It Could Have Been Worse.

Today was sort of a bad day. It’s hard for my time in Texas to go sour when my daily “to do” list consists of taking the husband to work, swimming with the boys, exploring with the boys, kicking around vacation laundry, squeezing in a run at the apartment complex’s gym, cooking a quick dinner, playing with the boys and the husband, and then occasionally doing the dishes—but only if I feel like it.

However today—the day that our ‘days remaining’ became less than the ‘days enjoyed’ in Texas—trouble was out to get me. Plenty of people thought they would go for a mid-day run right when Atrain and I wanted to use the treadmills. And, because I doubt other gym-goers would appreciate watching the Disney channel and sharing equipment space with a three year old and a rug rat, we opted to swim instead.

So, there we were: Atrain anxiously dancing around while I tried to strap on his water-proofed cochlear while caging jiggly, wiggly baby J between my legs. It was a hard task, and when it was through I was happy to let Atrain hop into the pool with his inner tube while I sat nearby, smearing sun screen all over Jdog. Atrain has become quite the little flotation-assisted swimmer in the past week, considering that I can count the number of times the boy has been to the pool before this trip on one hand. We had a hard time taking him to swim, knowing that it meant sans-sound for him. He loves to hear. Whenever he’s without the CIs he’s (of course) still the same kid, but he sinks into himself—unable to adequately communicate with the world around him. This is where the cochlear critics begin to salivate as they imagine how beautiful it would be to barbecue the parents of this poor implanted child. But if only they knew Atrain. If only they could see how much he loves laughing and conversing with his cousins, how much he looks forward to having his own violin recital, how incredible it is to hear him “read” his Star Wars book, “A long time ago in a galaxy far far away…” And if only they could see how happily he swims with his 'waterproofed' cochlear. Yesterday he spent at least three hours in the pool, playing all sorts of games with his new Texas best friend PJ—a friend he would have had a much harder time bonding with if they didn’t communicate in the same language.

Now back to my sort of bad day. As I lathered up baby J, I kept a close watch on the new little ‘swimmer’ (who still needs to learn how to swim). I tossed Atrain his squirt gun, and as he reached forward to grab it he somehow slipped out of his tube. Instantaneous panic. I immediately jumped into the pool, latched onto Atrain’s arm and pulled his kicking body up out of the water. It was only a matter of seconds and he was fine, thankfully, but we were all quite shaken by the moment. (Including baby J, who was certainly shocked to enter the water with me at such a speedy rate). I sat Atrain down on the pool steps as he coughed and blinked with wide, frightened eyes. I did my best to be brave as I talked us both through what had just happened. After a few minutes he said, “I held my breath and went under like Dada, but I don’t want to do it again.” I don’t ever want him to do that again either, and am not planning any more pool trips without dada. But, in order to avoid experience scars, we cautiously proceeded back into the pool. Within a matter of minutes he and his inner tube were kicking their way with me around the pool.

My phone, on the other hand, is not the greatest swimmer. It was in my gym shorts when I darted into the pool. And, on our way to the Sprint store to look into a replacement, one of the struts on our car popped. The right passenger side composed a catastrophic clanking and cranking symphony all the way to pick up the husband. Better put that on the ‘to do’ list tomorrow. Oh well. I sure enjoyed being with the husband and the kiddos tonight. And really, who cares about a dead phone and a broken strut when all I can think about is how today could have been worse. Much worse.

A Texas Weekend

Dear Elder I,

Well, it is hot! And humid. As soon as I stepped off of the plane in Houston I felt like someone had forgotten to turn off Texas’ shower. Thick, steamy air wrapped ran its fingers through my hair, making a mess of the curls I had arranged early that morning to impress the husband when I saw him for the first time in two weeks. Not that he really cares. He would have beamed with the same sweet crooked smile whether or not my appearance drooped with humidity and exhaustion. It was so good to see him.

