someone to come to the door, she sets her stuff down and turns around, putting her little hands together to make the shape of a heart. And, she melts my mother heart.

When did my baby get so big? And how will I survive when she heads out to the big world of kindergarten in 6 short months?

Motherhood marches on. And sometimes, in some ways, I feel like I can't quite keep stride.

Spring

I woke at 4am with a headache, which is never a good start. But, after I got the big kids tucked away at school and activities, I loaded baby girl in the stroller for a walk in the Springtime. She watched for dandelions and asked me to stop and pick them for her. We paused to smell the blossoming crab apple trees. She got out for a quick run and back in for another ride.  More than once. I smiled as I looked down at the cup holder, full of withered dandelions from a different day's adventure.  And, the stroller basket, strewn with pinecones. I breathed in the lilac bushes and turned my face toward the sun and thought: Ahhhhh.  It is a good life.

on becoming

You know how when you blow up a balloon, then let the air out, then blow it up again, and let the air out again, and do this over again, the deflated balloon starts to look misshapen and saggy?  I used to hate that, as a kid. I'd wish that things could always just go back to the way they were at first. And, in the case of post-pregnancy abs, I still have that wish. But, in regards to the soul, I am so grateful for the stretching and the bulges, for they indicate increased capacity.

When Annie was a month old and the last of my in-house help was leaving me to do this new life of 5 kids on my own, I sat on my bed and wept.  There was no way I could do it.  I couldn't even think about all five of my babies at once, let alone care for them all.  I felt completely in over my head (and, the postpartum hormones weren't doing me any favors).  Luckily, I stumbled upon an essay online written by another mother of five whose words buoyed me up; her words promised me that I would grow into this new normal. I clung to that hope, that somehow, I would grow.

This weekend, I called a sitter for Annie (her first who isn't a grandma), and took the four other kids to the Elementary School family dance.  I knew it wouldn't be a happy place for the babe, so it was a relief to just have the four.  JUST four!  I couldn't believe my own thoughts as we walked in, and I felt light, as if this was going to be EASY because I had so few children in tow.  Ha!  Without even realizing it, my capacity had stretched.  My balloon grew!  As lumpy and misshapen as it surely is, it has stretched and made more space. 

I hope I haven't maxed out.  I'm still not capable of staying on top of the laundry or floors, or getting much more than the bare essentials done each day. The pile of books to read and sewing projects to finish and organizing tasks to tackle just keeps getting higher and higher. But, on most days, everyone gets fed and hugged; everyone is made to work and also played with. I am hopeful that as time goes on I will stretch a little further, do a little better, become more.

Today these words by Elder J. Christopher Lansing in the January Ensign ring true to my heart: "What we get during our life is inconsequential, but what we become in life makes all the difference."

As the ever insightful C.S. Lewis has said, "Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace."

With the Master as the carpenter, maybe, just maybe, a palace I will be...

 

grace

"Davis, why are you dragging the rug upstairs?"
"I need it to make my guy."
"You can't take the rug upstairs, sweetie. Put it back in the kitchen."
"Oh, man!"

This conversation happened this afternoon and I didn't really think much of it. Unfortunately, many conversations I have with my bitty boo are like this: vague, nonsensical (it seems), and dismissed. He is hard to understand. Even though I can decipher so many more words now than I could a year ago, it is still often hard to catch exactly what he means, his intent, his heart.

In so many ways, my boy is so very capable. He is sometimes frustratingly independent... helping himself to whatever he wants in the kitchen; finding the hidden remote and turning on a show; trying to clean up messes on his own (and making a bigger one in the process). But, when it comes to words, it is often a guessing game for me.

I know there is so much going on in that head of his. Every day he surprises me with something he says, revealing something he knows that I didn't know he knew, but that he is very much old enough to know. He is nearly 5, but I often forget what my other kids did at that age. It is easy to treat him like someone much younger.

Tonight, when I walked into his room to help with the bedtime routine, I saw his "guy. He really was working on something.  It is hard to tell in the picture below, but he had taken the bathroom towels and stuffed them in the shirt and pants. He had tucked the pants bottoms into his shoes and borrowed Daddy's gloves from the garage for hands. I'm not sure what plan he had for the kitchen rug when I intervened, but my boy had, in fact, been making a 'guy' and I had dismissed it as something I wasn't understanding. Again.

I'm kind of a slow learner. I have been taught this lesson with Davis before: to listen and pay attention and not dismiss his words as something unintelligible. I'm sure my boy gets frustrated with a mom who can't seem to understand what is going on in his active, intelligent mind.

