Motherhood

For the keepers of the nests

It’s one of those days. One of those weeks. Okay, fine, I’ll be honest; it’s one of those months, perhaps one of those years. It seems like one of those lifes. I became a mother in 1999. Last century. And let me assure you, I’ve lived every single one of those very long 5,738 days. I haven’t just lived those days, I’ve worked my tooshy off

for. every. single. one.

Lately, the thingee has been threatening to take me over. I am not sure what the thingee is. If I had to explain it I would say it’s kind of a mix of depression, resentment, worthlessness, and just an overall feeling of overwhelment. Some people may call the thingee mental-illness, but because I am fully medicated and know the difference between scary depression and the thingee I promise you the thingee doesn’t single out the mentally ill. The thingee is out to get all of us. Parenting is hard. The thingee is determined to make it harder. I’m pretty sure that the thingee’s only purpose for existence is to make us quit. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s always there whispering things like:

This is too hard.
You can’t do this anymore.
You’re screwing them up.
You can’t give them anything else.
It’s not wrong to just want some sleep.
You deserve to get away.
Run away as fast as you can.
Hurry, before they eat you alive.
Don’t get out of bed. Ever again. Until they are gone.
Even when they are 18, they are still going to need you.
What in the world did you get yourself into?
Kids suck.
They need you too much.
They don’t need you at all.

I don’t like living with the thingee. Over the years I have figured out a few tricks on getting rid of him. This post isn’t about those tricks. This post is about the miracles that happen when my own tricks don’t. Today I received a miracle. I was talking to my mom on the phone. She was just checking in. You know asking the typical mom stuff. “Do you have enough money, Alice? How are you feeling? Do you guys need anything?” Oh, honey, I know how exhausting it is. You really are such a good mother.

I explained to her my constant battle with wanting to leave the house and make some money. “It’s just so hard, mom. So many of my friends work. They get vacations. They get new clothes. They don’t have to worry.” She validated me. She said these words I will never forget..

“Alice, it’s not that you can’t work as a stay-home mom, it’s just that you get to do all the jobs that nobody else wants to do.”

We laughed. Cracked up. It takes a “stay-at-home” mom to know one. We’re the ones who get to:

run the girl scouts.
and the cub scouts.
clean the houses.
cook all the meals.
grade the homework for the single teacher with no kids who gets paid to do it but can’t find the time.
watch over the latchkey kids at the condo playground.
make the cookies.
shop for the groceries.
take the recycling in for the kids’ non-profit.
mend the clothes to make them last longer.
doctor the sick.
feed the families who are in need.
run the carpool.
take food to the starving kids at the track-meet. and a blanket.
run back to the school for the forgotten homework, or permission slip, or lunch….fill in the blank.
do the class parties.
always be in charge of the craft…those working moms just don’t have the time.
taxi the friends.

the list goes on and on and on and on…

We stay-home moms go without. again. and again. Because we are so present we are the ones acutely aware of everyone else’s needs, and we also know that our own needs can always wait another day. This is not to say you working moms don’t do enough. Heck, if anything you have way more on your plate.

The parts that maybe you don’t understand are the day in and out of never being thanked, always being undervalued, society as a whole thinking that you are just lazy and underachieving. You can’t possibly get the selflessness that is always undermined and the mental taxation of handing your life over to a bunch of small dictators that come to you with problem after problem to be solved and lost item after lost item to be found. Never getting a raise. Going without again and again. Feeling like you are actually losing brain cells.

Like Annie says, “It’s a hard knock life.” Why any of us choose to do what we do is beyond me. I ask myself that question every day. And when I ask myself that question the thingee strikes hardest. He’s so relentless.

So back to this morning. I was having a crappy “I don’t want to do this anymore” morning. The thingee had me in a tight embrace in my comfy bed. I had to sneak out of his Magic Mike arms and crawl to the kitchen to get the kids breakfast. My eleven-year-old had a hormonal break-down on the way to school, while the kindergartner was finishing her homework that we forgot to turn in last week in the back seat. The baby was poopy. The dog was happy in the car, but had whined locked up in the bathroom all night because she won’t quit peeing on the carpet. You see, the morning was rough. Like every other morning.

I was had it. I was trying all my tricks to fight off the thingee and then found myself with my mom on the phone getting a little validation. I felt a tad bit better. Especially as we laughed.

I looked out my back window. You won’t believe what was there. I didn’t.

Staring down at me was the greatest thingee warrior of all time. Right from the branch of the tree through the sliding glass door there she was….

A. big. fat. pregnanter than pregnant. robin.

This bird and I had a staring contest while my mom chattered away about the time she sold bread to have a little extra grocery money. I kept my eyes on the mama bird as I blinked the tears from my eyes. My mom retold the story about walking through a parking lot with my dad. He found a $100 bill. He looked up at my mom and said, “You’ve been praying again, haven’t you Sharon? I guess this is for you.” She bought groceries.

The bird was silent, but as she stared, I heard her, as clear as day….

“Alice, someone has to watch the nest.”

So, after escaping in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes to write this post, I’m off. (Even with the hemorrhoids only a mother who hides in the bathroom can know.) Dinner can’t wait and neither can my baby birds.

