Category Archives: Motherhood

Sorry, Closed

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It’s interesting how we remember general conferences by where we were during each one.

Eighteen months ago I spent the first session of conference (4 to 6 a.m. Sunday morning Australia time) trying to keep my mind off my progressing labor. (Only twelve hours later I held my newborn boy!) I recall Sister Beck’s talk to the mothers with fondness because I was a new mother first the first time that weekend.

Then a year ago I spent the week after conference (since it was delayed a day) listening to all the talks on my computer as I went about my week. I remember listening to Elder Uchtdorf’s and Elder Eyring’s talks over and over again.

Six months ago I went to my parent’s house on Sunday and we had a birthday cake for Paul’s first birthday. I remember Paul’s delight every time the choir started to sing.

This time the whole family zoned out on the couch in cold-induced delirium as the prophet and apostles spoke. I unfortunately don’t recall many of the messages, except it seemed everyone was talking about temples.

Yes, we were all sick. Again. Will the winter cold season never end?

Which is worse:

  • holding my feverish and miserable son while also feeling feverish and miserable
  • letting my energy-filled son hit me on my head with his toys all day long because I’m feverish and miserable and I don’t have the energy (or a voice) to say “please don’t” over and over again

Ever since I woke up this morning, the phrase “Sorry, Closed” has been going through my head. Why today? Because today was the day my husband (who has also been sick) got up before dawn and flew to Manhattan for the next four days. (He did offer to stay home, bless his heart.)

My mind has been telling my body all day to just put up a big sign: “Sorry, I’m Closed Today.” Hence, the toys hitting me on the head. All. Day. Long. (Apparently, the last 48 hours of almost-constant sleep helped Paul to get better. I’m glad. I really am.)

But we all know, moms never close, do we?

Off to put the laundry away. Maybe.

Musings on Cleaning with a Kid

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I told Paul he could stay in the family room, playing with his toys: I was going to clean the bathrooms. I put the Scrubbing Bubbles container on the corner of the kitchen table and grabbed a few rags from the laundry room.

In the ten seconds I was gone, Paul grabbed the cleanser. (Apparently, he is now tall enough to reach things on the table. Make a note of that.) Then he took off the lid (I have no idea how he was successful so quickly) and went into the bathroom. When I walked into the bathroom, he was rubbing the green nozzle of the bathroom cleaner on the lid of the toilet. (He knew the bubbles had something to do with the nozzle, but wasn’t sure how to get the bubbles out.)

Wow. I was blown away.

Now, I’d love for you to suppose this is a reflection on how often I clean the toilets. Trust me – that is not the case. It’s been at least two weeks since I cleaned the bathrooms and the time before that was, I think, when we first moved in (three weeks before that). I think I just have the most clean-aware child on the face of the planet. Or maybe he’s just going through a very serious “I want to imitate Mommy” stage.

After I sprayed the cleanser on the countertops, Paul grabbed the hand towel and tried to reach the counters himself. As I Swiffer-ed the bathroom floors, Paul tried to steal the Swiffer from me. When I scrubbed the toilets, he wanted to take the brush away from me and splash it in the toilet too. (I didn’t let him, and he was very sad.)

(Paul did dip his finger in some of the Scrubbing Bubbles and put it in his month. Ooops. Trust me, Paul, that’s not whipped cream! I think he realized that when he made such a face…)

I don’t think this interest in cleaning is normal for an (almost) 18-month-old. Or is it?

Don’t get me wrong — I’d love to encourage it. I personally hate cleaning the bathrooms (among other things) and I dreaded Saturday mornings  as a kid when my sister and I were forced to clean (although we made up for it by singing “It’s a Hard-Knock Life” the whole time because our “mean mom” was like Miss Hannigan when she made us do chores). I look forward to the day when I can make cleaning the bathrooms a weekly chore for my son and not for me.  Wouldn’t it be nice if he actually liked to clean?!

I was going to post this little anecdote on Paul’s Page (where I post weekly updates and stories about Paul). But then I was hoping that some of the other moms out there can share their thoughts. At what age were your kids competent at cleaning? Did they ever express an interest in cleaning with you? How do I keep him interested in helping (even though, right now, he really isn’t helping)?

The Previous Chapters…

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When I mentioned to my friend that it is my birthday tomorrow, she asked me how old I will be. I had to think about it. (I’m going to be 28, I’ve decided.) It’s funny how as a child we count down the days to being “a year older!” and now it feels like a day older.

So now I’ve been thinking about “another year older.” As a result, I’ve been thinking of how my life has changed in the past decade – and the ways each chapter of my life has impacted who I am today. I’ve learned a lot, but each life chapter has had its own challenges.

