Author: alicewgold

I would like to state that I am a brunette, but now I am a mix of grey, white, brown, and blonde. I would also like to say that I am 150 pounds, but that would be a boldfaced lie. How about I say I am work in progress because that is the truth? A beautiful work in progress. I love the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard and my greatest hope is that something that I write will lift someone else on their journey.

A Whole Month

I’ve been on my new journey for a whole month and it’s been somewhat like detox. I don’t feel the need to check my e-mail anymore as there won’t be anything there for me of social importance. I’m surprised because I am kind of enjoying the solitude. I have had a lot of time on my hands to get in touch with myself.

I’m an attentionmonger. It’s been kind of fun to attack this weakness. Liberating to not need people as much.

It also can be lonely. I have become more aware of how extroverted I am. I need more social in my life, but unlike my past I need the social to have meaning. I am trying to focus on quality instead of quantity. I want to start a bookclub. I feel like my bookclub ladies in Knoxville were some of my closest relationships that made a difference in my life.

I’ve been reading a lot. In the past two days, I have enjoyed two books: Lucky by Alice Sebold (LOVE HER) and Heaven is Here by Stephanie Nielson. Both have given me perspective for me. I am blessed. I also need to be happy with a very small sphere of influence even if it’s just my own little family.

The one thing I have been feeling a lot in the past month is that there is something out there for me. There is some way that I will make my stamp on the world, I just don’t know what it is. I feel like I need to figure it out. It’s been a little frustrating.

Am I supposed to adopt more kids? Have more kids? Write an inspirational book? Just keep living my quiet little life and enjoying my family? Then I go back to my self peptalk of “Alice, you can’t live your life for other people to notice. You just have to live your life FOR other people.”

I think the thing I notice the most about people who truly influence others is that they are comfortable in their own skin. My skin? It doesn’t fit quite right. I am working on it.

Soaking in the small moments {vlog}

I’ve discovered a really great blog called Momastery. Apparently I am the last one of the planet, as the author Glennon has a newly released book and 81,000 followers on facebook. I’ve added her book to my goodreads and her blog to my reader and have immensely enjoyed her honesty about motherhood and the hardships she has faced (alcoholism and bulemia).

I guess I am just kind of a lover of tragedy – the overcoming of it draws me in every time. I love rooting for the human spirit. Momastery is a place which encourages moms to be real about their every day lives – it’s a breathe of fresh air in an online mom world that seems to embrace elaboration, exaggeration, and the elusive thing we call mom perfection. Here are some of her interviews. She discusses her theory that we have to just soak in the small moments of motherhood. It was a relief for me to realize that I wasn’t the only mom on the planet that dreads much of motherhood and that I can just power through most of the hard stuff (when 3 kids are having a meltdown while you are trying to check out at Target) and focus on really soaking up the ever brief and sporadic small moments of peace and happiness in the family.

Back in the day, it was my hero Erma Bombeck who did the same thing for honesty in motherhood. I remember reading her book about motherhood years back and crying as I read of the mother imprisoned for killing her children. She had discovered Erma Bombeck’s writings in prison and loved her humor and honesty. She wrote Bombeck a letter to tell her thanks for her honest voice about motherhood. She lamented, “If all moms would have been honest, I would have realized I wasn’t crazy when the weight of mothering was too unbearable.”

So when the baby is teething for a second year in a row and the toddler wiped poop all over her crib and the kindergartner comes home with a naughty note for calling someone a loser and the mean man at the library tells you to shut your kids up and all of these things happen in the same day (or not) just know you are not alone in motherhood. It is this hard for everyone. If the only moment you can soak in is after the kids are asleep and you sit down with a glass of grape juice and a good book to read one page and conk out in exhaustion it’s completely normal. Don’t fret. Sometime in the next day you may get the gem when your kids are holding hands while picking dandelions while the FedEx guy delivers you a box of long-stem red roses. Soak it in. If I know one thing about motherhood it’s this: the worst moments won’t last. And this: the next moment will be even better (even if it doesn’t happen for another month or two.)

Live each day like it’s your last.

