A Lesson About Mammals

Both of my sisters recently told me that I need to watch a documentary called "Babies".  They made it sound awfully intriguing, so I decided to give it a whirl.  

It happens to be one of the movies you can stream from Netflix, so I was sitting at my computer completely dumbstruck by the way babies are raised in different cultures, when my seven year old son, Ethan, came into the room.

I hit the pause button on that movie so fast, it was like lightning.  Ninja skills with the mouse kind of speed.

Why?  Because I was watching a documentary that showed bare-chested African women, that's why.

My sons have never seen a bare-chested woman of any race, and I wasn't sure if this film was how I wanted them to first encounter that, or if they are even ready to encounter such realities.  I remember the first time I saw a National Geographic magazine, and I recall with perfect clarity the feeling of regret over the loss of my innocence.  So I shewed him away.

I know that it's the culture in many parts of the world to go without much clothing, and I know that breastfeeding is natural...  But we're talking about a seven year old boy and a whole bunch of boobies.

It took me about three days to finish watching this film, and during the last twenty minutes or so, both of my older boys came in to my room again, wanting to know what I was watching.  I gave it about twenty seconds of thought and decided that if I prepared them, they would be fine.

"Boys", I said, "this is a movie about four real life babies who are growing up in different countries around the world, and it shows naked women.   If that's something you're OK with seeing, then you can watch this with me.  If you don't want to see that, then you should go find something else to do."

They both said they didn't mind, (no shock there), so I hit the play button and away we went.

Not too far into it, the African woman is walking along a road with her small son, and he begins to cry, so she bends down and offers him her breast for a drink.  Ethan scrunched his eyebrows up and said, "Is that a bottle or something?"

How did my children get this far into life without knowing about breastfeeding?  I never imagined they were so sheltered.  They've seen people doing it, but I guess they didn't know exactly what was going on.

I explained what it was to Ethan and Cameron, and you would not believe the shock.  I asked them what they knew about mammals, and they told me all the basics - they give birth to live young, they have hair, etc...  I said, "Yes -- and they feed their young with milk they make from their bodies."  And then I uttered the words, "We are mammals."

Cameron immediately bolted from the room, and Ethan screamed and lifted up his shirt to inspect his chest.  "Are you telling me I'm going to grow those things??"

I was laughing so hard I had to end the lesson there.  Imagine their horror if they knew that they were both breast-fed for the first few weeks of their lives. 

I'm B-AAA-AAACK!

Did you miss me?

To be honest, I've missed you.  Blogging has really taken a back-seat lately, in case you hadn't noticed, and I have been anxious to get back to it.  The problem is knowing where to start.

I could tell you about the horrors of moving 800 miles through a blizzard two days after Christmas, but I've moaned about that here in Blog Land enough already.  And besides, the outcome was that we arrived and no one died.

Then I could tell you about how I caught fire at the fancy-schmancy VIP night during the grand opening of my husband's store, but that's really all there is to that story.  I caught fire.  My husband dragged me out of his showroom for fear I'd set off the sprinkler system and all those highfalutin interior designers in there sipping on their cocktails would get soaked.  It was embarrassing.  My favorite jacket was ruined.  The end. 

Then I could tell you how the hubs and I are being audited by the IRS, but that's a rather personal story that just makes us look bad, so I'll skip it except to tell you that the pit-stop we made at his mom's house is turning into a much longer stay than we'd anticipated...

And finally, I could regale you with the story of how I had a stroke at the ripe old age of thirty and landed in the hospital for three days.  Turns out I have a hole in my heart, just like my dear father, who felt the need to share with me his less than desirable DNA.  The good news is that this story is on-going and you'll certainly be kept up to date.  Also, I'm not drooling uncontrollably or anything - the stroke was a mini-stroke which doesn't leave lasting effects.  But I do have some hilarious pictures to show you at a later date. 

The best way to summarize the month of January is to say that it has been crap from start to finish.

HOWEVER!

