Sunday Ramblings

So. Kevin left for the Sebring this chilly morning. It's a two-hour drive southwest of here-- pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I know this because the kids and I went and visited the members there three weeks ago.

And, yes, it has been chilly today, for Floridians. Within the past three Sundays I have had to wear tights and boots to church twice! I NEVER wear tights. But when it's cloudy, windy, and in the 40's, you do what you have to do to stay warm. Sami was whining this morning about her clothes not matching. I said, "Hey, it's Florida... Nobody has matching winter Sunday clothes. You throw on what you have, and nobody's gonna judge!"

So, anyway, Kevin visited the Sebring ward at 10:00, and then stayed to visit the Lake Placid branch at 1:00, which means they should be finishing up their Sacrament Meeting right about now. From there he will drive to Vero Beach to take care of some interviews there, and he probably won't be home till the kids are getting ready for bed.

Since it's Fast Sunday, I just pray he will be all right traveling without sustenance. But the Lord will bless him... I'm sure he will be fine.

I'm wondering what is going to happen with my own calling now as Young Women President. I have only had this calling since July, but Kevin told be it is very likely that I will be released. I think the Lord is carrying some of my weight right now. I thought I would feel more burdened, and some ward members have expressed their concern for me, but I'm doing okay. I'm actually doing a bit better mentally than I was when Kevin was the bishop. In thinking through the demands of our callings, from a logical standpoint, then, yes, this is too much for our family. But through Divine intervention, I think, I am actually still sane!

I mentioned to Allie this morning on our drive to church of the likelihood of me being released before she turns twelve in March and joins the Young Women. She sank down in her seat and hung her head. She nodded when I asked if that made her sad. "I really wanted you to go to camp with me..."

I'm glad she not only loves me, but still wants me around! (Of course, when we walk to school, she makes it a point to walk ten feet behind me.)

But I do realize how much the kids need their mom around, especially with Dad being gone.

On the upside, though, he no longer has to go to mutual on Wednesdays! This past week was the first time he hasn't had to go in well-over ten years! It was a little lonely for me driving over to the church alone, but I was sure able to get home faster! When 8:15 hit, I picked up my stuff... and just... left. Woah...

I have really enjoyed my time with the young women, in spite of my many inadequacies. They have been good to me-- very forgiving of my weaknesses. Their faith has strengthened mine.

No More Plans

I didn't anticipate the sadness I would feel as Kevin read his own name in Sacrament meeting. I forgot that, as the new stake president of the Vero Beach Stake, he would need to release himself as bishop. He choked on his own words, as he fought back the tears. 

The calling as bishop has been, to this point of our lives, the most challenging and yet rewarding calling. Of course, I hardly know of anything he actually did-- he kept so much of it away from me, so as to not burden me. But I can't even count the number of times a member has called or stopped me in the hall or sent me an email thanking me for giving him to the ward. He listened, he counseled, he loved. And I appreciated that these thoughtful members took even a brief moment to share that with me, especially since, for me, it just meant his absence. 

He loves talking with people, and ministering is his gift. He just knows how to talk with people, and for many of them, his listening ear and compassionate heart is what they needed the most. 

So as he cried as he read his name, I cried with him. I know how much this calling has meant to him. It has been exhausting-- physically, emotionally, and spiritually-- and yet our whole family has gained strength in each of those aspects. That's how the Lord works, really. As we put ourselves in His hands, He stretches and molds and puts us in the fire, almost to the point of breaking. We cry. We pray. We don't fight back or resist. And then He lets go for a moment. We breathe and find ourselves stronger than before. 

And then He takes hold and stretches us again. And again.

Kevin and I talked the other night. I spoke about how in the first five years of our life in Florida, I was frustrated. We had planned to live here five to ten years, but then then the housing market took a heavy hit and our home value decreased significantly. The financial loss we would have taken to sell our home and purchase another would have been devastating. I felt trapped, like I had lost my agency. I wondered why the Lord hadn't stopped us from buying our home, why we both had good feelings about buying our home in the first place if it was going to put us in such a position.

