No foolin around; it's hard to be a mom.

In most professions you can put in a certain amount of effort and expect a certain outcome. But, as a mother, you never know what to expect. You can wake up hours before you need to be somewhere, but still have to manage a meltdown over a missing toy right when you’re supposed to be headed out the door. You can love a little person more than anything in the world and they may still scream at you, splash you and slap you in the face when they don't want to get out of the bathtub. No matter how many pairs of shoes you pick up during the day, there’s bound to be at least a few more pairs hanging out on the ground, waiting to trip you when you’re holding the basket of laundry you just folded. And, you can try your hardest to be your best and still somehow end up feeling like you’re failing at the end of the day. I ain’t foolin’ around; some days it’s just hard to be a mom.

Happy Anniversary, Cochlears

Two years ago today the husband and I took the biggest risk of our lives. March 31 was the day we had looked forward to and dreaded since the birth of our first son. It was the day little Atrain would trade in his hearing aids for cochlear implants. Actually, to be more accurate, it was the day his parents exchanged his high-powered, yet impotent acoustic hearing devices for two surgically implanted bionic ears. It was the only way he would have a chance at breaking the sound barrier that threatened to keep him from communicating, from connecting.

So, we loaded our one year old baby into the car and headed to Primary Children’s Hospital. We signed papers that said we would not sue the surgeons if anything went wrong while he was in the OR. Handing him over to the anesthesiologist and listening to him yell my name down the hospital halls was the worst moment of my life. The next five hours felt heavy, like my blood had turned to liquid led. But, I also felt strength—as if I was not the one lifting my head, moving my feet, inflating my lungs. And I wasn’t; God was with us that day.

I have never been more scared, and then relieved than when Atrain’s surgeon walked into the waiting room to report. All had gone well. As I held him in the recovery room and through all of the stages in the months that followed, it was hard not to loathe myself. Cochlear implants don’t instantaneously allow one to hear—it takes a lot of work. They are not a “cure” for deafness, and many would argue that we were selfish and ignorant for trying. But I ask what about parenting isn’t selfish? I don’t mean to say that answering the call for good parents to raise good kids who will be honorable members of their communities is not also selfless. But whether your kids are deaf or not, we all make choices about what they will hear and say, what they will and won’t be exposed to, how they interpret their surroundings, etc.

When the day comes that my children can choose for themselves, I don’t want their choices to be limited. Sure, I can’t control everything, in fact sometimes I wonder if there is anything at all that I can control. But, I hope to give them every opportunity to experience a fulfilled, happy life. If Atrain ever decides that taking off his implants and using ASL is the way he will be most happy and fulfilled in life, I will sign right along with him and be happy that I gave him the choice.

Until then, I will be selfishly satisfied every time my child asks me to turn up the music, every time he’s able to join in a game of “duck duck goose,” on the playground, every time he laughs at Mater’s silly sayings, and every time he clearly tells me “I love you more than all of the cars and the roads in the whole world.” I love you too, Atrain. Happy Anniversary.

A Happy Heart

Dear Elder I,

My heart is full today, overflowing actually. And there is no particular reason. Scenes from the weekend keep replaying like hazy old movies in my mind: Atrain asking me if I was married then telling me with sweet squinting eyes that he loves my pretty hair; Jdog working on his gorilla sitting pose, and kicking and squirming with excitement whenever the light up ball rolls past him on the floor; driving like a crazy woman through the city with Allerina trying to find a church playing the General Young Women’s broadcast; and going on a date with the husband, having him near me—so close, so kind, so considerate.

For the past week or two I’ve felt sort of stuck in a puddle of mud. I’m not sure if it’s the anxiety and stress hanging on from the ER weekend, but every brave attempt I made to pull myself out just sucked me deeper into the mire. But for some reason today I made progress. Nothing all that different happened, but I know that God was helping me see and feel all that is good in my life (rather than focusing on everything I need to worry about). I did remember to say a good prayer this morning. Maybe that made all the difference.

