Easy. That's what you were. Easiest pregnancy. Easiest delivery. Easiest (and quietest) baby. Who could know that such 'still waters could run so deep' ? When reflecting upon the beautiful quiet little dark-eyed cherub who could entertain herself by watching her sisters' chat and play or ours, eating handling and reading books with ferocious attention, rolling with all the proverbial punches that the youngest child receives, etc etc etc I've become convinced that yours was not a mild attenton but a focused absorbing one!
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
Friday, December 30, 2011
Post #3 To My Aubrey
"Live your own life with all your heart, and with all your mind, and with all your soul. There is no need to live theirs. They will do that wonderfully for themselves." (Tao scholar William Martin)
After I became pregnant with you Aubrey, I remember entering Hahna's room and gazing into her crib and tearfully wondering if it would be possible to ever love another child as much as I loved my first one. What a lame thought. Because, even before that very moment when you arrived, and carried you within me, kicking and seemingly ready and anxious to come into the world, I realized how much I loved you, and how anxious I was to meet you! Then I was finally able to hold you for the first time and wept with joy, and that previous thought would never enter into my mind again. How I loved you. Endlessly. Boundlessly. Still do. At that time, I could gaze at you with clear eyes and was blinded by your radiance. I was amazed at the beauty of this baby girl in my arms. At that time I was able to see you as you really were, and you cracked my heart wide open with love. You were a breathtaking miracle and I loved you with a depth that I could never find the words to express. Beautiful. Curly head of lots of hair. Huge brown eyes. And you loved to be held.
As a baby, you cried a lot. And that began to be one of your methods of communication for the first few years of your life because it was what you were accustomed to ... only out of necessity. It was your survival method. For example, little did I realize (until later) that as an infant you were colicky and most likely had an aversion to the formula you were drinking. Your poor little tummy! And you poor little baby girl. As a toddler, sometimes you seemed angry because you cried so much. Yet little did I realize (again, until later) that you weren't angry at all; that because of your younger baby colick, that's how you had to express yourself and any frustrated sentiments, and that because of your lovable Elmer Fudd dialect you were frustrated because people couldn't understand you the way you needed them to. So you'd cry. Loudly. And for a long time. lol Frankly, I would've done the same thing if I had been in your shoes. (Hmmm. Actually, I think I DO resort to that form of expression at times! lol) I figured this out later about you. I just wish I'd figured it out sooner so that you wouldn't have to go through such frustration. Poor thing. You also loved the car seat in your infant years. When you were an upset baby, we could take you for a drive in the car to calm you down and we'd also put you in our bed with us. The soft rhythms of a moving vehicle always quieted your stirrings. Love also does that when we're too old to respond with a scream like we did when we were infants. As a toddler you were a tad stubborn and willful too. If you didn't want to eat those strained peas, you'd lock your jaw shut. If you didn't want to be buckled in, you firmed up that finger to push the buckle open. lol. Your tenacity strengthened you to be your speech therapist's 'best student' (at age 3, mind you!). You were extraordinarily diligent in your little homework exercises she gave you because you really wanted people to understand you better! And when kindergarten came along, you were ready and confident. Only to return to me at the end of your school day with a running hug. Gads. Those running hugs gave me inexplicable joy. The ground could have swallowed me up at the moment after your running hugs and I'd have fallen in with a smile on my face. Your small delicious kindergarten self became Maritza's favorite student. You were amazing. You still are.
Of the three of you, despite those loud crying times of yours as a child, you were the one who cracked me up the most in toddler and young childhood. That was actually the most predominant aspect of your young disposition. You made us laugh. A LOT. I mean "laugh out loud" crack ups. Your energy was always bursting at your seams! You wouldn't just jump. You'd leap! You wouldn't just laugh. You burst out! You didn't want to speak softly. You spoke out! You were happy far more than you ever cried. I think your preschool picture captured it perfectly! When you were a child, you had few cares about what those around you thought. I found that wondrous and enviable! And you were so animated! Your imaginings recruited crazy sound effects, imaginary friends, and high energy actions that would keep you (and Hahna and me!) entertained for hours. I cherished those morning hours with you when Hahna was at school. Playgrounds, parks, playdates, preschool. We were the best of pals. You had that tiny little black bicycle with training wheels, and your little legs would keep up with us as we towed you behind us while we all rode around Yosemite. It was a magnificent sight to behold! You were the one who'd jump into the water without floaties because you didn't want to wait. haha. And You and Hahna were the best of friends. You did everything together: hike, climb, swim, play, craft, color, paint, dress up, do imaginary stuff, watch Puzzle Place, eat lunch, have picnics, build forts, play in the park --- you were each other's best friends to the end. At first, you hated seeing her go to school without you.
Then it was your turn to go to school and I hated seeing you go without me. Saying goodbye to any of you was one of the worst experiences of my life: to kindergarten, to college, to a mission, to marriage. Goodbyes to my daughters will always be a blight to my life. When I picked you up from kindergarten, your greeting to me was bliss. You'd run up to me, jump into my arms so that I could catch you and you'd give me a big kiss. When I dropped you off for school, I'd watch as you happily ran to your classroom, and then I'd cry as soon as you were out of sight. You were so happy to go to your new adventure. My gosh, how I loved my little girl. I still do. Your dad and I even had a difficult time leaving you or your sisters in the nursery at church. We'd peek through the doorway to see if you were okay, when in reality, we needed to see you so we'd be okay! Sending you to school was the end of your babyhood and the loss of my little companion and our day-time together. I kept telling myself that I should be ecstatic for having two girls in school and the morning to myself and your baby sister (who was also entering toddlerhood). But I was kidding myself. And my tears were the evidence. As each of you briefly left the nest for what was to be a new rite of passage ... for all of us. And now, years later, any impending goodbye feels more wrenching and poignant and bittersweet --- and necessary --- as all the other painful goodbyes I've bid to you.
And when it came to school you were so bright. Mrs. Pizzica, Mrs. McKinnon and Mrs. Eckert would meet with your father and I to try to identify how they could best provide you with more stimulating learning because you were so much brighter than the rest of your class.
At your baptism, we found you sitting quietly alone amidst the excitement. When asked if something was wrong, you said that you just wanted to hold on to the feeling of being perfectly clean and you didn't want anything to mess that up. Wow. That feeling of the Spirit is what you repeatedly returned to, even in your toughest days, and it's what helped you through them.
As you grew up, you were uniquely independent and would keep so much more to yourself. You were a lot like your Oma Enny and your great aunt Stella (Lizzy's sister). You 'held your cards close to your chest' as they say, and kept your pains, embarrassments, and even happinesses often to yourself. You'd also frequently get migraines and tough it out alone in your bed rather than mention anything to us so we could help. We had to learn how to get insight into you about your life or how you were feeling because you rarely delivered it freely. Perhaps you wanted us to earn it. No matter. Your dad and I were willing to do whatever was required because we loved talking with you for any reason. We still do. You were always at the top of your class. Beautiful inside and out. Confident. Happy. You played a lovely clarinet. You could and still can vocally out-harmonize anyone in the family. Your soccer playing was feisty. You'd try out for parts in plays (remember your performance for the band's Renaissance Faire, and your part as Tinkerbell!?) and as PCMS class president and Valentine Sweetheart with gusto! And you'd bounce back with quiet fierce optimism if situations (or people) weren't what you'd hoped for. And what I found uber Christlike, was that you'd befriend many an underdog (remember Lauren at PCMS?) no matter what others thought. Gads. You were a so much more courageous and good person than I was at that age.
And when things took an unexpected turn for you health-wise your adolescence combined with your medical condition brought a batch of fresh new, and very unexpected challenges, that none of us were prepared for. It's difficult for me to think and talk about but such an epic time in our lives. You kept your pains largely to yourself because you weren't sure what was going on at first either. Dad and I had to second guess a lot. And many times I was clueless. Even when we figured out what the problem was, I was clueless. During that phase, not a day went by in those times when things were easy. We were all flailing because none of us knew what to do or the depth of what you were dealing with. I was overbearing and angry. Your confidence plummeted because you had no control or understanding of what was going on. For a time, we were inept at communicating with one another. What I saw as panicky protection, you viewed as interfering, clueless, consequences and controlling. What I perceived as defiance, was actually your suffering. As such, I often became your stumbling block rather than your foothold. For that, I cannot be sorry enough and will never forgive myself for the difficulties I may have created for you. I just didn't know. I was watching someone, whose life I held more dearly than my own, dwindle right before my eyes. We should have handled it better at first, yet just didn't know what was going on. Sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling and praying and promising ourselves that things would be better tomorrow. The emotions I most remember during those very difficult few years of your medical condition were anger, utter helplessness, and stark fear. It seemed as if the little girl I'd known and raised had disappeared. During those dark days, I would spend hours upstairs after everyone was asleep, literally weeping oceans of tears, praying to know what to do. It was the scariest time of our life. No books could answer the emotional questions that arose. We couldn't know what to do because you were unable to describe what you were going through. At the time, I had a shadowy (and very wrong) idea of what lay ahead: a delightful happy young girl replaced by an unhappy brooding person. You were going through painful transformations that none of us understood and it filled us with indescribable fear. Yet those times were probably more frightening for you than for us. I know that now, but didn't then. Forgive me. Our family life was radically altered though we struggled to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Baylee longed for her normal family back. Hahna too. I know I complicated things and caused you pain. I was so scared because, for the first time as a mother, I didn't know what was going on, or what to do, and there was no book to educate me.
