Another Step

As I watched my eldest daughter, Ely, swim in and out of the swimming pool waves like a little mermaid, I was filled with a bittersweet sense that she is growing up. She is so beautiful!

The Missing Crayons

This Monday, I was glad that I had not only managed to remember it was Monday (and thus Family Home Evening in Latter-day Saint culture) but to plan an actual FHE with lesson and all. The topic was "I Belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints" and featured a strongly-pared-down version of the Nursery lesson. I taught my daughter Ely (3 years) how to say the name of the Church, and she colored a picture of Jesus Christ, with Joseph Smith and the scriptures below it.

She was taking some time with the coloring, so we closed the lesson with a prayer and I went to prepare dinner while she finished. A few minutes later, she came into the kitchen and showed me her finished coloring. After due appreciation, we posted it on the refrigerator and I told her to make sure she cleaned up her crayons.

Several minutes later, I went into the living to check her clean-up job. She had put all of her crayons in her backpack, but because it was probably too difficult for her to return them to the package, they were crammed in any which way. I put them in the package for her and noticed that nearly half were missing.

"Where are the rest of your crayons, sweetie?" I asked.

She shrugged and replied, "I don't know."

"How can you not know? You were just playing with them."

"Maybe somebody take them?"

At this point, I began to worry a little. One of the adults in her life has a habit of avoiding responsibility and shifting blame, and I fear that she will develop the same characteristics. This sign of avoidance brought that fear to the forefront. "No one could take them, honey. You are the only one who could have taken them. Where did you put them?"

"Maybe I hid them."

We had talked about hiding things extensively before, because she had hidden her socks at her daycare provider's house and lost them not long before. "Ely, you know you are not supposed to hide things. Where did you hide them?"

"I don't know."

"In your bedroom?"

"No."

"In mommy's bedroom?"

"No."

"In the couch?"

"No."

And so on. By this time I was truly frustrated. Our house is not large, and I knew they could not have simply disappeared. We both began tearing the house apart looking for these crayons, even checking under the edges of rugs and curtains, and behind books in the bookshelves. I tried roleplaying with her, handing her one of the crayons and telling her to hide it, hoping that would lead me to the rest of the stash. All to no avail. By this time, she was in tears. I sighed and pulled her close to me. "It's okay, honey. These things happen. Just don't hide things any more, okay?" She nodded miserably, cuddling into me. "I love you, sweetie. The crayons are just things."

"Maybe we buy more?"

"No, Ely, we can't buy more. Mommy doesn't have money to spend on replacing things that you have lost." Her tears began in earnest. I sat and cuddled her, rocking her back and forth, comforting her until her tears lessened.

I sighed, knowing it was time for bed. "Let's just go to bed, honey. You go put your head on the pillow, and mommy will brush her teeth and come in to pray."

"Okay, mommy."

As I was brushing my teeth, I had a little conversation with the Lord in my head. "I'm sorry, Father. I know they are just crayons, and not really important. I just feel so helpless. I can't just buy her more things, and I worry so much about her not taking responsibility for the things she has. I'm sorry I made it into a bigger deal than it really should be."

The thought came to my mind that Ely had another pocket in her backpack that I had missed. It was a small front pocket, and I thought it was too small for the crayons, but I thought I'd check it anyways. Sure enough, the rest of her crayons were there.

"Come here, Ely."

"What?!" her tear-filled voice called to me.

"Come here, I have something good to show you."

"Okay!" she said, excited now as she ran in, "what, mommy?"

"Look what I found!" I said, holding out her crayons.

"Oh!" she gasped, "You found them, mommy!"

All at once, it was as if I spoke before thinking. "Heavenly Father told me where to find them, sweetie."

Her jaw went slack, "He's here?" she asked incredulously.

Refraining from laughter, I replied, "no, sweetie, He's still in heaven. But He can talk with you in your head sometimes. He told mommy in her head where the crayons were."

Her expression of joy and confusion was priceless. "Why?!"

"Well, because He loves you. He wants you to be happy. Sometimes He helps us with things to show us that He loves us and knows we are here."

"Oh, mommy."

That night in her prayers, she thanked her Heavenly Father for helping mommy find her crayons.

Shells

Monday night, Ely decided she wanted some Shells and White Cheddar Pasta Roni. She went to the pantry and pulled out a box, bringing it to me and shaking it slightly. "I think we need shells," she said with a little tilt to her head.

"Oh, we do?" I asked her, to which she nodded emphatically.

"Yes, mommy. We need shells." I told her I'd think about it.