I am proud to announce that the thingee continues to lose after 15 years, 8 months, 20 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes, and 15 seconds. But who’s counting? I am, you idiots. Just because I’m watching the nest, it doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about that vacation I aim to get in another 18 years.

Who knew her homework would by my payday?

Hours upon hours I’ve spent hovering over my children making sure they were getting their homework done. I never dreamed this duty of mine would eventually pay off in a big old payday of personal validation.

But it did.

Before Christmas break Abigail wrote her 49 page autobiography for her 10th grade Honors history class. She did a bang up job.

We won’t mention how her dad had to take her to work at 4:30 a.m. to print it the morning it was due. Two hours later he then took an emergency trip to FedEx Office to get it bound. – dang ADHD! I was the lucky one in bed recovering from surgery. When LG got home with the finished work in hand, I was actually awake enough to read it over before Abigail took it to school to turn it in.

Reading my little girl’s grown-up account of her life was one of the most beautiful moments. The thing was jam-packed full of many of her most cherished memories. Without intending to include me, I was personally interwoven into every page. Yes, I was there for most of it. I saw her playing in the yard in TN all the time. I put away the toys all over the driveway when they just HAD to play Boxcar Children for the 55th time. I was the one who introduced her to “The Boxcar Children” in the first place! Yes, I was. (What a super proud book-loving mom moment to read that her favorite game to play as a kid was boxcar children!) I know her favorite food is lasagna and her favorite movie is “She’s the Man.” I didn’t know that her friend Courtney gifting her a stuffed sheep when she was four-years-old had meant so much to her but I am so glad that she shared about it. And, yes, I take as much pride as she does that the staff of her elementary school referred to her as Harvard Girl…even at five, she was her own little Elle Woods in the making….beautiful and smart. And, she, by some miracle of heaven belonged to little old me then and still does today.

Her teacher enjoyed the part about The Boxcar Children game too.

As shown above, her teacher, like me, also enjoyed the part of the paper Abigail wrote about me. Although I am positive she couldn’t have appreciated it as much as I did.

I am not trying to brag here. In fact, when I asked Abigail about why my part was just so sweet, she said, “Oh mom, that was so easy to write. I just wrote everything I felt about you and twisted any negative to positive. That’s why you sound so cool.” Ha ha. I didn’t care. I had bawled my eyes out at every single word. It meant everything to me to know that my daughter “gets” me. She knows me intimately. And, most of all, she still loves me, no matter what.

Like Julie Andrews sings in Sound of Music, I felt, “I must have done something good.” When reading Abigail’s words, every single crappy parenting moment dissolved. The one time I found Sophia with poop smeared everywhere in her crib, on her body, in her mouth….gone. The time I force-fed Abigail oatmeal when she was 2. A distant memory. All the nights I cried myself to sleep wondering how I could ever face another day, only to still be crying when everyone woke up….totally worth every second that seemed like an eternity at the time. All the instances where my kids have told me what I suck at and how I need to improve…they didn’t matter. I was loved, gosh dangit. I mattered to my daughter.

I know you are all dying to read it now. It won’t mean to you what it means to me, but here it is for all eternity. I will try to remember to come back here from time to time. Maybe the next time one of my spawn hollers that they hate me.

“My mother is a very eccentric person. She has a wonderful colorful personality. She is a crazy, fun, human being with little to no tact. That is only the beginning of my mother. She grew up with six brothers and sisters who are all just as crazy and loud as her. I love my mom so much and don’t know what I would do without her. She works so hard in my family to keep our house clean and orderly. She is probably the coolest person ever. She is always cracking jokes and gets along with my friends so well. I know I can talk to her about anything and I can count on her to understand me. She has a giving heart and wants to give to everyone around her. She does so much for me and I don’t even ask her to. My favorite thing I do with my mom is when she knows I’m having a hard time, she sends me a card and a little treat. Like once I was stressed and we had just gotten in a fight about something. The next morning, she dropped off a card and a Kneaders breakfast and said we would go shopping later that day. My mom is such an inspiration to me. She always goes after what she wants and doesn’t let anyone tell her she can’t which can be difficult sometimes, but I love her just the same.”

Now, tell me I’m not the luckiest mom in the whole wide world!!

Mom’s new year seems so old.

Two things are pressing on my mind today.

1- I need to make my new year resolutions.
2- How am I going to stay sane this year?

Maybe they can be related? Yesterday in church there were a bunch of new ladies. We were to go around the room and tell a few things about ourselves. Our name. Where we live. Our favorite treat. Our job. Our hobby.

I was all prepped to give me answers. I’m Alice Gold. I live within walking distance from the rest of you. In a two bedroom condo. With 5 kids. And a dog. I’m still blessed beyond measure. My favorite treat is whenever I don’t have to cook. (Who said treats have to be sugary anyway?) My jobs are to stay sane and to be kind, both which are greatly challenging and fulfilling. My hobbies are all in trouble this year because I have a newborn.

And then I had to leave the room to change the baby’s stinkiest diaper of all time. I decided I would change my hobby to figuring out if it is possible to change a boy diaper in under 10 baby wipes. By the time I got back to the room, they had changed the game to just telling everyone your name. (They were running out of time.) psh.