We went to church, and then went to our family’s homes as usual. Maybe it was watching dad play board games with Atrain for an hour, or hearing him say that Atrain is as close as you get to an angel. It might have been mom’s sweet smile and steady spirit that steadied me. Perhaps it was the impromptu violin recital at the in-laws that helped fill my heart with gratitude. Or maybe it was listening to Jdog copy Atrain’s crazy, excited squeals. I don’t know exactly what it was, but I feel refreshed, renewed and full of thanks. Life is good. It’s not easy, but it is good.

JD, you’re not going to recognize Dalliwag when you return. He’s already excited about trying to grow taller than you. He’s well on his way and he still has over a year to work on that goal. It will be fun to see you two side by side when you get home. Also, it sure will be fun for you to meet little Jdog. He is such a sweet baby—a somewhat serious little fellow who makes me work hard for his giggles—but so darn patient and precious. Just what our crazy house needs.

Anyhow my brother, sounds like little Atrain is up. He is complaining he is dizzy. Poor guy. The doctors didn’t have much to offer us in terms of treatment of childhood vertigo caused by LVA. Keep him in your prayers. I love you. Oh—and your lady in waiting told me this weekend that you are “one in a million.” She is sure a sweetheart, but you already know that.

Love, MJ

Hans, the Babysitter

Today was an exceptionally average day…until the husband came home. We cleaned the apartment with the help of a new motivational job chart that Atrain really took to heart. Of course there were a few sword-fighting sessions between chores, but I was pleasantly surprised by Atrain’s ability to stay on task. Jdog (aka baby Michael from Peter Pan) hung around my waist and screeched at his big pirate brother named Tiffany (still unsure about the origin of scurvy name). We had lunch with a few work friends at the cafeteria. It is always fun to see Atrain’s excitement over the food selection and soft serve ice-cream machine. “Mom, I can’t believe this,” was the phrase of the afternoon. We ran a few errands, got dinner ready, and played in the sand box. By all accounts, it was going to be an exceptionally average day.

And then the husband came home. He surprised us while we were making 4-wheeler tracks in the sand box. We chatted about our days as we watched Atrain play. Then, from somewhere within the deep, beautiful recesses of the husband’s marvelous mind, a light bulb turned on. “Tonight is my AOA banquet,” he said urgently. “What?” I asked, not because I didn’t hear him, but because it was a little hard to hear that tonight was the ceremony where he would finally get a little recognition for the thousands of hours he’s spent frying his brains on text books for the past three years. And we didn’t have a babysitter.

Panic mode. I couldn’t just throw in my chips and fold. I missed my own honors induction banquet and it’s my only MPA regret. Atrain was extremely tired, having missed his nap. I couldn’t take him. For a moment I considered loading him into trusty Bob stroller where he might fall asleep on the way to the banquet, but that was a stretch. Perhaps I could get him to go to bed soon enough that I could beg someone I was comfortable enough inconveniencing to come and stay with him while I jetted over to the awards ceremony. So, that’s what I did. But, my “comfortable inconveniencing” list isn’t very long, and after a few phone calls to other mothers, I had no luck. I started to consider accepting defeat as the husband walked out the door in his suit. It was simply too late of notice and too ridiculous to expect anyone to drop their lives to sit at my home while the big boy slept. As I put Atrain down for the night I sent out one last desperate text message to my buddy from work, a really nice, tough, dependable undergrad I’ll call Hans.

Jdog was asleep and I was lying down with Atrain, imagining the husband up on stage accepting his accolades with no one to take pictures of him, admire him, and to tell him to stop being embarrassed because he deserves all of the applause. As soon as Atrain fell into slow, deep breaths, I heard my phone beep. A text message. I wiggled myself free from our cuddle and untangled my hair from his fingers. I darted to my phone on the dresser and it was Hans. He could come, as long as his study group could come to. No problem. I even had a bunch of uneaten food on the stove they could eat while they studied. My heroes. I called to make sure that he was sure, and he was. As I threw on my nearest dressy outfit I wondered when the last time was that Hans had babysat.

