Magnificent Mothers

I am awestruck every time I think of Mary.  But today I actually thought about her mother—she must have been an amazing woman herself to have raised a daughter who would be prepared to become the most important woman in history, the mother of the Savior of the world. 

Mary was young and inexperienced.  I’m guessing the things she did, the way she lived, what she believed, her determination to act in faith might have been because that was what she saw her own mother do. And Mary did all that with such grace.  When the angel Gabriel first came to her to tell her she would become the mother to the Christ child, Mary didn’t complain or even question.  She just accepted her call and moved forward in faith. 

I can’t imagine the pressure that must have weighed on her. What a tremendous blessing to have a loving husband who helped her fulfill her magnificent responsibility. I would guess she would have been blessed also with help from on high, angels perhaps, to bear her up and instruct her how to be a righteous mother.  But I’m sure Mary must have always had in the forefront of her mind just who her son really was and the mission he was to fulfill.  

This has made me wonder what I would do if an angel came to me and told me the true nature and calling of my children.  Would I teach them differently, speak to them differently, treat them differently?  I have not had an angel come to me to tell me my children’s missions here on earth.  I don't know if they'll be astronauts, artists, or airplane pilots. But, I have had moments, glimpses, of pure knowledge of who they really are.  They are children of God the Father.  They have been saved for this time.  They are meant to be a light in this world where so much is darkness.  They are born into this family to be taught and loved, and to return together back to our Heavenly Father to become like Him.  

I guess I don’t need an angel to come tell me these things.  I already know them.  I just need to remember.  Like Mary, I will move forward in faith, helping my children to “grow in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man.”  And how thankful I am to have an amazing husband with whom to share this incredible responsibility.

My Daughter's Dreams

"I am going to be an alientologist!"

and

"I wish I were a red neck." 

What do those two unusual quotes have in common?  Both came from my daughter today.  Yep.

Dream Big!  That's always a good idea.  So, when my little girl tells me what she wants to be when she grows us, I try to encourage her.  Normally she has ambitions to be a teacher, a doctor, a mother--all great plans.  Well, I guess part of my job as a parent is to help them fulfill their dreams.  Unless they are nightmares.

I suppose I should explain.  It is true, my daughter does love unusual things--she has a personal relationship with the librarian who is constantly on the search for books about monsters, mummies, mythological creatures and anything else of the paranormal, abnormal nature for her pleasure reading.  She's eight.  

Well, last night we picked up a little hammer and chisel for her for a "dino dig" activity in her school class.  She was so excited!  To have seen her you'd have thought she had just inherited ownership of her own personal beauty salon run by vampires and werewolves!  

"This is so cool!"  She said.  "I feel like a...what's it called?  I'm going to be an alientologist!"

Awesome!

Well, I explained that I thought she meant paleontologist, and she agreed, but had to give it some thought.  So did I.  Alientologist sounds so much more fascinating, and so much more her.  

Of course, that has nothing to do with red necks.  Lest you think we have toyed with the idea of buying a monster truck, a shot gun, a box of dynamite, and a few American flag bandanas, we have not (at least not out loud).  And as much as my little girl may faint dead away at the idea of driving a truck that is a monster, she really was just watching Duck Dynasty.  Yes, you read that right.  Last month my boys finally convinced the rest of us to try an episode, and, I fully admit, I'm kinda hooked.

So, we were watching Phil babysitting his grand-daughters.  And as any good grandpa should, he took the girls out to repair the duck blind where they all got covered in mud.  After squirting them all off with a hose, he proceeded to teach them how to gut a fish and fry it up in peanut oil.  The dirtier and gooier they got, the more excited she got.  Until she finally exclaimed,  "I wish I were a red neck!"  

Well, a girl can dream.  

Prayers of the Righteous

I learn so much from the sweet, sincere prayers of my little four-year-old primary kids.  Yesterday, one of the boys prayed, “Please help me to be rich when I grow up,” (a few smiles and snickers—yes, I was peeking, thinking about the conversations that must take place in their house), pause, “so I can buy a house someday.” 

Oh—of course! This is California, after all.  I realized maybe I better start praying for the same thing for my own children.  At the rate things are going here, they’re going to have to be rich in order to buy a house here, or anywhere, for that matter.

I forget sometimes how important and powerful prayer is.  It suddenly struck me today, there were times when the only thing that saved an entire people were the “prayers of the righteous” (Alma  62:40); and times that no righteous were even found in cities that could have saved them. 

So, I had to ask myself, how often do I pray in such a way that my prayers could save our city, or even my town, or neighborhood, or even family?  Are my prayers sincere and full of enough faith that I could call on the Lord for miracles?  Or just everyday blessings? 

