Ruby knows how to clap, stand on her own, and wave. She dances when she hears music. Her first word was "hi" and she only said it to Quin at first. He repeatedly says "hi Ruby! Hi!" in her face, so it's not surprising that "hi" meant Quin at first. She says "hi dah" when Michael comes through the door. This morning she said "go" several times while giving me an intent look. I finally took her to sit on the toilet and she had kept her diaper dry and peed and pooped on the toilet.
She loves toys and instruments that make a shaking sound. One of her favorite songs is "shake my sillies out." She dances on cue when we sing it. I have a game I play with her when she's holding a jingle bell. While she's shaking it I sing "Jingle Bells" but when she stops I stop. It's a lot of fun.
Quin just turned 6. We had a birthday breakfast with G&G Dodge, Great Grandma Olsen, Great Aunt Gail, Aunt Velvet, Uncle Nathan, Uncle Rusty, Jason, Isa, and Trevor. All of the people from Utah were flying home that afternoon. They had visited for Curtis' Celebration of Life. (We didn't call it a funeral because Curtis hated boring church meetings.) Quin opened his presents and had a lot of fun playing with his new lego Star Wars guys. Jason and Isa had gotten us all Christmas gifts. They gave me a really cozy sweater in my favorite color. My mom and grandma got matching ones (in blue and pink). Michael loves his new coat and the clothes they found for Ruby are super cute. The boys each got lovely gospel centered books.
We celebrated by swimming at Splash, an indoor wave pool in Eugene. G&G Dodge came as well as Uncle Nathan. Trevor was there, but he didn't want to swim. So he guarded our stuff. Quin had so much fun. He was swimming all over that wave pool amazingly fast in his life jacket. I spent most of the time with Ruby in the warm pool, occasionally getting visits from Ammon. Michael spent almost the whole time with Quin and had at least as much fun as the kids, riding the waves and going down the water slide. Ruby loves water and she had a great time splashing in her little red life jacket. She kept throwing her head back so she could lay on her back and float (with me supporting her to try to keep the water out of her ears).
Ammon had a pretty good time too. He's my little water guy. I think the waves were a little intense for him though. He was nervous at first, but we went down the slide a few times together.
After swimming, we stopped at the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner. Quin had requested broccoli cheese soup (unusual for a 6 year old, but he loves broccoli). We had that, coleslaw, and salmon at my grandma's house. Then we played some of Quin's new games and did our usual giant dinosaur puzzle with Ammon.
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Friday, November 15, 2019
Movie Piano Recital
Another successful piano recital is in the books!
This evening I put on a Music from the Movies piano recital for my beginner piano students. Each student learned a song from a movie. At the recital they dressed up like a character from the movie. We had Batman, Bella, Luke Skywalker, Captain Jack Sparrow, Elsa, Jasmine, Johnny from Sing, PT Barnum, and I wore a beard and a dress. I was the bearded lady from the Greatest Showman. Ammon kept calling me mustache momma.
We set up 8 circular tables in the church gym. My dad brought my old digital keyboard from his house and I brought my portable keyboard to play duets on. We had the volume turned all the way up. I was worried it would sound muddy, but when I went back and listened to it, it sounded fine. My piano teacher, Mickey Herrin came, as well as my grandma and my parents.
The decorations were homemade pinterest crafts. I was trying to spruce it up a little since it was in the church gym. I wanted my decorations to be cute, inexpensive, and create as little waste as possible. I spray painted gift wrap tubes with foam balls on top to make DIY stanchions. Amanda decorated the Christmas decoration box with white and red tape, and I filled it with white and yellow balloons to look like popcorn. I brought the US map we have been charting our progress on and hung it up. It's like a game of ticket to ride: each day of practice gets you one centimeter on the map. Every one of my students met the goal he/she set at the beginning of the term. One student won longest route, most states, and best artistry. If he had traveled miles instead of centimeters, he would have driven 1745 miles! He practiced 53 days during the 10 weeks of lessons and mastered an 8 page song, a Million Dreams. I arranged a duet of "The Other Side" from the Greatest Showman that we played together. It was fantastic! Teaching him feels like such an accomplishment. But I can't take all the credit. He does work hard and I love seeing his passion for music burn within him. It reminds me of me when I was in middle school.
I give awards at the end; things like "best posture" "best technique" "duet master" ect. The reason I do it is: when I was on the JV girls tennis team in high school I wasn't very good. I'm not a very athletic person. But I liked tennis and I enjoyed being on the team even if I was the LVP (least valuable player.) My coach gave out awards to the JV girls one year. There really wasn't anything for me to win an award in. My coach gave me a container of green play-dough that had a plastic figurine of the Hulk on the lid. It was the "fist pump" award, because she noticed that when I would score a point or do a really awesome hit, I would often do a fist pump. It was such a little thing for her to do, but it changed my life! It taught me how important attitude is. And it showed me that while I might not be good at the measurable things in tennis (and life) there is always something right and good about me. Sometimes you need a JV girls tennis coach to point it out. But there's something special and worth celebrating in everyone. I believe that you become that adult that you needed as a child. I'm doing my best to be that adult, to notice the strengths and beautiful character traits in each of my students, my children, other adults. I want to be sure they know that they are valued, loved, and important to me.
Each performance was so good! It went much better than I had expected. Ammon started it out by playing "The Batman Theme." When he was finished, he gave the 3 deepest bows any preschooler has ever given. He was so proud of himself. He kept saying "wasn't that awesome!?" He was disappointed when I didn't let him have a turn with the microphone. Apparently he had been hoping to use the microphone to teach us how to do something.
Quin played the Star Wars main theme. On his way up he said out loud "this is gonna be so amazing." It was. After his adorable bow he said "thank you, thank you" to the audience. He really seemed to enjoy the recital. He was eager to help out and both boys spent time gathering things off the tables at the end and sweeping the gym.
I played "This is Me" from the Greatest Showman. There were plenty of mistakes made, but I'm more satisfied with it than I ever have been with a performance. I 100% did my best to prepare and perform. I poured my whole soul into that song. I feel like it was written for me. I love the words, especially "I am who I'm meant to be." I do feel that way now, but for most of my life I was disappointed in myself. I wish I could have heard that song when I was 15. I really needed it then! But it's here and helping me now. I'm so thankful to the people who wrote it.
This evening I put on a Music from the Movies piano recital for my beginner piano students. Each student learned a song from a movie. At the recital they dressed up like a character from the movie. We had Batman, Bella, Luke Skywalker, Captain Jack Sparrow, Elsa, Jasmine, Johnny from Sing, PT Barnum, and I wore a beard and a dress. I was the bearded lady from the Greatest Showman. Ammon kept calling me mustache momma.
We set up 8 circular tables in the church gym. My dad brought my old digital keyboard from his house and I brought my portable keyboard to play duets on. We had the volume turned all the way up. I was worried it would sound muddy, but when I went back and listened to it, it sounded fine. My piano teacher, Mickey Herrin came, as well as my grandma and my parents.
The decorations were homemade pinterest crafts. I was trying to spruce it up a little since it was in the church gym. I wanted my decorations to be cute, inexpensive, and create as little waste as possible. I spray painted gift wrap tubes with foam balls on top to make DIY stanchions. Amanda decorated the Christmas decoration box with white and red tape, and I filled it with white and yellow balloons to look like popcorn. I brought the US map we have been charting our progress on and hung it up. It's like a game of ticket to ride: each day of practice gets you one centimeter on the map. Every one of my students met the goal he/she set at the beginning of the term. One student won longest route, most states, and best artistry. If he had traveled miles instead of centimeters, he would have driven 1745 miles! He practiced 53 days during the 10 weeks of lessons and mastered an 8 page song, a Million Dreams. I arranged a duet of "The Other Side" from the Greatest Showman that we played together. It was fantastic! Teaching him feels like such an accomplishment. But I can't take all the credit. He does work hard and I love seeing his passion for music burn within him. It reminds me of me when I was in middle school.