Several minutes later, she turned to me and asked what I was thinking. Supposing that she had seen a worried look on my face or something of the kind, I responded, "I'm thinking about how much I love you."

She said earnestly, "And about shells?"

Yes, my darling . . . about shells and how much I love you.

A Mother's Love

Last night and this morning, I held my new now-two-month-old baby, Ria, in my arms while Ely cuddled close to me. There is no metaphor for the feelings of gratitude which cradled me. If there will be any way to encapsulate my life when all is done, I hope that it is distilled into such sweet moments of perfect joy.

This must be what heaven feels like.

The Newest Miracle

My second . . . and probably last . . . beautiful daughter was born on the 15th of August. It astonishes me how love can grow to encompass a new person in my life. She is a miracle.

When visited by a neighbor, Ely took her by the hand and led her over to the new baby, saying, "This is my baby sister mommy made for me."

I am truly richly blessed.

"I am Displeased!"

Yesterday, Ely wanted to watch television or play outside. Since it was getting to be her bedtime, I told her "not tonight." She kept asking, until I finally said, "We will not be watching T.V. tonight, and whining about it will only get you in bed sooner." She began to be rude to me, so I told her I didn't like being talked to that way, and she needed to use nicer words.

She did not like that answer. She put one hand on her hip, tilted her head, and with a Very Serious Expression on her face said "I am displeased with you, Mommy." The combination of pigtails, yellow princess dress, princess crown from her birthday cocked haphazardly on her head (one pigtail under and one over it) and the word "displeased" made such an adorable combination, it was all I could do not to laugh. I wanted her to know I took her seriously, but it was hard.

She is the most beautiful creature on this earth.

I told her that I was not pleased with the way she talked to me, and that she should apologize. She said she didn't want to. I told her if she could not be respectful, than it was probably better if she spent some time in her room until she was ready to be nicer to me. She nodded her head decisively, grabbed her princess wand, and flounced to her room. It was a short time later that she came out. Eventually she warmed back up to me and we hugged and kissed each other and said we loved each other.

It was far too short of a time for my mom and me to relieve all the laughter we had bottled up.

Busy Bee

I took Ely to the library today. She likes to play in their little pagoda and children's area. I sat with her in one of their comfy chairs and read her a story. She began talking about a little bee cutout they had hanging above the area, and talking about how it could fly because it has wings.

I told her, "yes, you're right! They do have wings."

"I don't have wings yet, do I mommy?" she replied.

I couldn't help but laugh and give her a big hug. "Not yet, darling."

"And once I have wings, then I fly, right mommy?"

"If you had wings, sweetie, you could fly, too. Just like that bee."

And with a contented sigh and wiggling into get more comfortable, she returned to the story.

Dust in the Wind

Yesterday, I took Ely to the park across from her daycare. It's the first time she's played there because the equipment is mostly for bigger kids, but it was shady, so I thought it would make a nice change.

The ground was a dusty sort of sand that she loved to pick up and let fall through her fingers, watching the way the wind fanned it out. She kept checking with me to see if I would countenance the mess-making, and when I smiled at her, she ran over to me, exclaiming about how pretty it was.

She was chattering about Belle (her newest favorite Disney princess), making up stories about her as she played on the equipment. For some reason, she keeps calling her "Jingle Belle". I guess she misses Christmas!

That night as we cuddled for bed, she decided she wanted to read me the bedtime story. Making it up as she went along, she read the entire "K" book from her Sesame Street alphabet books. It amazes me how much she remembers, and how easily she fills in her memory gaps with her own prose!

Why Be a Mother?

I think this post has captured why I want to be a mom. With the ugly decisions I've had to make recently, and the fear of the future lodged somewhere between my heart and the new baby coming, I just want to give everything to both my daughters. I can easily say if I had to choose between my life and one of theirs, there would be no hesitation. All the discomfort of being pregnant and taking care of a toddler without a husband beside me, all of my fears about my decisions pale in comparison. If my life has to be filled with loneliness so that I might give them the best chance at happiness I can, than I choose that loneliness with joy. I'm not sure why, except that I hope it can help them see how precious they are. No matter what they choose to become, they are worth everything I can give and more.

Hiding

This morning, Ely woke without my help. I think she is finally getting used to the summer light and her sleep schedule. When I went in to help her get dressed, I said, "Morning, beautiful!" the way I usually do. She was tucked under her blankets.

She said, "I'm hiding!"

I asked her, "You're hiding? Where are you?" She just giggled, so I told her I was hiding, too. I took her other blanket and put it over my head. She was laughing that bright, happy laugh that touches the core of my heart.

She said, "I hide, too!" and cuddled under my blanket with me.