It was after startling revelations, months of research, a bajillion phone calls, and painstaking, even obsessive, study that I finally came upon answers that brought light into our dark days, bringing calm, tenacity, patience, and sweet earnest hope to our personal and family lives. Though we all stumbled through our confusion, your dad eventually seemed to get it right and developed the approach toward you that you trusted. I did all the homework and footwork, but I was still behind in knowing how to approach you. Forgive me (again). I knew that one of the most important things to do was that you get through school --- in addition to getting through each day. I thank God for good doctors who provided the treatment, medicine, and insight that helped you begin your journey back from what seemed like an emotional and medical sinkhole. We thank our Heavenly Father for the answers, light, blessings, and epic tender mercies that trickled into our home at this crucial time: Mr. Bylund, Robin Zazio, Margo Thienemann, Kevin & Shannon, Breanna Crabtree, Tina Malcolm, Brooke Yerman, and many more.
You continue to master your path to victory. Your accomplishments are epic though perhaps not always by the world's standards but absolutely through a loving Heavenly Father's eyes. In your patriarchal blessing, Heavenly Father reminds you that He knows you personally and will guide you through all of these phases of your life. He has and does. Aubrey, yours has been a journey unlike your sisters. For His own reasons, Heavenly Father selected you to travel a more challenging path, and as such, thus far you've arrived at unique personal heights because of the valleys only you could climb out of. This road hasn't come to an end yet, but it's not made up of the same giant mountains and low valleys of our yesterdays --- a few hills perhaps.
What is so amazing and humbling to me, is that rather than shaking your fist at God because of your trials, you chose to serve Him more intensely through a full-time mission! Wow. You've earned your victories and a bright future is definitely on the horizon and attainable. What developed in you from these challenges is greater strength, tenacity, empathy, and insight that you may not have developed otherwise. I sense that perhaps these chapters of your life will shape your future profession or personal choices with a path that may include aiding others who are going through similar challenges. Of your accomplishments, I'm immensely proud of and impressed by you. What have you taught/reminded me? That every moment with you is precious, life is too short, and that it's all good --- even when it's not. I've learned that someone can be perfect just as they are (and I pray others remember that when they encounter my innumerable imperfections), even if that perfection isn't easy to see at that moment, from an inch or two feet away. Now I can look back and recall not the worries about you, but rather, your perfection --- though I wish I'd possessed that vision then. Your sweetness and complexity: that's the essence of your life. I can look at you now and it seems as if we're coming out at the other end of that tunnel back into the beautiful light of day. I wish I could say that in the blink of an eye I was able to learn how to relate to you or that you woke up one day to find yourself back in sync with life. But it's never that simple.
I've learned to have more faith in you. I have a giant list of things you have taught, and continue to, teach me. I believe that you'll come out of it just fine because you're partnered with a Heavenly Father who knows you better than I do. I've learned not to be so afraid. I've learned that my job is not to control or judge my daughter, but simply to help you remember, with words and touch, who you really are and the great things you're capable of. Turning that corner I've been able to center myself within enough love and patience to survive the past painful transformations. (I'm sorry it took so terribly long) I've learned that when your inner beauty and perfection had slipped from my sight, I held that space for you in my heart and would come a bit closer to knowing your true essence and goodness that resides just beneath the surface. From all of that, I learned that parents are very imperfect, and that imperfect parents and their imperfect adolescent children can live under one roof despite some tumultuous times. Why? Because of enduring love and the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It's the love that I had for you since the day you were born. I've learned to focus on what is good and beautiful in my Aubrey. Shame on me for taking so long to "get it". Forgive me (yet again.) Your goodness and inner beauty was what reinforced that change in my attitude. I've repented. I've tried to be better. And your grace, lovely humanness, and inner strength has grown and flourished once more. For some reason, our loving Heavenly Father placed you on the road less traveled. Your life was not to be the same as your sisters. Yours was to be another path. What's so amazing is that, despite those difficult times past (and maybe present), your faith in your Heavenly Father has emerged unscathed because you've clung close to Him through those times. And it seems that doing so has enabled you to "touch his robes" and experience His healing.
These days before you left for your mission, you were happy, glowing. You're physically active again. You're funny. You've worked hard to accomplish what needed to be done before become a full time mssionary. You're feisty, outspoken, courageously treading into new and unknown territory. You continued to overcome. Your health has hopefully become and remained manageable. You were a hard worker at your jobs too. You were always on time to work. Nathan wanted you in his office because he liked having you represent his company. You're learning the college ropes. You're still impeccably honest. You're continuing to set and keep worthy goals. Your spirituality has deepened. You're beautiful, inside and out. You're hopefully not caring so much about what others think of less important things. And you're a full time missionary!! Words are useless to describe how grateful I am to be your mother. And now, even when you're not sure of yourself, you manage it with grace, through trial and error, and always have come out on top, despite any setbacks. You've worked very hard to get here Aubrey. You're still as amazing and beautiful, inside and out, as you ever were. And the Savior's tender mercies continue to pour in. President and Sister Brown are two more persons in your life who Heavenly Father has blessed you with to shepherd you in your missionary journey.
What I feel now is less regret for the times I've messed up, or fearful of what lies around the corner, but gratitude that we've ended up at this place, with you at the threshold of greater victories, despite possible setbacks. I hope you can extend grace and forgiveness to me for my endless mistakes. I made too many at your expense at times. These past few years have taught me that no life is ordinary --- and that you've always been 'extra-ordinary' --- even when your life turned into something unexpected. And now, I can travel through my photo albums of you and I'm reminded that no day was ever ordinary with you. Despite our imperfections, it's still a perfect life. That's how I feel about you. That's how I feel about being your mother. Your beauty and goodness is perfect. Let people into your heart. Avoid the bristly stuff and embrace those qualities within you that keep you close to Him and to others. As you continue to serve on your mission, and return to BYU and beyond, remember these two places --- your home and my heart --- despite having been a small occasional battlefield over a few years, I have loved and nurtured you, and will continue to do so forever ... no matter what! You were the one who excitedly jumped into the water without floaties. You were the one who wanted to be strapped into the bungees trustingly with your dad, only to be launched into the unknown air! You were the one who, though never having flown in a plane, opted to fearlessly, yet trustingly, jump out of one (strapped into a parachute!). You were the one who were tenacious enough to board a plane to trustingly embark on your mission in spite of those obstacles that temporarily held you back. You were the one who encountered unique health issues only to rise above them and fly free and unencumbered toward your dreams. Fly baby. Fly. ........ But please please don't fly too far away from me. I love you. Endlessly.
After I became pregnant with you Aubrey, I remember entering Hahna's room and gazing into her crib and tearfully wondering if it would be possible to ever love another child as much as I loved my first one. What a lame thought. Because, even before that very moment when you arrived, and carried you within me, kicking and seemingly ready and anxious to come into the world, I realized how much I loved you, and how anxious I was to meet you! Then I was finally able to hold you for the first time and wept with joy, and that previous thought would never enter into my mind again. How I loved you. Endlessly. Boundlessly. Still do. At that time, I could gaze at you with clear eyes and was blinded by your radiance. I was amazed at the beauty of this baby girl in my arms. At that time I was able to see you as you really were, and you cracked my heart wide open with love. You were a breathtaking miracle and I loved you with a depth that I could never find the words to express. Beautiful. Curly head of lots of hair. Huge brown eyes. And you loved to be held.
As a baby, you cried a lot. And that began to be one of your methods of communication for the first few years of your life because it was what you were accustomed to ... only out of necessity. It was your survival method. For example, little did I realize (until later) that as an infant you were colicky and most likely had an aversion to the formula you were drinking. Your poor little tummy! And you poor little baby girl. As a toddler, sometimes you seemed angry because you cried so much. Yet little did I realize (again, until later) that you weren't angry at all; that because of your younger baby colick, that's how you had to express yourself and any frustrated sentiments, and that because of your lovable Elmer Fudd dialect you were frustrated because people couldn't understand you the way you needed them to. So you'd cry. Loudly. And for a long time. lol Frankly, I would've done the same thing if I had been in your shoes. (Hmmm. Actually, I think I DO resort to that form of expression at times! lol) I figured this out later about you. I just wish I'd figured it out sooner so that you wouldn't have to go through such frustration. Poor thing. You also loved the car seat in your infant years. When you were an upset baby, we could take you for a drive in the car to calm you down and we'd also put you in our bed with us. The soft rhythms of a moving vehicle always quieted your stirrings. Love also does that when we're too old to respond with a scream like we did when we were infants. As a toddler you were a tad stubborn and willful too. If you didn't want to eat those strained peas, you'd lock your jaw shut. If you didn't want to be buckled in, you firmed up that finger to push the buckle open. lol. Your tenacity strengthened you to be your speech therapist's 'best student' (at age 3, mind you!). You were extraordinarily diligent in your little homework exercises she gave you because you really wanted people to understand you better! And when kindergarten came along, you were ready and confident. Only to return to me at the end of your school day with a running hug. Gads. Those running hugs gave me inexplicable joy. The ground could have swallowed me up at the moment after your running hugs and I'd have fallen in with a smile on my face. Your small delicious kindergarten self became Maritza's favorite student. You were amazing. You still are.
