My Boy

Tonight during "snuggle time" (our pre-bedtime ritual), Mercie & Eric asked me to tell the stories of how they came to be in our family. So I did. As usual, I got a little teary. Okay, I bawled so hard one of my contacts flipped out of my eye and off the bed. All by itself.

The miracles that brought each of my babies home bring out the most tender feelings.

The thing is, my daughters, for some bizarre reason known only to them, find nothing else quite so funny as mom getting emotional. If they hear even the teensiest hint of a quaver in my voice, the glint of a tear in my eye, or even a few rapid breaths as I try NOT to cry; they start laughing hysterically and calling each other to come see, and let me tell you--THAT kills those tender feelings dead, yessiree bob.

Note: I feel compelled to state, for the record, that I am a somewhat remarkably UN-emotional woman, who does not tend to get choked up or teary, especially compared to many women I know. Nothing against them, and sometimes I wish I were more easily moved, but I am what I am, and that makes my daughters' response all the more baffling.

So, here we are, telling stories and I'm crying my eyes out (literally) and I'm bracing myself for the loud disdain and uncontrollable laughter, and instead I get--

A little pre-manly arm wrapped around my waist, and a little recently buzzed head tucked onto my shoulder, while a little boy hand pats me. "It's okay, mom, I don't care if you cry."

I gulp back sobs (in a very elegant and graceful way, of course). "I'm sorry, guys. These are happy tears. It just makes me so happy to remember how happy I was when you came to our family."

"Don't worry about it, mom. You can cry here with me." Pat, pat. Sob, sob.

People, I love my girls. Passionately, thoroughly, eternally. I love the frilly, froufy parts of having girls, I love their high spirits and strong characters, their scary smarts and their fun personalities.

And oh my merciful heavens--and yes, it was through that Merciful Heavenly intervention--I love, love, love my boy. Cannot even put it into words how much I love this precious boy.

Someday he is going to make a very special woman very, very happy and very, very lucky. I know this, because I'm the Other Woman in his life, and I can attest that the qualities she'll fall in love with run deep in the marrow of his soul, manifesting even from the time he was a tiny boy.

It's a very good thing to have a boy.

The Good, the Bad, and the Just Plain Weird

Overheard outside the olders’ bedroom:

Grace: Let’s practice our cheerleading.

Mia: Okay. Do you want to do a school cheer or make up our own? 

Grace: Let’s make up our own. Ready? S-I-S-T-E-R-H-O-O-D!!! S-I-S-T-E-R-H-O-O-D!!! We love to be together, ra-ra-rah! Sisterhood, Sisterhood, I-LOVE-YOU!!!!!!!

They just might be the cutest thing ever.

* * * * * *

It’s tough being the only boy in an estrogen-filled household, especially when no one respects your mad weaponry skills.

Eric: Mom, here’s all my guns.

Me: Um, okay. Why do I need all your guns?

Eric: Because I think I’m not old enough to handle them and I just get in trouble with them, so I need you to keep them for me until I can handle this gun thing better.

Did I say “boy”? I’m thinking this kid is earning the “man” title. I know some forty-year old boys who could learn a thing or two from Eric’s self-awareness.

* * * * * * *

Mom gets in the shower, after first leaving the kids with a list of tasks to do so that they won’t kill each other or burn the house down while she’s in a compromised position. The kids, responding to the universal law of kid-dom, that if Mom is indisposed you must immediately cause all hell to break loose, begin a screaming, screeching rampage through the house. The overall object of the game appears to be who can open the bathroom door and tattle on the others the highest number of times.

Mia actually makes it past the bathroom door and opens the shower curtain to plead her case.

Me: (frantically yanking the shower curtain back) Mia! Get out of here!

Mia: Eric is trying to headbutt me AGAIN, and by the way, you look really pretty when you’re naked.

Nice try, kiddo.

* * * * * * *

Mercie: Guess what? I know that repentance stuff you told us about really works.

Me: Oh really? How do you know?

Mercie: Well, I tried it.

Me: Really? What did you repent of?

Mercie: Well, I sneaked on your iPad and I watched part of a grown up movie. Then I went in my room and I prayed and told Heavenly Father I was sorry about watching a grown up movie, and then I couldn’t remember the grown up movie anymore. It totally worked!