I don’t even think I made resolutions last year. I was pregnant. Totally off the hook. My goal last year was to grow a baby. I did it. I’m amazing.

My other goal was to give birth all-natural. I failed. I tried and tried. I labored for what seemed like forever and I thought I would die. I wanted to push the baby out. The doctor said I was only at a 7 and wasn’t allowed to push, yet. I felt destroyed and figured I experienced enough all-natural and that the actors in movies really don’t exaggerate. I was not being kind or staying sane. I begged my husband for the epidural and cussed out the anesthesiologist enough when he got there that he gave me the spinal dose. (You mean you didn’t give me the spinal dose on my other 4 kids? What the heck?) One contraction later…literally…the doctor examined me and said the baby was crowning. I’m blaming the lack of all-natural delivery on him, but we all know it is really my inability to relax without almost lethal doses of drugs.

I’m not gonna lie. I’ve pondered how much easier life would be to live on a constant dose of lethal drugs, or laughing gas…or marijuana. Lucky for me, I’ve never crossed that ponder to action or else I would be a drug addict, in rehab, or dead. Life was meant to hurt. Drugs rob us of the very essence of mortality…except in labor…those drugs are legit. (This paragraph is a total sidenote that I can’t bring myself to omit.)

So, this morning the high of having a newborn wore off. I almost made it 4 months. That’s pretty good if you ask me. When everyone else in the family took off to work and school, I enjoyed the silence for 5 minutes until the baby started crying out of hunger. I looked down at him and felt a little resentment. I’m 41 and still waiting for “my turn”. What I really want is to pursue my own goals, yet for the past 15 years it feels like all I’ve done is take care of babies…I stared at baby Max in the eyes and committed to continued sacrifice. I’ll get my turn eventually.

[I don’t want to turn this in to a stay-home mom vs. working mom debate as I think the choice is personal. I did however laugh a while back when I asked one of my working mom friends which would be better to take a trip to Hawaii with or without children (if you could only go once in a lifetime). She answered, “With kids. We would never go without the kids, we would just miss them too much.” I was like, “yea right, I might get that if I hadn’t committed every waking hour to my kids for 15 years. I would miss my kids after about 5 days and then I would get over it for a few more.” It’s a lot harder to miss your kids when you are always with them.]

Anyhow, the older I have gotten, the more I realize that I can be a mom and pursue my goals. I just can’t pursue them in an all-out fashion like I would prefer. I have to balance my time for me with my time for them. I tend to give them a lot more than I give me, and I hope someday I will look back on that decision with no regrets. Let’s face it, I’m not taking any career with me to the next life, but I do think God will sit me down and one of his first questions will be, “How are your kids? How is your relationship with your kids?”

So this very long post has helped me to process my two things “to do” today. Thanks for riding along. I’m going to stay sane one day at a time and not expect too much out of myself or even for myself. I’ve done it 15 years. What is five more? And, really, is it the end of the world that I’ve been writing this all day instead of doing Caroline’s homework, working on the budget, or cleaning out the stove? Nah.

My answer #2.
Here are some simple goals.

1. Don’t have another baby. Ever. Check. This should be easy. See last post entitled “I’ve been fixed.” But gosh dangit as soon as I heal up from surgery LG and I plan to die trying. 12 weeks of celibacy in a 4 month period of time is rough.
2. Write. When I can and/or feel like it. Maybe join a writing group or class?
3. Take care of myself. This will hopefully include getting back to my running upon doctor’s approval, biking some, eating healthier, and getting back down to pre-baby weight before Maximus’s first birthday. (the occasional pedicure too)
4. Take pictures. When I can and/or feel like it. Read my camera manual if I get around to it.
5. Camp and hike.
6. Love. My husband and kids, mostly.
7. Self-improve. Focusing on being kind and gracious, letting go of control, living in the moment, and being happy.
8. Self-discipline. Focusing on not wasting as much time on FB and being a better morning person, which really means getting to bed earlier.
9. Give more to God. Having daily quiet time. Look for ways to serve my fellowman.
10. Read. (I’m not making a reading goal ever again as per the advice of my therapist.)
11. Save at least $10,000 towards purchasing a home. Sacrifice.
12. Overcome my fear of physics. Watch some smart youtube videos.
13. Remember!!! My family is my greatest blessing. Ever. Make sure they know that I know.

What’s not to love?

I’ve been fixed.

So it’s 12:30 and I can’t sleep. I’m here at the hospital. Yesterday between 10 & 1 my doctor cut me open and removed my prolapsed uterus and stitched up my bladder. It’s pretty weird that I feel so peaceful about not having any more kids.

It’s strange knowing that I will never give birth again. I’m not sad about it as I’m 41 and have a 3 month old who is kicking my old dragging butt. I have five kids and that’s enough for me. In fact it may be a little more than I can handle.

Funny as I lay in the hospital, where my kids aren’t allowed to visit, there are still reminders of them that help me remember WHO I am: I’m mom.

Last night I watched Abigail’s concert via live stream. It was pretty hard to focus as I was all drugged up, but seeing my oldest beautiful teenage daughter singing joyfully warmed my heart more than anything could.