My grandma died of Alzheimer’s. My mom has memory issues. I won’t be surprised if she’s got it too. When I give myself time to think about it (which I try not to make too often) I am totally convinced that this too will be my lot in life. I am 39 years old and have struggled with my memory for at least a decade already. It’s scary when I sit down to the computer and can’t remember the name of a website that I frequent every day or when I have to turn around in the car 5 times in the same trip because I keep turning in the wrong direction. I can’t remember people’s names, movies I just watched, and conversations that have taken place. It’s terrifying.

Last weekend my parents were in town. For some reason (I can only figure it was her attempt to connect with me) my mom pointed out my grey hair. I hadn’t had time to color the roots and at 39 years old it’s a source of embarrassment for me. I have told my mom many many times that I don’t like her pointing it out, yet every time I see her she does. I immediately got defensive. It’s part of growing up with a critical mother. I was immediately irritated and forcefully said, “Mom, why do you do this every time I see you? You always point out my grey hair when I’ve told you I don’t like it.” She stammered through her response, “I think it’s great. You are going to have the beautiful white hair like your Grandma and Aunt Shirley.” I do hope for their beautiful hair but not for at least 20 more years. My mom walked off obviously shaken. I felt awful. I went over to her, gave her a hug, and said, “Mom, I’m sorry, I know you just forget.” With tears in her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry Alice, I do forget.”

Yesterday I had a thought. It was short-lived but was extremely powerful. What if God wants me to spend more time at home because my memory will be completely gone in the next ten years? I know that is being paranoid but I had just read about a son who lost his mother to early onset in her 50’s and sometimes I am an hypochondriac. Although I pushed the thought out of my mind as quickly as it came its affect lingered. What if I only had today as my last day with my kids? What if this was my last week? My last year? What would I change? A lot. Too much changing needs to take place, but I was able to view this little faith experiment called being “in love at home” with a new perspective as a gift to me and my family. Instead of being bitter, I got down on my knees and said thanks to my God and asked Him to make the changes faster. I pleaded, “Help me make the most of my time, and connect with my family.” It’s still a challenge. It’s not like it just gets simple when we are dealing with every day life, but my heart had a tiny change and I am grateful for it.

I learned last year that it’s a lot easier to be kind to the ones around us after a family member has died, but I am more determined to be kind and loving when it’s not as easy like when someone hurts my feelings for the 15th time.

The Prayers of a Righteous Mother

Sometimes I wonder if praying will really make a difference in my day?

Can God really just change my attitude?

Can He make me love the never-ending amount of work?

Can He help me see my children as they deserve to be seen?

Can He help me not be angry when something gets spilled for the millionth time?

Will He really help me in what seems to be trivial?

Do I really matter to Him?

Will He take time to help me when I am just one of millions of people trying to do a simple job of raising my children in righteousness?

When I take the time to stop what I am doing and get on my knees, I find the answer with no uncertainty.

To each and every one of the questions above, He answers with a resounding, “YES!” When I really take time to listen He also answers with, “Alice, there is nothing more important to me in this world than my children.”

When I watched this video below this morning, I realized that I need to change my perspective. If my children were alone on a train somewhere during a WorldWar and I didn’t know where to find them, I would most certainly pray with more urgency. The things we face in today’s world are just as scary. I need His help. My children need His help. Here is a great read from yesterday that reminded me how much my prayers as a mother will really make a difference for my children.

The prayers of a righteous mother surely include each child by name and that is my goal today.

These are my jewels.

Yesterday at church I did enjoy the story about Cornelia Gracchuser – a famous mother from Rome. (Yes, I just erased the 3 paragraphs I wrote about what I don’t enjoy at church on Mother’s Day – you’ve been spared.)

I researched Cornelia a bit today and found that she gave birth to 12 children (uncommon of Roman times.) Only three of her children survived until adulthood. She was widowed at an early age and devoted herself to her children, refusing all offers of marriage. Her daughter married well, and her two sons (Tiberius and Gaius) ended up as very influential tribunes (like a US Senator) in Rome. They were known as “the Gracchi” – they both ended up dying for their unpopular political views which included the ideas that land monopolies should be limited, the price of corn controlled, and citizenship improved for Italians and Spaniards. Essentially they were pro-underdog and the rich people didn’t like it and had them killed for stirring up the people in popular support.

