Crawling Carpet

My carpet began crawling today. This has happened before—living on the bottom floor of an apartment building can have this effect on flooring. One day you just look down and realize that it’s moving. The indiscriminate speckles of black, beige and purple begin to dance right before your eyes. It’s creepy. It’s crawly. It’s an infestation of ants.

Dear ants,

Please stop building your home in my purse. I know there must be all sorts of crumbs in there to fill your cupboards, but those crumbs are mine. Even if I regret the fact that they’re there in the first place, you can’t have them.

Oh, and don’t crawl into my son’s hair. I really don’t like squishing you between my fingers, but when I catch you and your friends stowing rides between his long blond locks I just can’t stand it.

Finally, no more parties. I can take a few of you here and there, no big deal. But, when you decide to invite the whole gang over for an all night rave, I have no choice but to break out the Raid spray. Sorry to put a damper on your social life, but it must come to an end.

This is your last warning. I called the exterminators. They should be here tomorrow. Don’t be squatters. Accept defeat.

Sincerely,

MJ

Dish Duty

The husband did the dishes tonight. MMMMmmmmm. The best dessert after a good meal is not eating chocolate, or candy or sweet cereal. It’s definitely devouring the joy of my boys do the dishes together. I love hearing Atrain’s excitement when he empties the silverware basket into the correct slots in the drawer. I love listening to the clanging plates someone else is loading them into the dishwasher. Yes, and that blessed sound of swishing water whisking across the dirty dinnerware. It just sounds like relief.

When I was young I didn’t understand why my mother thought the dishes were such a big deal. I hated it when she would put up a stink about whose turn it was to load or unload the dishwasher. And I remember being so annoyed by hearing the “if everyone would just wash their own plate and put it in the dishwasher themselves we wouldn’t even have to worry about the dishes” lecture for the millionth time. I was such a punk.

I had no idea how many times she loaded and unloaded that stinking dishwasher every day. I didn’t realize how difficult it must have been to clean up after a family of 8. I couldn’t understand what a symbol of appreciation the dishes were to her. Now I know. “Mirror, mirror on the wall…I am my mother after all” (anonymous). Now I love hearing my family’s hands say “thanks for all you do, momma” whenever they’re washing the darn dishes. Thanks, guys.

Migraine Day

Today I felt like the sun’s rays were piercing daggers into my eyes. Every sound set off land mines in my mind. The smell of dirty dishes made me want to puke. The seeds of a serious migraine were taking root in my brain. It is the price I pay for my midnight writing rendezvous. Such scandalous activity always catches up with me. It’s worth it.

My first instinct was to burry myself under my sheets until it was safe to resurface. Then I looked at little Jdog nestled beside me. He probably wouldn’t enjoy being buried under the covers for too long. Oh yes, and then there’s Atrain yelling, “Mommy, I want your hair,” down the hall. Mmm huh. Finally, the husband with the bum leg would need a ride to work/school any moment now. Nope…I wasn’t going to have the pleasure of burying myself alive today.

So, it was off to the husband’s work/school with the kids wrapped in blankets. I dropped him off with a kiss, put on Atrain’s sunglasses to shield my eyes from the stabbing sunlight and then decided to head to the grocery store. There was no milk and all I wanted to eat was Grape-Nuts. Cereal is my comfort food. I wondered if a hang-over might feel anything like a migraine and what I would be buying instead of milk to ease my pain.

I told Atrain we were going to the grocery store to buy him a special breakfast. He was SO excited and kept asking, “What am I getting, a dough what? I can’t believe this mommy.” He made me laugh. It felt good to laugh.

The blue shopping cart/truck was available and Atrain dove into the drivers’ seat and assumed command of our rig. I got a little distracted in the seasonal isle and he kept yelling, “No, mommy, this way! I’m steering this way to the doughuts—dough whats, mommy? Oh..the doughnuts. This way!” I made it past the seafood counter without barfing and Atrain opened the door to his truck when we officially arrived at our destination. He choose a doughnut with a thick layer of white frosting…a surprising choice, given the boy’s chocolate obsession. He exhibited impressive self control, holding it pristinely in the palm of his hand until we paid for it and the milk. Then he gobbled it, exclaiming that he was the “doughnut monster.” I laughed at him again and said a silent prayer to thank God that he is such a cute little monster.