It is strange to be in this state, knowing that you are just a three hour drive away. As we drove through the city I half expected to see you riding your bike along the busy roads. But I’m glad that I didn’t. I don’t know what it’s like where you are, but the cars here don’t leave any room for a couple of missionaries to pedal from appointment to appointment. And, what’s with the mandatory left turn signal? And, why isn’t there a right hand turn lane? I do kind of like how Texans hang their traffic lights horizontally. And, I love how helpful everyone is here. If I ask for directions in the grocery store or within a park, people insist on walking me to my destination. There is a southern charm about this state. I’ve never been called “mam” so much in my life, and I adore driving through different residential neighborhoods to admire old southern homes with wrap around porches and columns. The vegetation kind of confuses me. It seems swamp-like and wild in some places—overgrown trees with sweeping branches mixed in with coniferous-looking varieties that look (to me) like they belong in the mountains. But in other places, the plants are perfectly trimmed and coifed, arching elegantly across the roads, inviting me to come explore. When the husband was worried about what I would do with myself while he worked the week days away I told him not to worry because exploring is one of my strengths. I do enjoy having my sense of structure thrown off. It’s surprisingly refreshing.

We have had so much fun exploring Texas together this weekend. On Friday after the husband came home from work we all went to an Astros baseball game with Glenn, our good friend from high school. Glenn took his boy, PJ, who is exactly Atrain’s age. It was a three year old’s paradise. PJ and Atrain immediately bonded as they ran amuck, stomping on and slapping every baseball-like image in sight. Then they made their way through the stadium seats, dancing to the stadium organ music and chasing each other up and down the stairs. It was a bit challenging to corral them in when we got a few dirty looks from more serious baseball fans. Luckily there weren’t many—dirty looks, that is. Most enjoyed their unabashed excitement for the baseball scene. The night ended with the top of the Astros dome rolling back for our Friday night firework viewing pleasure. The boys loved it. Jdog sat calmly in my arms, watching the bursts of colored light with wide eyes. Atrain sunk into his father’s arms, soaking in the dancing explosions. It was one of those family moments I tried hard to carve into my memory.

Saturday we were off to Galviston to visit Stewart beach. It was our first exposure to the gulf coast. I loved Galviston. I wish that I had a whole weekend to wander around its roads and snoop into the historic homes that dot the streets. It’s amazing many of them are still standing after Hurricane Ike just a few years back. We made our way to the crowded shoreline, and despite the throngs of people and the miniature sandstorm coating our sunscreen in a layer of grit—it was an awesome afternoon. As soon as we got Atrain’s cochlears waterproofed (swim cap + aloksak bag), the husband carried him into the waves to “surf.” Jdog and I sat happily on the shore, playing in the mud. Jdog’s first instinct was to grab a first full and shove it into his mouth—an act he clearly regretted, as he didn’t try it a second time. But, he did enjoy feeling the warm, salty water tickle his toes. Our little family just sat there on the shore for about an hour, enjoying the ebb and flow of the ocean, listening to each other giggle as we played in the mud, watching the little clams dig their way into the sand. I’m trying to let that feeling dig its way into my memory forever. Then, we ate out at Chili’s—much to the husband’s dismay. Saturday is supposed to be “local cuisine” day, but I had a sneaky feeling Atrain wouldn’t enjoy a tray full of crawdads. Or maybe that’s me. Either way, I think we had enough adventure for the day.

On Sunday we went to church wish Glenn’s family. Sometimes church is hard with a 6 month old (can you believe Jdog is already 6 months). He’s not in nursery, is usually tired, is always hungry, and inevitably needs to change his entire outfit (because of a poopy diaper) at least once before we return home. I spend most of the three hour block in the mothers’ room, or wandering the halls. But, it’s worth it. Even if all that I get to do during church is take the Sacrament and dote, without distractions, on my baby--it’s definitely worth it. And, that’s exactly what I did during church yesterday. Somehow Jdog learned the funniest little snort trick; he crinkles his notes and breathes quickly in and out of it, producing small happy snorts whenever he’s excited about something. It couldn’t be any cuter.

Speaking of cute, Atrain has somehow been misinformed that our apartment is Texas. It’s so funny to hear him say, “let’s go back to Texas now,” whenever we are out and about. I’ve tried explaining to him the idea of states, but he’s determined to believe that Texas is where his Dada lives right now—which is the little one bedroom apartment we are renting for the couple of weeks. But don’t worry, I’m sure that as soon as the husband comes home, Texas will return to being where Uncle JD lives right now.