Cornelia is well remembered as a virtuous Roman woman. The city erected a marble statue in her honor after her death. She stood by her sons throughout their lives and remained poised after their deaths. Perhaps though she is most spoken of because of a very small incident that occurred. She was well-off being the daughter of a war hero and the widow of politician, but it seems that Cornelius didn’t let the wealth rob her of perspective as a mother.

When a wealthy lady visitor came and showed off her jewelry, instead of Cornelius showing off hers in return she brought forth her two sons and said, “These are my jewels.”

How much I want to remember that my children are my greatest jewels. Modern society (like ancient Rome) makes it easy to forget that our children are so much greater than any material wealth we can obtain. I, like so many others, get caught up in other women showing off their treasures and want to have my own to shove right back in their face.

Yesterday as I looked out the window and saw my girls lovingly chatting with each other on the old dilapidated trampoline and then later caught Abigail in the second-hand hammock rocking Caroline,

I wonder if you all heard me around the world as I shouted:

“These are my jewels.”

Hopefully God will help me remember them in all their glory the next time I look in my outdated closet, go on another free date night, and especially when I have to force myself to cook yet one more frugal meal.

Embracing the weakness(es)

Caroline brought this home from preschool today.
It does a really good job of outlining my weakness(es).
Unfortunately, they are plural.
She doesn’t even give away my best ones here.
(I am sure I will be visiting them all in future posts so keep coming back you moms who want to feel better about yourselves.)
Thank you pre-school teacher for the Mother’s Day gift.

1. I like to sleep too much. I’m especially awful in the wee hours of the morning. “Just give me a minute!” I am sure Caroline has heard that one too many times. One time is probably too many.

2. Instead of confessing my love enough I demand things of my children such as “clean your room.” The worst part is this is coming from Caroline who I think I do the best job of telling I love her. How must my other kids be feeling?

3. I don’t like Caroline to clean up with me. In fact I am awful about just wanting my kids to get out of my way when it comes to cleaning. I do let them help, but I need to let them always.

4. I like ALL kinds of food. Yes, I do.

(I am kind of impressed that my 3 year old really knows my favorite color)

The only bit of hope I take from this wonderful Mother’s Day gift is that Caroline still loves me. She loves me because she loves me. Thank goodness!

I take a little comfort from Ether 12:27

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humbles themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will make weak things become strong unto them.

It makes me feel better knowing that God gave me the weaknesses. They only real fault I have is not turning to him to help me overcome them. For some reason I can handle the fact that I haven’t relied on him like I should better than the fact that I am inherently flawed. Today I give myself kuddos for admitting my weakness. That’s always the first step.

In my daily study I just found a gem. Here, you too, can read the address James E. Faust was preparing for the LDS General Conference when he passed away.

He said this:

Each one of us has been given the power to change his or her life. As part of the Lord’s great plan of happiness, we have individual agency to make decisions. We can decide to do better and to be better. In some ways all of us need to change; that is, some of us need to be more kind at home, less selfish, better listeners, and more considerate in the way we treat others. Some of us have habits that need to be changed, habits that harm us and others around us. Sometimes we may need a jolt to propel us into changing.

Let us remember that the power to change is very real, and it is a great spiritual gift from God.

I guess Caroline’s Mother’s Day gift was one of my jolts. Why do they have to happen so often?

I guess I am just a tramp in a bike helmet

Still learning over here.
This morning’s installment in the learn to love being a mom project:
I guess I am just a tramp in a bike helmet.
Do give me a moment to explain.

2012-05-12 17.14.36

Yesterday I couldn’t force myself out on my run. I had a list of things to be done and couldn’t shake them. Still aware of how much happier I am when I get some exercise (which is easiest to do while Caroline is at pre-school) I jumped on my bike. I had gone an hour earlier in the car to try and pick up a gift certificate for teacher appreciation day and the establishment wasn’t open. I wouldn’t have enough time to run there and back but I could certainly do it on my bike in time to do the preK pick up.