Of the three of you, despite those loud crying times of yours as a child, you were the one who cracked me up the most in toddler and young childhood. That was actually the most predominant aspect of your young disposition. You made us laugh. A LOT. I mean "laugh out loud" crack ups. Your energy was always bursting at your seams! You wouldn't just jump. You'd leap! You wouldn't just laugh. You burst out! You didn't want to speak softly. You spoke out! You were happy far more than you ever cried. I think your preschool picture captured it perfectly! When you were a child, you had few cares about what those around you thought. I found that wondrous and enviable! And you were so animated! Your imaginings recruited crazy sound effects, imaginary friends, and high energy actions that would keep you (and Hahna and me!) entertained for hours. I cherished those morning hours with you when Hahna was at school. Playgrounds, parks, playdates, preschool. We were the best of pals. You had that tiny little black bicycle with training wheels, and your little legs would keep up with us as we towed you behind us while we all rode around Yosemite. It was a magnificent sight to behold! You were the one who'd jump into the water without floaties because you didn't want to wait. haha. And You and Hahna were the best of friends. You did everything together: hike, climb, swim, play, craft, color, paint, dress up, do imaginary stuff, watch Puzzle Place, eat lunch, have picnics, build forts, play in the park --- you were each other's best friends to the end. At first, you hated seeing her go to school without you.
Then it was your turn to go to school and I hated seeing you go without me. Saying goodbye to any of you was one of the worst experiences of my life: to kindergarten, to college, to a mission, to marriage. Goodbyes to my daughters will always be a blight to my life. When I picked you up from kindergarten, your greeting to me was bliss. You'd run up to me, jump into my arms so that I could catch you and you'd give me a big kiss. When I dropped you off for school, I'd watch as you happily ran to your classroom, and then I'd cry as soon as you were out of sight. You were so happy to go to your new adventure. My gosh, how I loved my little girl. I still do. Your dad and I even had a difficult time leaving you or your sisters in the nursery at church. We'd peek through the doorway to see if you were okay, when in reality, we needed to see you so we'd be okay! Sending you to school was the end of your babyhood and the loss of my little companion and our day-time together. I kept telling myself that I should be ecstatic for having two girls in school and the morning to myself and your baby sister (who was also entering toddlerhood). But I was kidding myself. And my tears were the evidence. As each of you briefly left the nest for what was to be a new rite of passage ... for all of us. And now, years later, any impending goodbye feels more wrenching and poignant and bittersweet --- and necessary --- as all the other painful goodbyes I've bid to you.
And when it came to school you were so bright. Mrs. Pizzica, Mrs. McKinnon and Mrs. Eckert would meet with your father and I to try to identify how they could best provide you with more stimulating learning because you were so much brighter than the rest of your class.
At your baptism, we found you sitting quietly alone amidst the excitement. When asked if something was wrong, you said that you just wanted to hold on to the feeling of being perfectly clean and you didn't want anything to mess that up. Wow. That feeling of the Spirit is what you repeatedly returned to, even in your toughest days, and it's what helped you through them.
As you grew up, you were uniquely independent and would keep so much more to yourself. You were a lot like your Oma Enny and your great aunt Stella (Lizzy's sister). You 'held your cards close to your chest' as they say, and kept your pains, embarrassments, and even happinesses often to yourself. You'd also frequently get migraines and tough it out alone in your bed rather than mention anything to us so we could help. We had to learn how to get insight into you about your life or how you were feeling because you rarely delivered it freely. Perhaps you wanted us to earn it. No matter. Your dad and I were willing to do whatever was required because we loved talking with you for any reason. We still do. You were always at the top of your class. Beautiful inside and out. Confident. Happy. You played a lovely clarinet. You could and still can vocally out-harmonize anyone in the family. Your soccer playing was feisty. You'd try out for parts in plays (remember your performance for the band's Renaissance Faire, and your part as Tinkerbell!?) and as PCMS class president and Valentine Sweetheart with gusto! And you'd bounce back with quiet fierce optimism if situations (or people) weren't what you'd hoped for. And what I found uber Christlike, was that you'd befriend many an underdog (remember Lauren at PCMS?) no matter what others thought. Gads. You were a so much more courageous and good person than I was at that age.
And when things took an unexpected turn for you health-wise your adolescence combined with your medical condition brought a batch of fresh new, and very unexpected challenges, that none of us were prepared for. It's difficult for me to think and talk about but such an epic time in our lives. You kept your pains largely to yourself because you weren't sure what was going on at first either. Dad and I had to second guess a lot. And many times I was clueless. Even when we figured out what the problem was, I was clueless. During that phase, not a day went by in those times when things were easy. We were all flailing because none of us knew what to do or the depth of what you were dealing with. I was overbearing and angry. Your confidence plummeted because you had no control or understanding of what was going on. For a time, we were inept at communicating with one another. What I saw as panicky protection, you viewed as interfering, clueless, consequences and controlling. What I perceived as defiance, was actually your suffering. As such, I often became your stumbling block rather than your foothold. For that, I cannot be sorry enough and will never forgive myself for the difficulties I may have created for you. I just didn't know. I was watching someone, whose life I held more dearly than my own, dwindle right before my eyes. We should have handled it better at first, yet just didn't know what was going on. Sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling and praying and promising ourselves that things would be better tomorrow. The emotions I most remember during those very difficult few years of your medical condition were anger, utter helplessness, and stark fear. It seemed as if the little girl I'd known and raised had disappeared. During those dark days, I would spend hours upstairs after everyone was asleep, literally weeping oceans of tears, praying to know what to do. It was the scariest time of our life. No books could answer the emotional questions that arose. We couldn't know what to do because you were unable to describe what you were going through. At the time, I had a shadowy (and very wrong) idea of what lay ahead: a delightful happy young girl replaced by an unhappy brooding person. You were going through painful transformations that none of us understood and it filled us with indescribable fear. Yet those times were probably more frightening for you than for us. I know that now, but didn't then. Forgive me. Our family life was radically altered though we struggled to maintain the illusion of normalcy. Baylee longed for her normal family back. Hahna too. I know I complicated things and caused you pain. I was so scared because, for the first time as a mother, I didn't know what was going on, or what to do, and there was no book to educate me.
It was after startling revelations, months of research, a bajillion phone calls, and painstaking, even obsessive, study that I finally came upon answers that brought light into our dark days, bringing calm, tenacity, patience, and sweet earnest hope to our personal and family lives. Though we all stumbled through our confusion, your dad eventually seemed to get it right and developed the approach toward you that you trusted. I did all the homework and footwork, but I was still behind in knowing how to approach you. Forgive me (again). I knew that one of the most important things to do was that you get through school --- in addition to getting through each day. I thank God for good doctors who provided the treatment, medicine, and insight that helped you begin your journey back from what seemed like an emotional and medical sinkhole. We thank our Heavenly Father for the answers, light, blessings, and epic tender mercies that trickled into our home at this crucial time: Mr. Bylund, Robin Zazio, Margo Thienemann, Kevin & Shannon, Breanna Crabtree, Tina Malcolm, Brooke Yerman, and many more.
You continue to master your path to victory. Your accomplishments are epic though perhaps not always by the world's standards but absolutely through a loving Heavenly Father's eyes. In your patriarchal blessing, Heavenly Father reminds you that He knows you personally and will guide you through all of these phases of your life. He has and does. Aubrey, yours has been a journey unlike your sisters. For His own reasons, Heavenly Father selected you to travel a more challenging path, and as such, thus far you've arrived at unique personal heights because of the valleys only you could climb out of. This road hasn't come to an end yet, but it's not made up of the same giant mountains and low valleys of our yesterdays --- a few hills perhaps.
What is so amazing and humbling to me, is that rather than shaking your fist at God because of your trials, you chose to serve Him more intensely through a full-time mission! Wow. You've earned your victories and a bright future is definitely on the horizon and attainable. What developed in you from these challenges is greater strength, tenacity, empathy, and insight that you may not have developed otherwise. I sense that perhaps these chapters of your life will shape your future profession or personal choices with a path that may include aiding others who are going through similar challenges. Of your accomplishments, I'm immensely proud of and impressed by you. What have you taught/reminded me? That every moment with you is precious, life is too short, and that it's all good --- even when it's not. I've learned that someone can be perfect just as they are (and I pray others remember that when they encounter my innumerable imperfections), even if that perfection isn't easy to see at that moment, from an inch or two feet away. Now I can look back and recall not the worries about you, but rather, your perfection --- though I wish I'd possessed that vision then. Your sweetness and complexity: that's the essence of your life. I can look at you now and it seems as if we're coming out at the other end of that tunnel back into the beautiful light of day. I wish I could say that in the blink of an eye I was able to learn how to relate to you or that you woke up one day to find yourself back in sync with life. But it's never that simple.