I've learned a lot along the way:  don't move in the winter, don't stand near open flame, if you know you made a mistake on your taxes you should fix it instead of brushing it off, and sometimes life is just insane and there's not much you can do but ride it out.

I've also learned that in the midst of every trouble there are blessings, and those blessings usually trump the bad stuff - if you focus on them.

I believe in God, (I hope that's not shocking to all of you), and I also believe that He does not send us trials that are beyond our capability to handle.  And I believe that those trials are meant to refine us and strengthen us, not trample us into despair. 

I feel stronger.  I feel awakened to how much good is in the world, and in the people around me.  I feel joy in the smallest blessings in life, and it's become easier for me to spot them.  They are everywhere.  I am glad for this horrible month in the sense that it has changed me for the better - if only just a little bit.

Homeless

I had to run an errand today, and I decided to take the kids to Burger King for lunch so they could play on the indoor playground there.  I know, I said I'd never do that again, but I was desperate.  All this freezing weather and snow has kept us cooped up inside and the kids needed some room to run without me yelling at them to be quiet and walk.

Sigh...

So we ran to Wal-Mart to pick up a night light and some craft supplies.  When we left the store a man approached us asking for change or a dollar.  I had to turn him away because I didn't have so much as a nickel on me.  But when I got into the driver seat, Cameron held up two dollars that he had found in my change compartment.  I told him we could drive around the parking lot to look for the man and give the money to him.  We drove around and around, but couldn't spot him in the crowds of people coming in and out.  As it turned out though, there were homeless people on every corner with cardboard signs asking for help.

Here in Utah, or in my town, rather, that is a rare thing.  We don't have people standing at freeway exits panhandling.  We don't see people sitting with their dog at the back of the Target parking lot asking for handouts.  We take notice when someone is standing outside with a cardboard sign because it's not something we're used to.  

There are a lot of different opinions about whether or not it's wise to give money to those people.  We don't know what they'll spend it on or if they really are as needy as they appear.  A lot of people say it's better to give money to a homeless shelter or a food bank than to hand out a spare dollar to panhandlers.  Well, that may be true, but I never do that.  I bet a lot of people never do that.  Have you ever driven down to a homeless shelter and written a check, or dropped off a sack of food to a food bank without someone coming to your door to collect it?  I haven't.  So giving someone on a corner my meager change is the best I can do.  It isn't ever much, but it's something.  And if my little something plus someone else's little something means that someone can buy himself a cheeseburger or some gloves, then that's a good thing.  If it's used to buy alcohol or drugs, then so be it.  I won't presume to dictate what my gift can be used for.  I've never walked in anyone else's shoes, so I can't judge.  

We gave up looking for the same man who had asked us for change and decided to give the money to a different man on a corner.  He was wearing a blue stocking cap and a red and black checked jacket.  He had a patch over one eye and his skin looked weathered and worn. Though he didn't smile, I could see that some of his teeth were missing.  His sign said something about being a single father, but I didn't read it all.  Cameron rolled down his window as we approached and held his hand out with the two dollars.  The man approached quickly, took the money from Cameron's outstretched hand, and with a strained voice from either cold or emotion he looked at Cameron and said, "God bless you.  Thank you Little Buddy."  I wished him a happy holiday, which seemed like an impossibility, and we drove on.

I don't know that man's story.  I don't know if he really was a single father, if he really did have a problem with his eye, if he was there by choice or circumstance; but I knew he was genuinely grateful for those two dollars.  I've handed money out of my car window enough times to know when it's really appreciated and when it's just another drop in the bucket.  Cameron felt it, too.  He said, "We really helped that man, didn't we?"  The truth is, not much.  But we did something.  Something is always better than nothing.

This time of year we think about the Savior and how he came into the world with nothing but the love of a family.  I feel so blessed to have what I do.  I may not be wealthy, but as I look at all the weariness and hopelessness in the world, I feel nearly crushed by all my riches.  And it might be corny or cliche, but we're all beggars.  We all need help from our brothers and sisters at some point in our lives. Today I saw Christ in the faces of all those people standing on corners holding their signs asking for help.  I hoped that they could feel the Savior carrying their burdens, whatever they are. 