I want to be sure I have the kind of relationship with the Lord that comes from daily, sincere prayer, so that when I do have great need for miracles (and as my kids grow older, those needs seem to come more and more often), I can ask with faith.

We are taught to pray in any place over any thing we need.  So, why not pray to figure out school plans, or to overcome temptation, or to save a nation, or to be able to buy a house? 

Hope for the Future

There's something magical and hopeful about a bunch of handsome, rowdy, active teen-age boys sitting in the loft playing Super Mario Brothers and listening to music.  How is that hopeful, you ask? Because they're listening to Beach Boys and Disney cartoon sound tracks.  I think their theme song is Rapunzel's "I Have a Dream." Our future is in good hands!

The Evolution of Mother's Day

Mother's Day has changed a lot for me over the years.  I've gone from the afternoon pleasure of finding my son using un-laundered underpants to soak up then suck out muddy water from a puddle (see previous Mother's Day blog), to having my children, on their own accord, pamper me with poetry and breakfast in bed, and heart-felt messages on Facebook.  The phrase "This too shall pass" has been a sort of Mother's mantra for several years as we've struggled through nights of insomnia with infants, tiring days with toddlers, and trying times with teens.  But it's been an adventure and joy!

Here are a few of my thoughts today about my most magnificent children:

I love that my teen-agers still love the Muppets

I love that my sons aren’t afraid to try to drink soda from a mentos geyser

I love that my daughter won’t let them try to drink it all without her

I love that my son asks me to play catch with him

I love that my daughter worries about my being terribly lonely when my husband is out of town

I love that my kids don’t really believe they will give me a heart attack when they hide under piles of pillows and jump out to scare me (I just hope I don’t prove them wrong)

I love that my sons ask me style advice

I love that my sons ignore my style advice

I love that my daughter can’t wait until the fathers’ and sons’ campout so we can have our own mother and daughter girls’ night

I love that she insists that we have chicken nuggets, M&M’s, cotton candy, ice-cream, and pop corn on said girls’ night

I love that my son writes me poetry

I love that my son writes stories with me

I love that my son is becoming a better writer than me

I love that my son creates beautiful art as gifts

I love that my daughter wakes me up early on Sunday morning to bring me hot chocolate in bed

I love that she asks me to teach her to work the stove and microwave so she doesn’t have to make hot chocolate for me from the tap.

I love that my children get upset when they see injustice

I love that my children aren’t afraid to dream big

I love that they are proud to stand up for right and share truth

I love that my children love each other

I love that they love me

I love that my children are mine

I love being their mother

So, my Mother's mantra, "This too shall pass," has taken on a new meaning--these wonderful moments will pass, and all too quickly.  I plan to enjoy every one of them and make the most of each day I have with these incredible children the Lord has given me!  I couldn't feel more blessed!

Mothers

I decided to re-post this in honor of all the wonderful mothers in my life. Thank you for your inspiration-- Hope you had a wonderful day!

Ahhh...Mother's Day!

Now, that Ahhh could be like a sigh--Ahhhh, it's Mother's Day, what a lovely holiday. OR that Ahhh could be a shrill, piercing scream--Ahhhh, it Mother's Day, hand me the cough syrup and wake me when it's over!

I'm not sure there's another day that's filled with so much mixed emotion for many moms. We're reminded of how blessed we are to have these wonderful children who are gifts from heaven, and what trust the Lord has put in us to fulfill this divine responsibility of loving and nurturing them. On the other hand, we also feel the guilt associated with our imperfect attempts at such a sacred calling.

I'm fortunate. I've already had one of those Mother's Days that serves as a gauge for me, meaning it was rock bottom and can only go up from there.

It all began with early morning Sunday meetings for my husband (really, can't someone just go ahead and add that to the Handbook that men should not have meetings on Mother's Day morning--they should be home serving breakfast in bed and wrapping homemade flower vases and crayon self-portaits with the kids, then getting them all ready for church while we--meaning I--lounge about eating bon bons?). Of course the kids were arguing over who used up all the hot water, and who took the last of the Captain Crunch. I'm sure at least one child ruined their Sunday clothes by spilling chocolate syrup down the front of them while trying to squeeze said chocolate into milk, and I'm pretty sure that same mostly-full milk bottle shattered all over the floor, along with the milk, in the attempt to grab it away before that got finished off, too. No one could find shoes or ties or the right snack. And had we owned a cat, I'm sure it would have clawed its way up the curtains after having been stepped on in a fight over whose turn it was to shoot the Nerf guns.

Needless to say, I was not having one of my stellar mothering mornings. Suddenly, after far too many blow-ups over each thing that was going to make us late for church, I thought, "What am I doing? What's more important right now--getting to church less late, or not stressing out at my kids?" So, we took our time.