I'm just as sure that my Father in Heaven gets frustrated with me, too, as He attempts to teach me the same lessons, over and over again; the lessons of patience, love, charity, humility. I have been given experiences that should have (and did, for a time, usually) produced these things in me, and yet, often I fail to remember those lessons, those virtues. I am too quick to anger, too unkind, too selfish. But, just like my sweet boy seems to always give me another day, another chance, to figure it out, my Father keeps sending me chances to finally learn these lessons of life.

And, that is grace.

flutter

It was 6:24am when I felt the 'tap, tap, tap' my little one made on my shoulder.  Still 6 minutes until the alarm beckoned us all awake, I pulled her up into bed for a cuddle.  After getting her tucked in by my side, I felt it: that memorable but sort-of-forgotten feeling of the first flutterings of new life inside.  The baby, 15 1/2 weeks along, had just made those first discernible kicks.  Joy!

Feeling him/her move makes baby #5 seem more real.  I'm excited, but nervous at the same time.  On days like today, when I am pulled in 100 directions at once and I ache for one millisecond of quiet, I'm not sure I can handle another life in my hands.

But, in moments like this morning, during my six-minute-snuggle with my girl, I am so honored to be welcoming another little soul into my heart.

Blessed am I.

pwaytime

The plan was to get the kids down and tackle my still-long Saturday to-do list while Chad spent a late night at the youth dance. But, I couldn't resist her sweet plea to "p-way ponies, Mom!" and I wasn't up for yet another bed time battle with my girl (who is growing out of her 3 hour naps, but still taking them, which translates into not wanting to go to bed.)

We sat on the floor and she dumped out her bag of ponies (as in, My Little); I set to getting them all dressed and accessorized.  Lea started 'cooking' because "Ponies are thirsty, Mom."

"Put in marshmallows. Pour in milk. Mix. Mix. Mix. Sluuuurp! Mmmm! Tasty!  Ponies like to drink it."

When did she start saying marshmallows?  Just last month she would ask for a buffalo when she wanted one.  I miss it. 

"The ponies want to eat popcorn now. Mmm. Yummy! It is amazing!"

{smile} Amazing.  This girl is amazing, if you ask me.

"Hey! Where is the shoe? The pony needs another one.  I don't know? I'll look for it. Hmmm. Hey! My hippo!  See my hippo, Mom?  It is a hat! Uh-oh! Fall off.  Tricky!  I tricky too!" (somersault)

She is pretty tricky at getting out of bedtime, too.

"The pony is thirsty again.  Mix, mix, mix. Oh, yeah.  Boo-yah!"

That one made me laugh, and as I'm chuckling, she looks up, flashes a smile, and says, "I funny?"

It was worth ditching the list.

being there

She is nearly two, which means sometimes life is just too much for words.  And when she can't find her words, a tantrum ensues.
Like today, when, for no apparent reason, she threw her little body onto the floor, kicking and flailing and sobbing.  My coaxing and prodding and pleas for her to tell me what was wrong yielded nothing.  So, I scooped her up and laid down, putting her on my chest.
With her head under my chin and her feet nearly reaching my knees, she calmed down and we lied there together, breathing in syncopation.
IN in
OUT out
IN in
OUT out
Her little chest moved up and down against mine, her breath brushing lightly on my arm. Her curls tickled my face; little toes wiggled on my legs.  For a few minutes it was just me and her, in a moment that no calendar or to-do list can create. She was mine. And I, in that place, with nothing else begging my attention, was what could calm her troubles.
It is good to be the mom.

my girl, on the merry-go-round

letter to Grammy

Dear Grandma,

Momma wants to know if I can come visit you until the weather gets nice.  The house has requested a reprieve from my messy shenanigans, and because of the cold weather, I can't go outside to play.  Mom thinks it has been so long since your house sheltered a three-year-old, it might be ready to be, once again, covered in play-doh, marker, cracker crumbs, and copious piles of puzzles and books (some of which have ripped pages).

Can't wait to see you!
Doobie-Doo

P. S. Mom also says that while I'm visiting, it would be great if you could help me figure out the whole potty training stuff.  So, stock up on potty treats (I like M&Ms) and carpet cleaner...I'm not too good at making it in the bowl just yet.

17 months

enjoying clementines!