I give awards at the end; things like "best posture" "best technique" "duet master" ect. The reason I do it is: when I was on the JV girls tennis team in high school I wasn't very good. I'm not a very athletic person. But I liked tennis and I enjoyed being on the team even if I was the LVP (least valuable player.) My coach gave out awards to the JV girls one year. There really wasn't anything for me to win an award in. My coach gave me a container of green play-dough that had a plastic figurine of the Hulk on the lid. It was the "fist pump" award, because she noticed that when I would score a point or do a really awesome hit, I would often do a fist pump. It was such a little thing for her to do, but it changed my life! It taught me how important attitude is. And it showed me that while I might not be good at the measurable things in tennis (and life) there is always something right and good about me. Sometimes you need a JV girls tennis coach to point it out. But there's something special and worth celebrating in everyone. I believe that you become that adult that you needed as a child. I'm doing my best to be that adult, to notice the strengths and beautiful character traits in each of my students, my children, other adults. I want to be sure they know that they are valued, loved, and important to me.
Each performance was so good! It went much better than I had expected. Ammon started it out by playing "The Batman Theme." When he was finished, he gave the 3 deepest bows any preschooler has ever given. He was so proud of himself. He kept saying "wasn't that awesome!?" He was disappointed when I didn't let him have a turn with the microphone. Apparently he had been hoping to use the microphone to teach us how to do something.
Quin played the Star Wars main theme. On his way up he said out loud "this is gonna be so amazing." It was. After his adorable bow he said "thank you, thank you" to the audience. He really seemed to enjoy the recital. He was eager to help out and both boys spent time gathering things off the tables at the end and sweeping the gym.
I played "This is Me" from the Greatest Showman. There were plenty of mistakes made, but I'm more satisfied with it than I ever have been with a performance. I 100% did my best to prepare and perform. I poured my whole soul into that song. I feel like it was written for me. I love the words, especially "I am who I'm meant to be." I do feel that way now, but for most of my life I was disappointed in myself. I wish I could have heard that song when I was 15. I really needed it then! But it's here and helping me now. I'm so thankful to the people who wrote it.
Wednesday, October 30, 2019
My personal wilderness
This morning I read 1 Nephi chapter 2:1-7. In those verses I learned precious pearls of wisdom and much needed perspective about a challenging situation our family is in.
[Background: I married Michael when I was 18 years old. I married him because when I was with him I felt like the truest version of myself. Happy, finding joy and humor in everything, empowered with the confidence to take on the world. He made me feel beautiful, desirable, and valued more than I ever had before in my life. I felt like he set my inner- self free. He never tried to control me using shame or unrelenting persuasion. He never attempted to control me at all. He just allowed me to be who I was, like what I liked, and do what I wanted to do without judgement.
[Background: I married Michael when I was 18 years old. I married him because when I was with him I felt like the truest version of myself. Happy, finding joy and humor in everything, empowered with the confidence to take on the world. He made me feel beautiful, desirable, and valued more than I ever had before in my life. I felt like he set my inner- self free. He never tried to control me using shame or unrelenting persuasion. He never attempted to control me at all. He just allowed me to be who I was, like what I liked, and do what I wanted to do without judgement.
We weren't planning to get married right away. In fact, it was my plan to wait a few years, get into nursing school in Portland, maybe wait until after I graduated. Michael's brother, Ben, visited him and gave him some unsolicited advice that led to our speedy engagement and wedding. "The Mormon standard dating plan is, if you're not engaged after 6 months, you need to move on." If you think you might want to spend eternity with someone, why wait to get eternity started?
I was distraught when Michael told me about this "Mormon standard dating plan." This was not part of my tidy little life plan and I wasn't sure it was wise. I knew we needed more information and I felt prompted to meditate together on a hill overlooking the city. As we climbed to out favorite spot at Chip Ross Park, I was filled with doubt, confusion, and uncertainty. We sat on a bench and watched the wind gently guiding the first leaves down from the maple trees above us. We talked for a while, then we prayed together and separately. As I changed the question from "should I marry Michael?" to "I want to marry Michael, but is that what God wants me to do?" As soon as I had that thought, something snapped into place and I could feel a warm voice within me whisper "yes." A moment later Michael knelt and asked me to marry him and I said yes. I'm not sure how long we sat up there bathing in pure joy as we watched the city below through a beautiful curtain of sunlit, gliding leaves. It was probably hours. We happily bounded down the hill, desiring to proclaim our wonderful news to the whole world. We celebrated with a sample platter at Elmer's restaurant. It was the best fried zucchini I may ever taste. We told his family first, on Canadian Thanksgiving at his parent's house. Then we went with my dad on a boy scout camping trip at my parent's recreational property in the middle of the Central Oregon desert. It was pretty gutsy for Michael to ask my dad's permission in that setting. My dad is a "prepper" and he had guns, ammo, and supplies stockpiled in storage sheds on the property. He also has a third degree black belt and knows how to fight with a staff.
But he graciously gave his consent.
But he graciously gave his consent.
My mom cried when we announced our engagement. She tried to dissuade me from the wedding, citing the fact that Michael was already balding, this was just a fleeting infatuation, he would never be able to provide for a family with his art degree, ect. At one point I shouted at her through tears "you don't have to come to the wedding!"
Michael and I were sealed in the Portland temple on December 11, 2010; meaning we believe our marriage will continue in the next life where we will live together in exaltation if we live worthily. I now realize that getting sealed to someone is a pretty bold move, and it was especially bold for me since I was so young and I had only know him for 5 months.
We lived in a 700 square foot one bedroom apartment on the side of the highway. We could hear every word our upstairs neighbors spoke. Especially when they were screaming at each other or making love at 2 AM. Our apartment was prone to mold and it was not well lit. But we were so in love and so happy to be together. We were always barely scraping by with money, so we mostly played board games, took long walks, and grocery shopped together for our dates. It was both a struggle and sublime. I biked to school at OSU and had a part time work-study job at a convenience store/coffee shop at the international building on campus. I was dutifully checking off pre-reqs for nursing school as Michael struggled through several dead-end jobs. We had a black cat named Cuddles, who we were very sad to give up when we got in to a better apartment complex on the other side of town. We basically had to choose if we wanted to live in an awful moldy apartment and have a sweet cat or move to a better place with no cat and someday have a baby. We chose future baby.
I was confused about what to study at school. I changed my major frequently, usually settling back to nursing. At one point I felt prompted to study music. Now I really wish I had.