Well, my dear, I must go. The boys will be waking up soon and I can’t wait to greet them. I am blessed to have three sweet boys to nurture and care for in life. I sure love them. I want to be a better mother and wife for them. I know God can help me do that if I work harder to do the small, simple things that mean the most each day. I always need to be working on strengthening my testimony. We have a good friend we have known for a while who stopped going to church because he doesn’t think he has a testimony any more. Harold B. Lee said, "Testimony isn't something you have today, and you are going to have always. A testimony is fragile. It is as hard to hold as a moonbeam. It is something you have to recapture every day of your life.” I want to work harder this week to do that. I sure love you. I’m so proud of you. I’ll keep an eye out for you while I’m exploring this great state, though I know it’s doubtful that I’ll see you. Keep up the hard work.

Love,

MJ

PS- Have you tried Blue Bell Ice cream? Heaven. It’s definitely our biggest discovery in the Lonestar State. You must try it. Pralines and Cream is a dream.

Copy Cat

Every day my boys do at least one thing that catches me a little off guard. But today they dished out a double whammie. One surprise was adorable—worthy of imitation and duplication. I hope that the other never, ever happens again. I’ll start with that one.

While we were getting ready for bed tonight Atrain shifted into “super silly/ignoring/defiant” mode. He thought it was funny to slap me on the back again and again and say silly things to me while I changed his brother’s diaper. It probably is a fun game to get a rise out of me while I’m trying to focus on something else: fun, and tolerable, until he says something like, “Holy Cow! You’re so stupid, mom!” I stopped mid-wipe and looked at him with shocked, confused eyes and asked, “Where did you learn to say that?” He thought it was very funny and continued to happily chant the phrase until I put him in his bedroom and closed the door. Sad thing is, as I’ve thought about where he may have picked up on those words I can’t help but point all fingers back to me. I rarely—if ever—call other people stupid, but I’m sure that Atrain has heard me call myself stupid. Like when I loose my keys or my phone or [fill in the blank] I occasionally let a frustrated, “I’m so stupid,” phrase slip out of my lips. How stupid of me. I don’t really want Atrain thinking his momma is stupid or—even worse—believing that it’s ok to think of himself as stupid. Oops. Stopping the stupid phrase starts with me.

And, on the more adorable side of the spectrum, Jdog has learned to crinkle his nose and snort. This one, I don’t think he picked up from me. Maybe from the husband, but even that’s a stretch. I think the snort is completely a creation of baby J. It’s also completely adorable—the way he gets overexcited, kicks his jiggley- soft, chubby legs, flaps his arms, scrunches his nose and then breathes quickly in and out, producing a number of quick little snorts. I just love it. The moment he began it, I couldn’t help but copy it—which of course, amplified the production of his new, token gesture. Hope I don’t regret egging it on. I doubt that I will regret copying. But I do regret being copied.

A Dream Come True.

We went to Galviston today. I loved the drive, the old Southern homes and the beach. I had almost forgot what the shoreline smells like. Even though the Gulf coast is far from my Hawaii home, the scent of hot salt sticking to the air stretched my memory back to days when I looked much better in a swimsuit; when my biggest care as I chased down the tide was my ICS 251 final; and when all I could dream about was what it would be like to spend a day in the waves with my family. And despite the crowds, the murky water, the whipping wind, and my not-so-tight tummy; sitting with the boys--splashing, soaking, and shoveling in the shore surf was just that: a dream.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Tonight our good friend Glenn and his boy PJ took us to an Astros game at Minute Maid park. It was amazing. Atrain and PJ ran muck as if they had known each other for years. The husband and Glenn picked up as if it hadn't been years. And, wiggly Jdog and I bonded as we wandered around the stadium. The game (or at least what I saw of it) wasn't half bad, either. But bar-none, my favorite moment was when the game was done and dome of the stadium rolled back to reveal a star-filled Houston sky, set a-light with fireworks. I loved watching Atrain's face flash with glee as he admired the exploding display from his father's lap. Baby J's face lit with wonder--not even a twitch of fear (nothing can phase that kid). It was a night to remember.