Note to self: change netflix password. Again.

* * * * * * *

Mom runs into her bedroom to see if she can change into jammies before any of the children realize she’s gone and burn the house down. Mia follows.

Mia: You know what? If there was a contest, and all the third graders had to watch you get undressed, and the prize went to whoever was not distracted, I would totally win because I’ve seen you get undressed and I wouldn’t be distracted, but all the other kids would be SOOOOO distracted if they saw you changing clothes. I would definitely win that contest.

Me: Where do you come up with this stuff???

I worry about that kid sometimes.

* * * * * * *

Mia: Aiden has a crush on me. He pretended to smooch me on the teeter-totters.

Me: What did you do?

Mia: I laughed because it was funny. Then the teacher came over to ask me a question. That’s why she’s probably going to call you.

Me: Why is she going to call me about a question?

Mia: Well, it’s not a question. It’s because I kind of got in trouble.

Me: What did you kind of do to kind of get in trouble?

Mia: She said she needed to talk to me and I said, “Not now lady, I’m talking to Mr. Handsome here.” She didn’t think it was funny. Aiden did, though. He thought it was hilarious.

Me: Uh….

Sometimes kids just leave you speechless.

* * * * * * *

Grace: Jonathan loves me.

Me: Oh really? How do you know?

Grace: Jocelyn told me.

Me: How did Jocelyn know? 

Grace: Jonathan told her. We were standing in line for recess.

Me: And Jonathan just told her?

Grace: No, he told her last year, but he still does love me. He was standing right there.

Me: So he heard Jocelyn tell you?

Grace: No, she used sign language! Duh, mom, nobody talks about love with WORDS!

She has a point there.

* * * * * * *

Mercie: Here’s some money, Mom.

Me: Um, why?

Mercie: So you can adopt a baby.

Me: That’s the entire allowance I just gave you.

Mercie: yeah, I know.

Me: Why do you want another baby so bad?

Mercie: ‘Cause this family is like the best thing that ever happened to me, so I want another baby to have our family, too.

Aw man, I’m tearing up just writing that one.

Kids. They might be the most expensive, time-consuming, exasperating, exhausting endeavor I’ll ever take on, but at the end of the day, I’m with Mercie—this family is the best thing that ever happened to me. 

That, and the entertainment value is priceless. 

Life Lessons on ebay

About a week ago I did a very routine thing and ordered something small on ebay for my girls. When I say "routine," I mean that I've got over ten years on ebay and several hundred rated transactions. When I say "small," I mean a whopping $3.77, including shipping. Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy.

The whole episode should have lasted ten seconds, start to finish.

As sometimes happens, it quickly mushroomed into so much more.

Apparently when I set up my paypal account to accept donations for my current election campaign, I inadvertently removed my other bank account--you know, the one that pays for things I buy on ebay. Assuming it would be a quick and easy fix (HA!) I filled out the online form and waited.

Long story short, I'm still waiting. Paypal is being spectacularly unhelpful, which is leading me to rethink our relationship.

On the other hand, the poor ebay seller who landed in the middle of my messed-up account, is quickly moving up my shortlist for sainthood.

So many emails between us that I've lost track. Two trips to my bank. Emails from me to ebay. Emails from her to ebay. Treks to the post office--one for me; one for her.

Yesterday I sent what I expect will be my last email, ending with my profuse thanks for her patience and good nature through this, all for a sale that won't even get her a combo meal at her local burger joint.

Her response: "The nice thing about complications like this is the chance to get to know each other. That's a good thing."

And here's what is just rocking my world right now: how many times do I look at the complications of life, the messiness of relationships, the little daily agonies of family life, the ups and downs of friendship, and think "this is a chance to draw closer together, this is a good thing."

I believe the answer to that is never.

I roll my eyes, I huff and puff, I drag my feet, I whine, I complain, I throw up my hands, I walk away. I think my solution to annoying problems is more along the lines of "grit your teeth, hang on tight, and ride it out."

Yet aren't relationships built out of complications? Isn't it in the messiness, loudness, and craziness that we truly connect with each other? My kids and I love each other because of fun swim trips and happy snuggle times and awesome giggle sessions, but we love each other even more because of cleaning up puke in the middle of the night and footrubs for sore feet and saying "I'm sorry" and freely forgiving.

