Daffodils and Hope

Monday was a gloriously warm spring day and my front yard was bursting with yellow as my daffodils turned their pretty horn-shaped petals to the sun. It was almost impossible to believe the forecast for the rest of the week: clouds, wind, and snow.  As Wednesday approached, meteorological rumors about another bomb cyclone started circulating.  Really? Witnessing the intense blizzard a month ago had been incredible, but would it really happen again? As more people said those words I started to worry for my beautiful daffies, blooming in the same place as the 4 foot drifts of snow settled after the last storm.  Daffodils are pretty snow hardy, but I knew they couldn’t withstand the weight of that much snow.

I gathered all the buckets and planter pots I could find in the garage and as the sleet started to fall on Wednesday morning, I covered as many of the daffodils as I could. I put heavy rocks on top to hold the buckets in place and kept watch out the window as the storm blew in.  We did see lots of wind.  It was definitely cold.  Snow fell on and off. But thankfully, the bomb cyclone of April didn’t hit us the way it did in March.  I was pleasantly surprised as I lifted the buckets off on Thursday morning to see my daffodils safe and sound and still erect. Their neighbors, who I couldn’t cover, were laying their still-sunny-colored heads on the ground in defeat, but the ever powerful sun popped out and warmed the earth and by the end of the day, even most of the storm-weary flowers had made a partial recovery.

It has continued to snow on and off all week, with less intensity.  Each day as I check on my flowers I’m amazed at the way they continue to weather the storms and perk up for the sun.  They aren’t perfect-looking like they were last week, but they continue to be a symbol of hope in the sun, like my own hope in the Son.

All this thinking about daffodils has taken my mind back to an Easter season 16 years ago when I felt much like a daffodil crushed under the weight of a springtime storm.  My first foray into motherhood had landed me in the NICU with a baby whose outlook was grim, at best, and who was fighting each day to survive to the next. It was a heartbreaking time. A time of anxiety and going-through-the-motions living.  I remember that I often didn’t feel much, which I think was my heart’s coping mechanism to avoid being irreversibly broken. I spent my days keeping vigil at the beside of my boy inside the maze of Kosair Children’s Hospital and often didn’t leave until it was dark out.  

One day, however, I was heading home in the daylight. As we turned the bend on the freeway, a most amazing sight was suddenly filling up my view: a wall of blooming and bright yellow daffodils.  Someone had planted the entire median between the north and south bound lanes with thousands of daffodils. It took my breath away and in the same moment the Spirit spoke to my very broken heart.  The message was this: Spring will always come! Rebirth, renewal, hope, the glorious messages of Spring, are also the eternal messages of Easter.  Because of the ever and all powerful Son, I have hope.  My baby has hope. Those daffodils gave me hope that whether in this life or the next, someday my baby’s broken body and my own broken heart would be healed.  

I’m so grateful for a loving Heavenly Father who planned Spring with its telestial reminders of the most important Spring of all: the year the Savior came to save us all from mortality and raise us up to eternity. As the sun brings us hope that the earth will awaken once again, the SON gives me hope that I, too, can be reborn and return to live with Him again.

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.

Books

Books have always been my favorite.  I would chose reading over most any other activity.  I've been in countless book clubs over the years.  Finding the library is always top priority when I've moved to a new place.  And, I love to own books just so I can pass them on to others with an urgent, "You've got to reading this!"

So, it has been hard to watch my boy as he has struggled to read.  It was evident to me ever since he was a baby that his mind worked differently than my older kids.  He reached milestones at his own pace, and in his own way. Learning to read was no different.  He loved letters early on and knew all the sounds they made before he started preschool at age 3, but somehow the connection between those letters, those sounds and the words they could make was a huge hurdle for him. When he was a kindergartener, and on the advice of a friend, I got the book, "Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons."  We sat down to start with Lea (only 20 months younger) along for the ride.  We worked through the book together and these two siblings were staying right on pace with each other, until about lesson 50.  Suddenly, it clicked in Lea's head, and like my other two readers, she was remembering sight words and making sense of letter combinations, and, quite amazingly, she was reading!

And, Davis wasn't.

He was still laboriously sounding out every.single.word.  Even when it appeared on a page several times, he couldn't remember it from one line to the next; sometimes even from one sentence to the next.  Words like "the" and "to" would
constantly trip him up.  It was ever more apparent to me that the English language is seriously messed up.  And, that something was not clicking for my boy.

I have come to learn in the past couple years that if nothing else, I am my child's advocate.  Often the only one he has.  It was difficult to get anyone in the school to take my concerns seriously.
"He just has a speech delay."
"It will come in time."
"He isn't ready yet...he needs to be in school longer."
Nothing, however, felt right.