I was super worried about leaving my youngest Baby Maximus for three days, but I was placed in a room with a portrait of twins that look so much like Max.

I have very tender feelings about motherhood right now. Being mom is who I am. It’s what I choose to do every day.

This guy may just be three months old, but I’ve been mom for almost 16 years with an eternity to go. I absolutely adore my children.

My doctor assured me that I wouldn’t have hormone issues since we left my ovaries, but he said some women get very melancholy because of the psychological effects of knowing they can no longer bare children. I told him
I’d be fine. I feel very secure that I’ve brought all the kids to the world that I was charged to do. It’s a great feeling.

Being a mom is the third best thing I’ve ever done in this life. The first is living the gospel. The second is becoming a wife. Funny, how all these things are connected to each other…as part of God’s plan.

His plan for me to be a mother, just as He is my Father is so very humbling. I want to be the kind of parent He is. I want to be the kind of child that makes Him proud. I think my role as mother brings him joy, just as it gives me joy.

Parenting is God’s gift to us. It serves as a constant reminder of His love for us and His trust in us.

I was touched by my dad’s Thanksgiving speech this year.

Dad’s thanksgiving speech 2014:

^^^I just watched this after having it posted for a month and realized that I missed the “touching” part of the speech. It came before I started videoing. Yes, I am an airhead sometimes. The touching part was when my dad said something to the effect of, “You are all loved. You were all wanted.”

All 49 of us minus a few on missions, one grandkid who led the way to heaven, and a couple celebrating with their dad got together at my oldest brother Erick’s house. It was such a beautiful gathering.

My dad nailed the tender feelings of a parent. We are all loved by each other. That’s what family is about.

Life isn’t about anything but learning to be one big happy family.

Having major life-altering surgery has caused me to reflect on how blessed I am.

Not only has my immediate family stepped in to do my job while I recover, but so many friends have helped in so many small ways. The love is tangible.

I may not be giving birth ever again (giving life to my children is the greatest thing I’ve done with my life) but I can always continue to love.

Just the way you are, you matter to him.

Here is some great spiritual enlightenment for your day.

The older I get the more I appreciate my kids’ imaginations.

A while back while I ran in to pay for gas after my card didn’t work at the pump, Bella captured Caroline lip-syncing. It’s so cute how Caroline always keeps up with her older sisters on pop culture. Days later as I came across this surprise video on my phone it brought tears to my eyes, partially because the words to the song were so fitting and partially because of the tenderness of one sister being able to see the value in the moment of her little sister just being little and care-free. Watching in after the fact was super overwhelming to this emotional proud mom. I also got a little chuckle about the fact that my kids can’t just sit in their seat-belts for 30 seconds unsupervised but always have to misbehave and jump around in the car.

As a busy mother of 5, I really love the one-on-one time I get with Caroline right after kindergarten gets out at noon. While Max naps, she tells me all about her day. Yesterday in P.E. they got to play with a parachute. She thought that was totally awesome and I smiled thinking back to a time when I was young and innocent and experienced the large parachute at school for the first time. I thought it was awesome too.

A few weeks back, while talking to Caroline about everything and nothing at all, she declared:

“Mom, when I grow up, I am going to create a green planet with rings around it.”

I immediately got out the watercolors and had her paint me a prototype.

I hope she will get the privilege of making her own planets someday, (which is totally possible according to Mormon doctrine) but for now I am so glad that her whole big universe with infinite imagination can fit on my fridge. What a beautiful beautiful privilege it is to be a mom.

[Oh, and on a cool sidenote: I love it when science catches up with God’s truths about the galaxy. I believe God definitely has his children helping him out with planet creations. I know if it’s up to me someday I am totally putting Caroline in charge of all the green planets.]

After post; check this out;
We Lived with God: http://youtu.be/JR8qIrJcJh4

This scientist says my thoughts way better than me.

Boys have stinky wonder-twin powers.

While on the phone with my mom the other day I was telling her all about my little Max. I can’t believe we are creeping up on his two month birthday already. If I was actually getting any sleep I would say let’s freeze time to keep my little Maximus little. The other day I told my husband, “I am such a bad mother because if God appeared to me right now and said he wanted Max back, I think I would gladly hand him over.” LG responded that there was no way that I wouldn’t give up a fight. I then chortled, “If he shows up during the 2 a.m. feeding there’d be no contesting whatsoever.” Yes, I’m that tired.

Anyhow, back to my mom who said,”Alice, I know you have your blog, but you should really write all these cute things down about your kids….you know, the things that you don’t want to forget.”

So, I know I am not going to do that every day, but I thought I could record some things here to someday look back on and smile. I know I will forget all about so many of them, even as early as tomorrow.

I laugh hysterically every time his little wee-wee goes crazy fire-hose on me. (I am so not used to having a boy and I have yet to figure this out.) He pees on me all the time. He pees on his own face. He shoots pee across the bathtub. He’s marked his territory in my bed, on my couch, all over his dad. I find it hilariously amusing even if it is inconvenient. The other day I wiped down my peed-on-sheets with a baby wipe and proceeded to lay back down on them to sleep. I was too tired. Come to think of it, I still haven’t washed those sheets properly. Because of my son, I finally understand why grown men can have a pee-off at Scout camp. That little fire-hose must be awesome fun…it’s like having your very own toy gun at your disposal.

