Scars

I had an epiphany last night.  Or, as we Mormons like to call it, a personal revelation.

Three pregnancies in four years does a number on your body.  So much about my body no longer resembles what it looked like prior to embarking on this journey.  At the risk of sounding shallow, that was one of the hardest (and continues to be) adjustments for me.  Things just don't look the same.  My body doesn't feel the same.  And how could it?  It has grown, supported and birthed three beautiful little people.

I had read a blog post several years ago that has always stuck with me.  I wish I could remember who the author was, but that information has been lost, along with most of my vocabulary, compliments of baby brain.   The woman was discussing her heart breaking struggle to get pregnant.  Her desire for a child of her own was so great, it consumed all of her thoughts.  Finally, she and her husband conceived.  They were beyond excited and, as the baby grew within her, she developed a single stretch mark on her stomach.  Her sister had complained about her pregnancy stretch marks, but she loved this stretch mark.  It meant that there was a baby growing inside her.  Tragically, she lost the baby later in her pregnancy.  Her body mostly returned to normal, having escaped the more physically deforming aspects of pregnancy, except for that one stretch mark.  It remained.  And she cherishes it because it is physical proof of her baby.

Needless to say, I sobbed after reading that.  I have had many trials in my life, but conceiving a child has not been one of them.  It made me feel spoiled and selfish.

Since reading it, I have tried to have that perspective regarding my own body.  But it has been admittedly hard.  After a grueling workout last night (shout out to Amber!), I was laying in bed thinking about my exercise journey over the last six months and how no matter how hard I work, there will likely always be some extra skin on my stomach, certain scars that will never go away and a different shape to my overall body.  And that's when it hit me:

Jesus Christ has scars.  Scars on His hands, His feet, and His side.  Scars that could have been removed when He was resurrected, but He instead decided to keep them.  Scars that represent all that He did for us.  He literally carries reminders of us on His body.

"...yet will I not forget thee, O house of Israel.  Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands..."  - 1 Nephi 21:15-16

Profound, right?  Ergo, if I am to follow Christ's example, I should embrace my scars.  They are a testament to my precious children.  Even after they have grown and gone, my body has been forever changed.  I will always carry a reminder of them with me; every minute of every day.  Our bodies are living journals, each is completely unique and testifies of our lives.  Such a simple truth that has been drowned out by the world's unrealistic expectations of perfection.

I am going to recommit myself to having this perspective and seeing the negative feelings for what they are: the adversary's attempt to make me miserable.  How grateful I am for the whisperings of the Spirit!

Tender Mercy? Try Miracle!

We are fortunate enough to own two cars: a 2008 Jeep Patriot and John's Kia Race Machine aka a 2001 Kia Sephia he bought brand new when he was 18 years old. 

There is nothing innately fancy about the Kia Race Machine.  It has a standard transmission, you have to manually unroll the windows and unlock the doors.  It's at a point in it's life where the radio doesn't always work, so you get the opportunity to drive around in silence.  Particularly fun with children or an overly-talkative person in the car!

This car has nine lives.  Sure, it's got dings and knicks crunches, but it keeps hanging on.  Everyone close to us has experienced the Kia Race Machine.  This last year it has had a number of issues, all that we've fixed, but the fear is that it may be on it's last leg.

The Kia Race Machine:  Keep on keepin' on

We had to take the car into the mechanic yesterday and leave it over night.  As a consequence, the boys and I woke up at 4:00 am to take John to work.  As many of you with toddlers know, this can be a terrifying experience.  The boys were in good spirits all the way to John's work and did not freak out when he left.

On our way home, I talked with them about how "it is still night night.  When we get home, we need to lay back down and take a little rest before breakfast."  They weren't thrilled with that plan and they made sure to let me know.

Upon arriving home, I wrestled them upstairs and back into their room.  The whole time I kept thinking, "S has preschool at 9:30 am. How am I going to get these boys back to sleep so they are not wrecked for the entire day?"

I put them in their beds, they cried.  I gave them cars, they cried.  I turned on night lights, they cried.  I sang to them for 20 minutes, they cried.  Finally, I asked them to say a prayer with me.  I prayed and said something like this: "Heavenly Father, I know you can help these boys return to sleep.  We have such a big day ahead of us and I want them to be happy.  I want them to have fun.  I know you love them and you want them to have a good day as well.  Please help them to return to sleep."  After closing my prayer I decided to have faith that Heavenly Father would help me and the boys.  I KNEW He would help them sleep, and quickly banished any doubtful thoughts.

I shut the door, entered my bedroom and, this is not a joke, within 60 seconds heard complete silence.  S and L share a room and typically spend at least 20 minutes playing, laughing and/or screaming.  Not this time, though.  Not a peep.  They slept for the next 2 1/2 hours before I woke them for breakfast.  If this wasn't a miracle wrought by the hand of the Lord, then I don't know what is.

I know God hears our prayers.  I know God cares about the small things in our lives.  I know He is ready and willing to bless us with miracles when we are in need and have faith.  I know God loves us.  I know God loves you.