I've learned to have more faith in you. I have a giant list of things you have taught, and continue to, teach me. I believe that you'll come out of it just fine because you're partnered with a Heavenly Father who knows you better than I do. I've learned not to be so afraid. I've learned that my job is not to control or judge my daughter, but simply to help you remember, with words and touch, who you really are and the great things you're capable of. Turning that corner I've been able to center myself within enough love and patience to survive the past painful transformations. (I'm sorry it took so terribly long) I've learned that when your inner beauty and perfection had slipped from my sight, I held that space for you in my heart and would come a bit closer to knowing your true essence and goodness that resides just beneath the surface. From all of that, I learned that parents are very imperfect, and that imperfect parents and their imperfect adolescent children can live under one roof despite some tumultuous times. Why? Because of enduring love and the Gospel of Jesus Christ. It's the love that I had for you since the day you were born. I've learned to focus on what is good and beautiful in my Aubrey. Shame on me for taking so long to "get it". Forgive me (yet again.) Your goodness and inner beauty was what reinforced that change in my attitude. I've repented. I've tried to be better. And your grace, lovely humanness, and inner strength has grown and flourished once more. For some reason, our loving Heavenly Father placed you on the road less traveled. Your life was not to be the same as your sisters. Yours was to be another path. What's so amazing is that, despite those difficult times past (and maybe present), your faith in your Heavenly Father has emerged unscathed because you've clung close to Him through those times. And it seems that doing so has enabled you to "touch his robes" and experience His healing.
The multitudes would follow Christ; they’d never give Him rest.
They’d push and crowd their way to Him, their sick ones to be blessed.
One day a woman with disease the doctors could not cure
Thought, “If I can but touch His robe, He shall heal me to be sure.”
She pushed her way, then saw His robe just above the ground.
As she bent down and touched it, Jesus stopped and turned around.
“Who touched my robe?” He asked the crowd. The woman did not fear.
Then Peter answered, telling Him how many crowded near.
The woman felt Christ knew of her. His spirit warmed her soul.
As she came forth, Christ told her it was her faith that made her whole.
When you were just a child, you believed your faith would grow;
That someday you'd behold Christ’s face, and not believe— but know.
You've clung to his robe through life's dark days, keeping Him in your heart
And with that faith, have been blessed by him, His healing to you to impart.
In young adulthood, you remained active in the Church and loyal to our Heavenly Father. That's epic these days (think about all of Hahna's high school friends). Upon Hahna's departure into marriage and moving away, and Baylee's moving into adulthood, you both have also become the best of friends. Few things have made me happier than knowing that the three of you so rarely argued, and that you have been and still are, so close. Your dad and I pray that will continue even more after we pass on. During your struggles, your spiritual intuitions even encouraged our family to have regular family scripture reading together. That was an important move for our family.
In young adulthood, you remained active in the Church and loyal to our Heavenly Father. That's epic these days (think about all of Hahna's high school friends). Upon Hahna's departure into marriage and moving away, and Baylee's moving into adulthood, you both have also become the best of friends. Few things have made me happier than knowing that the three of you so rarely argued, and that you have been and still are, so close. Your dad and I pray that will continue even more after we pass on. During your struggles, your spiritual intuitions even encouraged our family to have regular family scripture reading together. That was an important move for our family.
What I feel now is less regret for the times I've messed up, or fearful of what lies around the corner, but gratitude that we've ended up at this place, with you at the threshold of greater victories, despite possible setbacks. I hope you can extend grace and forgiveness to me for my endless mistakes. I made too many at your expense at times. These past few years have taught me that no life is ordinary --- and that you've always been 'extra-ordinary' --- even when your life turned into something unexpected. And now, I can travel through my photo albums of you and I'm reminded that no day was ever ordinary with you. Despite our imperfections, it's still a perfect life. That's how I feel about you. That's how I feel about being your mother. Your beauty and goodness is perfect. Let people into your heart. Avoid the bristly stuff and embrace those qualities within you that keep you close to Him and to others. As you continue to serve on your mission, and return to BYU and beyond, remember these two places --- your home and my heart --- despite having been a small occasional battlefield over a few years, I have loved and nurtured you, and will continue to do so forever ... no matter what! You were the one who excitedly jumped into the water without floaties. You were the one who wanted to be strapped into the bungees trustingly with your dad, only to be launched into the unknown air! You were the one who, though never having flown in a plane, opted to fearlessly, yet trustingly, jump out of one (strapped into a parachute!). You were the one who were tenacious enough to board a plane to trustingly embark on your mission in spite of those obstacles that temporarily held you back. You were the one who encountered unique health issues only to rise above them and fly free and unencumbered toward your dreams. Fly baby. Fly. ........ But please please don't fly too far away from me. I love you. Endlessly.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Post #2 A Conversation About Hahna
"When the first baby laughed for the first time, the laugh broke into a thousand pieces and they all went skipping about, and that was the beginning of fairies. And now when every new baby is born its first laugh becomes a fairy."
"A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for."
"A baby will make love stronger, days shorter, nights longer, bankroll smaller, home happier, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, and the future worth living for."
First born. Curious. Highly intelligent. Compliant. Naturally spiritually attuned. Musical. Very kind. Honest. Trusted. Brave. Gentle. Loving. Demonstrative.
I could go quote-and-thesaurus-plucking all day and it would be a pleasure for me to find so many of them confirming what I already know about you. Your beautiful eyes. My 26 hour labor with you where, for a moment, your little heart stopped beating and our nurse rightfully took no thought of my comfort and began briskly massaging my huge tummy to wake up that little heart. Finding just the right name for you. Holding you for the first time in my arms. Watching you spend hours with your crafts. Your caring for, and bossing around Aubrey -- your best friend for the first many years of your life. Backyard swings. Your stitches and other childhood injuries. Little Tykes toys. First day of school and my weeping for 2 weeks each year that I dropped you off on that first school day. Your very young otherworldly spiritual queries that often confounded your father and I. Your private contemplative moments in the green belt. Saving Aubrey from drowning. Piano lessons. Harp lessons. Shyness. School band. Watching you manage your life's challenges. Your loving the scriptures. Outstanding grades. Flying through your youthful academic interests from entomologist to ornithologist to poet to science major/Spanish minor to eternally majoring in marriage to a terrific guy named Jake. I could go on and on.
Years ago I dreamed of the sort of child I some day hoped to have. In 1991 that dream began to take shape and root in a nearly 10-lb. baby girl we named Hahna Kirsten Danz. I looked into your most innocent gaze, and my gosh, how I loved you. Something buried deep inside me gushed out to help my old self become a renewed better self: at that unguarded moment I knew that it was all about love. A love I'd never known until that instant. Mother love. Baby love. No no. This was Divine Love. A love like God's: sweet, unconditional and infinite. In that proverbial 'twinkling of an eye' I was was transformed and never desired to go back. And it was all because of a little baby girl named Hahna. I'd take you in my baby backpack and we'd go on hikes in our special place in the city away from the concrete and crowds (Pierce College Agricultural Farm) where cows and pigs fascinated you --- it was our oasis -- where the hills and trees and ponds we tarried through planted the seeds within you to develop into your lifelong love of God's natural creations. I'd dress you up and walk you in the stroller everywhere. I'd sing to you, read to you, color with you, paint with you, talk with you, watch Sesame Street with you, eat breakfast and lunch with you. I treasured and protected the unconditional love I felt from you. It felt so safe. So divine. It was amazing to be able to gaze into the eyes of such a little human being and feel such unconditional trust, such acceptance, and such love, that I never wanted you to grow up. And yet you did. And during each phase, I continued to experience that sweet unconditional love, and I cherished the little person you were and the one you were becoming, and never wanted you to grow up beyond that. Yet you did. I couldn't help but love you more each day, as I watched you wrap your heart and head around everything you reached for and everything that we brought to you --- from this world and from your Heavenly Father, to shape your life as the playdoh spaghetti you formed with your little hands. Our days were perfect. But too short. I knew that there was so much more to be embraced by those tiny hands. And so it was.
Growing up gave rise to a continued love for, and from, you, which became always fully present and in the moment, as well as continually maturing and becoming richer. You would often sit out in the green belt by the black oak to be alone. Your were amazed at the difference your glasses made upon seeing the leaves on the trees in detail and thinking that everyone's gaze must be blurred. During those challenging middle school and high school years you were formidably optimistic and kind, even through some emotional times. You'd stroll up to the water's edge, find the waves of your life too choppy, and wander back to where your family and a loving Heavenly Father could provide you comfort and strength --- only to re-fortify you for another day.
