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.

Loving

I recently re-read "The Four Loves" by C.S. Lewis. Thought-provoking, to be sure, and for the most part I agree completely with his superb mind.

One place I always get a little lost with Lewis, though, is his characterization of God as a Stern Being who is easier known as the Ruler of the Universe than as a deeply personal Father.

The characterization doesn't mesh with my personal experience. While I agree with Lewis that God doesn't NEED our love and isn't necessarily any more grand or glorious because of it, instinct tells me that there is more to the story, and it DOES matter to God whether we love Him back.

Last night I read Gracie a book that I used to read to her when she was a baby. In the book Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare discuss how much they love each other. Little Nutbrown Hare loves Big Nutbrown Hare as wide as his arms, as high as he can jump, and as far as he can see. Yet regardless of what measure he uses, Big Nutbrown Hare can always reach wider, jump higher, and see farther.

As Big Nutbrown Hare tucks Little Nutbrown Hare into bed, the reader is reminded that parental love knows no bounds.

For some reason as I read it this time, I was thinking of Little Nutbrown Hare, and how his efforts to express love must have meant the world to Big Nutbrown Hare. Of course his efforts were smaller, less grandiose, more childlike. They were also the very best he had to offer. It was exactly what Big Nutbrown Hare wanted.

I loved the first smiles and giggles and reaching out to grab my finger with my babies. I loved hearing them say, "Mama," and chubby hands around my neck and "I wuf you." I loved the first sprawling scribbled love letters and the crayon drawings of mom & me. I love it now when they bring me breakfast in bed or "sneak" to surprise me with a clean kitchen or save their allowance to buy me presents.

It's the very best they have to offer, and it's exactly, perfectly what I want.

I think I love God all the more because, when I bring Him my immature, shabby, impatient, and totally messed-up heart, He lets me know that it's exactly, perfectly what He wants.

Children: The Benefits

Anyone who is a parent knows how completely humbling the task can be. However, I've noticed that they can also be quite good for the ego. Mine aren't teenagers yet. Enough said. Here are some reasons I keep them around:

• they think I sing better than anyone on the radio
• they are pretty sure people would pay $100 for one serving of my teriyaki glazed salmon
• they are certain that no one can do harder math than Mommy (oh, how I'm enjoying that one while it lasts--which will probably be another month, or fourth grade, at which point they'll surpass me in ability).
• they think I'm just as pretty as Sandra Bullock and waaaaaay prettier than Miley Cyrus
• they are convinced that anyone who doesn't want to marry their mom is a complete imbecile and totally beyond all hope
• in a discussion about how faith can move mountains, they wanted to know which ones I've moved recently

Definitely keepers, these kids of mine.

On Happy Endings, mid-page

Along with a gaggle of giggly girls who firmly believe in fairytales, princesses, and dreams coming true, I have a sweet little son (who is often a punk, but is just as often a sweetie-poo); who is perhaps the most romantic soul in our family.

Which is why it wasn't a complete surprise when, a few nights ago, he snuggled up against me and asked, after a few minutes of quiet, "Mommy, why couldn't you and Daddy just live happily ever after?"

Now that's a loaded question. One with even more loaded answers.

I blurted out the best answer that popped into my head: "Well, the story's not done yet. Daddy's not in my happily ever after, and I'm not in his, but the good parts of the stories are still coming. And YOU are definitely part of my happily ever after."

It seemed to satisfy him. For now. I'm not naive enough to think that my kids will forever be satisfied with my non-answers about the dissolution of their parents' marriage; however, by the time they are old enough to be relentless they will also be old enough to believe me when I tell them that divorce is about grown-up problems.

Eric's innocent question has stuck with me, though. For him, and for anyone who glances wistfully into the past and wishes that things had stayed the same and hard, sad times hadn't come, here's what else I would have added:

"We're living the middle of the story right now. Before the happily ever after there are lots of grand adventures, heart-thumping terrors, overwhelming obstacles, and side stories that temporarily distract us. In the thick of the action the hero and heroine don't know how it will play out. No one knows the happy ending until, well, the end.

"Sometimes the middle of the story totally sucks. Sometimes the danger is unbelievable, the pain seems never-ending, and any hope for a happy ending is seemingly dashed.

"But that doesn't make the happy ending any less certain. The Author knows the entire story, beginning to end, and there is always, ALWAYS a very happy ending."

One of my favorite quotes is from C.S. Lewis (you knew it would be). He said, "There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind." True, that.

Chalk that up as one true thing that I know: it always gets better.

Here's to more page-turning adventures on the way to our happily-ever-afters!

Why It is Impossible to Have a Conversation With a 6-Year Old

Child: Can I have a lemonade when we get home?

Mom: No.

Two minutes pass.

Child: So, remember how you said I could probably have a lemonade when we get home?

Mom: No.

Child: Well, you definitely said I could have one, I'm sure.

Being Saints

In my ward, two older-ish gentlemen were recently baptized and became members of the church. In our faith worthy men are ordained to the priesthood, but they must be ordained in sequential order through various offices of priesthood, beginning at age 12. Young men are ordained to be deacons at 12 and continue on: deacons, teachers, priests. At adulthood they are ordained as elders, and sometime later, as high priests.

When a man joins the church after his teens, rather than automatically being ordained an elder, he must go through the other offices first. As you might imagine, this can be humbling. It plays out in very public ways, as deacons are assigned the task of passing the Sacrament bread and water to the entire congregation, teachers act as ushers of a sort, and priests bless the Sacrament in a public meeting.

Not being a man myself, I don't have firsthand experience with this, but I've been told by men who converted later in life that it's rather humbling to be out there with the 12-year old boys. From my perspective on the outside looking in, it seems like a bit of an act of faith as well. Submitting to the proscribed order of things, in such a public way, is an overt way of staking a claim, of saying, "yes, I believe that this is all true."