Ms. Ebay Seller Joni could have rolled her eyes, gritted her teeth, and been a total jerk about my problems. After all, there were MY problems. She didn't ask for me to stumble into her ebay shop and spend (or attempt spending) a whopping $3.77. She could have made things much more difficult. She could have basically ignored me, because really, $3.77 is hardly worth it.

She chose to be nice. Don't we all kinda pretty much love people who show kindness even when they don't have to, even when we don't deserve it, even when it wasn't their problem? Yeah.

I saw a sale. She saw a relationship, even if it was just a teensy-tiny one over the internet.

I'm thinking that what I got out of this is worth far more than $3.77.

Family Time

Eric spent last night on a father-son campout with his dad. When he woke up the morning before he seemed a little nervous.

"You okay, bud?" I asked.

"Yeah," he sighed, doing that sucking on two fingers thing that has always been his favorite coping mechanism, and which has slowly been disappearing as he becomes more of a MAN.

"It's just, I'm nervous because I've never been away from my sisters before."

I didn't bother reminding him that he has actually been apart from them a couple of times before, when he's had sleepovers at mom's house or dad's house, in order to get some quality one-on-one time. I understand that going off to the scary outdoors and sleeping outside, and doing it all without the loud, obnoxious sisters who run his life, could be a little overwhelming.

Still, he was excited. He barely threw us a backward glance as he ran to help pack the car when I dropped him off.

The sisters chose shopping for our girls-night-out, and shop they did. They shopped and shopped until Mommy dropped. The thought of those girlies as teens is truly terrifying. However, even with the lure of commercialism, it took less than an hour before they started moaning about how much they missed Eric.

In and out of every store, to and from the car, they maintained a running litany about how much they missed Eric and how much more fun it would have been if he were here, too.

When we finally collapsed at home, Mia spoke for the group.

"If it's been this hard having Eric gone for just one night, how are we ever going to survive when he goes on a mission???"

I didn't tell her that she might be pushing him out the door by then, or that we've got years of scout camps and school trips and other adventures to prepare us for that separation. I didn't tell her that it will be easier because they'll be grown up by then and maybe not as close as they all are right now.

I didn't say any of that. I just blessed the moment, in between the fights and the sibling rivalry and the tattling and all the messiness that comes with four little people learning together how to be big people; blessed this one precious evening when we could all be reminded that what we love most of all is just being together.

One lucky momma, that's me.

Rocking Grace

Some background:

Gracie was born dancing. At two weeks old she scooted from one corner of her crib to the other. At four months she entertained herself--and her teachers--at daycare by spending hours bouncing up and down in her exersaucer. In short, the girl was born to move.

Today my little girl turned nine, and she is beautiful. She's such a tweeny-bopper, coordinating her clothes and practicing cheers and beating all the boys in foot races.

A couple of weeks ago she accompanied me on a shopping trip where she discovered a row of wooden rocking chairs. Miss Always-In-Motion parked her butt on one and instantly settled down into pure bliss. As I did my shopping she kept returning to the rocking chairs. When I finally coaxed her away after I'd checked out and paid, she sighed. "Ah, if I had one of those at home, I'd never be mad again. If I got upset I'd just go in my room and rock."

Last weekend Grace was with her dad. As I ran my errands and did my child-free stuff I couldn't shake the feeling that I should get Grace a rocking chair for her birthday. For the record, I was already done with her birthday shopping. For the record, I'm a birthday minimalist. For the record, rocking chairs are bigger and more expensive than I do for birthdays.

Also for the record--when I have those feelings, I've learned to listen. Plus, I love my kid.

When I brought the rocker home it looked a little lonely sitting there by itself. The thought popped into my head that I should also give Grace my special teddy bear. It's a plain brown bear that I inherited at Christmas time when we spent the holidays with my family and my mom decided that everyone--including me--should have teddy bears. For some reason Grace prefers my teddy bear, and when she is most stressed or upset she'll ask if she can snuggle my bear. So the bear sat on the rocking chair and waited for Grace as well.

