MOM

I realize that I completely neglected to mention Mother's Day in any of my last posts. But you may have caught on that my feelings about motherhood haven't been entirely positive lately and so I skipped right over it. Today, though, has been a good day. My friend, April, came over this morning and picked my kids up so I could spend the day doing whatever I wanted to do. Isn't that awesome? I had a doctor's appointment (for which, sadly, I had to wait too long) and then went to get my hair cut. I had lunch with Jeff and have spent the last hour sitting in my quiet house (not entirely clean, but very quiet) enjoying these precious moments and feeling a little bit better about being a mom (in case you are wondering, I am dilated to a 4 and am 50% effaced, so this baby could come quickly and at any time!).

All I have ever wanted to do since the time I was little was be a mom. Like most of the other girls in my El Ed major at BYU, we were constantly looking forward to our real careers as mothers. I have never wanted to work and I never intend to (unless something unforeseen happens, of course), but hope to fill my days just the way I do now--by taking care of my family. Most of the time, I really love what I do. It's hard and frustrating and at times I don't feel appreciated, but it's so worth it. I really am looking forward to having another child to love and to watch her own personality blossom before my eyes, despite all the things I may have said to the contrary. Damon and Allie make me crazy but I can't imagine loving anyone more. I think that's my favorite thing about motherhood--how much my capacity to love has increased (I feel a little like the Grinch whose "heart grew three sizes that day"). Love definitely makes life worth living and enjoying.

I also want to give a little shout out to my own mom. She is coming to Jacksonville in six days and I cannot wait. It's true that you learn the most from those who are least like you, and my mom and I are very different people. That being said, most of the good things I have learned in my life have come directly from her. She's an amazing, friendly, righteous, caring person and I am constantly reminded how I can improve when I am around her. I love you, mom, and can't wait to see you and your new haircut! I hope I will have the same type of relationship with my own girls as they grow up and start families of their own.

Okay, I know I posted this a while back on my old blog, so if you read it then, don't feel like you have to read it now. This is just a little essay on Motherhood I was dabbling with and I felt like sharing again (one part is new, if you were wondering).

My Greatest Challenges, My Greatest Blessings

Motherhood changes your life. I can’t imagine a greater understatement than that. Of all the things that have been meaningful in my life, nothing comes close to my experiences as a mother, both in a negative and positive way. Somewhat surprising, though, has been my rediscovery of emotions that I thought I had, at the very least, outgrown.

Making the transition from girlhood to womanhood, for me, was one of the least pleasant experiences of my life. It seemed my emotions were dangerously close to the surface; I was ready to lash out in anger or cry in despair at a moment’s notice. Gradually, though, I adjusted to the myriad of changes taking place inside and became confident in my ability to deal, healthily, with whatever life had to throw at me. Then I became a mother. And with the joys of motherhood came opportunities to experience an array of emotions again.

ANNOYANCE

While I remember, at times during my childhood, seeing my mother irked by something I did, I am sure I had no idea how annoyed she could’ve possibly been by me and my siblings. It seems that I am constantly reminding myself to look for the good in my children, instead of being annoyed with the blatantly obvious. Why must my son spill his drink all over the table at seemingly every meal? Why does my daughter think my chasing her down the street barefoot is the most hilarious thing she’s ever encountered? Why can a perfectly clean house be torn apart in mere minutes, as though a tidal wave has swept through?

For once, I would like to get dressed or use the bathroom without having to lock the door. I would like to have a conversation with a loved one on the phone without having to shoo my children away. I would like to take a bubble bath in peace, without dreading the knock and the inevitable, “Can I get in, too?”

In a perfect world, the hour before dinner would be free from whining, toys would find their way back to their proper homes on the own, and every quiet moment of the day wouldn’t be filled with someone saying, “watch me.” In a perfect world, food would always end up in my children’s mouths, not on their face, clothes and recently mopped floor. In a perfect world, my son wouldn’t freak out every time I leave the room, my daughter wouldn’t verify the contents of her diaper by sticking her finger inside, and my children wouldn’t play with everything in the house besides the toys in their bedroom.

But I don’t live in a perfect world; I live in my world. And in my world, I am annoyed far more often by my children than I am amused by them. It seems as though I am defined, more so than by anything else, as a mother; not as a woman with talents and limitless capabilities, but by the mundane tasks I perform, and am annoyed by, daily.

DELIGHT

At some point in my life, the magic of childhood was gone. Santa Claus, The Tooth Fairy and The Easter Bunny were distant memories and the playground that once looked so big and full of possibilities became small and very, very ordinary. But when I had children, some of that magic returned as I began to see the world through their eyes.

The smile on my face couldn’t possibly stretch any wider than it did when my son first shrieked in delight as he watched a guinea pig scrambling around its cage. I had forgotten how amusing animals could be. I had also forgotten how hilarious cartoons could be, until Damon laughed so hard watching “Tom and Jerry” that I thought he might need to be resuscitated. And who knew that changing a doll’s diaper repeatedly could be the most exciting thing you had ever done?