Post Monster Syndrome

It’s always a relief to me to discover that I have a good excuse for acting like an irrational, emotional, mother monster. Last night I was enraged and aghast that the husband would dare deem my feelings “silly.” Right then and there, it wouldn’t have mattered if a stampede of Texas Longhorns were careening toward our front door. The most important thing in the world was whether or not the husband validated my (illogical) perspective. But the husband is just too rational to ignore my gibberish for long enough to recognize that the safest course of action is to nod his head and agree. Then again, it would be hard to ignore gibberish if it jumped at you with fangs bared.

Now, in the light of a new day, the fury that fed my mutated response has faded. I was being silly. I still think that the husband should always burst into hero mode whenever our cute little heathens begin beating up their mother. But it doesn’t matter now nearly as much as it mattered then. Especially because Mother Nature can take the blame for last night’s mutation. Thank heavens. I'd really like to get back to enjoying our time together in Texas.

A Grump

I didn’t feel like writing tonight. Instead, for some stupid reason, I felt mad. I felt like locking myself in my room so that I could complete a few sets of sit-ups without the three year old using me as a trampoline. I felt like arguing with the husband about whether or not it was silly of me to expect him to use his “daddy voice” when an overtired Atrain is beating up on me. I felt like throwing my first awesome, adventurous Texas day down the garbage chute so that I could avenge my misconstrued sense of self.

So, instead of writing about my first impressions of the lone star state; instead of explaining how much I loved listening to Atrain converse and tease and giggle while swimming with his CI on in the pool; instead of trying to describe how awesome it felt to cook for our completed family; instead of embellishing the day’s stories about how cute it is to watch Jdog’s crawling exercises, I’m just going to put that all on hold while I take a time-out for being a grump.

Traveling to Texas Top Ten

1. Going into Atrain’s room to remind him (for the fourth time) that he must go to bed or we will never make it to the airport on time.
2. Watching him jump with excitement and say, “It’s time?! We go to Texas now?” every time I entered his room.
3. Snuggling baby J to sleep, knowing that he may not get much of it tomorrow.
4. Finishing the packing while the husband slept soundly with the webcam on. I love listening to his soft, heavy breathing.
5. Hauling my sleepy, beautiful boys out the door at 5:30am to wait for our ride; realizing that our ride had missed her alarm; then chasing the rainy sunrise while Atrain yelled, “Wow, Mom! You’re speeding fast as the storm!” My anxiety felt like acid brewing in my veins.
6. Skycap. I wondered whether or not I was having an angelic visitation when I watched the old, white-haired man take the bags from my hands. Two kids, two bags and two carry-ons is two too many for two hands to carry. The “fast-pass” family security line was also rather glorious. Halleluiah.
7. Watching Atrain soar his toy plane up and down through the airport corridors, trying to find an exact match for it out the windows. Luckily, the Southwest planes were a near-perfect fit.
8. The moment when I could finally tell that Atrain’s vertigo-like eyes closed, head-stuck-to-the-armrest position was incited by his fear of take off take off. Fear is easy to conquer. Whip out the lap-top and show Atrain how Darth Vader lives in the sky and *bam,* fear is gone. On the other hand, I definitely would have lost the battle with a mid-flight, pressure-change induced, vomiting episode of vertigo.
9. Rita, the grandmother of 16 who sat beside me. She snuggled baby J as I adventured with Atrain to the airplane potty; she let Jdog kick her during every mid-flight feeding; she helped me strip him down to his bare necessities when he pooped through everything (for the second time that day); and she endlessly ensured me that she loved every minute of it.
10. Seeing the husband’s face as we walked toward baggage claim. Then kissing it. Then watching it alight with joy as he enjoyed the boys. Jdog kicked and squealed at the sight of his dada. Atrain acted as if they had never parted. I began dreading the day we will have to return without him. He is our home. I hate leaving it behind.

5...4...3...2...

Houston, we are clear for take off.

Nighttime Daydreams

It's 4:49 am. I'm going to bed after a few hours spent researching waterproofing methods for cochlear implants. We plan on spending a lot of our Texas time at the pool in our sublet apartment complex while we wait for the husband to finish work every day. And, I really want Atrain to hear me when he's all wet. I've decided to try out the LOKSAK option--they advertise that their sacks can protect electronic devices underwater in depths of 200 ft. Not that we're enrolling Atrain in Navy Seal school any time soon. I wonder what it would be like to hear through a plastic bag.

