Emergency Mother's Day

My little family had a lot of motherly love yesterday. When Atrain began spinning into a spell of vertigo at 4am I knew that it wasn't going to be your typical corsage-wearing, husband praising, church-going, child-glowing Mother's Day. Instead of wearing flowers, I wore my boy's vomit. Instead of hearing the husband's praises, I heard him cringe thousands of miles away as my frustrated tears fell onto the phone. Instead of listening to the Primary children sing in sacrament meeting, I listened to my child scream and writhe with confusion at Primary Children's hospital.

It was a difficult day, but as I loved and comforted and prayed for my little boy, my heart swelled with gratitude for the mothering examples in my life. Kadydid and Allerina kept baby J happy and loved all day long. Bambie stayed by my side, cleaning out Atrain’s throw up bowl over and over again. Famous wrapped her arms around me and we sobbed in synch. My mother in law sent her husband (the doc) to Atrain’s side when he would have been cooking her mother’s day dinner, then packed her bags for the hospital (even though she is just recovering from pneumonia and I forbid her from coming). My mother filled me with food and with courage at PCH when Atrain awoke with dizzy screams and fits of frustration. Other loving SIL and cousin mothers buoyed me with calls of support and encouragement.

Little Atrain is feeling much better now, but even though he’s back on his feet it’s hard for me to carry on as usual. Every little wobble in his step sets me back. Every twitch in his eye makes my mind muse in endless “what if” scenarios. But even with all my anxiety, it’s easy to be amazed by Atrain. Even when his head was glued to his comfortable, stable spot on the floor, he sought the company of “Little (Jdog),” his brother, and smiled his silly smiles as he explained that he was having a sick day. Even when his world was spinning he insisted that I carry him over to Allerina’s drum set so that he could impress his cousins (we only made it a couple of paces before reverting to his blanket nest). And when the nurses came into the ER to start his IV, he didn’t even protest. “Wow,” they said, “Is he always this brave?” Yep. Atrain has the heart of a lion.

I also couldn’t keep myself from admiring little Jdog—just happy to be held by all around, content to cuddle and coo with his sick brother, sleeping so peacefully through the storms that day brought (even in the make-shift ER crib we constructed out of the wall and a high back chair). Baby J is a steady little soul who, even in utero, had a gift for calming my troubled mother heart.

I am a lucky momma, and I felt it more on this Mothers’ Day than any I have had in the past. I am lucky that God entrusted me with two beautiful boys. I am lucky to have a husband who wanted to drive back from Texas to be with us in the hospital. I am lucky to have mothers in my life who support me when my world begins spinning too quickly to stand on my own. I hope I can always be the same for my boys: a steady center, a strong axis.

Taking my Heart to Texas

The husband is driving to Texas. He took his road bike, his best dressed work attire, the new 'Texas tie' Atrain bought for him, an assortment of canned soups, one of Atrain's toy cars, his fathers' day gift (a bike trainer), a port-a-crib for when we come to visit, his new phone charger, scriptures, audio books, caffeinated beverages, a hopeful disposition and a huge chunk of my heart.

I don't know how we'll get along without each other. He will need to learn how to feed himself and I must learn how to keep my brain from slipping out of my skull. I'm going to need a lot of duct tape. He is going to need a lot more canned soup. Even if we find ourselves at the end of the next eight weeks with empty heads and a starving stomachs, at least we'll have two hearts full of love. The husband will love that cheesy line. Eat it up, honey. It just might be the best thing you digest for the next two months.

Be Brave

The husband leaves for Texas tomorrow. I’ve had a really hard time keeping myself together all week. It’s been a really busy, rather stressful week: double bookings and schedule conflicts galore; no real time to soak into moments with our family together. On top of all that, I’ve been losing things, important things. And, even though I eventually found everything I lost, I still feel like I’m wandering around looking for something…my brain, maybe. Or my heart. Or both.

Today at lunch when the husband finished one round of tests we sat together as a family, talking about Texas. My emotions started to spill over as I watched Atrain and the husband tickle and tease as they always do. “What’s wrong, Momma?” Atrain asked. I sighed and said, “I’m just sad Dada’s going.” Then asked, “Are you sad, Atrain?” He responded matter-of-factly, “No.” The husband and I exchanged a funny look, wondering what could possibly be going through his mind right now. I pressed the question further, “Why not?” He looked up at us and said with such honesty, “I’m not sad because I’m brave.” He is brave. Once again, I’m reminded of how much I have to learn from my son.