I was overwhelmed by the application process for nursing school. I felt so inadequate. They would never choose me. I look back and think "you were great! You had a 3.7 college GPA and tons of volunteer experience. You would have gotten in!" I settled for a crummy for-profit trade school nursing program because it was easy to get in. It was going to be expensive, but I wanted to be a nurse and a better nursing school probably wouldn't accept me anyway. I felt enormous pressure to hurry and get through nursing school as quickly as possible so we could start our family soon. From the very beginning I had a feeling that the particular nursing school I had found was not the right one. Even when they called to tell me I got in to the nursing program I had an uncomfortable feeling when I accepted. I commuted to and from the school, which was near the Portland airport (about 100 miles away from our apartment in Corvallis. CRAZY). I stayed at Michael's aunt Helen's house. I don't know what I was thinking. Nursing school was hard enough without having to get up at 4:30 am and drive in Portland morning traffic. I kept having the nagging prompting that this was wrong and I should stop going to that school. I pushed it down for several months. Partway through my second term, the car was having even MORE problems, I was stressed out, sleep deprived, and I knew I was on the wrong path. I dropped out of school and started working full time at my shipping/data entry/quality control job. I still dream of going back to nursing school. I love the hospitality aspect of nursing. You get to be there for people when they're at their lowest, when they really need a caring hand to soothe their pain. Nurses always know just what to do and how to make it better. I wish nursing school could have been part of my path. I know it is not.
Two or three months after I stopped nursing school we found out we were pregnant with Quin. We were so excited! Michael was working at UA with me and he soon found a promising job at a print shop where he was able to use his art degree. He would be supporting us at a job he liked, I would get to stay home and raise the baby, and we would live happily ever after.
During my pregnancy I continued to work full time, although I took it pretty easy when I was having a nauseous morning or a headache.
I was so anxious about my upcoming delivery. I was really worried that the baby wouldn't like me, that I wouldn't know how to take care of him or that he wouldn't be comforted by me. 2 months before the due date Michael lost the print shop job. I remember that day. It was a cold October 12th, Michael's cousin was getting married and I had stayed in his parent's camper. He was so upset and so afraid of my reaction. I think I handled it pretty well. I remember looking down at the purple shirt that was stretched over my full belly, the scent of crisp autumn leaves floating through the air. The dew on the forested hills of his aunt and uncle's house. Wondering what was going to happen next. How could we care for this little person? Our first born son?
I continued working until I was one day overdue. I feel like I mostly stopped because my co-workers were so distressed by me continuing to work. Michael had been able to find jobs here and there through a temp agency. I was very hopeful that the warehouse job at a technology firm would turn into something permanent. But on Christmas day as we sat on the swing under his parent's house he told me that he only had a few more days of work left. I was a week past my due date. Disappointed that I didn't get to have my baby for Christmas and crushed that once again our family was left without financial resources.
Quin was born three days later. When we brought him home I was completely overwhelmed. Maybe it was all of the stress converging, but I felt totally inadequate and I didn't know how we would care for and raise this baby. I didn't believe I could do it. My mom stayed with us for a week. When she had to return home for work I begged her to take Quin with her. "I can't do it!"
Quin ended up staying in Oregon. A deluge of grief flooded my empty, aching soul. Postpartum depression completely knocked me off my feet and loomed above me, beating me with a 2 by 4 every time I tried to get up. I had horrible unwanted homicidal and suicidal thoughts. I wanted to take his life because I couldn't protect him from the evil world and I didn't want him to experience the pain of all of it. I wanted to take my life because I couldn't handle it. I couldn't be the person my family needed me to be. Or deserved.
I had an excellent doctor who took my concern seriously and helped me get the medication and counselling I needed to survive. But the most important thing she gave me that day was not a prescription or a referral. It was a tender hug. It was refreshing to in the care of a doctor who really cared about me.
It was challenging to make it on zero income with a newborn, but we had been given more than enough cloth diapers for Quin and we had all the clothes we could need for him. We had barely enough food. I remember Michael skipping lunch a few times to make sure I had enough to eat. I mostly didn't have time to eat. I held Quin constantly. I didn't know how to take care of him and part of it was the depression, I just sat on the couch and held him and stared at the side of his face for hours.
Michael found a job in February working as a receptionist for his brother's computer business. That job only worked out until the next Christmas. Then we were on the job hunt again. We both really wanted me to be home with Quin, but that was proving impossible. Michael found a part time job at a different print shop and started an online computer science degree, and I started working part time again. He would leave for work in the morning and at mid-day I would ride the bus with Quin and hand him off to Michael at the bus station or the bus stop and go to work for the afternoon. It was a crazy juggling act, but we managed.
After two long, hard years Michael finished his CS degree. We were tens of thousands of dollars in student debt, but had high hopes for a future computer science job. Michael was really hoping to end up designing and creating video games.
Soon Ammon was on the way and the print shop was closing. Once again, Michael was losing his job at Christmas time. But there was a chance he could get a job with the same company in Eugene. It was a tense two weeks while we waited to find out if he got the job. Then when the news came we had the tough decision of stay here or move to the Eugene area. We decided to move closer to the job, even though it meant having a baby in a new town.
We moved to Springfield and made some great friends. We had just the one little hatchback and Michael took it to work almost every day. I had hoped that he would start biking to work or taking the bus, but that didn't work out. It was incredibly hard to have two little kids in an unfriendly town with no transportation. I would walk a mile and a half round trip pushing the stroller to get groceries. I remember struggling to get everything to fit in re-useable bags, the milk cartons weighing down the basket under the stroller and causing it to scrape on the uneven sidewalk. The straps of my grocery bags would dig into my shoulders and I would have to pause to alternate carrying the heaviest bag on my elbow, in my hand, and on each shoulder.
The kids and I could only go as far as we could walk. I walked with the kids in the stroller to most of their doctors appointments. Actually, I ran to most of them because we were almost always late.
It was hard to get to doctor appointments for myself. I wasn't able to do counselling because of the transportation barrier. I really could have used counselling at that time. I was suicidal and homicidal towards both kids and it was a dark, difficult time.
We really didn't like our neighborhood. Our duplex was okay, but we lived close to the gateway mall and a rowdy apartment complex. People would swear and scream at each other right outside our window late at night. I once had to clean broken glass off the driveway and there was always garbage and animal poop on our lawn. Our one year lease was nearly up and we desperately wanted to find somewhere else to live. We couldn't afford anything better and our rent was to be increased. My parents's rental house came available around the same time and we ended up moving to Lebanon. I had ordered a Taga bike, a very expensive cargo bike with special seats for kids. It came down to deciding between the Taga and a down payment for a second vehicle. I thought I could manage the very bike friendly streets and paths of Eugene/Springfield. Unfortunately the kick-starter didn't arrive until months later than expected. In fact, it arrived after our move to Lebanon.
Not long after moving I had a psychic breakdown that resulted in my mother in law taking me and the boys to the mental health walk in clinic. I got some help and got set up with a psychiatrist and my parents and in laws helped us buy a second car so I wouldn't be house-bound with two littles anymore.
Michael was called into the bishopric and I was called as ward organist. It was cool that we moved in to the ward exactly when they needed us. The Corbett's babysat Ammon and Quin during sacrament meeting while we were both up on the stand at church. Brother Corbett ended up being the new bishop after Bishop Fillips moved.
Michael's job was okay, it was mostly covering our needs but he started looking around for a job closer to Lebanon. His boss found out and gave him a pretty big raise and told him "I don't want to hear about you looking for any more jobs."
My parents bought a house and moved to Lebanon just after Ammon turned 1. It has been wonderful to have them so close.
We stayed for another year (or maybe two?) at the job in Eugene. Our third baby was on the way and I really wanted Michael to look for somewhere closer to work. I didn't think I could handle three little kids by myself for 11 hours a day, 5 days a week. He wasn't very motivated to look for a new job and I settled into the idea of him continuing the commute. Then, right before Ruby was born, out of the blue Michael decided it was time to look for a different job. I was frustrated because I didn't want to have the stress of that on top of having a new baby. He told me he wanted to be the one to find the next job, not me. I had always done 90% of the job searching and I see now that I was being too controlling. I'm beginning to see that a huge amount of pain in life comes from/as a result of our relationships with others. A big part of life is realizing and accepting that I can't control another person's mind or will.