I just called the husband. I hate going back to an empty bed. One of my favorite parts about waking up to work on random projects in the middle of the night is hearing the husband sleepily say, "hello beautiful," when I return to bed. Now, unless Jdog starts sniffing around for a midnight snack, I have absolutely no motivation to go back to sleep. Maybe I'll stay up and keep making Texas packing lists, or keep researching tips for flying with cochlear implants, or just keep writing about my mid night day dreams about the husband. Or maybe i'll just try calling him again. I sure do miss him. Only two more days until I get to see him. Can't wait to return to his side.

I Need to Hear

Tonight the boys and I had a barbeque with a few good friends. I love watching Atrain interact with new groups of friends. It’s sweet to see his social experiments. For example, tonight he marched around singing the Darth Vader theme song while slashing a light saber, waiting for someone to join in. He loves trying to strike fear into the hearts of those around him. I don't think I'll tell him that it has the opposite effect on me.

As much as I love listening to his Darth Vader theme music, I love hearing him speak for himself even more. While playing with tractors another little girl noticed his cochlear implants. She pointed to them and asked Atrain, “What’s that?” Atrain looked up from his bulldozer and simply said, “My cochlears.” The little girl was rather unsatisfied with his response. She continued to stare and Atrain felt her eyes still on him. So, he gave another explanation, “I need to hear,” he said in a simple, matter-of-fact tone. And that was that.

My heart tripled in size in that moment. There were no ribbons or bows wrapped around Atrain’s explanation: just sweet, simple truth. I asked him about the interaction on the way home. “Did Lilli ask you about your cochlears Atrain?” He looked up at me and said, “Yep, I told her they were my super ears.” “You did?” I responded, surprised that he was feeding me the explanation I occasionally give to others when they ask. “Yep, they make me hear super strong.” He said. “They are super strong, just like you are super strong,” I responded. “Yep,” he agreed with a little smile on his face.

This conversation might get harder as time goes on, but I also just might be surprised. When people ask me about the implants when Atrain is around, he’s always listening. I hope they ask him next time. And, if not, I plan to defer the question to the little man standing next to me. I like Atrain’s honest explanation: “I need to hear.”

Beauty Day with Baby J

Jdog and I spend every hour of every day and night together. In his spoiled six months of life he’s only had one babysitter—and even then I came home to feed him mid-date. You see, baby J isn’t a fan of the bottle. He doesn’t like binkies. He tried rice cereal two weeks ago and has had a bad case of the runs ever since (every single diaper change, no joke). No more solids for another month. He is already pretty picky eater, but who can blame him. He knows what he likes and mama’s milk does a baby body good.

Yesterday Jdog and I attempted an amazing fete: breast feeding beneath a hair salon cape, while under the color processing blow dryer. Taking your big baby to the beauty parlor isn’t exactly ideal. If they’re not sleeping—which Jdog wasn’t—it can be rather tricky and slightly embarrassing. But I had reached the seven month mark without a hair stylist touching my hair, so it was high time for a cut and color. I thought that if baby J slept through most of it, letting him bounce around on my lap wouldn’t be a big deal. But he had other plans in mind.

Two minutes into the appointment there was movement beneath the car seat cover and sure enough, baby J was awake. He sat content long enough for my sweet med school friend to finish foiling my hair (big props to her—I have a lot of hair). But, then his lack of a morning nap began to catch up with him. So, I fed him while my highlights processed beneath the dryer. He was still fussy. I laid him on my belly and played “superman” while she washed out my color. That still didn’t do the trick. Finally, I broke out the emergency bottle in my purse, hoping it would at least soothe his teething gums. But he crinkled his nose, flapped his arms, and furrowed his brow as if to say, “Really, Mom, really?” So, I left the salon with wet untrimmed hair and Jdog in tow, hoping that he would fall asleep with a few spins around the block. And, lucky me, it worked like a charm. I even made it back with enough time for my friend to trim up my frayed ends and blow it dry. When I arrived to pick up Atrain at preschool, I felt like a new woman.