You Might Be A Crappy Parent - Sports Edition

I need to get something off my chest.  And I don't normally rant on my blog, but I figure I am allowed to do so every now and again.

I coach a second grade boys soccer team.  I volunteered to do this because no one else did.  The rules of this league state that players are to rotate positions and all players are to have equal playing time.  We are allowed seven players on the field during the game, and with a ten member team, this means that I sit three players out at a time throughout the four quarters.  We rotate.  We take turns warming the bench, playing forward, full back, and goalie.  

But we've all heard the saying, "There's one on every team."  One what?  One, big-headed, arrogant jerk of a kid who feels entitled to play his favorite position the entire game and never sit out because he thinks he is The Shit.  'Scuse my French.  I'm really heated over this.

I can't stand those kinds of kids, and even more, I can't stand the parents of those kids who raise them to believe that they are above their peers and that they don't have to respect the authority of their coaches.

Why does there have to be one on every team?  Why can't all parents raise their kids to be polite, unassuming, respectful, and kind?  

Well, to the parents of that one kid on my team, and to anyone else who thinks they might be guilty, I would like to direct the following:

If you only cheer for your own kid, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you ignore the coach and spend the entire game shouting play-by-play instructions to your kid, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you allow your child to throw a tantrum on the field whenever he is told to sit out, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you tell your child that he doesn't have to go to practice because he's already better than everyone else on his team, you might be a crappy sports parent.

If you yell at other players on your kid's team for not letting your kid have the ball, you might be a crappy sports parent.

And finally, if you truly believe that all the other kids on the field are simply there to facilitate an hour long show-off exhibition for your own kid, you are definitely a crappy sports parent.  And if you're going to play it that way, you might at least want to make sure your kid scores a goal.

Just so you know.  Oh, and nobody likes you.

On my way to a mid-life crisis.

I keep waiting for maturity to hit, and I fear I may be waiting in vain. My mind still feels like it's eighteen years old, while my body approaches thirty with a back-burner type of panic that flairs up every time I sit with my legs underneath me and then stand up and have to hobble for the first few steps while the bones in my feet realign themselves to their proper position. Maybe it's not age - I could be gaining weight. At any rate, I was standing in the shower the other day, (because who doesn't do their deepest thinking while standing in the steam letting their eyes go out of focus?), and I began to think about the phrase, "You're only as old as you feel". This is where my 18 year old brain comes into play and I begin to have a two part dialogue with myself:

"Does feeling mentally immature count as young, or are we talking about physical feeling?"

"I don't know. Maybe we mesh the two?"

"Yeah, maybe. So let's see; If we feel 18 mentally and 50 physically, (of course, we can only imagine what a 50 year old body feels like, but it seems a good guess), then do we average out to 34?"

"I think so! We've been robbed of 5 years!"

"Hmm. Isn't a woman's mid-thirties supposed to be her sexual prime?"

"I think you're right. That might not be so bad. Let's google that later."

"Okay. I'll try to remember. With age comes forgetfulness, you know."

"Good point. You know what else? If we're aging that quickly, then we really ought to quit wasting time shaving our legs."

So here I am, trying to accept the fact that while I thought that I had another 6 months of being in my twenties, I'm actually already in my thirties and didn't know it. Thinking back through my youthful years, I conclude that I've spent too much time worrying about things that are small, too much time sitting on my butt doing nothing, and not nearly enough time living.

I can regain my twenties before they are gone by waking up every morning as though I had a choice, (and that it was to get out of bed), and by letting my kids take me back to the important things.