When my son announced, “I’m never, ever, ever going to give up Christmas” with complete solemnity, I swallowed a lump in my throat. When I decide that it’s time for a bath, and my daughter responds with her dance of joy, my heart quickens. The boa-like hug of gratitude for the perfect gift brings tears to my eyes as their happiness becomes my own. When my daughter falls asleep, her hand tightly wrapped around the strings of Valentine’s Day balloons, I can’t help but giggle. And when I see them getting excited together, over blowing out candles on a birthday cake, it’s almost too much for me to take.

There’s something about the smiles on their faces that speaks volumes about how genuinely happy they are, and somewhere deep inside, I am delighted, too. Those are the moments when the child within me begs to be let out; those are the moments I live for.

ANGER

I have dealt with feelings of frustration all of my life. However, it was only after becoming a mother that my frustration began blossoming into anger. Nothing has made me more upset than the sneakiness my son has already become accustomed to. At only four years old, he has discovered that telling the truth only gets you into trouble, while sneaking and lying, most of the time, gets you what you want. When I found a drawing of a man, beautifully drawn in red marker, on the wall in the kitchen, I made the mistake of asking if he had done it. Graciously, he tried to pass the blame onto his little sister, who is only one, and whose drawings are slightly less detailed than the smiling man in the kitchen. This in itself made me a little angry, but had it been the end of it, I would’ve been able to forget about it.

A few weeks later, we found more drawings on the wall, this time conspicuously hidden in our children’s room. In four different places, the words DAMON ALLIE PRDE appeared, the remnants of a party that had apparently been held. He didn’t try to lie about that one, but the sneakiness he had employed made the anger burn more fiercely inside. I even heard him telling his friend, “Sometimes when my mom says no, I just sneak it.” Consider the temperature of my blood rising another degree.

Most recently, on our drive home from the grocery store, I saw him opening a package of string cheese and I told him, calmly and rationally, that we were having dinner soon and he couldn’t eat it. I don’t know why I expected to be obeyed, when his previous history does nothing to suggest that he found my argument rational, but I did. And so, of course, when the cheese was eaten a moment later, I felt something inside snap. I wanted to smack that little face that sat there so defiantly, challenging me to become someone I don’t even know, much less enjoy.
After every outburst of anger, I feel the inevitable guilt that is always close behind. I promise myself that I won’t let my frustration get the better of me, and that I will find a way to keep my anger from showing. But then I find a decorative pillow sitting on the couch, Damon’s name written boldly across the back in black pen, and I lose it all over again.

“My greatest challenges call me Mommy.”

HUMILITY

Walking hand-in-hand with the guilt I feel for all the negativity I feel about my children, I am humbled by the opportunity to be a mother. Never have I uttered a more true phrase than during the delivery of my second child. “I can’t do it,” I said, over and over, wishing there was some other option available to me. At times, I have struggled with thoughts that I can’t possibly be a good mother; I’m not patient enough, I don’t discipline in the correct way, I’m not fun enough, I don’t have the energy. Why is it that motherhood has brought me to my knees in a way that nothing else has? I am constantly humbled by my sheer lack of qualifications.

There must be someone better, someone more qualified to raise my children--someone who wouldn’t lose their temper when repeatedly disobeyed, someone who would cheerfully wash and fold the endless piles of laundry that demand my attention, someone who doesn’t need a moment’s privacy. But when I look around, I see there’s no one else. There’s no one else who will do my job, and by process of eliminating all other candidates, that leaves me as the best possible mother for my children. And that may be the most humbling feeling of all.

EMPATHY

Nothing can tear at your heartstrings more than watching helplessly as one of your children suffers. A visit to the emergency room can be terrifying as you realize that you are no longer in control of what is happening in your child’s life. The tears running down your child’s cheeks might as well be yours, so wholly do you share the pain they are enduring. You recognize immediately how much you care for this imperfect person, who only hours before you thought you’d like to send to live with someone else.

When Damon was three, he had an accident with a shopping cart that left us in the emergency room, trying to determine what course of action, if any, was needed to protect his private parts. I had never seen him so scared, and in turn, had never been so scared myself. I could sense how, despite all his anxieties, he trusted me completely, knowing that I would never ask him to do something if it wasn’t for his own good.

My heart has never been as full as it was during this, and other times of suffering. It’s almost too much to bear; you know you would do anything to take away the pain, even take it upon yourself, if it meant your little one wouldn’t have to suffer. It is in these moments of worry and despair that I have felt the closest to heaven. As imperfect as I may be, I love my children more fiercely than I ever imagined it was possible to love anyone, and I catch a glimpse of just how much God must love me. Being a mother has changed me in the most profound way; it has brought me closer to God.

I will admit, there are many occasions when I wonder why on earth I chose this path in life. Why would I choose to do something that, unanimously agreed upon, is the most difficult thing a woman could ever undertake. The heightened emotions I have felt haven’t always been pleasant; in fact, most of the time, I would do anything to feel “normal” again.

But as I think about the ways that being a mother has changed me, and how experiencing both the highs and the lows of motherhood have made me into a better, more patient, loving person, I know that I would do it all again. I dread the day when there are no more little voices echoing through the house; I am constantly surprised with my children’s wit, their exuberance, and their life. I will miss open-mouthed kisses, hugs that let me know that they want no one else, and tender prayers said in my behalf. For all of the challenges motherhood has provided, for the depth of emotion that I have only begun to appreciate, I know that I wouldn’t change a thing.

“My greatest blessings call me Mommy.”