I made it back home through the morning traffic without allowing my head to split in two. Atrain kept alternating questions, “How are you doing, mommy?” then, “How are you feeling?” I told him the truth—that I wasn’t feeling the best this morning, but I was so happy he was being such a good boy. Once in our apartment I inhaled a bowl of cereal along with four ibuprofen pills. Jdog began stirring in his car seat. I asked Atrain if it was alright if he watched Super Why while I fed baby J in bed. Of course, he consented. Thank you, Super Why.

Jdog and I slept like babies for an hour. There’s nothing like snuggling with your baby in bed—especially when you have a migraine. There’s nothing like a three year old who helps you with the dishes, is content vacuuming for hours and asks you, “How are you feeling?” all day long—especially when you have a migraine. There’s nothing like a husband who kisses and holds your stinky, un-showered self without even grimacing—especially when you have a migraine. Today might even end up being an amazing day, even though I have a migraine.

Puddle of Tears

The husband just called me from the cougar’s disastrous demise in the Marriot Center. I’m not sure if he was more frustrated about their 20 point deficit or about the exhausted little cougar crying, “I want to go home,” at the top of his lungs. Just in case you’re wondering I’m talking about Atrain, not any of the players out on the court tonight.

The situation is sad. BYU basketball’s star forward violated the honor code and is now suspended from the team just when college sports’ top gurus were placing Jimmer and Co in their final four brackets. Now everyone’s blaming the former forward for the team’s worst downfall in BYU bball history.

Did the university do the right thing?

I didn’t graduate from BYU proper, but I am an alumni of its sister school, BYU Hawaii. Anyone who has attended both institutions would agree that they are on opposite sides of many spectrums. However, they share at least one vital vein: the Honor Code. It’s pretty much the LDS church’s moral and "cultural standards" codified into a student contract. Some students hate it. Some students applaud it. All agree to abide by it and give their word to ecclesial leaders at least once a year that they are doing so. If it is violated, disciplinary action is taken—even if you are the forward of a possible final four team.

I can’t say that I agree with everything about the honor code and how it is enforced. I can’t say that I’m a huge basketball fan either. But I am a huge fan of ethical consistency. A code of ethics (and honor) can’t depend on the circumstance. It can’t judge on a case by case basis. Then there’s no use for an honor code at all. Maybe it’s a rather insensitive and unmerciful way for a Christian institution to discipline, but there must be a way to avoid subjectivity. It’s far from perfect, but at least it’s not hypocritical.

I feel bad for the team, for the husband, and for the star forward. Though there may be many tears shed on BYU’s basketball court tonight, the husband said he’s staying to wallow with the worst of them. I’m sure there are many echoing Atrain’s refrain, “I want to go home.”

Teen Mom

Today I promoted teen abstinence—not that Allerina needed a reminder to stay away from boys. She's never kissed anyone and I’m proud of her for her refrain. Not that I would know, but kissing boys in middle school is definitely not worth it. Big sister Bambie would know. She would agree with me.

Allerina accompanied me to Atrain’s quarterly audiology appointment. Why would I take my little sister out of school and drive her three hours away from her home for my son’s doctor’s appointment? It really doesn’t have anything to do with abstinence. It has much more to do with the fact that I’m not abstinent and now have two kids. One of them has to spend three hours listening to beeping noises every four months (and needs my full attention to help him). He hates that. The other son has to eat every two to three hours, and he won’t eat without me. He hates that. I can’t do it without help. I hate that.

My mom couldn’t help; she’s getting ready to go to Canada tomorrow. My sister who lives near the audiologist couldn’t help; she had class. I’m too proud to ask my mother in law; no matter the inconvenience she would drop everything and come. So, when Allerina offered excitedly to be my on-site babysitter at the audiologist, I couldn’t pass it up. Even though she didn’t know what she was in for.

I picked her up yesterday after she cleared the absence with her teachers and picked up her homework. She was happy to miss math class, and I was happy to tutor her. Atrain was happy to see her. Jodg howled the whole way home. Allerina made dinner while I fed Jdog, then she bounced Jdog while I spent the rest of the evening at a work meeting. Then when I returned we did her homework before heading to bed at one am.

The next morning we began prepping for our long adventure to the audiologist. I told Atrain the bad news when he awoke: that we were headed to the cochlear doctor today. He cried, but perked up when I reminded him about the listening games we’ve been practicing and the chocolate egg rewards. I skipped my run and revolved everything around getting the boys ready and keeping them happy. We played games, I gave in to more of his chocolate requests than usual, I didn’t make him take a bath, Allerina took him to the playground, I worked hard keeping Jdog awake until we loaded into the car. It was a success. We drove the 90 minutes to the audiologist with both boys happily snoozing in the back.