I admit, I've been curious how these two new brothers in my ward would cope.

Today they took their place in front of the Sacrament table before the meeting started. From the organ I had a birds-eye view as one by one, other men in the congregation glanced over, noticed, and came to join them. The younger men were excused. Today the Sacrament was passed to us by an army of men who looked quite different from the usual prepubescent boys. Graying hair and no hair replaced the rumpled or slicked back teen version; it was wrinkles instead of acne. Gently and almost imperceptibly the older brothers motioned the new ones in the proper movements and ritual, mentored them in their new responsibilities.

My fears that they wouldn't fit in, would feel awkward or conspicuous were unfounded.

And this, my friends, is why I not only believe the doctrines, but love and believe in the church. We mortals need a place and a company to practice what we believe, and the comfort of each other is the best way to do it.

Practicing our religion often takes us out of our comfort zone. It requires us to do things that are downright humbling. It calls upon us to make both private and public acts of faith. Those things can be scary, unnerving, potentially embarrassing, and uncomfortable.

Being surrounded by friends--by brothers and sisters, even--makes it much more possible.

To my brothers and sisters, who have surrounded me and held me up when I needed it most, for little things that barely mattered and for big things that mattered more than I'll ever know, thank you. Thank you for the practical support offered.

More than that, thank you for teaching me how to be one of the saints.

Early Writings

The kiddles are figuring out that the written word is a powerful thing. A sticky note was found on my computer with the following message:

"I hate my danss class they don't have trets I want to go to the othr danss klss wir i yous to go."

I'm proud of them for using words and exploring putting their feelings in writing; somewhat less enthused about the passive-aggressive nature of putting it in a note instead of telling me. But we can work on that.

Homemade Brownies, My Way

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate

3/4 cup butter

2 cups sugar

3 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

1 cup flour

1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Break the chocolate into smaller chunks by hitting each square with a hammer. If you are planning to sneakily make brownies after the kids are in bed, it would be best to do this part before bedtime. When the kids ask what you are doing, the appropriate response is "nothing." Word to the wise--do not put the chocolate on a china plate for this step.

Put the chocolate and butter together in a glass bowl. Microwave for 2 minutes, depending on your microwave and how cautious or risk-taking you are. Stir gently until all the chocolate chunks have melted and the mixture is smooth.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and lightly grease a 9 x 13 pan.

Stir sugar into the chocolate-butter mixture. Scoop out a generous spoonful and eat it, because you still have 40+ minutes to go before the brownies are ready, and that is simply too long to wait for gooey chocolate yumminess. Resist the urge to scoop up such a large spoonful so fast that it hits the front of your shirt. Chocolate, butter, and sugar stain.

Add eggs, one at time, mixing after each addition. Stir in the vanilla and the flour, in that order.

Hold an internal debate over whether it's better to save the last cup of chopped pecans for healthy salad toppings or sacrifice them to the delicious decadence of brownies. Decide that salads win. This time.

Pour the batter into the greased pan. Leave enough on the insides of the bowl for finger licking. Spread the batter over the bottom of the pan. Keep generous amounts on the spoon so that you can clean the spoon off with your tongue.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the top is set and firm, but the brownies are not yet noticeably browner around the edges.

Remove from oven, exercise all of your self-restraint, and wait 5-10 minutes. Let the brownies cool, firm up, and set.

Forgo cutting even squares in favor of digging into the warm, melty chocolate heaven with a spoon. If you get more than a third of the way into the pan, stop immediately, pray for forgiveness, and quickly wrap the rest for freezing. In the back of the freezer.

Friday Friends: The Divine Ms. B

Name: The Divine Ms. B, also known as Betsy

Why We Are Friends: the picture speaks for itself. Also, because when I admitted that I'd never set off soda bombs in church parking lots, she was scandalized enough to insist that we make that our next girls-date. And because she has great taste in kids. Hers are yummy.

What We Like To Do: Contrary to her husband, Brain-Drain, who has been known to see us out the door with such gems as "Oh, you're going out with Wendy? I've got the number of four bail bondsmen right near the phone," we are not Thelma & Louise. Our primary shared activity is sitting up talking until very late in the car/yard/driveway/street. Close second--late night texting.

What Brings Us Together: Costco & pedicures & shared love of Erynn

Why I Want to Be Her: Um, see picture above. Also, she has great hair & teeth.

What Makes Her Smart: She knows everything there is to know about every animal & plant known to mankind. She knows everything there is to know about every obscure disease known to mankind. If she doesn't, just tell her that you might have it, and the next day she'll present you with documented monographs. Not only smart; she's also a world-class researcher. To top it off, as Brain-Drain says, she's more than just a pretty face. To quote him, "it's nice to be with someone who reads and stays current on world events, and has something interesting to say." While I prefer Ms. B's company for somewhat different reasons than he does, I do have to agree with his assessment. It is NEVER dull to be around Betsy.

Best Thing About Our Friendship: it makes me feel 13 again, except way older & cooler than I was at 13.

Her Special, Incomparable Talent: chocolate truffles. They are world-famous.

Times I Don't Like Her As Much (j/k!): When my kids tell me--repeatedly--how they wish she was their mom instead of me. Shoot, I'd pick her too, but ouch!

What She Teaches Me: Not to take myself, or the rest of the world, too seriously. To trust my instincts. That life is always good, even when it sucks. Everything always works out for the best. That EVERYTHING is better when you laugh really hard.

My Future Relationship Plans: Our mansions in heaven are going to be right down the street, back to 97 steps apart, 'cause I miss that.