Your first job at La Comida. Then Mountain Mike's. Then that survey place. Then as a classroom aide. EFY. As Ben's homecoming escort. Prom. Coldplay. Your shyness. Your poise. Your beauty. Your driver's license. You and Nikki. Your senior project. Your hike up Half Dome with dad. All the boys who suddenly found you interesting once you graduated (remember your b-day dinner at Mtn. Mike's when you were surrounded by only a dozen guys? haha. Who wouldathunk? :) Your surprise scholarship! Your BYU experience and being blessed with great roommates. Your piano and harp playing that filled our home with tangible comfort (sniff. I miss it.). Your ever-growing spirituality. Your marriage to that wonderful boy of yours. Your fun wedding, reception, and honeymoon! At each threshold of your life, you've been poised to enthusiastically leap to the next level. You're fearless.
Lest I be accused of over-romanticizing my memories of my firstborn, I shall share the following: yes, you were a perfectly compliant and good-natured child ... and even when adolescence struck you were never prone to disobedience. And what for most parents would have been no big deal, came as a surprise to me as a slight twinge of stubborness and independence kicked in after you turned 18. In testing your independence, your newly-arrived-adult-self opted out of my suggestions on what to do with your time and talents during your precious summer breaks, and my recommendations on how to constructively spend some of your time found no fertile soil in this new Hahna: I had recommended you use your harp talents to play for hospice patients, use your spare time to engage in meaningful service, look for another job to add to your 12-15 hour-per-week job and too much free time, practice your talents so you don't lose them (doesn't your patriarchal blessing say something about that?), not spend so much time on Facebook or on the computer, fix an occasional meal for the family so as to master some cooking skills/recipes before going off to college. I was a tad frustrated at my useless attempts for effective rearing of my adult daughter, and alas, you chose other options. As such, perhaps that precious extra summer time was lost and conceivably squandered away. To what end remains for you to judge (haha). All part of that adolescent-to-adult rite of passage ... and more for my own mother-of-a-teenager-then-mother-of-an-adult rite of passage!! Okay, so that was the worst of it. I really can't complain.
To date, your path has been a largely inspired and righteous one, Hahna. I don't know what lies ahead for you and Jake, and I imagine your blessed life may be peppered with some challenges, yet I'm sure that those extraordinary qualities of yours will help you through the tough times.
One day Jake will know you better than I do. On that day, your transition from us to him will be even more complete. Until such time, I will savor each grain of memory that clings to the aprons and blankies and cuddlies and memory boxes of your life. Jacob will continue to recognize in his own manner, and embrace, and cherish these things that I know you embrace and cherish, and which make you who you are (at least for the present) and fill your heart: your poetry --- heartfelt, pure, and you --- (though perhaps others' appreciation of it is such that you may feel that you've 'cast your pearls before swine'); your writings; Your need for, and love of, physical affection as a public and private affirmation of someone's love for you; your academic gifts; your gift as peacemaker and desire to avoid confrontation or disharmony and desire to please to the point of self-effacement or silence of your own needs; your joy in music and their lyrics; your love of nature and simplicity; How someone needs to work to get your feelings or concerns out of you (rather than you freely delivering them); Your gentleness and kindness that keeps you relatively unjaded. I pray that you continue to nurture those qualities and gifts that have consecrated your heart and spirit to things Divine, kept them tender, and yet help them soar: your fierce love and care for your children, your appreciation for your husband and his daily grind, your harp, piano, and flute gifts; your poetry and facility of beautiful language; your prayerful study and love of the Gospel and things of God. I also hope that you never underestimate or diminish the intensely hard and often mind-numbing work of mothering and teaching them in things of earth and heaven. If you feel others reduce your labors to the 'steerage' columns of life, defend our profession fiercely, for there is nothing more important.
Proverbs 31:10 says "Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies." I am blessed to be the mother of such a virtuous woman. I always knew that the multi-layered fat little baby girl on my lap (haha) was more priceless to me than all the rubies in the world! I feel as though I was appointed and privileged to be one of those "angels" that your patriarchal blessing says is placed here to protect you. I know that I have to turn over most of that mantle of protector to a man I am honored to call my son (albeit 'in-law'). That's not an easy thing for me to do after holding that baby girl close for 18 years. Ah yes, that maternal rite of passage again. But one thing is certain: I'll always be able to keep the role as your mother and no one will be able to take that from me. That knowledge alone, continues to make me the happiest mother in the world. I love you.
Growing up gave rise to a continued love for, and from, you, which became always fully present and in the moment, as well as continually maturing and becoming richer. You would often sit out in the green belt by the black oak to be alone. Your were amazed at the difference your glasses made upon seeing the leaves on the trees in detail and thinking that everyone's gaze must be blurred. During those challenging middle school and high school years you were formidably optimistic and kind, even through some emotional times. You'd stroll up to the water's edge, find the waves of your life too choppy, and wander back to where your family and a loving Heavenly Father could provide you comfort and strength --- only to re-fortify you for another day.
Your first job at La Comida. Then Mountain Mike's. Then that survey place. Then as a classroom aide. EFY. As Ben's homecoming escort. Prom. Coldplay. Your shyness. Your poise. Your beauty. Your driver's license. You and Nikki. Your senior project. Your hike up Half Dome with dad. All the boys who suddenly found you interesting once you graduated (remember your b-day dinner at Mtn. Mike's when you were surrounded by only a dozen guys? haha. Who wouldathunk? :) Your surprise scholarship! Your BYU experience and being blessed with great roommates. Your piano and harp playing that filled our home with tangible comfort (sniff. I miss it.). Your ever-growing spirituality. Your marriage to that wonderful boy of yours. Your fun wedding, reception, and honeymoon! At each threshold of your life, you've been poised to enthusiastically leap to the next level. You're fearless.
Lest I be accused of over-romanticizing my memories of my firstborn, I shall share the following: yes, you were a perfectly compliant and good-natured child ... and even when adolescence struck you were never prone to disobedience. And what for most parents would have been no big deal, came as a surprise to me as a slight twinge of stubborness and independence kicked in after you turned 18. In testing your independence, your newly-arrived-adult-self opted out of my suggestions on what to do with your time and talents during your precious summer breaks, and my recommendations on how to constructively spend some of your time found no fertile soil in this new Hahna: I had recommended you use your harp talents to play for hospice patients, use your spare time to engage in meaningful service, look for another job to add to your 12-15 hour-per-week job and too much free time, practice your talents so you don't lose them (doesn't your patriarchal blessing say something about that?), not spend so much time on Facebook or on the computer, fix an occasional meal for the family so as to master some cooking skills/recipes before going off to college. I was a tad frustrated at my useless attempts for effective rearing of my adult daughter, and alas, you chose other options. As such, perhaps that precious extra summer time was lost and conceivably squandered away. To what end remains for you to judge (haha). All part of that adolescent-to-adult rite of passage ... and more for my own mother-of-a-teenager-then-mother-of-an-adult rite of passage!! Okay, so that was the worst of it. I really can't complain.
To date, your path has been a largely inspired and righteous one, Hahna. I don't know what lies ahead for you and Jake, and I imagine your blessed life may be peppered with some challenges, yet I'm sure that those extraordinary qualities of yours will help you through the tough times.
One day Jake will know you better than I do. On that day, your transition from us to him will be even more complete. Until such time, I will savor each grain of memory that clings to the aprons and blankies and cuddlies and memory boxes of your life. Jacob will continue to recognize in his own manner, and embrace, and cherish these things that I know you embrace and cherish, and which make you who you are (at least for the present) and fill your heart: your poetry --- heartfelt, pure, and you --- (though perhaps others' appreciation of it is such that you may feel that you've 'cast your pearls before swine'); your writings; Your need for, and love of, physical affection as a public and private affirmation of someone's love for you; your academic gifts; your gift as peacemaker and desire to avoid confrontation or disharmony and desire to please to the point of self-effacement or silence of your own needs; your joy in music and their lyrics; your love of nature and simplicity; How someone needs to work to get your feelings or concerns out of you (rather than you freely delivering them); Your gentleness and kindness that keeps you relatively unjaded. I pray that you continue to nurture those qualities and gifts that have consecrated your heart and spirit to things Divine, kept them tender, and yet help them soar: your fierce love and care for your children, your appreciation for your husband and his daily grind, your harp, piano, and flute gifts; your poetry and facility of beautiful language; your prayerful study and love of the Gospel and things of God. I also hope that you never underestimate or diminish the intensely hard and often mind-numbing work of mothering and teaching them in things of earth and heaven. If you feel others reduce your labors to the 'steerage' columns of life, defend our profession fiercely, for there is nothing more important.
Proverbs 31:10 says "Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies." I am blessed to be the mother of such a virtuous woman. I always knew that the multi-layered fat little baby girl on my lap (haha) was more priceless to me than all the rubies in the world! I feel as though I was appointed and privileged to be one of those "angels" that your patriarchal blessing says is placed here to protect you. I know that I have to turn over most of that mantle of protector to a man I am honored to call my son (albeit 'in-law'). That's not an easy thing for me to do after holding that baby girl close for 18 years. Ah yes, that maternal rite of passage again. But one thing is certain: I'll always be able to keep the role as your mother and no one will be able to take that from me. That knowledge alone, continues to make me the happiest mother in the world. I love you.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Post #1: First thoughts for my 3 loveliest of daughters
"The family. We were a strange little band of characters trudging through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of our rooms, inflicting pain and kissing to heal it in the same instant, loving, laughing, defending, and trying to figure out the common thread that bound us all together." (Erma Bombeck)
“To forget one's ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without root.” (Chinese proverb)
"The sacred is in the ordinary."