The tides are changing for baby J. He isn’t just a little car-seat sleeper any more. As the husband can attest, he’s beginning to be a “rug rat:” while laying in his back he’ll arch and scoot himself backwards (the funniest sight) all the way up against a wall where he loves to scratches his little fingers to his heart’s content; he turns back and forth from belly to back to reach favorite objects—he is most fond of chewy puzzle pieces; and, he’s even beginning to do the “push up” stance while on his belly. What a tough little guy. As the husband watched via video chat last night, he wore a proud, longing smile. Jdog loved looking up at the screen as his dada cheered him on. He can’t wait to get to Texas and show the husband his new tricks. Four days until take off. I can’t wait either.

Go Away, Day.

Yesterday was a bad day: a disastrous, dangerous dump of a day. I can’t decide which part was worse: watching my baby tip off of a bench near a balcony and coiling with pain at the thought of what could have happened (thank heavens for the railing); when my three year old slapped me in the face, intentionally, multiple times; when I accidentally told the husband that it’s much easier to get along when he’s not around—I didn’t mean it; or when it began to snow. Never mind. It was definitely the balcony scene.

My mind keeps replaying it: heading to the bathroom with niece Bubbins while Jdog and Atrain stayed on the bench with the family, glancing backwards to see the kiddos gathered around baby J; hearing a gasp; spinning around to see the underside of the car seat and exclaiming “Oh my gosh” in the middle of the Children’s choir’s rendition of “As Shepherds Lately Knelt;” wanting to fly instantaneously back over the crowded bench, but watching helplessly as my MIL came to his rescue; irrationally hating myself for ever leaving Jdog’s side; listening to the cacophony of cries break out as the whole family rushed out—far out of the concert; hugging baby J who was completely fine, but super scared; trying to calm Atrain who was also understandably upset about the scene; and congratulating Bubbins who—amidst the chaos—took bathroom matters into her own hands and relieved herself on the (outdoor) steps up to the concert hall.

Wanting to erase all but the last detail of that horrible event, I threw in my dishrag and called it a day. As I drove the 45 minutes to our home with two angry boys yelling from the back seat, it was hard for me not to doubt everything about myself as a mother. I tried so hard to make it a good day, but the universe just wasn’t going to let me win today. I should have known. Any day that begins with lonely tears at 3am probably won’t end well. There’s some sort of poetic justice to it all. I can’t wait to close my eyes and go to sleep wishing this day would just go away.

The Giving Game

The husband left for Texas 10 days ago. Almost every day since then I’ve been taping envelopes to our door addressed to Atrain from Dada in Texas. Inside each envelope sits a toy or a treat and a message that says something like, “I love you and miss you, from Dada in Texas.” Recently I scored a huge bag of star wars characters from online classifieds. Atrain looks forward to the “mail man” coming every day. He even tapes the envelopes to his bedroom door for a cozy spot for each star wars character to sleep when the lights are out.

But today Atrain turned the tables on me. He took one of his dada envelopes, taped it to our door and told me that the mail man had come. “Really?” I asked. “Yep. I’m Dada in Texas and I sent you a toy from Texas.” And, sure enough, taped to the door was Darth Vader. I giggled with glee and the little husband repeated the gesture until he had given me all of his Star Wars characters. He even dipped into his cars box to find more gifts to tape to the door when his supply exhausted.

His happiness was contagious. Watching him pretend to be the husband is priceless. I’m still not sure if he has my sneaky mail-man methods figured out, or if he is just sweetly pretending about my pretending. Either way, the giving game is a good game to play. And, Atrain sure enjoys seeking Star Wars character advice via video chat from Dada at the end of the day. We can't wait to board the Millenal Falcon and fly strait to Texas.

Teen Talk

When the husband and I were in high school we stole many a late-night hour from the bedtime tyrants (the parents) as we talked to each other in hushed conversations on the telephone. I even lied to Wonderboy (the husband), telling him that the second phone line at our household only rang in the basement. It didn’t. But he never would have called me that late if he had known that either of my parents could have picked up the other end of the line.