My Plan

Throughout the last couple of days Atrain and I have continued to tell each other our plans for the day (something the husband and I do quite often). It has been fun to hear his plans and help him with them. Monday Atrain's plans consisted of preschool, running with momma, star wars, buy a car charger for dadda's trip to texas, have dinner, then play soccer with dada. Yesterday his plans were to help momma help dadda get his car ready to drive 4000 miles over the next few months. So, we drove dada’s car to our trusty mechanic in Spork to have it checked over.

I was surprised the car completed the 48 mile trip to the mechanic. I was almost eaten alive by the monster living beneath the mess in the back seat as I cleared space for the car seats, the starter hiccupped, and the wiper blades flapped in the wind as I drove. I caught myself praying that the billowing clouds would hold onto their rain. After two hours at the mechanic, a new battery, a fixed fuse and a safety inspection to renew the registration that was two months over due, the car felt like a new machine. My credit card, on the other hand, felt like it was going to go into a state of anaphylactic shock. But, I came prepared to swallow the cost of the husband’s safety while driving thousands of miles alone across the country—always a worthy expense.

And that’s when something completely unplanned happened. My mother (aka Nana who met us at the mechanic and kept us entertained through the endeavor) slipped something into my back pocket. It took me a moment to figure out why she was suddenly interested in testing out how (un)firm my buttocks are these days, but then she said, “Strange, that’s just the amount of cash I grabbed from home today,” as she slapped the wad of money in my jeans. My throat tightened and my eyes filled with tears as I tried to figure out how to thank her for her selfless gesture. Part of me cringed with embarrassment and self-loathing, being 26 years old and still so obviously in need of a hand out; but I was also overcome with gratitude that somehow during our peripheral brunch conversation she read into what was weighing on my mind: parenting without my better half, paying for car repairs, airplane tickets, rent in two different apartments, food, loans, bills, etc.

The other part of me threw my arms around my mother and cried. It felt good—familiar, like curling up to the bends of her body on the couch on a cold winter’s day. I spend so much time thinking about being a mom that sometimes I forget how wonderful it feels to be a daughter; to be her daughter.

It’s good to plan. It keeps me steady. It keeps each day relatively on track. It keeps our finances in some sort of order. It keeps my emotions mostly in check. But every day I find that the things shuffling into the unplanned category are what make me think, help me to cry, and prod at my resolve to become a better me and more like my mom.

My Problem

Last Sunday Atrain kindly said to me, "What's your problem today, mom?" I was a little stunned by this question. This is not a phrase I use often, plus I was having a rather happy mommy day. So before my mothering confidence collapsed with worry about how I had offended my three year old I gave him the benefit of the doubt and replied, "I don't have any problems today, what's your problem?" He then proceeded to tell me what his 'problem' was, "My problem is to go to grandpatty's, then eat her rolls for dinner, then show Bellzozo my Darth Vader cape, then go home." he said. A relieved smile grew across my face, "oh," I said, then subtly corrected him, "Thats your plan? Good plan."

Missionary Monday

Hello Elder I,

Well, it's been another week. Crazy. I'm so glad you got our Easter package. And, yes--Atrain is always concerned about his missionary uncle. It's so sweet to hear his little thoughts. We have been studying the resurrection a lot at our home the past couple of weeks in his little picture scriptures. At first I was a little hesitant to actually explain what was happening in each image. Telling a three year old that some people made a really bad choices and killed the Savior of the world is a hard thing to do. But when we came to that section he carefully studied the pictures and asked questions. A sweet spirit filled the room, and I started to cry when he asked, "What's that Momma?" As he pointed to the nails in Jesus' hands and wrists. And, "Whats that called?" as he examined the crown of thorns on his head. "It's pokey?" He asked over and over again as he looked at the picture. Tears came down my face as I calmly told him about it all. Then, we turned the page to see the Angels standing over the empty sepulcher. I told him that Christ came back to life, that he was the first one to ever have a resurrected (perfect) body he died, and that He was able to live again with His Father in Heaven, just as we will be able to do some day. "Jesus died," he repeated, then said, "And then he came back to life!" "Yes!" I said, "And so will everyone everywhere." He paused for about a minute and I sat there quietly with Jdog on my lap. I could tell he was thinking hard about this concept. Then he said, "Just like Hobbes [uncle Leaf's dog] died, and will come back to life." My heart broke a little. "Yep, Atrain. We can live with Him again, just like we can life with our family again if we make good choices and keep our promises to God," I said.