Of course, when we finally pulled into the parking lot 45 minutes late, my husband was pulling out. "Where have you been? Your phone wasn't on, and I was just going to look for you." I gave him look #14, the one that says "Clearly things have not gone well, and nothing else should come out of your mouth right now unless it is about how, just to show me how wonderful I am, you are going to whip up some dinner and give me a 45 minute foot massage as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice while dinner cooks." We went inside.

It was a little difficult to appreciate all the talk at church about how sweet and wonderful mothers are, and how we are the angels walking the earth who give our children a glimpse of heaven, blah, blah, blah. But at least I was sitting down for a while.

I made it through church with my little potted petunia gift, then headed home, dreading the disaster left behind that would now greet me at the front door. Feeling pretty well spent and sufficiently guilty for my less-than-heavenly performance that day, I spotted my youngest son outside.

Curious as to what he was doing I went out. That was my next mistake. There he was sitting beside a big, dirty puddle. In his hand was a pair of underpants he had taken from the dirty laundry (or possibly just picked up off the floor somewhere, after the morning we'd had). As I watched, horrified, he proceeded to dip the underwear into the puddle, now brace yourself, then suck out the dirty water! AHHHHHH!

"I was thirsty," he said.

All I could do was laugh, maybe a bit hysterically, to keep myself from screaming and crying. It had been one of those Mother's Days. I understood.

I could have had a break down. I could have wallowed in guilt and frustration. I could have made a list as long as Long Island of all the things I could be doing better. But in the end, I just gave myself a pat on the back and thanked Heavenly Father for such ingenious children. Ahhhhh--Mother's Day!

Downtown Abbey Jumps the Shark

What a lovely ending for this season of the Downton Abbey…IF you got a phone call from the President during the last three minutes and missed the end!!!  I’m sorry, but the Downton Abbey team has jumped the shark. 

If you are unfamiliar with that term, think back to Happy Days when Arthur Fonzerello, AKA Fonzie, AKA “The Fonz”, for some inexplicable reason, donned a pair of water skis and jumped a shark.  Did he think he wasn’t popular enough any more? Too much. Trying too hard.  Complete loss of credibility, and dare I say, coolness, even for the Fonz.

Why??? Maybe Happy Days was losing viewers or ratings.  I don’t know.  But Downton Abbey? They were at their height of greatness!  Even my husband looked forward to it (and I don’t think anyone is reading this will mock him for that—right?). Did the Downton Abbey writers not feel there was already enough drama?  Let’s see:

·      Dramatic death that could have been avoided in childbirth

·      Gay encounter made up only by a good sound beating

·      Prison release after proof of suicide rather than murder

·      The Catholic chauffeur son-in-law helping save the entire estate with his farming skills

·      Love from a married man whose wife is in the looney bin

·      A prostitute for a cook who brings shame on all who enter but gets to leave to be close to her child

·      A wild teen-ager bound to bring shame upon the whole family if the writing sister doesn’t do it herself first?

Wow.  Looking at it on paper it is clear we have entered Soap Opera Realm here.  Hmmmm…That can only mean one thing—Matthew isn’t really dead!! He’s just staring intently at the lovely hummingbird fluttering near the broken steering wheel of his smashed up car! And that red stuff is just strawberry preserves spilled from the passing truck, which will turn out to be a secret family recipe and become famous, making certain Downton maintains their fortune ever more!  Hoorah! Ok.  I feel much better. Maybe I will watch next season afterall.

Pitch Perfect

There are a few perfect sounds in the world, including: the first cry of a newborn baby, the trickling of a mountain stream far away from civilization, and the crack of a young boy's bat hitting a baseball right at the perfect sweet spot.  

I went to my son's first scrimage on Saturday and was reminded of how much I secretly love baseball. Now, what I am about to say is not to make all of my family members choking to death in the bitter cold Utah inversion feel bad, but wow, what a beautiful day.  

I walked up to the park where people huddled togther seeking the cool, slender shadows of scattered trees, almost like campers grouped around the warmth of a fire at night. Finding a shady spot, I sat back and watched my son throw pitches from the mound.  Every time the ball left his fingers, my heart stalled until that little leather-covered ball sped across the plate, narrowly missing the smack of the bat. Yet whether it was a strike-out or a hit (see the comment of the perfect sound), I still felt a thrill.  

There's just something about the combination of sunshine, neighborhood crowds, dirt, chalk, and a baseball, that makes me fall in love with the game.  It's the highlight of my summer Saturdays. And the best part of basebal in San Diego, we can play all year round--we don't have to wait until Opening Day!