He found a job in Monmouth working for an old family friend. He loves it so much! He is learning a lot every day and is using his computer science degree. He spends about the same amount of time in the car but it's closer in distance. We took a cut in pay initially, with the hope that it would turn into a long term job that could provide for our family. When the 3 month trial period was up, I was disappointed to hear that the wage wasn't going to change much.
I feel trapped at this point. Once again, having employment problems near the holidays. We both want me to stay home to raise the kids. It's illogical for me to get a full time job because with no degree, I couldn't earn enough to cover my childcare costs. But I can't afford to stay home either. I feel backed into a corner. I truly feel that I have been doing the best I can to align my will with God's plan for my life. I strongly feel that we are meant to be here in Lebanon, that this was the right job for Michael to take, and that the timing was right for the birth of each of our children. I feel prompted to stay here in Lebanon, although I'm not sure how we'll be able to afford it much longer. We've burned through our savings. Michael cashed out his meager retirement account and the utility and grocery bills are racking up on our credit card. We can probably make it another month, but after than the defect in income to expense will catch up to us. I think I need to get a part time job, something during the evenings/weekends so Michael can watch the kids. Even working graveyard shift or something. I don't think I can handle adding an extra thing to my plate. My mental energy is over-expended by trying to keep up with piano teaching and planning music for the combined ward Christmas program.
I love piano teaching and really don't want to stop. It fills me with joy and satisfaction and a piano lesson always turns the worst of moods into happiness and laughter. I wish I could have twice as many students.
Michael wants me to try to find more piano students to solve the problem. I don't know that that's feasible. Students don't show up when I need them. They come when they want piano lessons, which is a want, not a need. I think I have to find a job right now, whether or not I can handle it. Michael offered to find a second job, but I don't know if I can handle any extra time alone with the kids. My mom has been helping us out a lot, and I don't want to keep adding burdens to her already full plate. She's the relief society president and is having issues with other family members. She tried to stop me from marrying Michael in the first place and warned against having a baby each time we decided it was time for the next one. Maybe she was right. I don't want to be her problem, but I'm a huge problem.
I feel like I'm in my own personal wilderness by the Red Sea. I feel like God has called us to pass through this desert, promising a land of promise at some future point. We are in the thick of it, bearing children in the wilderness, barely able to meet our family's needs. I don't know what's ahead in our travel through the desert. I certainly hope we reach a place like Bountiful. A place where Michael is able to provide for our family. Where I can focus on raising the kids and helping them have happy childhoods without worrying how we're going to provide a home for them.
They can't understand the stress we're under. I don't want them to.] Now you're up to date on the background.
We lived in a 700 square foot one bedroom apartment on the side of the highway. We could hear every word our upstairs neighbors spoke. Especially when they were screaming at each other or making love at 2 AM. Our apartment was prone to mold and it was not well lit. But we were so in love and so happy to be together. We were always barely scraping by with money, so we mostly played board games, took long walks, and grocery shopped together for our dates. It was both a struggle and sublime. I biked to school at OSU and had a part time work-study job at a convenience store/coffee shop at the international building on campus. I was dutifully checking off pre-reqs for nursing school as Michael struggled through several dead-end jobs. We had a black cat named Cuddles, who we were very sad to give up when we got in to a better apartment complex on the other side of town. We basically had to choose if we wanted to live in an awful moldy apartment and have a sweet cat or move to a better place with no cat and someday have a baby. We chose future baby.
I was confused about what to study at school. I changed my major frequently, usually settling back to nursing. At one point I felt prompted to study music. Now I really wish I had.
I was overwhelmed by the application process for nursing school. I felt so inadequate. They would never choose me. I look back and think "you were great! You had a 3.7 college GPA and tons of volunteer experience. You would have gotten in!" I settled for a crummy for-profit trade school nursing program because it was easy to get in. It was going to be expensive, but I wanted to be a nurse and a better nursing school probably wouldn't accept me anyway. I felt enormous pressure to hurry and get through nursing school as quickly as possible so we could start our family soon. From the very beginning I had a feeling that the particular nursing school I had found was not the right one. Even when they called to tell me I got in to the nursing program I had an uncomfortable feeling when I accepted. I commuted to and from the school, which was near the Portland airport (about 100 miles away from our apartment in Corvallis. CRAZY). I stayed at Michael's aunt Helen's house. I don't know what I was thinking. Nursing school was hard enough without having to get up at 4:30 am and drive in Portland morning traffic. I kept having the nagging prompting that this was wrong and I should stop going to that school. I pushed it down for several months. Partway through my second term, the car was having even MORE problems, I was stressed out, sleep deprived, and I knew I was on the wrong path. I dropped out of school and started working full time at my shipping/data entry/quality control job. I still dream of going back to nursing school. I love the hospitality aspect of nursing. You get to be there for people when they're at their lowest, when they really need a caring hand to soothe their pain. Nurses always know just what to do and how to make it better. I wish nursing school could have been part of my path. I know it is not.
Two or three months after I stopped nursing school we found out we were pregnant with Quin. We were so excited! Michael was working at UA with me and he soon found a promising job at a print shop where he was able to use his art degree. He would be supporting us at a job he liked, I would get to stay home and raise the baby, and we would live happily ever after.
During my pregnancy I continued to work full time, although I took it pretty easy when I was having a nauseous morning or a headache.
I was so anxious about my upcoming delivery. I was really worried that the baby wouldn't like me, that I wouldn't know how to take care of him or that he wouldn't be comforted by me. 2 months before the due date Michael lost the print shop job. I remember that day. It was a cold October 12th, Michael's cousin was getting married and I had stayed in his parent's camper. He was so upset and so afraid of my reaction. I think I handled it pretty well. I remember looking down at the purple shirt that was stretched over my full belly, the scent of crisp autumn leaves floating through the air. The dew on the forested hills of his aunt and uncle's house. Wondering what was going to happen next. How could we care for this little person? Our first born son?
I continued working until I was one day overdue. I feel like I mostly stopped because my co-workers were so distressed by me continuing to work. Michael had been able to find jobs here and there through a temp agency. I was very hopeful that the warehouse job at a technology firm would turn into something permanent. But on Christmas day as we sat on the swing under his parent's house he told me that he only had a few more days of work left. I was a week past my due date. Disappointed that I didn't get to have my baby for Christmas and crushed that once again our family was left without financial resources.
Quin was born three days later. When we brought him home I was completely overwhelmed. Maybe it was all of the stress converging, but I felt totally inadequate and I didn't know how we would care for and raise this baby. I didn't believe I could do it. My mom stayed with us for a week. When she had to return home for work I begged her to take Quin with her. "I can't do it!"
Quin ended up staying in Oregon. A deluge of grief flooded my empty, aching soul. Postpartum depression completely knocked me off my feet and loomed above me, beating me with a 2 by 4 every time I tried to get up. I had horrible unwanted homicidal and suicidal thoughts. I wanted to take his life because I couldn't protect him from the evil world and I didn't want him to experience the pain of all of it. I wanted to take my life because I couldn't handle it. I couldn't be the person my family needed me to be. Or deserved.
I had an excellent doctor who took my concern seriously and helped me get the medication and counselling I needed to survive. But the most important thing she gave me that day was not a prescription or a referral. It was a tender hug. It was refreshing to in the care of a doctor who really cared about me.