Here are the titles and the abstracts of the last nine chapters of my life. I also included some “heart pictures” because I didn’t always have a photograph of most of these events.

Chapter 18 (1999): Escape

The chapter in which I jumped for joy when I discovered I could escape my dreary parent’s home earlier than I thought to go to BYU summer school at the same time as my “pen pal” boyfriend in Texas. Also, the chapter in which I made the greatest friends I have ever had. Also, the chapter in which I learned what it meant to have to “cook” myself dinner. (Thanks, Mom, for sending the meal card! I was hungry.)

Heart picture: Six girls dancing to music in our tiny Heritage Halls kitchen.

Chapter 19 (2000): Myself

The chapter in which I searched for myself spiritually (as a visitor of the BYU Jerusalem center in Jerusalem during Jubilee year), emotionally (as I accepted myself as myself), academically (as a beginning college student), and physically (as I searched for belonging in a campus of 30,000+ people).

Heart pictures: Seeing the old city of Jerusalem when I pause in my scripture study; also, listening to Handel’s Messiah from that same private balcony.

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The Old City, Jerusalem, taken by me

Chapter 20 (2001): Alone

The chapter in which I felt sad and alone as I immersed myself in schoolwork and sought for a place among five very different roommates.

Heart pictures (which I’d rather forget): Reading Juno email (the most annoying free email ever) at my computer, which was on a desk propped up by a cardboard box; also, watching the twin towers fall, wanting to cry, and wondering why my four European roommates asked me to turn off the TV.

Chapter 21 (2002): In Charge

The chapter in which perseverance provided rewards as I suddenly had three jobs and leadership positions and lots of responsibility and senior-year classes and lots of papers to write and roommates and friends who wanted to “hang out” and references and hopes for the future and a chance to live in Bolivia doing “service” for ten weeks.

Heart pictures: The Sigma Tau Delta logo, which organization seemed to dominate a good portion of my life; also, my first cell phone, which made life bearable (my five roommates never accurately took messages); also, the “Magnetic Meat Market” (i.e., the single’s ward phone/picture directory, attached to magnets) on our apartment door (so we could play match maker).

Chapter 22 (2003): Missionary

The chapter in which I forsook my new degree to serve 24-hours-day as a missionary (to mostly single students) in Seattle.

Heart pictures: Sharing the gospel with dozens of young students (actually at home!) after tracting through nine inches of snow on a day when school was cancelled.

Chapter 23 (2004): Recovery

The chapter in which I rejoined “society,” stopped reading the scriptures for an hour every morning, and re-learned that guys don’t want “handshakes” upon greeting and departure. Also the chapter in which I got my first salaried job.

Heart pictures: A singles ward “linger longer”; also, my first car, a 1991? white Ford Mercury.

Chapter 24 (2005): Single

The chapter in which I decided I had enough of singles wards and single guys and I decided to live life my way, like getting accepted into graduate school and traveling Europe with my friend. Also the chapter in which I happened to meet my husband (interesting how that happened…).

Heart Pictures: Seeing Paris from the top of the Eiffel Tower at night with Karen after not having slept since leaving Chicago and seeing the Louvre and taking a boat ride down the Seine.

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an out-of-focus view of the Seine from the Eiffel Tower at twilight

Chapter 25 (2006): Newlywed

The chapter in which I had an ideal 100-day engagement, to my coworkers’ amazement (apparently, that’s short). Also the chapter in which I had the most perfect wedding on the most perfect day in the most perfect temple (that’s the Chicago temple, in case you’re wondering) to the most perfect man. Also the chapter in which I drop out of grad school after one class and my new husband and I despair during the four days a week in which he travels.

Heart Pictures: Seeing my husband across the altar and realizing he’s mine for eternity.

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our perfect wedding day

Chapter 26 (2007): Mother

The chapter in which I spent the entire (almost) year pregnant, I quit my job, and I moved to Australia. Also the chapter in which I didn’t die in childbirth and Paul was born, finally, even without pain medication. Also the chapter in which I got very little sleep at the end.

Heart Pictures: Feeling the baby kick on Mother’s day; also, the first moment I saw and held Paul, a squirming, slippery, messy, skinny bit of perfection.

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Paul's first picture, 2 hours old

Chapter 27 (2008): Ex Pat

The chapter in which I loved living in Australia and touring Australia and New Zealand and yet began to eagerly await our return to America. Also the chapter in which I struggled to distinguish nickels from quarters upon our eventual return stateside.

Heart pictures: Traveling through New Zealand with an 8-month-old in a backpack; also, business class on an 18-hour flight (thanks to my husband’s company!).

Chapter 28 (2009):  ?

What will define this year in my life? I guess only time will tell.