That's when it finally sort of clicked in my mind. This more-than-I-would-usually-do-for-a-birthday was exactly what I wanted my daughter to know of God's love. It's how God parents me. He gives me ongoing reminders of just how much He loves me, even when He doesn't have to, even when there isn't a reason, even when it's over the top and far more than I deserve. Grace's life would have been perfectly fine and happy without the rocking chair or the teddy, but I gave them to her because I love her and I want her to be not only happy, but gloriously, profoundly happy.

Even more than I wanted her to have the exciting moment of walking in her room to discover that she had exactly what she wanted, I want her to know the depth of God's love for her.

When she came home there was a card on the teddy bear's lap that read:

Dear Grace, 
I love you so much. I wanted you to have a rocking chair to rock on when you are upset, and I wanted to you to have my teddy bear to hold when you are scared. I want things that make you happy because I love you SOOOOOO much! Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do. I hope you'll always remember that He wants good and happy things for you, even more than I do. I hope you'll know that He loves you, and that when you sit in the chair and you hold your teddy, you'll feel my love and you'll feel God's love for you. I love you, sweetie! 
Love, 
Mom

Isn't it awesome that we get to share the parenting experience with Him?

A Matter of Perspective

Tonight the older girls and I tried a restaurant we'd never tried before. Candlelit and comfortable, it was a pleasant dining experience, and they enjoyed practicing their grown up manners.

Grace made the rather odd--though true--observation that the entire waitstaff was male; not a woman in the bunch. As dinner progressed, judging from the flirting going on, the attractive male waiters were most likely much more interested in each other than any woman. Cindy Crawford could have walked in and I'm not sure they would have noticed.

Near the end of dinner Mia said, "Mom, do you know why every guy in here is being so nice to you and bringing us food all the time?"

"Uh, because we're paying them lots of money?"

"No! Because you are so beautiful. You're like, the prettiest lady here."

Someday her rose-colored mommy-glasses will come off, but until then, I'll just soak it in.

Definitions

This past Sunday my back was out of whack, so the whole family stayed home from church. Not a problem--we held our own Primary meeting on my bed.

Grace was the Primary teacher. She had Eric and Mercie draw pictures of their families and then she asked them questions.

"Mercie, what is a family?"

"Um, it's a mom and a dad and brothers and sisters."

"Very good. Eric, what is a family?"

"Love."

"MOM!!!! Eric doesn't even know what a family is!!!!"

I don't know--from where I sit, I think Eric pretty much nailed it.

Merry Christmas from Grace

Grace came home from school today with a holiday card for her beloved Mama.

Dear Mom,

I love you when am I going to your work? I love you so so so so so so so much Love Grace To Mom One thing I left on the crismas list is a repunzel barbie to mom from grace. PS pleze rite me back

I especially like how she didn't exploit holiday sentiments to ask for anything in return, or use this buttering-up opportunity to sneak in a last wishlist request.

Second Best

When I was a little girl I proudly announced to my teacher, when asked what I planned to be when I grew up, that I was going to be a mommy and have 12 kids.

When I was 14, a boy at church tried to insult me by predicting my future: "You're such a molly you're going to have 12 kids, live on a cattle ranch, be married to the bishop, and write mormon cookbooks." To his dismay, I didn't see it as the insult he intended. I thought it sounded perfect.

In college wards--three in a row--the end of the year found me voted Most Likely to Have 12 Kids, and again, I took it as the ultimate compliment.

If I had ever stopped to sketch out my dream life it would have looked very much like this: Stay-at-home mom to 12 or so kids, all delivered naturally & possibly via home birth, probably home schooling, writing books (though not necessarily cookbooks) on the side, married to an awesome guy who totally supported all of those endeavors, living off the land and possibly off the grid...you get the idea. It's a completely different life from the one I have.