It was challenging to make it on zero income with a newborn, but we had been given more than enough cloth diapers for Quin and we had all the clothes we could need for him. We had barely enough food. I remember Michael skipping lunch a few times to make sure I had enough to eat. I mostly didn't have time to eat. I held Quin constantly. I didn't know how to take care of him and part of it was the depression, I just sat on the couch and held him and stared at the side of his face for hours.
Michael found a job in February working as a receptionist for his brother's computer business. That job only worked out until the next Christmas. Then we were on the job hunt again. We both really wanted me to be home with Quin, but that was proving impossible. Michael found a part time job at a different print shop and started an online computer science degree, and I started working part time again. He would leave for work in the morning and at mid-day I would ride the bus with Quin and hand him off to Michael at the bus station or the bus stop and go to work for the afternoon. It was a crazy juggling act, but we managed.
After two long, hard years Michael finished his CS degree. We were tens of thousands of dollars in student debt, but had high hopes for a future computer science job. Michael was really hoping to end up designing and creating video games.
Soon Ammon was on the way and the print shop was closing. Once again, Michael was losing his job at Christmas time. But there was a chance he could get a job with the same company in Eugene. It was a tense two weeks while we waited to find out if he got the job. Then when the news came we had the tough decision of stay here or move to the Eugene area. We decided to move closer to the job, even though it meant having a baby in a new town.
We moved to Springfield and made some great friends. We had just the one little hatchback and Michael took it to work almost every day. I had hoped that he would start biking to work or taking the bus, but that didn't work out. It was incredibly hard to have two little kids in an unfriendly town with no transportation. I would walk a mile and a half round trip pushing the stroller to get groceries. I remember struggling to get everything to fit in re-useable bags, the milk cartons weighing down the basket under the stroller and causing it to scrape on the uneven sidewalk. The straps of my grocery bags would dig into my shoulders and I would have to pause to alternate carrying the heaviest bag on my elbow, in my hand, and on each shoulder.
The kids and I could only go as far as we could walk. I walked with the kids in the stroller to most of their doctors appointments. Actually, I ran to most of them because we were almost always late.
It was hard to get to doctor appointments for myself. I wasn't able to do counselling because of the transportation barrier. I really could have used counselling at that time. I was suicidal and homicidal towards both kids and it was a dark, difficult time.
We really didn't like our neighborhood. Our duplex was okay, but we lived close to the gateway mall and a rowdy apartment complex. People would swear and scream at each other right outside our window late at night. I once had to clean broken glass off the driveway and there was always garbage and animal poop on our lawn. Our one year lease was nearly up and we desperately wanted to find somewhere else to live. We couldn't afford anything better and our rent was to be increased. My parents's rental house came available around the same time and we ended up moving to Lebanon. I had ordered a Taga bike, a very expensive cargo bike with special seats for kids. It came down to deciding between the Taga and a down payment for a second vehicle. I thought I could manage the very bike friendly streets and paths of Eugene/Springfield. Unfortunately the kick-starter didn't arrive until months later than expected. In fact, it arrived after our move to Lebanon.
Not long after moving I had a psychic breakdown that resulted in my mother in law taking me and the boys to the mental health walk in clinic. I got some help and got set up with a psychiatrist and my parents and in laws helped us buy a second car so I wouldn't be house-bound with two littles anymore.
Michael was called into the bishopric and I was called as ward organist. It was cool that we moved in to the ward exactly when they needed us. The Corbett's babysat Ammon and Quin during sacrament meeting while we were both up on the stand at church. Brother Corbett ended up being the new bishop after Bishop Fillips moved.
Michael's job was okay, it was mostly covering our needs but he started looking around for a job closer to Lebanon. His boss found out and gave him a pretty big raise and told him "I don't want to hear about you looking for any more jobs."
My parents bought a house and moved to Lebanon just after Ammon turned 1. It has been wonderful to have them so close.
We stayed for another year (or maybe two?) at the job in Eugene. Our third baby was on the way and I really wanted Michael to look for somewhere closer to work. I didn't think I could handle three little kids by myself for 11 hours a day, 5 days a week. He wasn't very motivated to look for a new job and I settled into the idea of him continuing the commute. Then, right before Ruby was born, out of the blue Michael decided it was time to look for a different job. I was frustrated because I didn't want to have the stress of that on top of having a new baby. He told me he wanted to be the one to find the next job, not me. I had always done 90% of the job searching and I see now that I was being too controlling. I'm beginning to see that a huge amount of pain in life comes from/as a result of our relationships with others. A big part of life is realizing and accepting that I can't control another person's mind or will.
He found a job in Monmouth working for an old family friend. He loves it so much! He is learning a lot every day and is using his computer science degree. He spends about the same amount of time in the car but it's closer in distance. We took a cut in pay initially, with the hope that it would turn into a long term job that could provide for our family. When the 3 month trial period was up, I was disappointed to hear that the wage wasn't going to change much.
I feel trapped at this point. Once again, having employment problems near the holidays. We both want me to stay home to raise the kids. It's illogical for me to get a full time job because with no degree, I couldn't earn enough to cover my childcare costs. But I can't afford to stay home either. I feel backed into a corner. I truly feel that I have been doing the best I can to align my will with God's plan for my life. I strongly feel that we are meant to be here in Lebanon, that this was the right job for Michael to take, and that the timing was right for the birth of each of our children. I feel prompted to stay here in Lebanon, although I'm not sure how we'll be able to afford it much longer. We've burned through our savings. Michael cashed out his meager retirement account and the utility and grocery bills are racking up on our credit card. We can probably make it another month, but after than the defect in income to expense will catch up to us. I think I need to get a part time job, something during the evenings/weekends so Michael can watch the kids. Even working graveyard shift or something. I don't think I can handle adding an extra thing to my plate. My mental energy is over-expended by trying to keep up with piano teaching and planning music for the combined ward Christmas program.
I love piano teaching and really don't want to stop. It fills me with joy and satisfaction and a piano lesson always turns the worst of moods into happiness and laughter. I wish I could have twice as many students.
Michael wants me to try to find more piano students to solve the problem. I don't know that that's feasible. Students don't show up when I need them. They come when they want piano lessons, which is a want, not a need. I think I have to find a job right now, whether or not I can handle it. Michael offered to find a second job, but I don't know if I can handle any extra time alone with the kids. My mom has been helping us out a lot, and I don't want to keep adding burdens to her already full plate. She's the relief society president and is having issues with other family members. She tried to stop me from marrying Michael in the first place and warned against having a baby each time we decided it was time for the next one. Maybe she was right. I don't want to be her problem, but I'm a huge problem.
I feel like I'm in my own personal wilderness by the Red Sea. I feel like God has called us to pass through this desert, promising a land of promise at some future point. We are in the thick of it, bearing children in the wilderness, barely able to meet our family's needs. I don't know what's ahead in our travel through the desert. I certainly hope we reach a place like Bountiful. A place where Michael is able to provide for our family. Where I can focus on raising the kids and helping them have happy childhoods without worrying how we're going to provide a home for them.
They can't understand the stress we're under. I don't want them to.] Now you're up to date on the background.
Lehi and his family left everything but their provisions and tents behind in Jerusalem. They left their house, the land of their inheritance, gold, silver, precious things... Logically it didn't make sense for Lehi to do that. But leaving was a tender mercy because it saved his life, taught them much while in the wilderness, gave him a land of promise, and an inspiring story to help a struggling mother of three little kids thousands of years later.