After having four girls, I was terrified of having a baby penis around, but I have been surprised by how quickly I have grown accustomed to it. I don’t like how his baby poop hides underneath his scrotum. I use at least 10 baby wipes every poopy. For the record, I think changing boy diapers is much harder than changing girl ones. My husband LeGrand literally guffawed for about 10 minutes last month when I ignorantly observed, “No wonder why you use so much toilet paper if your poop is all up in your testicles like that.” After LG regained composure, he said, “Alice, we’ve been married 18 years, don’t you know that my testicles are nowhere near my anus.” I guess I haven’t paid that much attention and I guess I will now be paying closer attention to making sure Max’s gain a good enough distance at some point….will that be when diaper changing gets easier?

This kid eats and eats already, way more than my girls ever did. Everyone told me while he was in utero to start saving my dollars to supply snacks for when all his teenage friends come over. How am I supposed to do that when buying his formula is eliminating all chances of him attending college?

The day I dressed Max up in his little Air Jordans I thought my husband was going to die of envy. He accusingly questioned me about how I had afforded such a monstrosity. I informed him as quick as I could (before the shoes required a whole marriage counseling session) that they were a shower gift. I never buy baby shoes. No matter how bad my husband thinks I am with our money, I know that we can’t afford such an accessorizing-only-luxury. LG marveled, “Who gave those to us? Do you know how much those must have cost?” He then lamented, “I never had a pair of Air Jordans. They were way too expensive.”

Oh, and then when he goes to church, we always put him in his bow-tie. Girls never look this cute.

Having a boy is awesome. It’s a lot like having a really great dog. Every member of our family, including our 5-year-old, has already learned to blame their farts on him. Poor thing. It’s totally legit though because this kid stinks! He’s going to grow up into a proud man. Seriously. Boys come with their own cloud of stench. His poops and his farts are rank. I almost can’t even claim the kid out of auromatic shame. Surely a mom such as I that smells only of roses and wisteria cannot have given birth to that. The other day, Max aimed to tell me that he’s already proud. When he farted in the tub, he kind of jumped from the surprise and then gave me the HUGEST smile you have ever seen.

The kid is always putting his hand down my shirt. I’d say he’s just like his dad (in fact I did) but his dad tells me that’s totally inappropriate and not funny.

The best part of having a boy: He loves loves loves his mama. He even dreams about me. Here’s the proof:

A Mother’s Standing Ovation

I’m a sucker for standing ovations. I often embarrass my unexcitable husband by being the first to my feet at the end of a concert or during the final bows of a play. It’s not that I’m easily amused and overly generous with my applause, it’s just that if something is really really good, my body will not allow me to stay in my seat. It just has to show that its pleased – clapping isn’t enough.

So, when I see stories like this one below about a kid on stage who started out weak but nailed it on his second try, even if I’m watching from my computer at home, my feet always silently join the deserved ovation. My tears usually join in the ovation also by overflowing onto my cheeks. Like I said, I’m a sucker. I’m also a cry-er. (that’s not a word – in case, like me you are tempted to look it up) Exultation should be a whole body experience, right?

I think the reason that people are really happy for others in their standing ovations is because every soul longs for one of their own. I admit it; I can never get enough applause for myself. Now, I know that I will never receive an ovation for my talents onstage; my singing is mediocre, my dancing is painfully uncoordinated, and I am not sure if I could ever come up with any idea this unique, but standing ovations aren’t limited for the artists. They are also available for the athletes, the veterans, the graduates…all kinds of accomplished individuals. I often think to myself, “Surely, there is some area where I can be uber-accomplished.”

As one who gives more of herself to mothering than anything else, I often wonder what the equivalent of a standing ovation is for us.That’s because they never seem to happen! When I get all the laundry put away for the first time in a week, there is never anyone there clapping for me. In fact, I accomplished this just yesterday (which was a huge feat for a mom of 5 kids, one being a newborn) and I was only met with the hubby remembering at 10:30 p.m. that he needed one of his work shirts ironed! Don’t judge – I gave up ironing years ago. Darnit! My self-satisfaction didn’t even last an hour.

Like you, my kids never even thank me for dinner much less clap or whistle? And as much as I’ve visualized such, I’ve never once heard anyone holler “bravo” after I dragged my weary body to the side of the 5-year-old’s bed for story-time once again. So much work goes into motherhood, and I believe the job is grossly suffering from the lack of standing ovations. We should seriously change this. Next time you have a moment of masterful motherhood, I want you to know that I will totally jump to my feet. Hopefully visualizing a greater pretend audience reveling in your talents will put a smile on your face when you’re reality is only met with the screams of your toddler or the whining of your teenager. (Or if you are like me and are a mom who spread her kids way out – both at the same time.)

So, as I use my blog to brag about myself in a second, I hope you know that the following story is prefaced with a million ~~years~~ moments where no one was cheering. The other day, I got a standing ovation. At the arrival of it from my 15-year-old daughter I realized that a mother’s standing ovation is so very hard to hear because it is only found in the heart of her children.