I took my three oldest kids to pick out pumpkins tonight, and they agreed that today was the "best day ever". Just because of carving pumpkins. I wanted to let their enthusiasm seep into me, and I have to say that I loved squishing my fingers through the mushy, orange pulp, and chanting that "Ethan is a sissy!" with Cameron when Ethan refused to touch the guts of his gourd with his bare hands. Sometimes I am amazed at how simple life is when I let the kids take the lead. All the bad "what-if's" are replaced with simple curiosity. Every bothersome chore becomes unimportant. Excitement is tacked on to both ends of everything. While we stood at the window and watched the candles in the jack-o-lanterns flicker in the night's breeze, I decided that I don't care how old I am in real life or in a hypothetical equation - I just always want to feel young enough to think that carving pumpkins could make for the best day of my life.

My Never-Before Declared and In Some Cases New Rules for a More Peaceful Life

I will not agree with someone just to spare their feelings or avoid confrontation. I will keep my mouth shut when I can, but if you ask how I feel - be prepared for the honest truth. I will no longer say that I think Rush Limbaugh or Glenn Beck are great, when I really think that, while I agree with a lot of their views, they are sometimes just alarmists and can both be a bit of a whackadoo.

I will treat everyone with the respect that they deserve.

I will not feel guilty for my opinions.

I will not attend anyone's party, get together, baptism, barbecue or public execution unless I am given ample notice of when and where, do I need to bring some Handi Wipes or just a casserole?, etc.

Anytime I am home and do not have previous engagements, I will happily host any family member or friend in my home who contributes to the joy of our household, but not those who detract from it. You come here and fight, gossip, make us feel uncomfortable or talk incessantly about politics or Volkswagens - you're out. Curse words, in the mild form, are still ok, because I have not yet mastered my tongue and can't expect more from others than I do of myself. It's the whole beam vs. moat thing. I'll let you know when all curse words are taboo, and not just the Top 4.

My home will be a safe haven for my children. They will feel safe here from all kinds of evils including verbal abuse, favoritism, and lack of appropriate and loving discipline. When my kids are punished, they will know that I do it out of love, and that nothing they ever do or don't do could make me love them any less. But I will not tolerate disobedience or less than their best. I will not put-down my children by asking them if they are retarded when they track mud all through the freshly mopped kitchen floor. Also, if anyone comes into my house and tells one of my kids over and over how cute they are while the other three shrink into holes of self-loathing from listening to it, then I will make sure to tell that person that I think all their kids are equally ugly. But I'll do it when the kids aren't within earshot, of course.

I will not listen to gossip, and will do my best each day to never speak ill of anyone. There is a difference between venting and unloading garbage. Everyone has bad days now and again and sometimes they need to call someone and say, "Can you believe what I have been though today? I am at my wit's end and was hoping you could tell me that I'll feel better after a good cry and a giant milkshake." I am happy to help in those situations. I might even stop by with a chick-flick for us to watch together. What I do not need is to hear anyone nark about how much somebody hates somebody else, how everyone in a thousand mile radius is trying to make them miserable or all the reasons why every relationship somebody has with all the important people in their life has become a giant pile of steaming manure and it's all my fault. Do, however, let me know when your dog eats his own droppings and then comes inside and horks it back up onto your white carpet and you don't know if you should kill the mutt or feel sorry for it's lack of superior intellect. I'll laugh with you, cry with you, and recommend a fantastic carpet deodorizer.

I will do one nice thing for someone every day. Even if it's just calling someone to see how they are doing, and ask if I can help them in some way. Or making my sons' beds for them, or putting an extra treat in their lunches. Or even just not e-mailing an unflattering picture of my sister to my father so that he can forward it to all of their co-workers.