As I read those verses about leaving all but their camping gear behind, I had the thought "I'm in my own personal wilderness." Though, I have not had to leave all behind, I do feel like I ventured into motherhood leaving behind the security, enjoyment, and prospects that having a degree/career would have given me.
In verse 7 Lehi builds and altar and gives thanks to God. How can I give thanks to God in my personal wilderness? He has kept us safe, every member of our family has been blessed with excellent physical health, He has always provided for us in our hour of need. His tender mercies have come in the form of a box of hand-me-down clothes for the baby, a much needed friend who moves into the ward, my parents' rental property opening up when we can find no where else to live. I believe that He has sent us here to Lebanon at this time for a reason. There are things for us to learn here, a wilderness to traverse, callings for us to fulfill, people for us to help, and friends to strengthen us.
This has led me to ponder the question: "why read scriptures?"
Because it keeps popping up as a standard answer to Sunday school questions? Because we're "supposed to?" Because we want God to help us solve a problem?"
I want to change my intention to "because I need to align my will with His."
This is a suspenseful place to end, but it's where we're at.
This has led me to ponder the question: "why read scriptures?"
Because it keeps popping up as a standard answer to Sunday school questions? Because we're "supposed to?" Because we want God to help us solve a problem?"
I want to change my intention to "because I need to align my will with His."
This is a suspenseful place to end, but it's where we're at.
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
Response to Quin's love letter
Dear Quin,
You made this for me when I was having a bad day. It really touched me and filled my insides with warmth and love.
I'm not okay right now. I know you can tell. I've been yelling at you and your brother lately. Little things will set me off. I cried in your bed as I "snuggled" you tonight. Ammon told me "you have to be happy." He couldn't understand that the happy inside of me feels like it's all dried up. You patted my shoulder and gently encouraged me to "cheer up." Thank you for being so sweet. Thank you for taking Ammon outside to play when you noticed that I was getting overwhelmed. Thank you for noticing when I was sad and making me a picture that says "I love you." It's exactly what I needed.
Here are a few things you can't understand yet about what's going on:
Daddy started a new job the beginning of August. He is doing computer programming for/with a family friend that he knew when he was a young man. He's very lucky to have gotten this job. He finally has a chance to use his computer science degree and learn important and useful skills like database management and web development. He is learning and growing so much more than he could have at his other job as a copier technician. I'm happy for him. He seems happy. On a Sunday he asked me "is it weird that I'm excited to go back to work tomorrow and program?" He drives for an hour each way and he leaves for work at 6 am. He usually gets home after 5 pm.
I've been teaching piano for two years now. I love it and it makes me happy. I'm just not a good business person. I've been spending too much money on it and not making enough. I want to teach just for fun and not because we need the money. But we could really use some extra money right now.
Daddy is on a trial period at work. That means they're trying him out to see if he'll be a good fit for the company and they want to see how good a job he can do. During the trial period he doesn't make very much money. Right now we don't have enough to pay for our rent, groceries, utilities, gas, car payment, and all of the household expenses. So when you ask if we can buy the blue ninja costume, that's why I have to say "no." There's no fun money. And that's okay. We have what we need. For now.
We don't know exactly when the trial period will end. And we don't know exactly how much we'll make at the end of it. Daddy seems confident that things are going well, but I'm nervous that this job isn't going to work out. Like many other jobs before this one. I feel scared, Quin. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know how we're going to make it. I've looked into finding a real job for me, but I don't have a degree. I wouldn't be able to earn enough to pay for you and your siblings to go to daycare. We don't want you to go to daycare. We want you home with me. Being a full time mom IS my real job. But it feels like we can't afford that either. Even if I did get a job, that would add different layers of hard. I already can't keep up with the laundry, the daily to-do's, and housekeeping. How could I possibly do a good enough job at a potential workplace. I'm failing at my life right now and it's not even that hard. I'm sure there are people who are jealous of what I have. People who aren't able to have kids, or who don't have a healthy body or a loving husband like I do. I'm trying to be grateful and notice what I do have.
I feel crushed though. When I pray I feel that Heavenly Father is telling me to wait. Things will work out. There are good times ahead. I feel prompted that getting a job outside the home is not the right choice for me right now. When I talk to you about it you simply tell me "we just need to work more to make more money." When I mentioned that getting more piano students would help, you enthusiastically chimed, "I'll be your new piano student!" I feel so guilty that I haven't been investing the time and energy into teaching you to play this fall like I had planned to.
I can't solve this problem. I've tried to get more piano students and it hasn't worked. I feel like I'm struggling just to keep the few I have already. Who would want me as their teacher anyway. I feel like I barely know anything and I almost never have time to invest in my lesson prep. I feel guilty that people are paying me to teach their kids piano. I could be doing so much better.
I'm trying to be very careful with the budget. I've been planning and cooking the most inexpensive meals I can and trying not to waste any food. I've cut back on online shopping, deleted my Facebook account, which was draining my time and building clutter in my brain. I've been trying to help daddy with ideas and solutions to problems at work. I wonder if my efforts are just annoying to him and his boss. Everything I've done still hasn't been enough. I feel that it's not for me to solve this problem, but to learn from this experience. I'm scared that daddy won't be able to solve it. I know that God can solve any problem. I hope it is in His will to help us through this one.
I hope that you are reading this on the other side of this trial. I hope you can see and recognise the hand of the Lord in our lives. I hope that we have been strengthened as a family because of it.
Thank you, my son, for doing your part to make things better for me. I'll treasure the love note you wrote me in kindergarten forever.
Monday, October 7, 2019
Whack a Mole, Smoothie, and Catch Me Some Rain
The parable of "Whack a Mole"
For the past year I've felt like I was playing an impossible, never-ending game of "Whack a Mole." The moles were each different aspects of my life that needed attention.
"Do the dishes" *whack* "no clean dishes" *whack*
"Meal plan" *whack* "something in the back of the fridge is moldy" *whack* "what's for dinner? *whack* "I don't like this food. Can I have a cheese stick?"
"Work on your marriage!" *Whack!* "We're not a good fit." *whack* "He deserves better than me."
"You need to eat healthier!" *Whack* "You still have no energy."
"Read the book your kid has been asking for" *whack* "read it again" *whack* "AGAIN" *WHACK!*
"work on your church calling" *whack* "You should be doing more" *whack* "You're terrible at this"
"Keep your house clean! Your piano students won't want to come if it's this filthy" *Whack* "The kids storm through and leave hurricane wreckage" *whack* (That mole is my least favorite.)
"Laundry!" *Whack* "Laundry!" *Whack* "LAUNDRYYYYYYYYYY!" *Whack whack WHACK* (that one is broken and never stays down)
In the last few months I've started to feel like the Whack a Mole game is actually reversed. I'm not the player, I'm the moles. Life/my depression is the one with the mallet and it's kicking my butt.
"I did the dishes!" *whack* "they're dirty again"
"I put away the laundry!" *whack* "Ammon wet the bed. Start over"
"I'm doing okay! *whack* "now you're sick."
"I found an antidepressant that is making a difference!" *Whack* "depression slams back in unexpectedly. I should seek medical help again" *WHACK* "why bother. I'm broken and that's just the way I am. 7 other psychiatric medications haven't been able to fix me and drugs are all that doctors really have to offer."
Some days I feel like I wake up to life slamming the mallet into the holes. Cracks are forming in the plastic above me. I haven't even gotten up yet and if I do I'll just get knocked back down again.