Then he was called as the bishop, and I thought, Oh. This is why... It was humbling.

Over the past five years while he has been bishop, when people have asked us if we are planning to stay in Florida, I have always responded the same way, with a smile and a chuckle. "I have no idea. I have learned not to make plans anymore."

And as Kevin was called to be the new stake president, I realized that it's really no longer about my plans, but the Lord's. He is stretching and molding and putting us through the fire again. I can either fight back with my own plans and desires, or I can allow Him to make us grow into whatever He would have us to be. That is the Law of Consecration. 

I must admit that it was I was a bit sad to walk by the bishop's office after church today, knowing that it was no longer his-- knowing that he wouldn't be standing there near the door, waiting to say goodbye to us as we walked out to the car. Instead he sat in the sacrament meeting of the 2nd ward. 

But I am thankful to Doug Markos for accepting the call. He will be a wonderful bishop. 

Once again, I am in tears. Sad, yes. But so grateful. So humbled. 

I am so thankful to all of Kevin's wonderful counselors through the years-- Mike Watson, Doug Samuels, Rick Turner, Bro. Vonn, Mike Weatherspoon, and Russell Flamm. The wisdom and guidance and support they have given to Kevin has been invaluable. 

President Humphreys and President Fowler were wonderful mentors and friends to him. 

These changes are going to take some getting use to.

But I hold fast to my testimony. I know that this gospel is true. I know that Jesus Christ is at the head of this Church. I know that we are led by a prophet of God. I know that the power of the priesthood is real. I know that my Savior lives and loves and knows me. He knows my weaknesses and struggles, and He knows my strengths and triumphs. Through it all He is with me as much as I allow Him to be. 

The plain and precious truths of the gospel will sustain us. 

No More Babies

The past few days have been hard.

Too many reminders lately that I am no longer a "young" mom-- that I no longer have babies.

* The emails I still get from the Wiggles, even though Drew hasn't been interested in them in nearly two years. I just can't bring myself to unsubscribe.

* The "play dates" the moms in the ward plan for their toddlers. I'm not included anymore-- no need.

* Walking through Publix or Sam's Club alone in the morning, passing by the cookie counter, knowing there is no one with me eligible for a free sugar cookie with sprinkles.

* The bulk-box of baby wipes sitting underneath Eve's bed that hasn't been touched in nearly six months since her last diaper.

How on earth did I get here? How did this happen so fast?

Needless to say, I've been a bit weepy today... Okay, maybe A LOT weepy.

I was so excited to go and help out in Eve's preschool class today, since I've never been able to do it before without having to find a sitter for the younger one left behind.

This was the first time there wasn't a younger one. Convenient, right? And sad...

Young motherhood, of which I've been a part of for the past ten years, has been so incredibly exhausting, physically, mentally, and emotionally. And, in spite of the prophesies I received from nearly every elderly person that walked by, I sort of felt like it was never ending. And, yet, here I am. All four in school without a baby to nurse and cuddle, and contemplating taking the child safety latches off all the cabinets.

I have always had a hard time with change, so this comes as no surprise to me. I bawled like a baby at my last Ensemble concert in middle school, or at my high school graduation, or when I left for BYU... I cry when I think about packing up and moving into the house we are building a mile away-- after all, three of the four babies were newborns here.

Memories mean so much to me. Geez, I hope I don't get Alzheimers.

And my memories (the good ones, anyway) of my children as babies and toddlers and preschoolers, I don't want to leave behind. I really don't think I'm ready for all that to be gone.

Before putting Eve down for her nap thirty minutes ago, I made her promise that she would never grow up and I would stay a mom like I am forever. She threw her head back and laughed with that look of mischief. "Mama..."

On Friday Kevin and I went to the temple, deciding to do sealings of couples and families. The sealer, an 80-something-year-old Brother Allen, would give us a break now and then, since Kevin and I were the only couple (and kneeling across the altar for too long can get tiring). During those breaks he would chat and counsel and teach. He testified of how important families are, and told us, with tears welling up in his eyes, of how he would "Do it all again. In a heartbeat." And I thought how grateful I was that I was living it right now.