As I look back on these past years, I know that the most wonderful “heart pictures” of all of these are the ones with my husband and my baby. That’s what I want to remember this year for.

Why We Teach Our Children of Santa Claus

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“Oh, and you must not forget the Kris Kringle. The child must believe in him until she reaches the age of six.”

“Mother, I know there are no ghosts or fairies. I would be teaching my child foolish lies.”

Mary spoke sharply. “You do not know whether there are not ghosts on earth or angels in heaven.”

“I know there is no Santa Claus.”

“Yet you must teach the child that these things are so.”

“Why? When I, myself, do not believe?”

“Because,” explained Mary Rommely simply, “the child must have a valuable thing which is called imagination. The child must have a secret world in which things live that never were. It is necessary that she believe. She must start out by believing in things not of this world. Then when the world becomes too ugly for living in, the child can reach back and live in her imagination. …”

“The child will grow up and find out things for herself. She will know that I lied. She will be disappointed.”

“That is what is called learning the truth. It is a good thing to learn the truth one’s self. To first believe with all your heart, and then not to believe, is good too. It fattens the emotions and makes them stretch. When as a woman life and people disappoint her, she will have had practice in disappointment and it will not come so hard. …”

The night that Francie Nolan was born; conversation between her mother and grandmother. A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith, page 84-85.

The Mother’s Way

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I’ve wanted to be more “creative” lately, so I picked up a book of ideas, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. I liked some of her suggestions, but others just weren’t right.

Her main premise is that creativity is God-given, and if we nurture ourselves, we will find it within us. That concept reminded me of Elder Uchtdorf’s talk at the Relief Society meeting:

The desire to create is one of the deepest yearnings of the human soul. No matter our talents, education, backgrounds, or abilities, we each have an inherent wish to create something that did not exist before.

Everyone can create. You don’t need money, position, or influence in order to create something of substance or beauty.

Creation brings deep satisfaction and fulfillment. We develop ourselves and others when we take unorganized matter into our hands and mold it into something of beauty .

Julia Cameron tells us that the key to career resiliency (that is, finding a creative career more suited to your creativity) is self-empowerment and choice. Since I stepped out of an office (my choice) to have my baby (also my choice) and I haven’t been back (still my choice), I pretty much chose my current career. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

No trumpets sound when the important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently. Agnes de Mille (quoted on page 144)

Raising a family is my destiny.

I picked up this book at just the wrong time. She has good ideas, but I don’t have time for them. And some ideas really don’t seem all that good. She encourages readers to take the time to write 20 minutes in the morning pages, write another hour every day, and take a break every week for an artist’s date. Get a sitter now, stop serving other people, and serve yourself for once. If you don’t let yourself do these things, she suggests, you aren’t giving yourself the luxury you deserve.

Part way into this book, I realized why I was so bothered: My baby is my luxury. I waited my entire life to be a mother, and I have the blessing of staying home with my baby. It means I’m not going to write for an hour every day. Serving others, particularly my baby, is a great way that I feel spiritual; if I only served myself all the time, I’d feel very depressed. Life is about service to others!

Yet, I think she has good points for people trying to make creativity a career; you can’t make a career out of writing on the side. Toni Morrison (quoted on page 97) said:

We are traditionally rather proud of ourselves for having slipped creative work in there between the domestic chores and obligations. I’m not sure we deserve such big A-pluses for that.

I completely agree: I’ve been trying to slip in my creativity during the day. But that’s not how it’s done. If I’m serious about my writing, I must be serious when I write.

Cameron would probably suggest that I’m afraid to start being creative, so I’m using my baby as an excuse. Maybe I am afraid. But she does asks the reader to ponder what gives us true joy (page 110), and we are encouraged to pursue that thing. I realized that I already am pursuing it: my baby gives me true joy. Yes, it’s hard work to always watch him every day. No, there really isn’t any time off, although there are nap breaks most days. I suppose that to be truly creative, I can’t be a full-time, never-stop mom, as I am. But I don’t want to change that for any amount of creativity.

By reading The Artist’s Way, I’ve been inspired to seek moments of creativity. I won’t write a novel this month, but I’ll start writing the morning pages. I might not make a daily career of my writing, but I’ll do what I can on the side.

That’s not something to be proud of, but it’s what I can do now, in the midst of my dream career. And I can be proud of following “The Mother’s Way.”

One Year Old

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Paul is one-year-old today. I spent all day trying to think of something creative and deep I could write on my page that shows how much I learned in the past year and how much I love my little boy. I didn’t think of anything clever.

Today I did wipe his nose a number of times . And we ate. A lot. He’s a happy little boy, but my does he love to eat!

I love my little boy. I’ve learned a lot.