So, often after my magical dates with Wonderboy he would hold my hand all the way to my doorstep, hug me—a long one if I was lucky—and then tell me he planned to call. I rushed inside, checked in with the parental units, then flew like a phoenix on fire to my bedroom where I stood vigilantly by my phone, waiting for the “incoming call” light to blink. If I knew Wonderboy planned on calling, I always caught the call long before the phone even thought of ratting out our midnight conversations.

Now I’m the bedtime tyrant. But, I’m still steeling away many a late-night hour in hushed conversations with the one I love. After a few hours, it’s not that we even have that much to say anymore. It’s just the thrill of hearing his tired voice on the other end of the line tell me how much he loves me, how much he wishes I were with him, and how much he wants to see our sleeping sons. I feel like a teenager again—except that we never said the big “L” word, we whispered so that we wouldn’t wake our parents (not our boys), and Wonderboy isn’t just a few miles away. He’s in Texas.

Even though the husband is 1,500 miles from our home, I do feel like our frequent phone conversations have improved the quality of our communication. Odd, I know, but it’s easy to become complacent and take the company of the one you love for granted. I’m not distracted by the dishes and the laundry and the many miscellaneous messes piling up around me. He’s not allowing his attention to be split by email, research and catalogues of online sports stories.

I discussed this phenomenon with the husband and he agrees, but he also thinks that being in the same room with the one you love is worth a thousand words. I say that thousands of words are worth thousands of words. Of course, our time together can never really be replaced by phones or video-chats or text messages or letters. But I love listening to his undistracted, uninhibited thoughts. I remember how it feels to soak in every sweet sentence. I adore the way he laughs at my clever, flirty attempts to catch his attention. And I love hearing him do the same.

Even though it’s hard to be apart, in some ways I feel like the distance is helping us grow a little closer together. The husband even sat down to read, “Five Love Languages” the other day. Now I want to read it too. I don’t want this to last forever, but I’m thankful for the reminder that deep down inside of me is still the smitten teenage girl who stands watchfully by her phone, waiting for the moment that Wonderboy will call.

Playing Dada

The boys and I have gone on a lot of sunset walks this week. The moment when the sun yawns and stretches its arms across the sky is the most beautiful time of day. Her rays wrap me in peace. They make me imagine a medley of messages God may be sending through the colors that cloak the sky.

Atrain was sending me a very obvious message: I love my dada. When we got to the playground he insisted that we stop. So, I obliged. He ran over to the rocking airplane and said, “I’m dada, I’m going to Texas…come on, fly to Texas with me!” So, I sat on the back of the airplane while “dada” flew us to Texas. Then, we hopped down and he said, “We’re here. I’m picking you up in my red car.” So, we hopped into his red car and drove all the way to Dada’s Texas apartment. All the while, Atrain kept reminding me that he was the husband and that Atrain was playing right beside him. I played right along—all the way to our Texas beds where I tucked in the little dada and kissed him goodnight.

Though there is nothing sweeter than Atrain's dada impersonation, I can’t wait to kiss the real husband goodnight again.

Super MIL

It’s a bird—no, it’s an angel, no…it’s…it’s my mother-in-law! Super MIL swooped in today to save my kids from the deathly clench of the duty radio. I love my job, and I love my kids, but on exceptionally busy duty days I have to call in a second wind to satisfy all demands. So, just as the clouds huddled overhead and the winds began to howl at the kiddos who were growing ever more irritable from a day spent chasing endless check-out calls around campus, MILly wrapped her arms around my boys and flew off to the comfort of our cozy apartment. There, she shared many of her super-powers with my kiddos: reading books, cuddling, sword fighting, scrumptious surprise dinners and even sleeping on Atrain’s bunk bed—per his request. And, she was the first thing on his mind when he woke up in the morning. He sure loves Super MILly.

Almost Here

Last night we google chatted with the husband for a couple of hours while getting the kids ready for bed. The husband watched Jdog roll around on the floor, listened to Atrain tell him about how he was dizzy yesterday, and followed my frenzied mind as it puddle jumped through the thoughts of the day. We even brought dada’s digital image into Atrain’s room for our bedtime routine. It was almost like he was here.