When we got to the appointment Allerina took over Jdog duties while I convinced a frantic Atrain to let our audiologist hook his cochlears up to the computer. Poor kid. I don’t really even know what I’m talking about when I tell him that it’s not going to be bad. I don’t know what he hears when we hook him up to the computer. I know that sometimes we have to turn the sound off, which makes him understandably upset. But the kid is tough. I know he can do it—even if I can’t completely understand what he has to go through.

The audiologist and I quickly got to work, and to my surprise, Atrain quickly became cooperative and even happy. He was doing it. He was listening for the beeps and consistently pressing the button when he heard them. It was the first time in his life he was giving us feedback about how his cochlears hear. The chocolate egg incentive helped and our practice was paying off. He was even having fun. Whenever he heard the beep (it’s something that only he hears…and we have to discern whether or not he really heard it or he’s just pretending to hear it so he can push the button) he got to switch the pictures of cars characters on the computer screen. He was laughing at their expressions, talking about what they were doing, and asking me the names of the ones he didn’t know. Even though he couldn’t hear me respond he would read my lips and repeat what he thought I was saying. I try to teach him to read lips while he takes baths, but he’s never tried to repeat the words I mouth to him. He’s actually quite good at it.

All the while we’re in the sound booth making the most of Atrain’s productive appointment, I’m wondering how Allerina is holding up with Jdog in the foyer. I can feel that he’s getting hungry. After an hour and a half the audiologist, Aaron and I take a break so that both boys can eat. Then we get back to work. To all of our astonishment, Atrain keeps at the task for another ninety minutes. Amazing. We’re gathering so much data about my kid’s listening skills that we have to schedule another appointment for next week so that we can finish testing. He’s really growing up.

We finished the appointment an hour over schedule and Allerina and Jdog were relieved to see us enter the waiting room. Baby J looked angry. Allerina looked exhausted: my superhero sister, saving the day, swallowing the kryptonite so that Atrain’s appointment could be a success. She was amazing. She missed school, missed her friends, missed her young women’s activity so that she could save me. And now she was clearly ready to go home. So was I. The kids, on the other hand, had other plans. I had to pull Atrain away from the toys in the waiting room. That was a first. Jdog arched his back when I put him in his car seat and started to cry. It was a long ride. My poor baby cried on and off most of the way home. For a few moments I flashed back to the days when I was Allerina’s age, babysitting while my parents were out for the night, bouncing my colicky newborn sister to sleep for hours next to the dryer in the laundry room. She always liked the sound of the dryer.

Allerina went to sleep for most of the ride home, despite my howling baby. It was probably better that way. Toward the end of the ride she woke up and in a dazed state her true feelings about her day surfaced when she asked, “What’s his problem?” Jdog just kept crying. I kept apologizing for making her day so miserable, then thanking her for being the person who I know loves me enough to put up with the misery, then apologizing again. “I bet you would take math class over this,” I said. She said no, but avoided eye contact. “Do you ever want kids after today?” She snorted and replied, “not at least for another ten years. Good. Glad I could be of service.

Don't let the Devil Get You Down, Brother.

Dear Elder I,

February has gone by too fast. I can’t believe it’s the last day of the month today. It’s hard to believe the spring is right around the corner. I can’t wait for warmer weather here. I’ve been imagining baby J crawling around in the grass this summer. He is so big; really—a chunk of a kid, and so stinking adorable. Jdog is wiggling around, arching his back, holding his head up when he’s on his tummy, and smiling with a triple chin all of the time. He makes me work to get him to giggle, but when I do, it’s worth it.

This week was somewhat strange. The husband’s injury ended up not being too serious—a cracked metatarsal and sprained ankle. Much better than what it could have been (phew!). I’ll send you the story I wrote about that evening. I think it would give you a good laugh. So, every morning the boys and I drive the husband to school. It’s somewhat early, so we’re not even dressed yet. Atrain loves to bundle up in his ducky blanket and be carried out to the car. We all exhale cold clouds into the air on the way to the husband’s school/work. Right now he’s doing his Radiation Oncology rotation and he loves it. I think he’s made his final decision. It won’t be easy—one of the most competitive residency programs to apply to, but I know things will work out. I’m lucky to have him as mine.