I just hope He loves the Kia Race Machine enough to pull it through its latest malady.  :-)

The boys reading their favorite periodical: The Auto Trader.  They're always on the look out for our next vehicle.

*Update* The Kia Race Machine is back on the road and ready to party!  Two miracles.  BOOM.

Milestones

Yeah, I know, it's been a while.  I began with a "Look at me!  I'm starting a blog!" burst of energy, which clearly waned, but I'm back for now.  I may not have been writing (because I just don't have the time and/or energy most days), but that doesn't mean I haven't been thinking or taking note of all kinds of things to write about.  I really need to carry around a journal to record my thoughts as they come to me.  Actually, I *need* an iPad, but that's a whole other story.

I recently returned from a trip to Phoenix where my youngest sister, Brandy, graduated from high school.  I can remember being in the hospital and holding her after she was born and now she has a high school diploma and nose piercings.  Ca-razy.



Siblings

It was blistering hot the whole time I was there, but it was fabulous to visit with a small group of family and friends.  If you're reading this and thinking, "Umm, I didn't see you while you were here!" consider this my formal apology.  I really tried to get around as much as I could.  However, I didn't have my own car, there are a lot of you and one of me and I was truly there to celebrate Brandy's graduation.  Love you!

John took the week off of work and stayed home with the boys.  We had originally wanted to go as a family, but that small issue of being able to afford it kept coming up.   This worked out great because, although I missed the boys terribly, it gave me a break and it gave John some precious time alone with his guys.  They went to the park every day, played cars, got dirty and I'm sure bathing was limited.  Of course, in true John fashion, when I returned home I was greeted with flowers, everything was immaculate and there was freshly baked banana bread on the stove.  You don't have to tell me how lucky I am (I was married once before, remember?).  John is constantly doing things like this without ever being asked.  We certainly have our differences and conflict, but it is truly minor compared to what it could be.  Despite that, I sometimes feel like a failure when he seems to "outshine" me.  This sounds incredibly petty and self-centered on my part.  It's not so much that we're in competition, because we're not, it's that being home with the boys full time is difficult for me most days.  I guess I just want to know that John has his parenting struggles too. 

The older the boys get, the more fun we have and the easier it has become for me.  I still have moments every day where I want to run screaming from the house, where I can't bare to change another poopy diaper (we had six SEVEN poopy diapers today alone), and I end the day completely wiped out.  To quote a good friend, having really little children is really, really hard.

And that brings me to a hypothesis I have formulated.  I do not believe this is an original thought nor may it be applicable to everyone, but it certainly describes my short 2 1/2 year stint in parenthood thus far.  Here it is:

A person will be subjected to the highest emotional highs and the lowest emotional lows throughout the parenthood experience. 

This is not to say that one cannot experience euphoria or despair outside of parenthood, because you certainly can.  I know I have in my own life.  But the frequency and the ease with which you experience this range of feelings within parenthood is unique.  This is why parenthood is so hard, but also so rewarding.

I believe my hypothesis is supported by statements found within the book, The God Who Weeps: How Mormonism Makes Sense of Life by Terryl and Fiona Givens.  Beautifully written (many passages read as prose), this book delves into some of the most basic and difficult questions humans have about God: Is there a God?  For what purpose did He create us?  Is He a harsh and cruel God, or kind and loving?  Does He deserve our love and adoration?  Do we, as humans, cause Him pain, or is He above suffering?

Among other things, Brother and Sister Givens come to the conclusion that "humans and their world do matter to God" and that, as His children, "His heart is set upon us".   God is not above suffering, nor can He avoid it.  They continue:

"God chooses to love us.  And if love means responsibility, sacrifice, vulnerability, then God's decision to love us is the most stupendously sublime moment in the history of time.  He chooses to love even at, necessarily at, the price of vulnerability...His freely made choice to inaugurate and sustain costly loving relationships is the very core of His divine identity."

Furthermore:

"...it turns out...that God is not exempt from emotional pain.  God's pain is as infinite as His love.  He weeps because He feels compassion.  As the Lord explains to Enoch, 'unto thy brethren have I said, and also given commandment, that they should love one another, and that they should choose me, their Father; but behold, they are without affection, and they hate their own blood...and misery shall be their doom; and the whole heavens shall weep over them, even all the workmanship of mine hands; wherefore should not the heavens weep, seeing these shall suffer?'  It is not their wickedness, but their 'misery,' not their disobedience, but their 'suffering,' that elicits the God of Heaven's tears." (Emphasis added.)

If God feels such infinite pain because of our misery, why then, would He have created us at all?  He created us and loves us because the joy He derives from our successes, our progress and our happiness exceeds all of the costs associated with loving us.  And this is parenting.  This is why I choose to be a parent: the love I feel for my boys and the immense happiness I feel simply because of their existence outweighs the difficulty, the pain and the heartache. 

As I type this, L is sitting in his high chair, eating pizza and making farting noises with his mouth, completely oblivious to anything else that is going on in the world.  His ability to make me laugh make all the poopy diapers totally worth it.

Here's L with puffed rice stuck to his face.  Classic L.