“To forget one's ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without root.” (Chinese proverb)
"The sacred is in the ordinary."
Ah yes, here I am: jumping on the blogging bandwagon in some vain hope that you will each remember me and your upbringing for some good things we've done together rather than merely dwell on the perhaps not-so-cool impatient out-of-shape, losing-my-hair-and-my-teeth (what a vision I'm creating, eh?!) old fat fart I am today. No, this blog isn't intended as Carol's pity party or a blow-my-own-horn production. It's merely an effort toward purging myself of the many thoughts swirling through my head which I've frequently wanted to express to my daughters, yet which I've avoided, neglected, or have been unable to express in actual face time (oops. run-on sentence). It is also hoped that you will sift through your early lifetime and find some gems of your own upbringing such that you employ them with your own families. I also hope that you can enjoy reading this blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it, and that these memories will be ones that you each sweetly savor. Treasure them, for they are the foundation upon which your current and future lives are built.
The Food Bank and soup kitchen are now consuming so much of my time that it's become a full-time job. That's a good thing for someone who requires distraction from the glaring reality that I am no longer the center of your universes. Yes change and reality sucks sometimes. I'm having to redefine the parameters of my happiness and am grateful that service beyond my home is becoming a greater part of it. Yet, at the original time of this writing (2011), I realize that I have precious little time left to spend with my two remaining daughters. Yet, how could I say "not now" to a Heavenly Father who had already marked out this charity path (the food bank) for your mother to readily pursue? Alas, 'seeking balance' and 'finding time' for other weightier family matters (i.e. my wonderful family) will be my byword as I extend my learning curve into 2012 and beyond. The sentiments in this blog are my own. Although your father probably shares many of them, I shall only speak for myself (perhaps I can get dad started on his own blog!) :)
As an older mother, I had the benefit of having a decade of contemplation behind me as to the sort of home I hoped to create and the type of mother I knew God wanted me to become. I wanted to provide you with a comforting, safe, happy and dare I say, near-perfect home and childhood. I wanted you to think and be comfortable in your own heads rather than rely on technology or others' thoughts, to fill them. Perhaps I was most influential in your younger years. Yet motherhood taught me where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. It was a perfect fit. Student, secretary, waitress, missionary, radio station employee, magazine editor, school teacher. These professions are nothing compared to my role as your mother. Prayerfully plodding through my map of mothering experiences, I endeavored to be as conscientious and divinely guided as was humanly possible for "a soul so rebellious and proud as mine" (lyrics from the hymn: I Stand All Amazed).
You're all very independent now, productively evolving away from the nest, as is part of the Plan, and that's a good thing. Yet the irony is that no such evolution occurs for mothers. We do not evolve away from our children. Despite your changes of drawing further away from home, a mother's need for, and focus on, her children never changes. Like all mothers, the present and future give us little say in the matter of how much our maturing departing children remain a part of our lives.
Each phase of your lives brought me new challenges and forced me to scramble and unconsciously reinvent myself to suit those ever-changing needs of yours. For at least 18 years, I focused, with lazer-like attention and energy, to your every need, until such time (in your young adulthood) as you felt that such attention is no longer warranted. When you were young, it paid off to be a super-focused mother, yet once you were older you labeled my focus as "too intense." haha. That was an understatement. In your younger years, you clung to my apron strings. In your adolescent years I was more of a nuisance to you. I remember being asked by you to depart when your friends were around because you were tired of the fact that I was around all the time --- as your YW president, your Primary president, your Achievement Days leader, your PTA president, your substitute, your seminary teacher. I did sympathize with that dilemma. But for the record, I never did, nor ever will, tire of you. As you can see, Motherhood is not for the faint of heart!
Though very imperfect, dad I did our level and prayerful best as your parents. In what way, you might ask? In ways you were (and maybe still are) likely unaware of: I knew to never spank you; taught you all to read before kindergarten practically providing more books for you than the public library; employed the gospel fully in every corner of our home (songs, books, lessons, chats, at home, in the car, camping, etc.): frequent personal and family prayer each time we left the house, FHE, took advantage of your life's gospel teaching moments and chats; facilitated growth opportunities for you when you were younger such as sports, music lessons, drama (dad facilitated the church plays for you guys); provided fun home school opportunities/field trips to coincide with your public education; went to your games, plays, awards, performances; constantly worked in your classrooms or at your schools and involved myself in your PTAs; provided maximum at-home enrichment for you via books, learning toys, arts & craft supplies, clay, paints, etc. etc. etc. (remember the days before technology became pre-eminent?!); limited TV watching in order to encourage your imaginations to fly; always readied clothes and lunches and breakfasts for you before you scurried off to school (even during seminary) -- with an occasional note tucked into your lunchbox; taught you all about the importance of individual prayers as well as family prayers; facilitated occasional 'mental health days' from school so we could go have lunch or for you to just rest your weary minds from your hard work at school; started working so that we could make ends meet and provide you with all the bells and whistles you needed; always taught the importance of attending church and encouraged your involvement in church activities (this wasn't usually negotiable); made sure we almost always ate together at the dinner table; taught you the value of honesty such that your teachers and classmates always admired that quality in you all; encouraged success and discouraged mediocrity; taught and praised your modesty so you were confident with it; encouraged your pursuit of any interests; introduced you to all kinds of music and nurtured your musical interests (lessons, band, etc.); remained vocal against any injustices aimed at you (yes, I was your fierce mama bear); taught you to not care about what people think (within reason); hopefully taught you to believe you could do anything you set your mind to; made camping and hiking as fun (and organized) as possible; took you swimming, bike riding, etc.; tried to keep our home presentable so that you would be comfortable in inviting friends over and not be embarrassed by it; taught you to love all people, despite their color, religion, or 'different' attitudes and behavior; taught you to always use good manners; tried to keep our home free of any bad influences by minimizing t.v., bad language (remember how we couldn't say "hate" or "fat"?), inappropriate dialogue (until, of course, you attended PHS, where you were unduly exposed to icky things); made God paramount in our lives; morning devotionals over breakfast using age-appropriate picture scripture books, reading scriptures as a family (thanks to Aubrey's reminders); drove you to seminary till you could drive yourselves; used gospel-based entertainment a lot (Veggie Tales, primary song tapes, religious books, etc.); always brought age-appropriate gospel activities to keep you occupied during sacrament meeting (i.e. gospel coloring books and flannel board stories); opted out of carpooling (which would've been very convenient for me) or bussing to school because you didn't feel comfortable with it; tried to stay involved in your education so that I could intervene if necessary (i.e. one of your teachers would throw away your homework until I asked her not to ... so I collected it! :)); a daily kiss and a hug (also not negotiable :); successfully (for the most part) tried my best to avoid some tendencies which were engrained in me since my youth (i.e. spanking, listening to hard rock music; inappropriate language) while you were growing up so as to create the most conducive spiritual home environment and example for you (yeah, I weakened as you grew older :); raised you all in a not-too-strict but not-too-lenient home that was a lingually clean, spiritually thoughtful, appropriately entertaining environment until you were all old enough to manage what you saw and heard and make your own wise choices (and call me to repentance when I was making bad choices myself! haha). So yeah, I tried my best. And having been raised in a home where all of these things were largely absent ... and in seeing the types of women you've become ... I'd say that, despite my many shortcomings, you all turned out pretty well. I can't take all the credit because ours was a triangle of parenting: me, your father, and your Heavenly Father. I hope that time won't dim these long ago memories of me/us and that, when viewing your aging mom with your more mature, more critical gaze, that you render a bit more gentility and grace and forgiveness toward my current and future self. I wasn't always this way ... and I'll probably get worse! (haha) But remember, God isn't finished with me yet.
The past 15, 18, 20 years (at the original time of this writing) gave me complete license to do what I pleased in how I designed your upbringing. It allowed me to choose between nurturing you to be dependent on me, your mother and make me the center of your universes forever, such that I could delight in your constant company till I die, OR to facilitate your lives such that you grow and flourish into decent, independent persons, and raise you up to take flight of this roost wherein you were nurtured! I opted for the latter, yet how easily I could have opted for the former if I had a crystal ball into my future heart. Hahna has taken flight. Aubrey is preparing to do the same physically, and perhaps has already declared her independence emotionally. Two and a half more precious years with Baylee though! I'll savor those years so that your sudden disappearance won't catch me off guard like it did with Hahna (where I learned the meaning of "traumatic"! haha). And thank goodness Aubrey's going to college locally at first! Another hooray! Despite your insistent independence Aub, and frequent absence as you go off to hang with your buds, I will at least cross paths with you at home and savor those moments as well!