But I do miss telling the boys that it’s time to settle down every time dada’s tickle hands attack at bedtime. I miss dividing the round-up of Atrain’s nightly necessities: a “grununga” bar, a cup of water, a toothbrush and collection of toys. I miss watching him rock baby J in the plum recliner just before I carry him off to his crib. I miss resting my head on his chest as we laugh and/or cry about the events of the day when the boys are asleep. I even miss annoying the husband with my subconscious footsie playing. I miss him.

Missinaries Tuesday

Dear Elder I,

It’s late, and a lot of things are running through my mind tonight. This past week I felt stuck in a torrent of bad luck: I lost my key card, lost my keys, temporarily misplaced my husband, locked my keys in my car, and then ended it all with a bang in the ER with Atrain. Normally, I consider Sunday the first day of the week, but on this special occasion I’m officially kicking Sunday to the back of the line. No offense, I loved talking to you for a few seconds, but any day that ends with Atrain in the hospital is the worst day of the week.

We went to ER for another extreme case of vertigo. I can’t even imagine how it must be to feel like you hopped aboard an endless Gravitron ride. My poor boy. I wish there was more that I could do. He’s doing so much better now. In fact, we spent the day like many others: masquerading as Peter Pan, Wendy, and Michael; and then switched over to and Dar[k] Vader, Princess Leia and Yoda. Then we went to have sandwiches at Subway for dinner—a special treat, indeed. Atrain loves ham, olive, mayo and lettuce sandwiches.

We parked in front of Subway along a strip mall that is connected to our favorite grocery store. It’s our favorite because it reminds me of the grocery store back home: happy people, yummy samples and nice baggers who are always willing to push my cart out to the car when my hands are full of kiddos. I definitely took advantage of that service tonight. Atrain insisted on “checking out” all of the stores down the strip, so how could I refuse? I loved holding Jdog in my arms, pushing the stroller and watching Atrain walk so nimbly around the various store obstacles. He was perfectly balanced with such a determined stride. I like letting him lead the way. It’s often impractical, but he soaks those moments in—he asks questions, the makes observations, he discovers.

Before long, I discovered that we had walked all the way to the grocery store. Then, of course I had to get bread, milk, bananas, cheese, cereal, etc. I even picked up a bright blue dollar sword to surprise Atrain. I love surprising him. Before I knew it the basket of Jdog’s stroller was overflowing. But, the grocery store clerk insisted that one of their nice young baggers accompany me all the way to my car (about a block away). That bagger’s picture should be immortalized in a museum of amazing employees. What a nice young man. Service is the best way to sneak your way into someone’s heart.

We have been served a lot lately. I guess I’m just in a time of life where I need a lot of help, especially this last weekend. Jdog is still nursing, so I needed him at the hospital with me, and I needed to be with Atrain. Everyone in our family and the husband’s family volunteered to go. Mom won the “coveted” spot, and she endured a pretty sleepless night with me and the boys. The husband’s mom is planning on spending the night with us on Wednesday to help me while I’m working. I have been so blessed. I yearn to do more, to help more people, to be better, to have more faith. It was especially difficult on Sunday when I couldn’t even help my son. Sometimes it’s hard to pray and ask for a miracle. I never know what to expect, and often feel like the father of the child Christ healed who said, “Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.”

I have faith that God can heal Atrain—he has and he does. It is a miracle that my child was born profoundly deaf, but he talks clearer than many hearing three year olds. It’s is a miracle that Atrain can be on the floor—unable to move with such extreme cases of vertigo, then 36 hours later be up on his feet, pretending to fly like Peter Pan. It is a miracle. And as I sat by his side, praying that God would heal him, and listened to Dad give him a Priesthood blessing that told him he would feel better soon, there was a part of me that wants to ask, “Now, please—heal him now.” But why would Christ heal one blind man on the spot, and then in a separate case make clay spittle, rub it on another blind man’s eyes and command him to wash in the pool? God knows what we need. Miracles and faith are interdependent, but I don’t think there is a “miracle quota” to fill: x amount of faith = x amount of miracles. Faith is the process by which miracles come to pass, and as my faith grows, the comprehension of the miracles God brings to pass in my life also grows. I believe in God. I hope for a better world, especially for my sons. My hope anchors my soul, and my faith helps me keep going—keep trying, keep praying, especially when I’m searching for a miracle.

I love you brother. Keep up the good work.

Love,
MJ

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.