My standing ovation came in the form of a facebook message from my Abigail. It was a sweeter than sweet message combined with a movie (that you must watch) about the typical ovation-less life of a mom. I had seen the movie and enjoyed it before, but it took on a whole new meaning for me when shared along with this meaningful message from one of my own:

Mom, this made me think of you. Even though you don’t always get done what you want, thank you for helping me and everyone else all the time. You are not a failure. I love you:)

The hearts of children are the greatest place for ovations to be kept because on the very rare occasion when the mom-ovations are shared, they’re more raucous than the Derek Jeter fans at Yankee Stadium.

Now, my 5-year-old just screamed from the bathroom, “Mom, come wipe my butt!” That so doesn’t sound like a standing ovation. I’ll finish off this post while visualizing the day in the near future that she poops at school and discovers that she really can wipe her own butt. How did all you clapping moms get in her school bathroom for my mom-ovation?

I bow to you all and thank you for your exuberance in my mom success. “Thank you.Thank you very much.” Blowing you kisses.

Maximus is the greatest

Introducing our SON
Maximus LeGrand Gold
Born at 1:17 pm. 7 lb. 9 oz. 20″

At the ripe age of forty, I gave birth to my crowning jewel last Monday. After four wonderful beautiful daughters, God saw it fit to bless us with a son. I don’t deserve him. I don’t deserve any of them, yet, they are here and they are mine. Bear with me as I indulge myself a post to reflect on motherhood and what it means to me.

I believe I could just type “All I’ve got is tears,” and that may be my best explanation, but let me try and put those tears into words, no matter how pathetic it may turn out.

We struggled with naming Max. LeGrand got to pick the name and was really set on Nathaniel, but our 15-year-old, Abigail, hated the name. I liked it, especially since it is the name of one of LG’s really cool great great grandfathers, but I didn’t want it to be shortened to Nathan or Nate. And you know that they (meaning everyone) always shorten everything (coming from the mom of an Abigail who is Abbie, an Isabella who is Bella, and a Sophia who is NOT Sophie out of her sure determination in correcting everyone.) Sophia loves Greek and Roman tradition and so we went back to the drawing board (the internet) and looked up Latin names. When I read aloud Maximus, the name instantly sang to the whole family. As everyone gave their approvals individually it became official as we went around the room and each one-at-a-time declared a collective fondness for Maximus. It just clicked with all of us. I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The meaning of the name was just a perfectly fit bonus:

The Greatest

Not only did “The Greatest” go good with the already chosen middle name of LeGrand, which means the “The Big”, but it was a ringing of what was in all of our hearts…we were all finally getting another man in our family and that was pretty much the greatest thing that could ever happen. And we have not been disappointed. He is the greatest. Honestly.

I don’t know what it is, but there is something special about this baby. I don’t know if it’s because I am so much older or if it’s because he’s a boy, or maybe it’s just that I am reflecting an obvious adoration from our whole family, but this kid is the greatest. I have never been so proud. I feel like a peacock strutting around with my feathers. He is total perfection…..and God granted me the privilege of creating him, growing him, and birthing him. How does God find me worthy for that? I don’t know, but He does. It’s completely astounding.Totally overwhelmed is how I feel at the honor of the privilege and responsibility.

Last night as we were going to bed, LG and I talked about each of our kids individually (as we often do) and submerged into the swamp of life as we reflected on emotional, physical, and spiritual needs that always seem greater than what we feel we have to give. If you think about it, it really is a miracle that parents show up every day, knowing they are going to fail no matter how hard they try….and that they do that day after day, year after year. The hardest part about kids growing up is not that they become sassy teenagers (that’s actually pretty entertaining): it’s that they become your reflection.

I’ve been made to stare at myself four times over with my girls: at times all of my glory shines through them…all of God’s glory shines through them. Often, though, all I can see is my many vulnerable raw flaws in them….ones that I don’t want to have, much less bestow upon my most beloved children. Yet, I’ve given it all to them: the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Looking through my own trash is the hardest thing that I’ve ever done. Knowing that I’ve embedded even the tiniest sliver of it into them is suffocating: like a deadly respiratory virus with no doctor. I know that I’ve screwed them up. I can’t deny it. No matter how hard I have tried to keep my trash to myself, it somehow got to them and tarnished them. Oh, how that fact hurts.

But, guess what? When I allow Him, God sorts through their trash -my trash- for me and He throws it all out and allows me to see only the shining jewel that I started with. The shining jewel that was His, that he loaned me, because He loves me and believes in me and wants to give me His joy. All five (it sounds so awesome to say FIVE) of my children are shining jewels. Walking miracles. Beloved son and daughters of God. It is God that gives me the greatest miracle – the miracle of the atonement – the miracle that sometimes shines brightest for me today in my kids: imagine it: only shining jewels to be found where for years I have involuntarily deposited my trash.