The Food Bank and soup kitchen are now consuming so much of my time that it's become a full-time job. That's a good thing for someone who requires distraction from the glaring reality that I am no longer the center of your universes. Yes change and reality sucks sometimes. I'm having to redefine the parameters of my happiness and am grateful that service beyond my home is becoming a greater part of it. Yet, at the original time of this writing (2011), I realize that I have precious little time left to spend with my two remaining daughters. Yet, how could I say "not now" to a Heavenly Father who had already marked out this charity path (the food bank) for your mother to readily pursue? Alas, 'seeking balance' and 'finding time' for other weightier family matters (i.e. my wonderful family) will be my byword as I extend my learning curve into 2012 and beyond. The sentiments in this blog are my own. Although your father probably shares many of them, I shall only speak for myself (perhaps I can get dad started on his own blog!) :)
As an older mother, I had the benefit of having a decade of contemplation behind me as to the sort of home I hoped to create and the type of mother I knew God wanted me to become. I wanted to provide you with a comforting, safe, happy and dare I say, near-perfect home and childhood. I wanted you to think and be comfortable in your own heads rather than rely on technology or others' thoughts, to fill them. Perhaps I was most influential in your younger years. Yet motherhood taught me where I fit in in the grand scheme of things. It was a perfect fit. Student, secretary, waitress, missionary, radio station employee, magazine editor, school teacher. These professions are nothing compared to my role as your mother. Prayerfully plodding through my map of mothering experiences, I endeavored to be as conscientious and divinely guided as was humanly possible for "a soul so rebellious and proud as mine" (lyrics from the hymn: I Stand All Amazed).
You're all very independent now, productively evolving away from the nest, as is part of the Plan, and that's a good thing. Yet the irony is that no such evolution occurs for mothers. We do not evolve away from our children. Despite your changes of drawing further away from home, a mother's need for, and focus on, her children never changes. Like all mothers, the present and future give us little say in the matter of how much our maturing departing children remain a part of our lives.
Each phase of your lives brought me new challenges and forced me to scramble and unconsciously reinvent myself to suit those ever-changing needs of yours. For at least 18 years, I focused, with lazer-like attention and energy, to your every need, until such time (in your young adulthood) as you felt that such attention is no longer warranted. When you were young, it paid off to be a super-focused mother, yet once you were older you labeled my focus as "too intense." haha. That was an understatement. In your younger years, you clung to my apron strings. In your adolescent years I was more of a nuisance to you. I remember being asked by you to depart when your friends were around because you were tired of the fact that I was around all the time --- as your YW president, your Primary president, your Achievement Days leader, your PTA president, your substitute, your seminary teacher. I did sympathize with that dilemma. But for the record, I never did, nor ever will, tire of you. As you can see, Motherhood is not for the faint of heart!
Though very imperfect, dad I did our level and prayerful best as your parents. In what way, you might ask? In ways you were (and maybe still are) likely unaware of: I knew to never spank you; taught you all to read before kindergarten practically providing more books for you than the public library; employed the gospel fully in every corner of our home (songs, books, lessons, chats, at home, in the car, camping, etc.): frequent personal and family prayer each time we left the house, FHE, took advantage of your life's gospel teaching moments and chats; facilitated growth opportunities for you when you were younger such as sports, music lessons, drama (dad facilitated the church plays for you guys); provided fun home school opportunities/field trips to coincide with your public education; went to your games, plays, awards, performances; constantly worked in your classrooms or at your schools and involved myself in your PTAs; provided maximum at-home enrichment for you via books, learning toys, arts & craft supplies, clay, paints, etc. etc. etc. (remember the days before technology became pre-eminent?!); limited TV watching in order to encourage your imaginations to fly; always readied clothes and lunches and breakfasts for you before you scurried off to school (even during seminary) -- with an occasional note tucked into your lunchbox; taught you all about the importance of individual prayers as well as family prayers; facilitated occasional 'mental health days' from school so we could go have lunch or for you to just rest your weary minds from your hard work at school; started working so that we could make ends meet and provide you with all the bells and whistles you needed; always taught the importance of attending church and encouraged your involvement in church activities (this wasn't usually negotiable); made sure we almost always ate together at the dinner table; taught you the value of honesty such that your teachers and classmates always admired that quality in you all; encouraged success and discouraged mediocrity; taught and praised your modesty so you were confident with it; encouraged your pursuit of any interests; introduced you to all kinds of music and nurtured your musical interests (lessons, band, etc.); remained vocal against any injustices aimed at you (yes, I was your fierce mama bear); taught you to not care about what people think (within reason); hopefully taught you to believe you could do anything you set your mind to; made camping and hiking as fun (and organized) as possible; took you swimming, bike riding, etc.; tried to keep our home presentable so that you would be comfortable in inviting friends over and not be embarrassed by it; taught you to love all people, despite their color, religion, or 'different' attitudes and behavior; taught you to always use good manners; tried to keep our home free of any bad influences by minimizing t.v., bad language (remember how we couldn't say "hate" or "fat"?), inappropriate dialogue (until, of course, you attended PHS, where you were unduly exposed to icky things); made God paramount in our lives; morning devotionals over breakfast using age-appropriate picture scripture books, reading scriptures as a family (thanks to Aubrey's reminders); drove you to seminary till you could drive yourselves; used gospel-based entertainment a lot (Veggie Tales, primary song tapes, religious books, etc.); always brought age-appropriate gospel activities to keep you occupied during sacrament meeting (i.e. gospel coloring books and flannel board stories); opted out of carpooling (which would've been very convenient for me) or bussing to school because you didn't feel comfortable with it; tried to stay involved in your education so that I could intervene if necessary (i.e. one of your teachers would throw away your homework until I asked her not to ... so I collected it! :)); a daily kiss and a hug (also not negotiable :); successfully (for the most part) tried my best to avoid some tendencies which were engrained in me since my youth (i.e. spanking, listening to hard rock music; inappropriate language) while you were growing up so as to create the most conducive spiritual home environment and example for you (yeah, I weakened as you grew older :); raised you all in a not-too-strict but not-too-lenient home that was a lingually clean, spiritually thoughtful, appropriately entertaining environment until you were all old enough to manage what you saw and heard and make your own wise choices (and call me to repentance when I was making bad choices myself! haha). So yeah, I tried my best. And having been raised in a home where all of these things were largely absent ... and in seeing the types of women you've become ... I'd say that, despite my many shortcomings, you all turned out pretty well. I can't take all the credit because ours was a triangle of parenting: me, your father, and your Heavenly Father. I hope that time won't dim these long ago memories of me/us and that, when viewing your aging mom with your more mature, more critical gaze, that you render a bit more gentility and grace and forgiveness toward my current and future self. I wasn't always this way ... and I'll probably get worse! (haha) But remember, God isn't finished with me yet.
The past 15, 18, 20 years (at the original time of this writing) gave me complete license to do what I pleased in how I designed your upbringing. It allowed me to choose between nurturing you to be dependent on me, your mother and make me the center of your universes forever, such that I could delight in your constant company till I die, OR to facilitate your lives such that you grow and flourish into decent, independent persons, and raise you up to take flight of this roost wherein you were nurtured! I opted for the latter, yet how easily I could have opted for the former if I had a crystal ball into my future heart. Hahna has taken flight. Aubrey is preparing to do the same physically, and perhaps has already declared her independence emotionally. Two and a half more precious years with Baylee though! I'll savor those years so that your sudden disappearance won't catch me off guard like it did with Hahna (where I learned the meaning of "traumatic"! haha). And thank goodness Aubrey's going to college locally at first! Another hooray! Despite your insistent independence Aub, and frequent absence as you go off to hang with your buds, I will at least cross paths with you at home and savor those moments as well!
So, as I reel from this proverbial dilemma for which I'm somewhat responsible, and over which I no longer have control, I find comfort that technology provides me with this blog to my daughters, in lieu of those frequent opportunities of days gone by when I could walk and talk with any or all three of you over homework, during dinner, chat with you while I scratched your back before bed, or read you all a story, kidnap you for an occasional lunch date, etc. Ah yes ... when life was so simple, when you all had no cares or worries, and when I rejoiced in that time of your gleeful unfettered innocence. From Playdoh to chasing sandcrabs and building sandcastles to eating the blackberries that purpled your faces and fingers, to delighting in proms and dresses and worrying about each of your happinesses (is that even a word?), I savored each walk, chat, every fragment of our lives together which, though not always pitch-perfect, was as comfortable and cozy as slipping my feet into warm worn fuzzy slippers.