I want to stop playing for a few minutes to catch my breath. But there's no off switch.
The Parable of the Smoothie
Having kids is like making a smoothie. Everyone told me how delicious it would be, but that it's also messy. As I anticipated Quin's birth I proverbially gathered all the ingredients together, breathlessly excited to turn it on and see what motherhood tastes like. I set my cup out on the counter, but wait; where's the lid? I open the cupboard to look. In my moment of absence "life/reality" saunters up to the blender with a wicked grin on his face and turns it on high speed. My beautiful, carefully placed ingredients catapult in a fantastic mess all over the kitchen. The smoothie is now covering the ceiling, walls, papers stuck to the fridge, the counter. And yes, is very sweet. Sweeter than I could have imagined, but it's also very a mess. I scoop up as much as I can into my cup, determined to enjoy it as much as possible. Everyone reminds me how amazingly good it is and to enjoy every sip. I smile and nod, trying to stop the dripping from the ceiling, slipping on the puddle on the floor. It's as if this exact scenario has happened to every other parent, but the older ones only remember the taste of the smoothie and not the overwhelm of the sudden mess. It is so delicious, I can't get enough. But that's because it's sprayed everywhere. I'm trapped between wanting to savor the delicious moments of motherhood I've managed to scoop up and feeling the need to hurry and just clean it all up before it dries and gets sticky. I love it, but it's hard in ways I didn't anticipate. And I would encourage other people to make their own smoothie if they desire, but know that it's not going to turn out the way they plan.
I'm getting thirsty, catch me some rain
Me and the 3 kids were at a 3 year old's birthday party. The weather started out okay but suddenly gloomy clouds converged and burst in a torrent of rain. In the covered area we enjoyed cake and the remnants of dinner. After eating cake, Quin became thirsty. There was only apple juice, which apparently would not work for him. Water was required. My water bottle has been trapped in the boys room for the last few weeks, thus I did not have any water to offer him. The drinking fountain had been de-commissioned and moss and a few sprigs of grass popped up from the hole where the drain used to be. There wasn't even any metal left, it was just the concrete stump of what was once an edifice of sustenance. As things escalated from silly to ridiculous, I jokingly suggested to Quin that he could walk out into the rain and open his mouth to catch some if he wouldn't drink the apple juice. He considered this for a moment and then ordered me to use a small plastic cup and catch him some rain. I had Ruby in the baby carrier with no way to shield her sleeping head from the rain, so I politely declined. He persisted. I encouraged him to make the attempt himself, repeatedly suggesting we return home where adequate hydration abounds. Eventually he did try to catch some rain, but ultimately he became more agitated as the erratic drops landed everywhere but his outstretched cup (which he was darting back and forth). A tantrum erupted from inside him. We made our loud and embarrassing departure. I calmly suggested he attempt to catch the tears falling from his frustrated cheeks and drink that. He did, but we learned that tears are as difficult a substance to fill a cup with as raindrops.
For the past year I've felt like I was playing an impossible, never-ending game of "Whack a Mole." The moles were each different aspects of my life that needed attention.
"Do the dishes" *whack* "no clean dishes" *whack*
"Meal plan" *whack* "something in the back of the fridge is moldy" *whack* "what's for dinner? *whack* "I don't like this food. Can I have a cheese stick?"
"Work on your marriage!" *Whack!* "We're not a good fit." *whack* "He deserves better than me."
"You need to eat healthier!" *Whack* "You still have no energy."
"Read the book your kid has been asking for" *whack* "read it again" *whack* "AGAIN" *WHACK!*
"work on your church calling" *whack* "You should be doing more" *whack* "You're terrible at this"
"Keep your house clean! Your piano students won't want to come if it's this filthy" *Whack* "The kids storm through and leave hurricane wreckage" *whack* (That mole is my least favorite.)
"Laundry!" *Whack* "Laundry!" *Whack* "LAUNDRYYYYYYYYYY!" *Whack whack WHACK* (that one is broken and never stays down)
In the last few months I've started to feel like the Whack a Mole game is actually reversed. I'm not the player, I'm the moles. Life/my depression is the one with the mallet and it's kicking my butt.
"I did the dishes!" *whack* "they're dirty again"
"I put away the laundry!" *whack* "Ammon wet the bed. Start over"
"I'm doing okay! *whack* "now you're sick."
"I found an antidepressant that is making a difference!" *Whack* "depression slams back in unexpectedly. I should seek medical help again" *WHACK* "why bother. I'm broken and that's just the way I am. 7 other psychiatric medications haven't been able to fix me and drugs are all that doctors really have to offer."
Some days I feel like I wake up to life slamming the mallet into the holes. Cracks are forming in the plastic above me. I haven't even gotten up yet and if I do I'll just get knocked back down again.
I want to stop playing for a few minutes to catch my breath. But there's no off switch.
The Parable of the Smoothie
Having kids is like making a smoothie. Everyone told me how delicious it would be, but that it's also messy. As I anticipated Quin's birth I proverbially gathered all the ingredients together, breathlessly excited to turn it on and see what motherhood tastes like. I set my cup out on the counter, but wait; where's the lid? I open the cupboard to look. In my moment of absence "life/reality" saunters up to the blender with a wicked grin on his face and turns it on high speed. My beautiful, carefully placed ingredients catapult in a fantastic mess all over the kitchen. The smoothie is now covering the ceiling, walls, papers stuck to the fridge, the counter. And yes, is very sweet. Sweeter than I could have imagined, but it's also very a mess. I scoop up as much as I can into my cup, determined to enjoy it as much as possible. Everyone reminds me how amazingly good it is and to enjoy every sip. I smile and nod, trying to stop the dripping from the ceiling, slipping on the puddle on the floor. It's as if this exact scenario has happened to every other parent, but the older ones only remember the taste of the smoothie and not the overwhelm of the sudden mess. It is so delicious, I can't get enough. But that's because it's sprayed everywhere. I'm trapped between wanting to savor the delicious moments of motherhood I've managed to scoop up and feeling the need to hurry and just clean it all up before it dries and gets sticky. I love it, but it's hard in ways I didn't anticipate. And I would encourage other people to make their own smoothie if they desire, but know that it's not going to turn out the way they plan.
I'm getting thirsty, catch me some rain
Me and the 3 kids were at a 3 year old's birthday party. The weather started out okay but suddenly gloomy clouds converged and burst in a torrent of rain. In the covered area we enjoyed cake and the remnants of dinner. After eating cake, Quin became thirsty. There was only apple juice, which apparently would not work for him. Water was required. My water bottle has been trapped in the boys room for the last few weeks, thus I did not have any water to offer him. The drinking fountain had been de-commissioned and moss and a few sprigs of grass popped up from the hole where the drain used to be. There wasn't even any metal left, it was just the concrete stump of what was once an edifice of sustenance. As things escalated from silly to ridiculous, I jokingly suggested to Quin that he could walk out into the rain and open his mouth to catch some if he wouldn't drink the apple juice. He considered this for a moment and then ordered me to use a small plastic cup and catch him some rain. I had Ruby in the baby carrier with no way to shield her sleeping head from the rain, so I politely declined. He persisted. I encouraged him to make the attempt himself, repeatedly suggesting we return home where adequate hydration abounds. Eventually he did try to catch some rain, but ultimately he became more agitated as the erratic drops landed everywhere but his outstretched cup (which he was darting back and forth). A tantrum erupted from inside him. We made our loud and embarrassing departure. I calmly suggested he attempt to catch the tears falling from his frustrated cheeks and drink that. He did, but we learned that tears are as difficult a substance to fill a cup with as raindrops.