One day I went to lunch with my visiting teachers and another lady they visit.  We somehow got on the topic of her family's struggle with dyslexia and like a spotlight in my head, I knew that that was what Davis had. I just knew it.  As soon as I got home I started to research all I could find about dyslexia.  I contacted friends who I knew had children who struggled with it.  I called several literacy centers in town looking for answers.  I was told by more than one person that since he was only 6, he was too young to be tested.  Yet, everything I read talked about how much early intervention can help those with dyslexia.  I knew if he had it, it was best to get him help now, and not wait until he was struggling through 3rd grade or until the school reading specialist noticed something.

After much push and shove on my part, I was finally able to get him tested.  The doctor worked with him for a couple hours and when the results came back, I was not surprised to learn that Davis is dyslexic.

Now, after a year of tutoring and extra help from teachers, I am in awe at the reader that has emerged.  His abilities have skyrocketed.  Reading is still a struggle for him, and it might be for his whole life.  Additionally, his dyslexia affects memory, attention, spelling, writing, speech, math facts and other areas of his academic life.  This isn't something you cure or fix.  It is the way his brain functions and something he will have to work around for always.  But, learning about his uniquely wired brain has opened my eyes to a whole new way of looking at my son.  The abilities he has and the ways I can see his mind working through things far outshine the disabilities and struggles.

And, at last, he LOVES to read.  We are working through the Magic Treehouse Books, just like I did with my bigger kids.  He is excited about each new book, each new chapter.  Tonight as I tucked him in, our chapter read and the cliffhanger ending waiting for us tomorrow, he said, "I just love to read, Mom! I love books!"

Me, too, my boy.  But not as much as I love you!

Farewell to the Van

We sold the van today.  It is a good thing.  We recently got a new ride with a bigger engine to pull the camper and more seats to fit the growing carpool.  It is newer and fancier and has way too many buttons.  I'm still getting used to how big it is, and sometimes miss the van and it's automatic door (even though it often didn't work) and the wonderful turning radius (for all those times I go the wrong way and have to flip a U-ie), and the fact that I no longer had to worry about how sad it would be to get the first ding in the car door.


The van was the first car we bought all on our own (which means, not from my dad).  We bought it when baby #3 was on the way, and we were feeling quite grown up and in need of a family-mobile.  That baby never joined our family and I continued to drive around this HUGE van with only two kids for a couple more years.  It sometimes felt silly to have such a big car, but it was convenient when I could pick up my sister and her two littles and we could adventure together.

Over the years that big car started to feel smaller and smaller.  More bodies filled it up.  More stuff got schlepped around in the back.  We added a car-top carrier for long trips because the cavernous space in the back didn't seem to hold supplies for seven anymore.  The van got us so very many places; to see loved ones we missed and back home when we got homesick; to practices and games and recitals; to school and work; to church; to help others; to enjoy the beauty of God's green earth.

As every mother knows, your car is your office.  It is the waiting room at soccer practice, the grocery getter, the kid picker-upper. The passenger seat, until recently when my big kids decided they were tall enough to sit there, was like a filing cabinet with all the things I needed to drop off, return, not forget, and work on. The van was a second home where we listened to stories on CD together, sang out loud to our favorite songs, passed back snacks during long drives. There was that one time when we drove it all the way to Nauvoo with a newly potty-trained Lea, and for long stretches of I-80, the van became an emergency loo, too, with the baby potty tucked in behind the front seat.

Chad sold it to a family who runs a church ministry across town.  I'm glad to know the van will continue to serve a family who will also make many memories in its seats.

And even though it was only a thing, and it was often sticky and grimy and smelly from the monsters who rode in it, it feels like a little part of me has said farewell.

To my soon-to-be-wed niece Sarah Elizabeth

Dear Sarah,

I remember the feeling so vividly of the moment Chad and I were first called 'the Murdocks.' We had walked into a ward function for our University of Utah married student ward.  We had only been married a short time, maybe just weeks? Or a couple months?  Our friend called out, "It's the Murdocks!"  Those words stopped me in my tracks. It was such a surprising title.  THE Murdocks.  That is how I thought of my in-laws: that big crew of parents, siblings and 12 grandkids.  Of course, I, too, was a Murdock (shiny and new), but no one had ever put that label on me before.  We were always just 'Chad and Adri.' I took a minute to let it sink in.  I liked our new moniker, but it still took a little getting used to.

This week we celebrated anniversary #16, and that day that our family name was christened seems like it was just last month and a million years ago, all at the same time.  The passage of time is funny that way.  But, with your wedding right around the corner I've been thinking back to those early years, when 'the Murdocks' meant just the two of us. What a wonderful, unique time of life!  I'm excited that you are entering this new stage!