I feel an urgency today to capture these moments of my life with my little one.  Lea is 17 months old...nearly a nursery-age toddler and getting further from 'baby' every day.  Oh how I love this girl of mine.  She is funny and talkative, busy, endearing.  Her latest trick is trying to wink...DARLING! She has finally figured out walking and is going great guns, walking backwards and trying to climb steps on her feet.  She loves to dance, color, wrestle, read books, rock her babies, brush her own teeth, sing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and "Wheels on the Bus," eat treats and fruit and peas, 'help' with laundry, play the piano and imitate her older siblings.  She doesn't like riding in the car, having mom or dad brush her teeth, getting her diaper changed, or sharing toys with Davis.  She is the worlds GREATEST hugger and kisser, always has a smile, is my best sleeper (by far), and loves her binky.

...xoxo to little sis...

all for milk

Milk.  We drink a lot of it around here.  Like 8 gallons a week.  Or something.

I used to be a 'one trip a week' kind of grocery shopper, but since I have to two milk-addicted babies and a fridge that only comfortably holds 3 gallons (I need a deep freezer for extras, but that is another post for another day), I find myself frequenting the grocer's more often than I would like.

The other week I needed to make a milk run. At night. With all four children (plus an extra, just for fun...and because I told his mom I would bring him home from basketball practice).  Since we hadn't carved out time (pun intended) to find Halloween pumpkins yet, I decided the milk run would also serve as our 'pick your pumpkin from the bin' outing.  Not exactly the pumpkin patch experience of the mid-west, but kind of the way it is in these here parts.

Before exiting the car, I told the children that they needed to 1: walk, 2: stay with me, 3: not scream.  As soon as the van door opened, said hooligans children began to 1: run, 2: climb on top of the cart return poles, 3: scream.  This was going to be a pleasure, I'm sure.

I loaded Davis into the car cart (beep beep), the baby into the cart seat and tried to NOT let the other three kiddos get killed as we crossed the parking lot.  The pumpkin bins were our first stop, since they are on the way in.  Chaos ensued, but four plump ones were quickly chosen and loaded into the cart (and only the little guy dropped his 3 or 4 times on the sidewalk).

I walked into the store with the intention of going straight to the dairy case (which, by the way, do they HAVE to put it in the VERY back of the store?), but got a bit distracted by a few other things I needed to get.  By the time we had made it to the back of the store for the milk, and back again to the check-out, I felt a bit like someone stuck in the middle of the Tazmanian Devil's tornado.  Sheesh!  I was glad to get OUT of the store.

But, as we were loading everyone (and every pumpkin) back into the van, I noticed it....pilfered candy in the hands of the 2-year-old.  Eek!  My first instinct (I am ashamed to say) was to stuff it in the back of the van and pretend I wasn't harboring stolen goods.  I mean, the idea of hauling my crew BACK into the store for a $.75 bag of Skittles? Really?  But, the big kids saw the candy. Drat!

Thankfully, my often-shy-Dal was willing to go back into the store alone to return the snitched snack, while I ignored the shrieks of our thief who was screaming "TANDY, TANDY!" at the top of his lungs.  Dal was quick to tell the checker that is was the LITTLE brother who took it, not him.

And, we are honest in our dealings once again.

The moral of this story: Get a milkman.

breathe

One of the things I look forward to the most is my Thursday morning Yoga class.  Michelle is the best teacher, so in order to make it to her early class, I load up my dressed-fed-packed brood at 8:10 am, drop the big kids off at the bus stop (waving 'I love you' til the bus rounds the bend), check in the babies at child-watch ('look bubbles!' and toy distractions as I sneak out and try to ignore the tears), and {finally} enjoy an hour to breathe.

Delightful.

Last night, sleep was alluding my Davis (although he refused his nap, so I'm not sure why).  He was awake for a good portion of the early morning hours, which means he, of course, fell back asleep about 5am and slept until 9am.  I missed yoga.

As a {not very close} substitute, I trudged my babies and mat down to the basement to yoga with a recorded teacher on the DVR.  She's not as good, and, quite frankly, the focus isn't there when young ones are crawling all over your downward dog and piggy backing on you child's pose.  But, what can you do?

I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself until I noticed my Doobie Doo following along.  He had spread out a blanket as a mat and was working his sun salutations with the best of 'em.  "I did it!" he shouted, when he bent over for down dog.  My self-pity melted away in my awe of this cutie and his desire to follow in my footsteps, do the things I do, garner my praise.

My 'class' was cut short by a little body crawling into my lap while I was trying to forward fold.  But, as I lifted her up, and she arched her back toward  my mat for a belly tickle (her favorite giggle pose), I felt like my morning had gone BETTER than planned.  And, my body felt good.  Not because I had been sufficiently able to stretch, but because I took a minute to breathe, to see my children for the wonder that they are, and to just 'be' in this blessed time of my life.