I'll never forget that sweet little conversation. Moments where Atrain is not being silly or playing or pretending are rare these days. But he calmly, inquisitively soaked it all in. I know the Holy Ghost was there with us that night, and that He felt it too. It was an amazing mothering moment; a calm between the storms that reminded me what this parenting thing is all about. I wasn't planning on baring my testimony to him that night. I was actually feeling quite rushed to send them off to bed as both the boys were extremely tired that evening. But, we just followed the same scripture routine we always to, and I'm so glad I listened to the Spirit remind me to take it slow and let Him inspire both our hearts about the truth that our Redeemer lives.

In other news from our family, the husband leaves for the great state of Texas this Saturday. I'm trying to be tough, but I'm actually quite scared. I'm scared to be without him. I'm scared of going a little bit crazy without him there to steady me. There is a little part of me that wants to look at the whole thing like a big adventure, but that little part of me needs a lot of help. I know it will teach me to appreciate my marriage much more than I do--not just for the relief that comes at the end of the day when the husband is home, but the feeling of finally with the one that I love, and hearing him play with the little ones that I love while I finish up dinner. I love that time of day. I will miss that so much when the husband is gone. I will miss Him so much. But, it's a sacrifice we are all making for our future. It will mean a lot on his residency applications coming up in the fall. We will be fine. Plus, Atrain couldn't be more excited to go on the plane to Texas in a few weeks to visit daddy at MD Anderson.

I'll leave you with a sweet Atrain story I wrote on my blog last week about my little "earning boy." I love moments when I'm reminded why my role is so important, and that something we're doing every day is actually working. I hope that you know that your role is so important. I hope you know how much I think about you, about how brave you are to approach people you don't even know and spill your heart out to them, perhaps just to get shot down and turned away. I need to be more brave, especially with the people that I know, to share my testimony and love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. If I really believe that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints is true, I should not be afraid to share it.

Sure love you, brother. Thanks for inspiring me to be a little more brave.

Love,

MJ

PS, Here's the story: The Earning Boy

From the Mouth of my Babes

This morning, dark and early, Jdog decided to have a little talk with his bassinet. His scratching noises woke me—he loves examining the holey texture of his port-a-crib’s restraining walls. But I didn’t immediately swoop him up to lie beside me. I waited, listening to the other, subtle, nearly indistinguishable sounds slipping out of his mouth. “-c-c-c-c-c-c-c” he said ever so softly. Then he started to shake things up a but, adding, “t-t-t-kh-kh-kh-sssss” to the mix. His little sounds were so quiet I felt like I was eavesdropping on a top secret conversation.

My heart smiled as I listened to his little voice. Baby J has been such a quiet chap I would be worried he had hearing loss if we hadn’t had such thorough tests to confirm that his hearing has not (yet) followed in the footsteps of his big brother. Most likely it won’t, but we still need an MRI to screen for the Large Vestibular Aqueducts Atrain has. My mind rewound to memories of Atrain’s first noises; they were so different—loud, chesty, palpable sounds. We would cheer and applaud with every single peep.

Now here I lie, listening to Jdog speak sounds that Atrain would never have been able to hear without cochlear implants: so effortless. It makes me simultaneously happy and sad, even though I know it might be unfair. I’m happy that Jdog can hear, and that he’ll never understand how hard Atrain worked for a couple of years to secure those soft little noises in his repertoire. Everything is and will always be that much harder for him—which makes me sad, even though it shouldn’t. Little Atrain has already proven how resilient and determined he is. I know he can take whatever this world will dish out at him. And he has a sweet, adoring brother to buffer him from the blows.

It’s now when I think about how much God is watching out for our family: late at night when I’m wondering what’s in store for these little boys. It’s now, in the quiet hours of the morning when I can hear and see so clearly how much God loves them. It’s now when I’m reminded that one of my most important jobs is to help my boys feel, understand and remember that love.