Thank God it's completely different from the wonderful, amazing, totally perfect life I have. Oh, how I thank God that I ended up with this wonderful, amazing, totally perfect-for-me life.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because I wasn't able to have children "of my own." I look at my beautiful, beautiful children, who look nothing like me and never will, and I am grateful all the way down to my toes that I was blessed to have THEM; not the genetic clones I envisioned. I feel the love of their birthfamilies, surrounding the kids and sustaining me. I look at all the ways adoption has expanded my soul and opened my heart and enriched my world, and I'm humbled to the ground that God's plan for me included this "second-best" path.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because my path to wedded bliss took a painful detour through divorce. Ironically, some of those pitying looks come from people whose own marital experience could best be described as the next road over from hell, so I take the self-righteous pity for what it's worth--a thinly veiled attempt to feel better about their own circumstances. This one is harder to write about because I don't have a happy ending to tack on as the moral of the story. I do, however, kinda agree with the handcart pioneers, that my divorce and subsequent experiences have been a small price to pay for knowing God. The kind of close-up, intimate knowing that only comes when you are down in the mud...yeah, I'd do it all again if it meant coming through with the knowledge, deep down to the core of me, that God is always there for me.

And you know, as much as I adore my kids, I'm really glad that I'm not living the stay-at-home mommy life that I imagined. I love that my kids have benefited from many loving people besides me. I'm glad that they've been able to learn, from early ages, that the world is full of kind people, that they can trust the world and be safe in the world, because they've been blessed with wonderful caregivers. I'm glad that God's plan for my life has involved an endless parade of college students who share their enthusiasm and energy and fun, not just with me, but with my kids. My kids think I have a coolest job on the planet, and I would have to agree. Thank goodness God knew that giving me lots of grownup kids to mother, in addition to my four little ones, would keep me happy.

There are more. I love my scrappy little house, for many reasons, one of which is that it's given me the opportunity to learn new repair skills I didn't think I had. It's also given me the chance, many times over, to appreciate good neighbors and awesome home teachers and all-around nice people who help me out when I'm over my head. I love my beat up old minivan, mostly because my kids love it and because it's name is Madame Blueberry, and how can you not love a car that comes with a name like that? If I had the dream house, the dream car, I'd miss the affection for shabby things that has grown on me.

It's cliche; true, but I'm so glad that God hasn't answered all of my prayers the way that I wanted.

This beautiful, messy, glorious second-best life is the happiest thing I could know. Who knew?

Children: the Benefits, Part Two

Here's a scenario that repeats itself whenever I attend a conference out of town:

Several of us will be sitting around, enjoying dinner or sharing a shuttle, or scoping out hotel gifts shops together, and the question of children will come up.

Those who have them will pull out cell phones and show off pictures while everyone oohs and aahs appreciatively. The norm seems to be one child; a few adventurous souls will own up to having two, which is warmly commended with nods of acknowledgement for the bravery of taking on two.

Then it's my turn. I smile super big, pull out my phone with pictures and trump them all with FOUR.

There is stunned silence, until inevitably, some shocked soul will whisper "but, WHY?"

The shock intensifies when they discover that all four are adopted and therefore pretty clearly wanted, chosen, and planned for. No accidents among the bunch.

This isn't about answering that asinine question of why. I can't think of anything better to do with my life than raise a family. In my mind, justifying it is akin to justifying why anyone would want to ever fall in love or eat chocolate or go to heaven. It's such no-brainer that it doesn't even deserve much of a response.

The thing is, I can't wrap my mind around the other side. It blows me away that so very many people are deciding that children simply aren't worth it. It blows me away that they are so focused on the work and messiness and inconvenience of children that they've completely lost sight of the incomparable joy that comes with family life. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the short-sightedness that opts for less hassle now with no thought to everything that is lost by that choice.

It's especially ironic considering that most of them are one of several children who enjoy all the benefits of sibling relationships. I'm tempted to point out at times that someone willingly tackled the task of giving them life and rearing them to be moderately productive citizens, and doesn't it seem just a wee bit self-centered to refuse that role for another someone?

But, in spite of the judgmental tone of this post, I don't really spend much time worrying about the choices that other people make regarding procreation. We all choose our own path, and I respect that.

It just makes me sad that for so many people, it's a one-sided choice.

I know when I get home I'm gonna be tackled to the floor by four little people who have missed me more than anything. It's gonna be loud; they're all going to shout at once, all the exciting news I've missed. It's gonna involve crying and hurt feelings and poked elbows and trampled toes. It's gonna be messy--I'm trying not to think about what the house will look like when I get back.

It's going to be heaven on earth.

Maybe that's what I'll say, the next time someone asks why.