The undergrad study group arrived just as I got Jdog loaded into the car seat. I thanked Hans, told him to eat anything in my fridge he wanted, and said to just call me if Atrain woke up. I can imagine how startled my big boy would be to find a few unfamiliar faces in his home without his mommy and it wouldn’t be pretty. But, I forgot about it, knowing that he would be safe. Hans is pretty strong. He could probably take anything Atrain had to dish out. Probably. I threw on my high heels and ran out the door, all the way to the medical school. There I found the handsome husband sitting at a table with an empty chair next to him, waiting for the keynote speaker to begin his speech. Jdog and I were a conspicuous addition to the formal, serious looking crowd. But I didn’t care. I swept my undone hair behind my ears, adjusted my skirt, cradled my baby in my arms and slipped in right beside the husband.

The husband squeezed my hand. A little smile grew across my lips. We made it. We still have another year to go, then another five years of residency after than, and (of course) a lot of decisions to make along the way. But, if we’ve managed to get this far. What’s another year? Sure there will be a few (or a lot) more forgetful evenings and desperate calls for babysitters, but it will be worth it. Just like it was worth it to hold his hand and watch him walk sheepishly to the front for his AOA top five in the class moment of recognition. I am sure proud of him.

I am also proud of Hans, who bravely answered a text from a desperate mother tonight, and drug his study group to our home to guard my sleeping boy. What a champ. All was well when we returned with left-over cheese cake in tow to offer our gratitude to the brave undergrads. Thank you, Hans. If you're brave enough to answer my call tonight, your mission call to Germany should be a piece of cake.

A Dizzy Day

This morning when Atrain awoke he wouldn’t lift his head off of his pillow. He had a tummy ache and was dizzy. LVAS vertigo was creeping up on him again. Poor kiddo. He was late for school, but I decided to go at his pace. I don’t know how often to expect dizzy mornings like this (and the specialists don’t know either), so I need to set a precedent for how to handle them. We can’t just default to the Disney Chanel.

I tried not to push him too hard, but also wanted him to know that we were still going to try to follow our schedule as planned, and to let me know if he started feeling better. We changed him into his underwear and clothes, ate breakfast on the blanket on in the living room and read scriptures all with his head glued to the floor. When he announced that he needed to go to the bathroom I carried in his port-a-potty, and held him steady while he did his business (even though he protested). I was trying to be brave. So was he. “I’m having a sick day,” he said. “You’re right,” I responded, “We’re just going to go slow.

Sooner or later he started to chipper up, occasionally holding his head up to adjust his cars or take a bite of toast. We read a few stories and then Atrain began to stand, pushing his dump truck down the hall. I exhaled. He was getting better. I asked if he would like to go to school, and told him how excited his friends would be to see him. “And Sammy will be so happy and say, ‘It’s Atrain,” he elaborated. “Yep, then Zoe will say, ‘We missed you,” I assured him. He smiled. I love that little smile.

We packed his lunch and headed to his school. As soon as we came in the classroom his friends and teachers did just as we predicted. “It’s Atrain!” They yelled, “He’s here, he’s better!” And after he heard his little friends’ welcome, he was as steady as steel. After telling his teachers, I headed to the indoor track to get a bit of exercise and linger close to Atrain, just in case the vertigo returned.

I walked around the track with Jdog in my arms and kept my eyes on the playground through the two way glass, waiting for Atrain’s class to appear. I let my guard down and shed a few frustrated, confused tears. Then Jdog looked up at me with his squishy sweet smiles and I pulled myself together again.