I carry memories enough of you three to fill the Library of Congress, and just to name a few (take a deep breath and walk down this memory lane with me if you dare): painting with water books, big crayons, gel pens, Barbies, legos, hot wheels, glow in the dark stars, being able to take any of you into a 2-hour meeting where you could quietly occupy yourselves with crayons or books, mastering Hooked on Phonics at ages 3 or 4, I Can Read books (Frog n Toad!), the pitter-patter of your little feet as you ran to our room and crawled into bed with us, what fun dinner time was with you, your running hugs when I came to pick you up after school, school lunches, little necklaces with glitter liquid inside, picking out your own backpacks and lunchboxes, your new-school-year-delight when we got to shop at Walmart for brand new school supplies, lace socks and light up sneakers, teaching you how to tie your shoes, little backyard pools, arm floaties in big pools, teaching you to roller skate and then having fun at the roller rink, Sporthaven pools, playdates at the park, picnics, naps and quiet time, bouncing on your beds, crawling into your beds, crafts, Achievement Days, YW, nursery at church, PTA stuff at your schools, driving you to school instead of bussing you, homeschool Fridays, savings bonds and other awards for your essays, art, etc., different sized carseats, Crabtree's pool, your childhood friends, each of your very unique dispositions and abilities/talents/interests, Hahna's stitches, Aubrey's energy, Baylee's mellowness, family campouts, learning to ride a bicycle, Disneyland trips, opting to raise you in a small town instead of the city of So. Cal, all of your musical interests and performances, magic acts at ward talent shows, our candle dance, Easter baskets, articles or pictures about you in the newspaper or magazine, Christmas elf hunts, your confiding in me your treasured private thoughts, playing for the creche festival, spelling bees, Hahna's billboard, shyness, over-the-top birthday parties and sleepovers, bubbly bath times, great dentist checkups, decorating Easter eggs, favorite foods, playing mud/water/ leaf pile games in the yard, soft pretzel animals, Mother's day t-shirts, bed tents, blanket tents, scary stories, Billy the Booger, the Multi-age school/classes, riding your tricycles from inside the garage down the driveway, building the upstairs playroom, growing up in Paradise and loving the outdoors, your spiritual groundings at home and church, our frequent family prayers and your sweet personal prayers when you were little, our morning devotionals with children's scriptures/scripture stories, storytimes at night, helping in your classrooms, chaperoning field trips, song tapes in the car when driving, or devotionals in the car when you were older, Joy School, the co-op preschool, all of your elementary school teachers who loved and trusted you all, learning to swim and do sports, trying out different disciplines until we got it right, speech class, family home evenings, snowcaves, snowsledding in the culdesac or up the hill, fun at home during power failures, first time driving experiences, crushes, your all being the kinds of girls I'd look up to when I was young, Mother's Day breakfasts in bed, handmade cards and gifts, talks in Primary and Sacrament Meeting, having sacrament meeting at home, your inquisitive minds and questions, your meaningful prayers, your sports activities (soccer, track, cross country, basketball, volleyball), your proms and stake dances, road trips, patriarchal blessings, fashion, haircuts, shaving/epilating, EFY's, getting your licenses, boyfriends, finding a dozen ways to kiss you hello/goodbye so it wouldn't embarrass you ...................... phew! Yet i could go on.
Lately, when sitting quietly somewhere or going on a solitary walk, I often find myself fighting back the tears because I am overcome by this swirling wave of emotions that arise when I least expect: missing all of because of the distance between us, cringing at the thought of each of you departing, missing a life we used to have together, missing your vanished childhoods and my own younger, innocent parent self, and yearning for your physical and emotional presence as your lives carry you away from me. I momentarily reject any notion of this ongoing maternal transformation and having to let go again and again, with each visit and departure to school or wherever. I'm caught unawares when memories arise of every swimsuit you ever wore, of the sweet shivering little girls I'd take out of their baths and wrap up in warm towels and warm kisses, of the endless McDonald's happy meals we shared, of the buckets of shells and rocks and glass pebbles we collected, of the silly songs we'd sing in the car together, of the injured baby birds you'd try to bring back to life, of the smores we ate and the campfire stories we'd tell, of the sweet little cheeks I kissed every good night, of your velcro shoes, our late-night Halloween strolls to fill your candy buckets, the pitter patter of a sweet little babygirl (Aubrey) tiptoe-ing to the living room for a peek at her presents or Santa Claus ..... of Baylee's extreme shyness (though we learned that her 'still waters ran deep'); gads ... so many many indescribable sweet simple joys. Then I realize that there's love in letting go.
I carry memories enough of you three to fill the Library of Congress, and just to name a few (take a deep breath and walk down this memory lane with me if you dare): painting with water books, big crayons, gel pens, Barbies, legos, hot wheels, glow in the dark stars, being able to take any of you into a 2-hour meeting where you could quietly occupy yourselves with crayons or books, mastering Hooked on Phonics at ages 3 or 4, I Can Read books (Frog n Toad!), the pitter-patter of your little feet as you ran to our room and crawled into bed with us, what fun dinner time was with you, your running hugs when I came to pick you up after school, school lunches, little necklaces with glitter liquid inside, picking out your own backpacks and lunchboxes, your new-school-year-delight when we got to shop at Walmart for brand new school supplies, lace socks and light up sneakers, teaching you how to tie your shoes, little backyard pools, arm floaties in big pools, teaching you to roller skate and then having fun at the roller rink, Sporthaven pools, playdates at the park, picnics, naps and quiet time, bouncing on your beds, crawling into your beds, crafts, Achievement Days, YW, nursery at church, PTA stuff at your schools, driving you to school instead of bussing you, homeschool Fridays, savings bonds and other awards for your essays, art, etc., different sized carseats, Crabtree's pool, your childhood friends, each of your very unique dispositions and abilities/talents/interests, Hahna's stitches, Aubrey's energy, Baylee's mellowness, family campouts, learning to ride a bicycle, Disneyland trips, opting to raise you in a small town instead of the city of So. Cal, all of your musical interests and performances, magic acts at ward talent shows, our candle dance, Easter baskets, articles or pictures about you in the newspaper or magazine, Christmas elf hunts, your confiding in me your treasured private thoughts, playing for the creche festival, spelling bees, Hahna's billboard, shyness, over-the-top birthday parties and sleepovers, bubbly bath times, great dentist checkups, decorating Easter eggs, favorite foods, playing mud/water/ leaf pile games in the yard, soft pretzel animals, Mother's day t-shirts, bed tents, blanket tents, scary stories, Billy the Booger, the Multi-age school/classes, riding your tricycles from inside the garage down the driveway, building the upstairs playroom, growing up in Paradise and loving the outdoors, your spiritual groundings at home and church, our frequent family prayers and your sweet personal prayers when you were little, our morning devotionals with children's scriptures/scripture stories, storytimes at night, helping in your classrooms, chaperoning field trips, song tapes in the car when driving, or devotionals in the car when you were older, Joy School, the co-op preschool, all of your elementary school teachers who loved and trusted you all, learning to swim and do sports, trying out different disciplines until we got it right, speech class, family home evenings, snowcaves, snowsledding in the culdesac or up the hill, fun at home during power failures, first time driving experiences, crushes, your all being the kinds of girls I'd look up to when I was young, Mother's Day breakfasts in bed, handmade cards and gifts, talks in Primary and Sacrament Meeting, having sacrament meeting at home, your inquisitive minds and questions, your meaningful prayers, your sports activities (soccer, track, cross country, basketball, volleyball), your proms and stake dances, road trips, patriarchal blessings, fashion, haircuts, shaving/epilating, EFY's, getting your licenses, boyfriends, finding a dozen ways to kiss you hello/goodbye so it wouldn't embarrass you ...................... phew! Yet i could go on.
Lately, when sitting quietly somewhere or going on a solitary walk, I often find myself fighting back the tears because I am overcome by this swirling wave of emotions that arise when I least expect: missing all of because of the distance between us, cringing at the thought of each of you departing, missing a life we used to have together, missing your vanished childhoods and my own younger, innocent parent self, and yearning for your physical and emotional presence as your lives carry you away from me. I momentarily reject any notion of this ongoing maternal transformation and having to let go again and again, with each visit and departure to school or wherever. I'm caught unawares when memories arise of every swimsuit you ever wore, of the sweet shivering little girls I'd take out of their baths and wrap up in warm towels and warm kisses, of the endless McDonald's happy meals we shared, of the buckets of shells and rocks and glass pebbles we collected, of the silly songs we'd sing in the car together, of the injured baby birds you'd try to bring back to life, of the smores we ate and the campfire stories we'd tell, of the sweet little cheeks I kissed every good night, of your velcro shoes, our late-night Halloween strolls to fill your candy buckets, the pitter patter of a sweet little babygirl (Aubrey) tiptoe-ing to the living room for a peek at her presents or Santa Claus ..... of Baylee's extreme shyness (though we learned that her 'still waters ran deep'); gads ... so many many indescribable sweet simple joys. Then I realize that there's love in letting go.
And to what end has this multitude of experiences been rewarded? To an end far sweeter than I could have ever imagined: I knew that I raised and taught you reasonably well when we arrived at that point where you three would teach me or call me to repentance ... ironically, you three already began doing this when you were very young ; you are now three lovely young women (inside and out), all of you intelligent, well-adjusted, gifted in your own right, with a love and devotion to one another, to family, and to God. All of you will be wonderful positive contributions to our society and your own future families and wards, and above all, to your Savior, His Gospel, and a Father in Heaven who loves you all more deeply than even I do (that doesn't seem possible, but yeah). And finally, there's that inexpressible joy of knowing that we will spend an eternity together as a family --- yours, mine, and ours. Of all my Mother's Day gifts, past present and future, the very best gift you can ever give me will be to do your part in earning that gift and experience your own happiness in your own well-lived lives.
So then, from the deepest reaches of my heart, I take a deep breath, grab a tissue, and continue on.
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