Saturday, September 7, 2019
New Traditions for a New Normal
We started a new family tradition today. Before a new school year we plan to go to the temple as a family and talk about why it's important to choose the right. Quin actually gave me the idea. It started at the dinner table one afternoon. Kindergarten was about to start and were both feeling very excited. We were talking about school and what might happen there and got on the topic of personal integrity. I asked Quin things like "is it okay to do bad things if other people are doing them?" His responses showed a determination to follow Jesus Christ that made me so proud. I was surprised when he said "I need a CTR ring to help me choose the right when I'm at school." I try not to spoil him, but that was a request I was willing to bend over backwards for. It would be so great to go to Deseret Book and have him choose a CTR ring, hopefully they have ones that won't turn your finger green. Then we could go to the temple and visitors center as a family and it could be one big happy memory.
We were all sick the following week, so we didn't make that happen until this afternoon. It was the last Saturday before kindergarten. The five of us arrived at the temple as a gentle sprinkling of rain moistened the parched ground. On the drive up Quin looked out the window and commented that it "looks soggy over there." We went to the visitor's center so I could feed Ruby and refill my water bottle. The boys were transfixed in horrified fascination as they watched the bible video about the crucifixion and resurrection over and over. Then we walked through the cool, misty grounds, stopping to admire the fountain, atrium with its "indoor forest", and the reflection pool. Quin was holding my hand when he looked over at me and said "I'll always love you guys." I said, "really? Even when you're a teenager and we're annoying?" He replied, "yes, always." Then he told me the second time that "Daddy did the right thing when he married you." How are you so sweet and precious, Quin?!? I'm so lucky to be your mom. Michael's reply to Quin was, "I already knew that!"
We went to Deseret Book and found silicon CTR rings. Quin and I decided that a CTR bracelet would be much more practical for a 5 year old and bought one in 4 different colors. We also got a book about the "armor of God," two dolls that you dress up with pieces of the armor of God, a book about colors, a book about a baby fish, two rainbow lollipops, and pictures of a young woman wearing the armor of God, a missionary seeing himself putting on armor in his reflection as he ties his tie, and the Savior reaching his hand into the water to pull Peter up. We're planning to have an "armor of God" themed family home evening on Monday. Maybe it will be the theme of the year.
After that we took sticky faced kids with lollipops in hand to our favorite restaurant, Thai Basil. We brought our new books to read while we waited for dinner. It was an incredible meal, as always. The boys were excited to try the shrimp from my dish until Ammon asked "what's shrimp?" When I told them it was "sea creatures" they chickened out. Quin helped me fold up the carry out containers and he volunteered to carry them and my purse for me. He takes really good care of me.
On our way home we stopped in Salem to pick up a tag-along bike trailer off Craigslist. My plan is for Quin to ride it to and from kindergarten with me. The younger kids will sit in the cargo bike.
It was a great little family adventure. The last one of the Summer and the very last before school. I'm nervous about sending Quin to public school. He's a sweet little minnow being released into a wide, unknown, uncharted ocean. Don't get me wrong, I've been looking forward to this for literally his whole life. It's been a very long five years and 9 months. No, it hasn't gone by fast. There were days filled with poop and screaming that I thought would never end. But I love him and want the best for him. And no, we're not going to homeschool. I can't. We barely survived the summer.
My hope is that going to the temple together, talking about the importance of correct choices, and learning about the armor of God will help steer him in the right direction as he starts school. I'm proud of him for the loyal, sweet, caring, compassionate, loving person he is. (Gah! I hate it when parents use too many adjectives to describe their kid and I just did it!) I'm hoping to make this a new family tradition, that the week or weekend before school starts we go to the temple together and prepare spiritually for the upcoming year. We might be wackadoodle, but this is what floats our boat.
Quin, I'm proud of you. You're ready for kindergarten. My wish for you is that you will notice other kids who are alone or made fun of and choose to be their friend. That your personal integrity will solidify into a bedrock foundation as you consistently choose to follow Jesus in thought and deed. And that you will make the most of this incredible opportunity to gain an education and will use it to educate, help, and serve those around you. I love you.
We were all sick the following week, so we didn't make that happen until this afternoon. It was the last Saturday before kindergarten. The five of us arrived at the temple as a gentle sprinkling of rain moistened the parched ground. On the drive up Quin looked out the window and commented that it "looks soggy over there." We went to the visitor's center so I could feed Ruby and refill my water bottle. The boys were transfixed in horrified fascination as they watched the bible video about the crucifixion and resurrection over and over. Then we walked through the cool, misty grounds, stopping to admire the fountain, atrium with its "indoor forest", and the reflection pool. Quin was holding my hand when he looked over at me and said "I'll always love you guys." I said, "really? Even when you're a teenager and we're annoying?" He replied, "yes, always." Then he told me the second time that "Daddy did the right thing when he married you." How are you so sweet and precious, Quin?!? I'm so lucky to be your mom. Michael's reply to Quin was, "I already knew that!"
We went to Deseret Book and found silicon CTR rings. Quin and I decided that a CTR bracelet would be much more practical for a 5 year old and bought one in 4 different colors. We also got a book about the "armor of God," two dolls that you dress up with pieces of the armor of God, a book about colors, a book about a baby fish, two rainbow lollipops, and pictures of a young woman wearing the armor of God, a missionary seeing himself putting on armor in his reflection as he ties his tie, and the Savior reaching his hand into the water to pull Peter up. We're planning to have an "armor of God" themed family home evening on Monday. Maybe it will be the theme of the year.
After that we took sticky faced kids with lollipops in hand to our favorite restaurant, Thai Basil. We brought our new books to read while we waited for dinner. It was an incredible meal, as always. The boys were excited to try the shrimp from my dish until Ammon asked "what's shrimp?" When I told them it was "sea creatures" they chickened out. Quin helped me fold up the carry out containers and he volunteered to carry them and my purse for me. He takes really good care of me.
On our way home we stopped in Salem to pick up a tag-along bike trailer off Craigslist. My plan is for Quin to ride it to and from kindergarten with me. The younger kids will sit in the cargo bike.
It was a great little family adventure. The last one of the Summer and the very last before school. I'm nervous about sending Quin to public school. He's a sweet little minnow being released into a wide, unknown, uncharted ocean. Don't get me wrong, I've been looking forward to this for literally his whole life. It's been a very long five years and 9 months. No, it hasn't gone by fast. There were days filled with poop and screaming that I thought would never end. But I love him and want the best for him. And no, we're not going to homeschool. I can't. We barely survived the summer.
My hope is that going to the temple together, talking about the importance of correct choices, and learning about the armor of God will help steer him in the right direction as he starts school. I'm proud of him for the loyal, sweet, caring, compassionate, loving person he is. (Gah! I hate it when parents use too many adjectives to describe their kid and I just did it!) I'm hoping to make this a new family tradition, that the week or weekend before school starts we go to the temple together and prepare spiritually for the upcoming year. We might be wackadoodle, but this is what floats our boat.
Quin, I'm proud of you. You're ready for kindergarten. My wish for you is that you will notice other kids who are alone or made fun of and choose to be their friend. That your personal integrity will solidify into a bedrock foundation as you consistently choose to follow Jesus in thought and deed. And that you will make the most of this incredible opportunity to gain an education and will use it to educate, help, and serve those around you. I love you.
And now, Quin through the years:
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)