Ahhhh.

maybe

If you had been in the parking lot at the church on Tuesday evening when I drove up to drop my cub off at scout meeting, you might have wondered why my toddler was naked in the back seat.  Or, maybe you've had a 2-year-old before.  And, maybe your two-year-old was also obsessed with water.  Maybe you had a day like I did, where your small one went through several sets of clothes because, although obsessed with water (dumping it, filling cups, etc.), he HATES it when his clothes are wet.  Maybe, like me, you came down to a kitchen with 2 inches of water on the floor and a boy repeatedly filling up and dumping cups of water out of the refrigerator dispenser.  Maybe you also found your toddler had climbed up on top of the bathroom counter, several times, to make bubbles in the sink with soap and water.  And, maybe, right before you were going to load up your gaggle of children to do said scout drop-off, your water-lovin' child came to you with outstretched, wet hands and arms.  When you followed him, cautiously, to the source of this wetness, maybe you, too, found that he had been in the bathroom.  Emptying the water from the toilet into the garbage can.  With his hands and a wad of tissue.  ("bye-bye tissue" he chimed, when you flushed it down, his first un-prompted 2-word sentence.  A small speech miracle amid a disgusting cleaning moment.  How quaint!)

Then, maybe you can understand why my boy was in the backseat sans clothes.

Bitty Boo, water free (for a moment) and lovin' on baby sis.

Maybe.

pinned

I ceremoniously painted the symbolic colors and shapes on a squirmy, excited-but-sort-of-embarrassed boy.  He 'pinned' me with the Bobcat.  This whole world of cub scouts is still quite a mystery, but we've hurdled our first-ever rank advancement.  Together.

I sure love to be the mom of this one!

To my bitty boo...

Tonight I let your bathtime linger.

I was the pour-er,
dipping cup in water
and letting flow a slow, steady stream into the tub.
You were 'discoverer,'
experimenting with the way the water hit your fingers,
toes,
toys,
head.
Filling funnel;
pouring cups,
stopping the flow with your chubby toddler hands.

Though you'll never cease being MY baby,
in the coming days, you'll lose your spot as
THE baby.

And, yet, it was so recently that I swaddled my tiny,
5 pound,
winter-born bundle
into my arms and brought home
my boy.

The baby I'd prayed for and wished for and hoped for...
for so long.

You.

Spring.

I've been given my first "I-Love-You-Mom" dandelion bouquet of the season.

It's officially Spring!

little piggies

Once upon a time, a long-prayed prayer was answered.
These cuties were purchased before I even knew if my little one was boy or girl, my heart filled with hope for the day little flip-flop-clad feet would toddle about. And, today, I am in awe of my blessings....oh so, so many!


P.S. I'm also amazed he KEEPS them on! However, this is my child who still doesn't say 'mama,' but DOES love to roam the house, collecting various footwear, and saying 'shoes,' 'shoes,' 'shoes.'

ruler

My kids came home from Primary with CTR-modified Burger King crowns. The spent the afternoon playing king and queen. As I was unloading the dishwasher (for the 2nd time today), the "king" informed me that, since I didn't have a crown, I was the servant.

I smiled, and nodded, and handed him a stack of clean cups. He reflexively put them away in the cupboard.

That's what I thought.

tucked in bed

When I climbed into bed last night, this was hiding for me under the covers:

Oh, my! How I love this girl of mine!

Training

I'm in training. For the mommy-lympics. I'll admit, I'm not the world's best housekeeper. I'm not even top-ranking. But there is one event for which my 'coach' has me working hard: speed laundry folding. The idea in this competition is to see who is faster: the laundry folding mommy or the emptying-the-basket baby. My one-year-old is a champion, for his part.

He dives, head first, into a basket of freshly washed clothes, tossing them willy-nilly over his shoulder, through his legs, across the room. He can empty the basket at top speed, afterwhich, he'll cruise the newly minted clean-clothes-clutter, putting his favorite pieces into the basket filled with the dirty clothes. Oh, yes, my friends, he is good.

I'm training hard, though. With each load, I'm becoming more flexible, more agile, more adept. One of the days, in one of our matches, I'm bound to conquer this little giant of sport. Or, he'll get big enough that I can force HIM to do the folding!

Oh, gotta go. My little athlete is off to train for "Swift Toilet Paper Roll Emptying" and "Rapid Book Ripping." Aughhh!