There are a lot of things I can’t control in life. As much as I would love to be able to create perfect circumstances to perfectly prepare my kids for everything they may encounter in life, I can’t. I shouldn’t want to anyway. It’s more important for my kids to understand that there will be disappointment, there are a lot of things we can’t understand, people aren’t perfect, organizations aren’t perfect, and (especially) I am not perfect. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do our best with what we’ve got, and always keep trying to get better. I won’t stop trying to be a better mother for them. They deserve the best.

If I Woulda Been an Attorney

Tonight on the way home from Spork the husband and I were imagining what our lives would have been like if I had gone to law school. I toyed around with the idea right before I finished my undergrad, but opted out because I was too intimidated. I can still be such a cowardly lion, searching desperately for a badge of courage. I would have loved law school, but I didn’t know it then, so I can’t be too hard on myself for not trying. Besides, I still have a lot of time, and I wouldn’t trade my experience with my master’s degree in public administration. Perhaps someday I will make a great city attorney.

Anyhow, as we drove home the husband was envisioning how his med school live would have been with his lawyer wife: no debt, a decent home, and me having to go by my maiden name so just incase I was in the business of medical malpractice (which I wouldn’t have, but the irony is just awesome). Then I reminded him that I may not have scored high enough on the LSAT to score a spot at a school in state—and then where would we have been? Wedded partners studying law and medicine in two different states. Yuck.

But he refuted my logic, “You would have scored enough easily…plus you’re a woman.” Great. I was really enjoying the boost of hypothetical self esteem until he reminded me that I’m still just a woman, struggling for air below a glass ceiling. But I’m not really mad at the husband. He’s just a poor, practical man, thoughtlessly sticking me in a smaller economic bracket because I’m a girl.

If he could have read my mind he would have been scared stupid by such poisonous phrases shaping themselves into blow darts. But instead, these words stumbled off my lips, “What? You’re saying that I would have made it into law school here because women are stupider?” Yep. And as soon as I spit out that last little ‘er’ we both started laughing. I didn’t even have the composure to pretend like I meant to say it.

To the women of the world: sorry I screwed that one up.

Aging

Yesterday Allerina came to spend the night at our home. I love that little girl. But she really isn’t so little any more. And, every time I get to have her over, I start feeling older.

She was wearing a jacket that said ’15 on the sleeve. It took me a moment to realize that those numbers stood for the year she is going to graduate. Then it took me a long time to admit that ’15 is 13 years after ’02.

She said she wanted to watch a scary movie because she’s “so into them lately.” So, I pulled out an old “What Lies Beneath” VHS I got from the DI. She had never even heard of the thriller that made the husband sleep in his parents’ room when he was a teenager. Thankfully she did know what a VHS tape was.

While here she watched me fumble in circular frustration after misplacing my phone, my key card and my keys. I’m glad it didn’t all happen at once, and that they were all soon recovered, but the recurrent episodes of forgetfulness are beginning to scare me. Plus, I sound so much like my mom whenever I get flustered (not that that means that I’m old).

Finally, I couldn’t get enough of her “teenage drama queen” mode. It’s rather easy to access. All you have to do is say something slightly inflammatory about boys, or friends or PMS and her beautiful brown eyes start rolling. If you want her to become especially peeved, tease her about being boring.

My diva of a little sister is anything but boring; however this seems to be her worst fear. I was giving her a hard time about how she and her friend threw the fish (I gave her for her birthday) off of the deck after taking turns with the poor little thing flopping around in their mouths. And this is what she said, “Ok, maybe that was sorta stupid, but at least I wasn’t sitting around alone playing board games.” Instant laughter jumped right out of my mouth, and I hugged her. “You’re such a good girl,” I said. “In your mind, the worst possible thing you could be doing is not drinking, or drugs, or even noncommittal make out sessions with stupid adolescent boys. It’s playing board games.”

…Which brings me back to confess that I am getting old, and probably quite boring, because I would love to just sit around some night with the husband playing board games. But at least my cool little teenage sister still wants to hang out with me. Maybe I’m not that old and boring after all.