I told her, "We're hiding together."

She said, "Yep!" and laughed and laughed. It was a very good morning. There is something so sweetly innocent in the way she plays with me. I wish I could form each of these memories into pearls and string them together, to take out and remember when she is older. I did not know it was possible to love so much.

"I Want Ariel!"

I'm not a fan of television. Movies are marginally better, but the sound of the TV still grates on my nerves. Unfortunately, my life has lent itself to rather more television/movie watching lately than I prefer. We have only a bare handful of animated, 2-year-old-friendly movies, among which are the Care Bears.

Ely is a Care-Bear-aholic. She absolutely adores watching the cute little bears bring love and caring into the world. This is wonderful, because of all the cartoons out there today, I'd much prefer she watch something with morals and meaning and storyline, like Care Bears. The problem with this is that we only have two, 30-minute tapes.

I am utterly sick of Care Bears.

So, imagine the depths of my joy when Ely declared "I want Ariel!" The best part about The Little Mermaid, as produced by Disney, is that there are parts of the movie which are hilarious to a two-year-old. I'm not talking about little-girl snickers funny, but deep, belly laugh funny. Few things gladden my heart as much as watching Ely laugh so hard her little body shakes when Scuttle uses the dinglehopper to fluff his hair, or when Max licks Ariel's face over the side of the ship.

This utter joy in the simple beauty of life is echoed when she observes the real world, too. This morning, as we stepped out of the house, she gazed up at the sky and said, light voice filled with wonder, "Stars, Mommy! Stars!"

I glanced around, and said back to her, "Yes, you're right! There are stars. Aren't they pretty?" all the while thinking how sad it was that only a dozen or so stars were visible in the city light.

It was then that I learned a very humbling lesson as she said, "Yes! Pretty! I like stars. Do you like stars, mommy?" I realized that she did not see what wasn't in the sky, she only saw the stars which were there, and she rejoiced in them.

Too often lately, I've been focusing on the empty spaces where stars should be, neglecting to notice the beauty that is there. I've been letting resentment and fear blind my eyes and keep me from trusting God.

I can't yet take her to the country at night, to show her how many more stars can be seen when observed from the right place. Yet, I ought to be able to remember that they are there, whether I can see them or not, whether I can share them with her yet or not.

And meanwhile, I can belly laugh at the simple silliness of life, and rejoice in the stars that can be seen from where I am now.

After a Years-long Hiatus: Poetry

I feel so alone,
Trembling and tiny
In a dark wasteland

I want to be held
As a baby is held,
As I hold my baby
And drink in the scent
Of her hair.

I want the comfort
Of a mother’s arms,
Of one who knows me.

I want to be told
That I will be okay,
That I did what I could,
That all will be well,
And believe.

I want to go home,
To feel I belong
Somewhere safe and warm.

I want to believe
I can somehow learn
To utterly cherish,
And to be cherished
In return.

I want sacrifice
Recognized as love
Without price or fear.

I want there to be
Hope in my broken heart
That my Savior can come,
Break away my pride
And teach joy.

But I feel alone,
Trembling and tiny
In my own wasteland.

Doctor Ely

Last night, I went to the nurse midwife for the first time for the new baby. Ely came with me, charming everyone with her usual vivacious self (which was good, since I felt anything but charming or vivacious.)

When we entered the examination room, she immediately alighted upon the toy chest in the corner, proceeding to remove every toy. Her favorites were by far a four string, wooden guitar made in her size, a stethoscope and a reflex hammer. After showing her the guitar, she checked my ears with the hammer and immediately began to listen to my arm with the stethoscope.

After the nurse found the baby's heartbeat, she emulated her, listening intently with her stethoscope, standing on a little stool by the bed. As soon as it was clear the nurse was done, she hopped onto the bed. "My turn!"

I dutifully listened to her stomach and heart with the stethoscope, and checked her ears with the hammer. Only then would she go.

What a bright and brilliant star she is!

The littlest one will be feisty. It took several minutes to find the heartbeat, during which you could hear the little leg kicks and arm swipes as the baby tried to fight off the stethoscope.

Am I in for trouble?

Innate Compassion

Yesterday, I was feeling down. Being sick all the time is increasingly draining on my physical stamina and my emotional outlook. By the time I retrieved my daughter from her daycare, I was really unhappy. My daughter asked me if I was alright. Wanting to teach her that sometimes it is okay to be sad, I said, "Mommy is just a little sad right now, sweetie. But I'll be okay."

She replied, "Mommy not sad. Mommy cute!"

And, in an instant, my bad mood vanished.