The Lord has truly blessed me, although I'm undeserving. My family means absolutely everything to me. They have truly taught me what it means to love deeply and unconditionally. They have given me the slightest, albeit poignant and powerful, glimpse into the love Heavenly Father has for me. And them. And the lady in front of me in the check-out line at the grocery store. And the guy at the intersection panhandling.

My heart is bursting with gratitude for that love. And for the way it has completely changed me.

I guess it's comforting to know that although my phase of life is changing, that love will not. I can keep it with me, along with my precious memories.

I think about those sealings we did... Couples that had passed on a century or more ago were given the chance to seal their marriage beyond mortality into the eternities. Children long ago deceased were sealed to their parents for time and all eternity. Families forever. What a privilege to give others the same blessings given to me the day over fourteen years ago when Kevin and I knelt across the altar.

Although times and seasons change, our family is an eternal unit. Eternal.

I can be okay with life changing. Of course, it's normal to mourn. It's normal to resist change, especially when there has been so much goodness that has come from what has been. But the change will bring goodness, too. Maybe not the same kind. But still. It will be good.

As it is, all of my kids can communicate with me at a relatively intelligent level. None needs a diaper, which means I don't have to carry a diaper bag around with me wherever I go. I can wear whatever I want without having to worry how it will work with a nursing baby.  I can get grocery shopping done in half the time because I don't have to break up any fights or banish anyone to walk behind me because they are messing around (a-hem, Allie and Sami...). The kids can walk home from school by themselves. I can feed all of them nuts and popcorn.

See, it's all good.

And Drew and Eve are still little enough for cuddle time. So I will soak it in while I can.

A Confession

I confess.

I don't run marathons... or triathlons. I don't even have a gym membership. It expired six years ago.

I don't eat solely organic foods, and I don't care a hoot about GMO's.

I don't make my girls' Christmas dresses, nor do I know how, do do I care to learn.

I don't can my own food or make my own beef jerky. I suppose I could learn, but I know myself. It would never get it done. Again, I don't care.

I don't homeschool my kids, or teach piano to my preschoolers.

I don't read books all that much. Shocking, considering I taught English, for crying out loud.

I don't build anything or sew very much, and I am no gourmet chef. And I have no prospects with which to start my own business.

I don't decorate my house with clever odds and ends, purchased from a garage sale and refurbished to look "shabby chic". Truthfully, my house isn't really "decorated" at all.

My house is nearly always a disaster, my carpets are always stained, and my walls are are all the same color (well, except for the scratches and scuffs).

I wear the same flip-flops everyday, my make-up sits in the case lonely and practically unused, my hair always needs trimming, and my clothes are generally made up of sale items or hand-me-downs.

So, go ahead. Look down on me if you want. Seriously, have at it.

Because I just don't care anymore. Or at least, I don't want to care.

No matter whatever few things I accomplish, somebody will always accomplish more. Someone will always be smarter, prettier, more talented, clever, or handy. But life isn't about me. Even my own life-- it isn't about me.  And yet it is. The challenge is to just get over myself... while remembering how important I am.

I think about some of the most positively influential (and happy) people in the world-- Mother Teresa, the apostles, even our Savior Jesus Christ (who once was mortal, remember)-- and their impact was so far-reaching because they lost themselves. They didn't put themselves at the center of their own world.

(Ironic, really, in the case of the Savior, considering He created that world...)

Such people don't need constant validation. Such people don't need to compare or criticize or boast. They aren't even looking at themselves anyway. They aren't even the type to dwell on everything they aren't, because such thinking is vain. It's a waste of time and energy to dwell on such things.

Such people understand that their value is not truly equated with what they accomplish.

Their value is defined simply by the fact that they exist at all. That they are truly unique sons and daughters of God. That each is one-of-a-kind royalty-- from a mold that was broken the moment they came to be.