As I rode home as fast as I could with the secured gift certificate in my bike basket and my headphones blaring the Glee Pandora station (it’s a happy place – appropriately titled Glee) I had to risk being squashed by the speeding traffic or plow through some malfunctioning sprinklers watering the sidewalk. I plowed through the sprinklers. As I emerged out from under the water cruising about 10 miles an hour I got an extreme sense of euphoria. I can’t even explain it. All I knew is that in that moment

I WAS FREE.

As I pondered how I wanted to feel that way all of the time, I realized why motherhood is so hard on me: there is very little freedom in motherhood. In fact, it is the most all-consuming job ever known to mankind. No wonder I feel so trapped: I am a free spirit. I just want to be free. Other “not as conscientious” mothers may neglect their children in search of their own freedom. Not just OTHER moms, all of us moms probably do that from time to time, I know I do. I know many moms who are always out for their own entertainment to the detriment of their children. I don’t want to be that kind of mom, and so I remain in a conundrum between being a good mom and having my greatest desire of freedom.

I will be exploring solutions on how I can achieve these two important elements in my life simultaneously. One way I do know works is to involve my kids in the free experiences. My favorite memories are when I am being free WITH my family: bike rides, camping trips, Disneyland, ocean visits, silly string fights, mud slinging, dancing in the rain, star gazing, and hiking. I guess that is why I am such a playful mom.

Note to self: PLAY more. PLAY always. It will make you happy.

Oh yeah, the tramp reference. All morning long while thinking of this post I have been singing to myself.

She loves the free fresh wind in her hair. Life without care.

LG is going to like this.

Life doesn’t come with a manual, it comes with an imperfect mother.

Watching this video this morning solidified one of the aspects of motherhood with which I struggle. It’s a common theme to be addressed around Mother’s Day: perfectionism. I didn’t think I had it, but I do. While taking this journey to learn more about myself as a mother, it has been brought to my attention that one of the reasons I am often unhappy is because perfectionism is a myth, especially as a mother.

I ran into an old mission companion of mine at the library the other day. I tried to pour my heart out to her explaining how stuck I am feeling. I said, “I just don’t enjoy being home.” And then I asked, “Are you happy at home?” She responded that she was for the most part and that she just needed her creative outlet and she was good. “I painted a picnic table yesterday”, she said with a smile. “I was good for the day.”

I was like, “Wha–, What?” I just don’t get it. “That’s it? You get 10 minutes of crafting a day, and then you’re good? You don’t ever feel resentful. You don’t have any further ambition that you feel is being stifled?” She looked me straight in the eye and said, “Not really.” I couldn’t tell if she was being truthful. I am sure she thought she was, but I just couldn’t believe the answer. “She had to be lying to herself'”, I thought. I tried to search within myself for the truth. She said, “You just need your own creative outlet.” I said, “I’m not really artsy. I don’t like crafting. I don’t do home decor. I love to write, but it’s all I can do (as I pointed to my 3 year old climbing the shelves) to get out a blog post, which usually takes me less than a half an hour. I don’t feel any kind of release or accomplishment when I do that.”

And then came my answer and I was so glad I had ran into a listening ear. I continued, “If I could sit and write a book all day that may give me some happiness. I also love photography, but it doesn’t necessarily make me happy. I think for those two things I feel like if I can’t sell a million copies or inspire people with my work, what’s the point?”

And the lightbulb knocked me upside the cheek. How ridiculous I sounded! I’m a perfectionist and it’s keeping me from my happy place.

Yesterday I read this beautiful letter from a mom to a child starting school and I had further recognition of my reluctance to admit my weaknesses as a mother and how I am unknowingly projecting that need for perfection onto my children. I loved this line:

We do not care if you are the smartest or fastest or coolest or funniest. There will be lots of contests at school, and we don’t care if you win a single one of them. We don’t care if you get straight As. We don’t care if the girls think you’re cute or whether you’re picked first or last for kickball at recess. We don’t care if you are your teacher’s favorite or not. We don’t care if you have the best clothes or most Pokemon cards or coolest gadgets. We just don’t care.