It’s just that when I look at Maximus (and oh how I could stare at him all day), there isn’t any trash to sort through just yet. The only deposit I have made so far is not trash but my greatest gift to offer: childbirth. God in his infinite wisdom and mercy knew exactly what He was doing when He called upon me to be that “older” mom. He wasn’t giving me a burden, He gifted me a rare jewel. Max is the greatest because it is he who has helped me see the jewel in all of them. Maximus is the perfect name because he came with the greatest message, “They are mine Alice. They are all mine. They are the rarest jewels, and yeah, you will dirty them up, but you are still good enough to be their mother. I will clean up your mistakes: all of them. You are my jewel and I have not a single flaw.” God is so good at reminders.

I’m sorry, mom.

I haven’t blogged since Father’s Day. I feel like I haven’t even breathed since Father’s Day. Life has been nuts. Between moving, summer visitors, and being pregnant, I have felt totally depleted every. single. day.

And then today it somehow got infinitesimally worse.

People ask why I don’t blog like I used to. I give them various reasons, but one reason towards the top of the list is that as my kids have gotten older it’s very shaky business blogging about family life. As a mother, I don’t want to disparage them, and let’s face it, they just don’t do things quite as cute as they used to.

Yesterday we had a family pow-wow that consisted of LG and I wrangling the kids in for the recurrent lecture about sibling kindness, taking personal responsibility…yadda yadda yadda. LG whispered to me after the half hour of torture that “everyone has to suck at parenting.” At least he still makes me smile every day.

The older your kids get, the more your weaknesses manifest themselves in your kids. It sucks. Big time.

[Let me start out this story with a disclaimer that my kids are pretty good. They each have great strengths but like every other sucker in this world, they have weaknesses. I need the readers of this post to know that I love my kids with all my heart. I believe in them. I am proud of them. I have faith in what they will accomplish in their lives. I wish I was a better mother equal to their greatness. I also just feel a need to write honestly. I hope this won’t cause harm.]

Well, after a really rough 24 hours where our last night’s lecture didn’t seem to do anything but make things worse, LG came home tonight as my knight in shining armor saying he wanted to have an emergency family meeting. (This could or could not have been prompted by my cry for help via e-mail earlier today.)

Just an hour ago, we sat down with our kids and LG talked about things we need to do differently, improving individually and collectively. The kids all responded in their own way. Abigail takes after her dad and I in a lot of ways. One thing that she instinctively does is point fingers at others in a way of avoiding her own overwhelming emotions of self-doubt and disappointment. Somehow, I became her target tonight. I am always the target. They never go after their dad…he’s just too nice.

She laid into me, “If you would just stop talking about how horrible it is being pregnant and start doing some more fun activities with us. …. if we could just have a real summer, like all the other kids…we need to have fun…we need a vacation…” (Tell me about it!!!) At the end of my rope, I came unleashed. Out of my mouth, came the exact words I remember hearing from my own mother so many times. I hated that also accompanying the words were big huge heavy sobs.

“Abigail, you have no idea what you are talking about. You don’t know what it feels like to be forty and pregnant. You have no idea what I’ve done just for you this summer. I’ve sacrificed mornings for soccer, money for physical therapy, time for your two stints at girls’ camp, and money and time that could have been used for a family vacation for you to go to EFY. You need to get out of your selfishness. I have given up my ENTIRE LIFE for my children. Everything I do is for you and your sisters.”

I said a few more things, and then stopped myself and sat sobbing into my palms as LG quickly finished up the family counseling session. Second parent-fail in two days. I had no smiles to give in secret this time around. I sat badly hurt and frustrated not just with my teenage daughter but with my life and even my husband who always seems to escape the fury even when he holds as much responsibility for it. Five-year-old Caroline kept asking, “Mom, why are you crying?” LG saved me more talking and told her that I didn’t feel appreciated and rightly so.

I hurried to my bedroom afterward and sobbed into my pillow some more. “How did I get here?” I thought. “How did I become my mother?” Years ago, when I was Abigail’s age I promised myself I would never lay into my kids like that…I remember how horrible it made me feel when she did it to me. But, by golly, Abigail needed to hear it. She’s an adolescent becoming more wrapped up in herself every day. I’ve given her everything I’ve had to give this summer (even if is has been pathetic) and the fourteen others before that. Why didn’t my rant make me feel any better? Was I solely in the wrong? Is she totally right? Am I really not giving enough?

And, you know what. I don’t have the answers. And it sucks. Big time. I hope we can find them together.

I do have one thing to say though, “Mom, I am so so so very sorry for ever saying anything or doing anything or not doing something that made you feel how I did an hour ago. You matter. Your sacrifices are known. I love you. I appreciate you. And the longer I live, the more I want to emulate you as a mother. Yes, there are ways that you let me down, but there are so many more ways that you supported, sacrificed, and loved unconditionally. You were the BEST mother you could be. Not perfect, but the BEST. Motherhood mattered to you more than anything, and I take that example into my life every day. I love you eternally.”

But, mom, I also have a question….if we are such good mothers who both sacrifice so much for our kids…….how the heck did you and I both end up with such a rotten ungrateful selfish daughter? Is that just part of the journey? Do I just need to hold on for another twenty years until she writes me my very own apology? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE share with me all of your mothering secrets! I feel so clueless.