All of this temporal, superficial stuff just doesn't matter. Of course it does matter to always try to learn new skills and develop one's talents, but the extent to which I do that, or in what manner, really doesn't matter. It does not, because is should not, influence my view of my own worth.

So back to my challenge. Yeah, it's time to get over myself. I'm not Wonder Woman, and I never will be. Heck, I won't even come close really.

I will continue to just do the best I can... which may be different than your best. And I won't think twice about it. I need to do a lot less dwelling on me (for bad or good), and look past my own nose.

After all, it's not about me.

My Kids

Allie had to stay up a bit late tonight working on her homework. One of the assignments took her entirely too long to do, which was her own doing. "Write a story that includes the word 'pilfer'." That's it. One word. I asked her what on earth was taking her so long. I mean, come one, it's one dang word. She said the story could be as long as she wanted it to be. Translation-- write a novel. Okay, so it really wasn't that long, but still...

So, yes, she had to stay up a wee past her bedtime finishing up a math assignment, when I came across two graded reading tests in her folder. Both marked with a "C". Ouch. Although, I already knew about these grades after having seen them posted online the day before.  But considering how much this kid loves to read, and knowing of her sharp "thinker", grades like this must have a story. When she finished her assignment I sat down to talk with her.

I told her I had seen her grades online and that she had all A's... except for one. She scrunched up her face, a sheepish smile crossing her lips. She muttered, "Was it reading?" I nodded and I showed her the tests. We talked about what happened, and figured she was reading the tests the same way she reads for enjoyment-- lightning fast, and without attention to detail. She also confessed that she tended to hurry through tests so that she could spend the extra time leftover reading. That kid would live in a library if I would let her. As long as she had a never-ending supply of quesadillas she would be good to go.

We took a few minutes and discussed some strategies to help her get through the tests. She seemed to feel better. More hopeful. I gave her a hug, and she looked up at me with her sweet blue eyes. Love poured out of them. No, it gushed out. She wrapped her arms around me and then off she went.

Earlier this evening, before I gathered the troops to the kitchen to clean up, Sami, the ringleader of fun (and mischief), had convinced Drew and Eve to dress up in socks, knitted caps, scarves, and gloves, to "ice skate" around the tile in the entry way. They looked absolutely ridiculous... and absolutely adorable.

And I thought, "I sure love my kids."

My house is a disaster, with a large refrigerator box "playhouse" practically smacking you in the face when you walk through the front door. Toys are scattered far from their "homes". I did straighten up the living room after all the kids were in bed, which means I just moved the mess-- threw some stuff in the toy room and set the rest by the kids' bedroom doors.

The mess used to really both me. I mean really bother me. Then I realized, finally, after having been told a zillion and half times by older friends and strangers alike, that this time of life passes way too quickly-- to just take time to really soak it in and enjoy it. When, at the end of the last school year, I saw that Allie would be soon moving on the fourth grade, I sort of panicked. Where did the time go? She is almost ten... I was then that I decided (yes, I made a conscious choice) to not let the mess bother me. I wouldn't allow it to depress me anymore. I knew that all too soon that mess would be gone. Forever. And, yes, I would miss it.

I remember years ago on one of our visits to my parents' house, when, after having only been there a day, the kids had managed to scatter every toy and book in their house from one end to the other. My dad walked in after work, looked around and started laughing. I apologized. He waved it off and said, "Nah. It just looks like there is life here again." And he smiled. It makes me teary to even remember that. I didn't get it at all then. But I am starting to get it now.

Too fast. It's all too fast.

My family brings me so much happiness. Yeah, I feel a lot of anger, too... along with frustration, sadness, and discouragement. But the happiness is unmatched. That is what I want to take with me. I want to look back on these days and say I loved it. Realistically, I could never love every moment, but I can choose to make more moments to love.

My four sweet babies... If any of you ever read this, know two things-- that I love you forever, and that I love being with you. You are happiness.