When someone asks me to do something, or for something, I will tell them I'll have to think about it. It's this thinking about it part that gets me into trouble. I agree to things all the time that I haven't thought through, just because I'm afraid of looking bad or selfish. And it makes my life harder. Like when I was nineteen and told my uncle, "Sure, I'll come work for the same company that you're working for," and then found out that he had lured me into a job with a boss who was on a mission to control every aspect of her pions' lives, not just what they did while on the clock, and in which I sometimes had to employ my acting skills to pretend that I knew what I was doing, and ultimately - my uncle ditched me for another job and left me to go to lunch with the crazy woman who told me daily about how nice it is to live alone so that she can flounce around in the nude anytime she wants and that eating in such a state is somehow more enjoyable. Thanks, David. ;)

I will not hold grudges, harbor ill feelings, let someone else's opinions hurt me, or dwell on things that poison my soul. This means that if someone apologizes to me, I will accept and forget. I will try to recognize when I need to apologize and do so. I will not spend days thinking, "I should have said...", and then relish in the imagined verbal slap. I will start every day with an attitude of fresh beginnings, and yes, that probably involves Cherry Pepsi, chocolate and weight gain. But we're talking about mental and spiritual health here, not carbs and sugar.

I will remember that Family is a sacred thing. Sticking up for one another rather than tearing each other down is always going to be the appropriate thing to do.

I will not keep anything in my life that does not promote the well-being of my family or my happiness. This applies to habitually negative people, the dust bunnies under the couch and the movie, Without a Paddle. This also means that I cannot be a negative person, or I will have to abandon my family and find a homeless shelter to live in until I can find a job that requires no skills other than dish washing and sarcasm.

I will be an all around better person. I won't claim perfection - never have, but there is room for improvement. I will still offer my help anywhere I can, but now I'll try to do it without complaining about it to my mother. I will stop raising my voice to my kids, and instead, bridle my anger and wait until I'm calm before I speak. I will offer to rub my husband's back instead of waiting for him to ask and then feeling put-out because "I'm trying to unwind, Hello?!" I will no longer think that people who can't stand horror and suspense films are just wimps. I will finish reading A Tale of Two Cities, even if it kills me. I will stop writing right now and go clean my house like I meant to today.

The Disgraceful, Uncut Truth

Almost a year and a half ago I found out I was pregnant with my fourth child. It was the first unplanned pregnancy that Andrew and I had experienced, and it took me several weeks to get used to the idea. Once I had accepted that we would be bringing home another baby in December, my thoughts turned to the gender. This was it, my last chance for a girl. I had known since I was young that I didn't want more than four children, so now or never. I knew that it was pointless to wish or pray for a girl; the deed was done and what would be, would be. But I hoped. I hoped all the while that I would be blessed with a daughter. We all know how the story plays out, so I'll spare you the suspense.

We found out in late July that we were to have another boy. I was laying there on a table in the ultrasound room desperately trying not to cry. I had to turn my mind to other things so that I wouldn't lose my composure in front of the ultrasound tech. In her line of work, she must have seen that situation daily, and I didn't want to be one of the ridiculous women that cries over being blessed with a beautiful, healthy baby just because the gender wasn't what they wanted. I held it together until she left the room and then Andrew looked at me and apologized. I let just a few tears fall, and then I was angry. Angry at him, angry at God, but mostly angry at myself. I knew that, scientifically speaking, it was Andrew's biology determining the sex of our baby, so this boy baby's existence should have been entirely his fault. We shouldn't even have been expecting a baby; we had a one-year-old at home!

I held my emotions in check until we got to the car, and then I sobbed. Self-loathing came from so many places. I hated myself for having let my hopes get so high. I hated myself for being so immature, but I couldn't help how I felt. And I hated that God surely thought me to be unfit to raise a daughter. I cried until Andrew became frustrated with me, and then I cried some more. I wept from my very soul.

Then there was the matter of telling family. Everyone from Utah to Washington knew that we were going in for the ultrasound that day and they were all waiting to hear the news. I didn't want to speak to any of them. Not even my mother. So I sent a text to my sister-in-law in Vancouver, asked her to spread the word, and then turned off my phone. I don't know if I told anyone on my side of the family. I wanted no one's pity. I didn't want to hear anyone say that they were so excited for me to have another boy, or that I was such a good, "boy mom", or that I must be needed to raise good missionaries, or even that they were sorry that I was disappointed. It was all crap. Just a bunch of shallow words and thoughts trying to make me feel better. I didn't want to feel better, I wanted to feel sad. The truth was, I knew that when I held that baby boy in my arms, I would love him more than life itself. I was not upset to be having another son - I was devastated to know that I would never have a daughter.