Pajamas, Pizza, and Pop

pj,pizza For the last few months I’ve been feeling completely depleted, spread too thin, at my wit’s end, over it. I laugh at blog posts written by parents with one or two children giving pep talks to those other parents with one or two kids. They say don’t worry, you’ll get there. It’s all worth it. Not that having one kid or two kids isn’t respectable….it’s just that I want to scream through the Ethernet cable…..”Try having four!” And then I laugh at myself because there are probably plenty of moms out there who are right now screaming through their cables and reaching my ear, “Try having eight. Try having ten.”

Honestly I know a lot of parents who have four or five kids. I guess that makes them all extra horny in today’s society. just kidding. I guess I am just a Mormon. A majority of my friends have more than three children, but it’s kind of funny because a lot of those friends aren’t Mormon.

It’s easy for me to get into this “nobody has it worse than me” mode. And honestly, sometimes I think I really do have it hardest. I don’t know any of my friends who have ~~1….~~ (ok I started listing it all and then realized how lame and pathetic I sounded). But, let’s just leave it at the fact that everyone has their own struggles and mine always seem to have an unfair girth. It might be true or it might just be my incorrect victimized attitude. Either way it NEVER helps me to dwell on it.

However, I do have a responsibility to myself to figure out if I am making my own life harder or if all my troubles are caused by things out of my control. For instance: I am Bi-Polar Type II. Did I do something to cause that? No. Should I forever hold my DNA hostage because of the fact? No. Can I manage it? Yes. How about the intense busy schedule that I’ve been fighting since the first day of Spring…is it my fault? Partially. There are parts of it that I can change, there are also parts of it that I just know are going to be there every year and I have to learn to handle it better.

So, I’ve been pondering a lot about things I want to change to make my life happier. Less stressful. More enjoyable. The responsibility of raising my kids always seems to be at the top of the list…If I could just get rid of my taxiing job, if I could just get someone else to cook dinner, if, if, if. Some of those if’s are doable. Some are not. But, it’s not like I can just get rid of my kids so I can have a relaxing life.

Do you know what makes me the most mad? The fact that after being married for sixteen years I still have yet to have a honeymoon! Isn’t that ridiculous!? I stew about my lack of being able to escape away every day. I hold deep feelings of envy towards all the people that seem to be able to drop all their responsibilities and travel away often. Finding an evening for date-night is almost as complicated as my husband’s budget spreadsheet around here. Our schedules, our responsibility to our kids, and our budget always seem to make it impossible….is that fact or is it just not enough of a priority? I don’t know.

And this post is lame. And now you know why I don’t write when I am pregnant! See, how this works. I just go about my life and then all of the sudden I am stuck in another trap. I am so happy to have a baby, but what I found to be a good alternative to traveling away to somewhere tropical, I can no longer even engage in. I used to escape up to the trail every day…to run or bike and then my pregnant body wouldn’t cooperate. So, resentment builds further. I get more down. I don’t see an escape. EVER.

More than anything I just want freedom! LG and I were talking the other day about what kind of car we would want if we could have anything. I would want a Woody, a convertible, a jeep…all things that represent freedom. His desire was for comfort. (It was an interesting exercise…tell me what your dream car says about you.)

So, when feeling stuck, I do what I can to forget about how I feel, I throw myself into what I can do…..be a mom. And then I get sick of that. Really sick of it. Yesterday was bad. Really bad. From 6 something am to 9 something pm I didn’t get a second for myself. I ran every direction for my hubby and kids all day. Even taking a moment to pee wasn’t about me but about the alternative of peeing my pants not being an option for the busy day.

So, I am here to announce that today I succeeded. I said screw it. I have done absolutely nothing except for make pizza for lunch. I found my own little realm of freedom. While eating pizza with my lovely daughters I said to myself, “This for you all of you other moms with the money and freedom to travel. Today I have the freedom to check out of life and the ingredients for this homemade pizza and root-beer floats.” And it felt good. Not as good as Costa Rica or NYC but better than yesterday.

The kids are watching Arthur at the moment. This is what was just said, “The point is we all feel stress sometimes.” I tuned in realizing that this post is all about me ranting about my stress. Is the universe trying to teach me something through Arthur today?…My kids inform me that it’s the lunch lady that is teaching meditation to the kids on the playground “Now, whenever those heebie-jeebies start playing patty-whack with your nerves.” Of course it’s the lunch lady. It’s always the lunch lady. When am I ever going to succumb to the fact that I’m the lunch lady and that teaching kids to meditate is a very important and thankless job? Someday it will all have been worth it, just like those mothers of two claim. They can still be right, even though they had it easier.

And now I can’t stop laughing inside thinking about what our house looked like on Sunday night when I tried to do the same thing with our whole family. I made them sit in a circle, do the meditation pose, and try breathing exercises. Everyone just laughed uncontrollably for thirty minutes. I tried to show them how I could even meditate with all the commotion….except I couldn’t keep a straight face for longer than 20 seconds and every time I cracked a smile they laughed harder.

Now Arthur is coaching Brain during his exam freak-out “Relax your little toes. Feel all that stress leaving your body. Now that stress is leaving the classroom and leaving the school.”

And all I can think about is flying somewhere far away along with that stress. Dangit. Back to where I started. This is my life. How many of you feel sorry for me? Please tell me you are in the same boat. It helps me to not feel like the only lunch-lady in the universe.