When I got married, my mom told me, "If you work really hard to love your in-laws for that first year, after that it won't be work anymore because you will love them." That was good advice.  Not that it was really hard work to love the Murdocks, but it is a little different to embrace a new family as your own: their traditions, habits, methods of doing things.  As you and Blaine become 'the Davidsons' (your own new little Davidson family), it will take a little while to figure out whose method of loading the dishwasher is going to work, and which Christmas traditions you want to bring into your own family; how you are going to celebrate birthdays and if it is really that big of a deal if he leaves his toothbrush out.  It will be hard to split your time on holidays and to make sure you share all the good news with both moms at the same time.  But, learning to make this work is key to making a happy family.  Believe me, you do NOT want to live a lifetime (and eternity) with one family feeling like they can claim more of you than the other.  And, I do think my mom is right...if you conscientiously love your in-laws for a while, eventually it won't take any effort because they will become your own, too.

I'm so excited to attend you temple sealing next week.  The memories of my own wedding day are treasured.  It is hard to really appreciate the wonder of eternity with all the excitement of the wedding day, but go back and do sealings again as soon as you can!  It will help you remember and cement those wonderful words of promise in your heart.  The very best thing Chad and I did for our new marriage was to feed it with frequent temple visits.  We used to go every Thursday night, the weekly anniversary of our own wedding, and the repetition of those covenants created a solid foundation for our family.  Even though you seem really busy right now with school and work, I promise you have MUCH more time for temple attendance now than you will when the babies come.  Take advantage. The effort will pay big dividends!!

I am so grateful for marriage.  Marriage is the foundation of eternity.  It is worth all the effort it takes to keep your marriage strong and happy. Despite the temporary and disposable treatment marriage gets in the world at large, I know, for a fact, that God intends marriage to be for now and for always. It is His way to help His children learn and grow and become as He is, as well as His way to provide bodies for precious spirits still waiting to come to earth.  As I've bent my own selfish desires and tendencies to be 'one' with Chad, I have become more compassionate, more patient, more loving, better. When you let it, marriage makes you more than you can be on your own.

This is the most important decision you will ever make and I'm so proud of you for doing things in the right way, in the temple and for forever.  You are on your way, my cute niece! See you on Tuesday!

much love,
Aunt Adri

Home for Christmas

I started putting away Christmas today.  A little earlier than normal, but some of the sit-around-and-create-clutter kinds of things needed to be put to sleep for the season.  I'm not looking forward to taking down the wreaths and the tree and the red and white throw pillows and fill my house with winter charm, but I guess there is always an end to the season. It is what makes it fun to pull it all out again in November! 

As I was doing some repairs on things that were too loved this year, I found myself fixing a small frame my mom sent to me during my first Christmas season of adulthood, as a freshman in college.  I was incredibly homesick that year. It was the era before email and cell phones and texting and social media. The only connection to home was a once-weekly long distance phone call, and I was feeling out of sorts as the holiday season began.  I'm sure Mom noticed my tears as I pulled out of the driveway after Thanksgiving break to head back to school for the end of the semester.  A few days later, a Christmas package arrived.  Mom knew I loved frames so she had bought me a bunch of Christmasy ones and filled them with pictures of me as a child at Christmas:  Me sitting on my first 'ride on' as a one-year-old, chubby cheeks and a tummy poking out from under my too-tight pjs; A profile shot as I was opening a gift, my tongue coming out as a 'thank you' was frozen in time; A picture of me and my siblings under the tree.  These were small treasures from home; a package that made me feel loved and missed and oh-so-excited for Christmas. A package filled with the spirit of family and home and love. Thankfully, I got to head home in just a few weeks!

Since then, there have been many, many Christmases that I haven't been 'home' with the family of my childhood.  I got married and moved away and started creating a new home for the holidays.  I still miss the magic of being a kid at Christmas, but there isn't anything that compares to WATCHING the magic of Christmas play out for your own children.  Kids make Christmas, Christmas. This year we were thrilled to have visiting Grandparents and Auntie.  Being surrounded by loved ones and planning little surprises for others is what fills my heart with happiness.  We enjoyed all the fun with our company and having them here made everything better.  But, the thing that really filled my heart to overflowing, in the same way those framed pictures did so many years ago, was when my mother-in-law hugged me and said, "This has been the best Christmas in years!"  I am so grateful that I could share the magic of my kids with their grandma; that she would leave the comforts of her own home and life to be part of the crazy that is Christmas around here. 

And, I'm so grateful that 'home' is not a place, so much as a feeling; a 'place' that can be wherever the people you love are.