We don’t send you to school to become the best at anything at all. We already love you as much as we possibly could. You do not have to earn our love or pride and you can’t lose it. That’s done.

We send you to school to practice being brave and kind.

What if the only criteria for motherhood was love? And what if I admit that I will love as well as I can and that it still won’t be perfect? Nobody can love perfectly. If I could change this one little glitch in my motherhood mantra, I believe I could change the world, one future mother at a time. I have four daughters, I owe it to them to learn to be happy being an imperfect mom because really, like the rest of us, that is all they can aspire to be.

What do I need?

urinetown

Wow, it’s been a really difficult 7 days. LG and I had a little bit of a tiff on our date on Friday night. We don’t really fight anymore, just disagree.

He is gone two nights a week. One for his church calling then basketball and one for a weekly meeting. As we were waiting in line to see the worst musical ever written, I laid my concern out there. “LG, I need a night off during the week. You are gone two nights and I am really overwhelmed at home. It’s just really hard to do what I do 12 hours a day. Not having work this past week has made me even more cranky. This week has been emotionally overtaxing when I haven’t any chance at all to escape motherhood.” LG responded like he does often on the defense, “Alice, it’s not like I am having fun those two nights.” And then, “I get it, I really do.”

I kind of came unglued. “No, you DON’T get it. You go to work every day and then you come home and eat dinner, whereas two nights a week, you then leave. Yes, you took care of stuff after work for the past 2 months while I was at work, and you know how hard and long those days were, but you DON’T GET IT. You don’t do all the laundry and cook all the meals. You don’t get what it is like to be a mom home day after day, baby after baby, toddler after toddler. Your hubby pursues all his academic/professional dreams and you are home with kids. The days turn into weeks, the weeks turn into years, and one day you wake up and think ‘what have I accomplished? Anything at all?”

I guess you could say I’m having a midlife crisis. I really am. On the way home LG poured out his heart to me, “Alice, I’m sorry. I don’t get it. I do get that you are miserable to be around lately and I can’t fix it for you. Take a night of the week. Take all the time you want. Just figure out what you need.” Yeah, he’s a jewel.

Except I stayed stuck in his first defensive reply and didn’t feel supported or justified in my one night of the week.

But, really it’s not about the night of the week. It’s about me getting what I need. And I don’t know what the heck I need.

He’s flying.

One year ago on this first Thursday morning in May, I was sitting in a conference room adjacent to Primary Children’s Hospital ICU in SLC. Many of my family members and I had kept an all night vigil just waiting for my nephew Braxton to come back to us. He was unconscious from an accident the day before and we feared the worst.

At about 6 a.m. I was feeling suffocated. I needed to escape and I thought if I could just go outside and see the sun rise then I could glean some energy to face whatever may come. I paced the street in front of the hospital. It was pitch dark. I kept looking over the city wondering where the sun was. I admired the beauty of the downtown lights, especially the SL temple. The temple brought me some peace. But more than anything I was wondering how would life ever move on for our family, but especially my brother’s little family if we lost Braxton?

I heard a little voice. It said, “Turn around Aunt Ali. Look and see.”

And there it was. The sun rises in the East, silly me. I was staring at the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen. I felt Braxton riding in the rays. I can’t explain in, but I knew that this sunrise belonged to Braxton. He was going to be alright. “The view here is amazing,” he communicated with me through the sun.

I went back inside feeling a greater sense of peace. I felt an urge to play the song on my phone that we had listened to the night before about flying. My spirit was somehow connected to his spirit and I just knew one thing: Braxton was flying. He was o.k. He was aware of us and wanted us to know he was o.k. Moments later they called the red code. He was going. He wouldn’t be allowed to stay. His time was up with the sunset. He loved us. He didn’t want us to be sad because his new adventure was beautiful. Even the best sunrise on earth could not compare to what laid ahead for him.

I found these photos in my computer the other day. Moments like these are tender mercies. I heard Braxton say, “Make sure you show these to my dad. Let him know I am still flying.” What a special special boy. Love you Brax.