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.

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!