This weekend was our stake’s conference. The messages shared filled me with motivation and desire to do better. Elder Kearon of the First Quorum of the Seventy and his wife spoke to us. I loved both their messages, but his wife’s thoughts are still resonating with me. She read the lyrics to a song. I forget the name, but the lines “But you made wine out of water, raised Jarius’ daughter, fed thousands with a few fish and some bread…can you make more of me” have been replaying in my mind. She talked about how easy it is to feel empty and inadequate with all that we have on our plate, but God can make wine out of water, and He can feed thousands with only one plate of food to work with. Why can’t he make more of me—change me into something sweeter, more divine? He can, I just have to let him.

I think the process of changing me into something more must be more difficult than changing water into wine. I’m more stubborn. I don’t perfectly obey every one of God’s commands. I want to be wine, but sometimes I’m just water. I want to be more patient, more loving, more charitable, more like Christ—and I’m trying. But when I mess up, when I’m just me, it’s hard to imagine how I could ever be more. Our Stake President spoke on Sunday and the thing I remember most from his message was this: if you want a revelation, ask God to show you your sins. Then ask him to help you overcome them.

That’s what I did this morning. And there wasn’t a shining vision filled with all my wrongdoings, but later—when I was trying (again) to motivate little Atrain to get dressed for school—I saw myself from a different light. Atrain was getting upset with me that I wouldn’t let him have another chocolate egg. He was really mad and he yelled, then raised his hand to hit me. I raised my voice and told him to stop. He didn’t. He kept hitting me…all the way to time out.

As I held the door to his room closed I started crying. I was so angry. I was angry at myself for not teaching him well enough to obey. I was angry at him for not listening when I asked him to stop, used the “stop sign,” told him to “put his hands in his turtle shell,” dishing out all of the “red light” phrases I could think of that we have taught him. But he wouldn’t stop. And then someone helped me understand why. A thought came to me from somewhere outside of my frustrated, offended mind. I know that it wasn’t from God because it didn’t make me feel guilty or inadequate. It taught me that my anger was wrong.

Yes, I was angry at my three-year old because he made a mistake. I was angry at him for not remembering to do something the right way. Even worse—I was mad at him for doing things that God forgives me for on a daily basis. And he’s not even old enough to be held accountable. I was angry, and Atrain could see it in my face. He could hear it in my voice. He could feel it in my body language. He was mad that I was mad. And he was just trying to tell me. My angry reaction taught him nothing.

So, as I sat there holding his door shut, I heart him say, “I’m sorry mom! I’m sorry! I want you to hold me!” I broke down into sobs, sorry for the way I reacted, sorry for my own sin. I scooped him up and held him and said, “Thank you so much for telling me you’re sorry. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry I got angry. I love you.” Atrain thought my tears were funny. He laughed. He frankly forgave me—teaching me again how I need to be. How I want to be. No wonder God wants us to become like little children.

Anyway my dear brother, I sure love you. I know that God can make more out of us than we can ever make on our own. I know that he can also teach us how. Don’t ever listen to feelings of inadequacy that you may have. Don’t ever let anything or anyone tell you that you’re not good enough, that you’re not doing enough. This morning I did have a revelation of sorts when I asked God to show me my sins—God gives us sorry when we flub up, not guilt or feelings of inadequacy. He will teach us and motivate us to do better. Don’t let the devil get you down, brother. I’m so proud of you. Keep up the good work. Thank you for inspiring me.

Love,

MJ

Sunday Drive

Today after church ended I told the husband that I wasn’t going to get out of the car until Atrain fell asleep. He said, “ok.” So, we drove around the city for hours with both our babies sleeping soundly in back. It was amazing.

We worked on the husband’s personal statement for upcoming applications. We admired the beautiful homes in the area. We fantasized about the next few years of our lives: where we will be, what a semi-stable residency program will feel like, and how much more in debt we will be when we get there. We talked about God, the future, how funny it was when Atrain said this morning, “I told you to turn the lights off,” and how sweet it is to hear Jdog giggle—especially when Uncle Esteban had him laughing this weekend.

I think the peace of our slow, meandering Sunday drive will sustain me through the tantrums this week. When I said to the husband, “We’re probably wasting gas,” he replied, “No. We’re buying our sanity.” He was right. He always is. I sure love that man. Wherever we will land in the next few years, one thing is for sure: there will be sweet, slow Sunday drives.