At home, I curled up on my bed and tried to become numb. It felt ridiculous to be this upset over something that could have so easily been good news, if only I could let it. Our baby had a beating heart and arms and toes. That should have been enough, but I kept playing in my mind scenes from a future that would never be. Braiding hair, shopping for small, pink shoes, watching a dance recital, helping an excited, teenage girl pick out a prom dress, and then a wedding dress. Watching Andrew dance with a beautiful bride on her wedding day. Being called to help my daughter care for her own first, newborn child. A million crushed possibilities were played out before me. My heart was more than broken; it felt as though it had been torn from my chest and stomped upon. I mourned for all the could-have-beens and the never-woulds.

It was months before I could talk out loud about it without suffering pain. I spent the days after the ultrasound trying to distract myself and avoiding the telephone. A couple of weeks later, I got a package from my older sister, Natalie. I opened it up and found inside, a "Happy-Gram". All kinds of things to enjoy, just for myself. Chocolates, a movie, nail polish, a picture frame with four spaces - one for each of my kids, a few other things... And a letter. The beauty of Natalie's letter was that it came after I had settled a bit and could appreciate that her words were sincere, not hollow reassurances. (I'm not saying that anyone's words to me were insincere, just that I couldn't accept them for what they were in the beginning.) Natalie said:

"Life is funny. Just when you think you've found a comfortable spot to sit and take a rest, a rain cloud comes along and drenches your hopes. I know it seems like your life is a little soggy right now, but I've been doing some thinking about that. I remembered when you guys were trying for little Drew, and that it wasn't an easy road. There were doctor visits and prescriptions, and several months of waiting, and then we got the news that there was a baby on the way. Now there is this new little one on the way. He was definitely a surprise, but he came without all the hardships you had before. Heavenly Father knows you and he knows your children better than you know yourselves. He must have something very special in store for your family to send you another little soul so quickly, and he must have great confidence in you as a mother of these children. My point is, I know you are overwhelmed and maybe a little disappointed, and that's okay. But try not to despair because Heavenly Father has a plan for you. Put your trust in Him. And remember that you have a lot of people who love you very much and will always be there for you and all of your boys!
All my love,
Natalie"

With bitter sweetness washing over me, I was reminded what a wonderful thing a sister is.

The day drew closer when Trent, my fourth son, was to be born. Peace had settled over me, so that by the time Andrew drove us to the hospital in the darkness of that December 7th morning, my scars had healed, and I was anxious to welcome my sweet, perfect child. From the moment that I first held him in my arms and saw his pouty lower lip sticking out, I knew that what Natalie had said was true. My Heavenly Father knew me well enough to send me that particular boy to be the final touch to our incredible family.

I love all my boys more than I can put into words. I may occasionally feel aches of sadness when I see little girls with curly pigtails, or open the mail to find a wedding announcement sent by a bride's proud parents, but I will never consider Trent, or his brothers, a disappointment. Maybe it's true, maybe we do choose our families in the pre-existent world. I know now, that given the chance, I would never choose anyone else to be my children.

Now that I've put everything on the table, let me say that I realize that there are people in the world who are unable to have children. Some children are born, and then taken away all too quickly. Nearly every person in the world, including myself, will experience greater heartache than what I have described here. I wrote this hoping for neither pity or praise. I wrote this because it was honest. It was my real emotion, raw and truthful, even though it may have seemed to be a selfish or inappropriate feeling. I am sure that I am not the only person in this world to feel these same feelings - Longing for something that is not meant to be. I hope that I now have a better appreciation for how unique a person's feelings are. One's past, present, and hopes for the future all make up what they feel and how they interpret life and dreams. We all take different roads in life, endure individual journeys. Maybe from here on out, I will be a person who can sympathize without assumptions, and love with understanding.