The Not-So-Frumpy Campaign

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In the past six weeks since I stopped breastfeeding, I’ve gained all the weight I was supposed to have gained while pregnant, my complexion is suddenly shot, and I’m realizing that I look like a frumpy woman, in more ways than I can number.

I know, no sympathy, since I didn’t really gain anything while pregnant, etc. But it’s like the post-pregnancy depression didn’t come until I stopped breastfeeding, at a point when everyone expects me to know how to be a mother because, face it, my son is almost a year old.

I’m just realizing, as I said the other day, that I need to do a better job of making myself look like a real human being. I went on a nine-day vacation to New Zealand (which was wonderful), but every time I looked in the mirror, I grimaced. I’m in need of a Not-So-Frumpy Campaign right now.

That said, I keep thinking of things that I could do to feel like a cute newlywed again:

  • Get a manicure or pedicure
  • Get my hair done
  • Buy new pjs that aren’t fraying or stained with maple syrup
  • Buy new clothes (lots of them!)
  • Have a spa treatment (I’ve never done this, but it sure sounds nice, doesn’t it?)
  • Get a massage
  • Buy a new book (because that always helps…)

Except everything costs money. Since I move across the globe this coming Saturday (!!!), I’m not going to have any spending money for a long while yet.

This is where you come in! Please tell me what I can do to feel cute again without spending a penny!

A few clarifications:

  • I cannot for the life of me put nail polish on my own fingers. It doesn’t work. I feel very gross when I have clumpy nail polish.
  • I can only wear earrings for a few hours before my ears ache. I think my ears are allergic. Instead, I have holes in my ears.
  • I dry my hair on mornings that I have time, and that helps me not feel frumpy. But my hair dryer, which is also a straightener, has an Australian plug, so even that will cost money to replace once I get to the USA. (I burned out my USA one the first week down-under.) I know I could use a regular hair dryer, but those make my hair frizzy.
  • I wear basic makeup. I won’t wear more than that.

Please note: I’m not asking for you to buy me things. I don’t want anyone else to buy me anything; I know what I like, etc. I just want your ideas for free cute-inspiring things.

Is everything that helps women feel cute costly?

Don’t Talk To Strangers, Starting Next Year?

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Ever since Paul was born, I get comments and smiles and questions every time we go out:

  • Oh, he’s so cute!
  • What’s his name?
  • How old is he?
  • What a great smile!
  • How many teeth does he have?
  • etc., etc., etc.

I understand this. I read somewhere that people talk to pregnant women and mothers because everyone in a community is interested the next generation: the next generation influences the current generation. The entire community is therefore interested in what mothers do.

The other week, I realized that now that Paul’s getting older, soon, he’s start remembering that he’s smiling at strangers at the supermarket. When do I tell him to “never talk to strangers”? And where do we draw the line for “stranger”? For example, is the checkout girl a stranger? What if she’s new and we’ve never seen her before? What if there is a weird man in the line behind us? Do we still answer when the checkout girl asks us my son’s name and how old he is?

This may come across as paranoia. I don’t really think anything bad will come of telling the checkout girl my son’s name. But I’m seriously curious: when do we stop talking to strangers? Or, rather, when do we stop encouraging our kids to talk to or smile at strangers?

FICTION: Dark

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The red glow dims and the movement stops. It is very dark now, and all is still. I like this time. It is time to move!

My arm moves slowly in the liquid around me. It hits the side. Bump bump bump! There is some movement, then all is still again. My hand finds my mouth. I suck the tiny fingers. I swallow. I swallow again.

It is too still. I twist, but it is too crowded: there is not enough space now. My feet kick the side. Bump! Bump! I hear a muffled noise and again feel movement. I stop kicking. The movement stops. Then I kick again. I like this game!

I stop moving and relax in the dark, curled up tightly. I like this dark! I am so safe, so warm, so complete.

I find my thumb and suck it again.

Response to Fiction Friday.

Mothering Update and Further Questions

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Signing

After I asked you for your opinions on signing and other things, I decided to sign every word I can remember to Paul. The day after I started signing everything, Paul started “babbling” in sign. It was so cute! Now he consistently signs “More” but I don’t think he actually knows what he means. Video here.

(I’m starting to feel conflicted as to which site to put these things on: it’s about Paul so it should be on Paul’s Page, but I’m the one trying to figure things out, so it should be on my page. I guess I can’t separate him from me anymore!)

Sleeping

As for sleep, Paul’s been going from 6:30 or 7 p.m. until 6 or 7 a.m., except for the few days lately when he’s awoken screaming in the night or in the early hours. I’m pretty sure it’s teething but I’m hoping we can get back to a normal schedule. I like the waking up at 7 a.m. thing! I wish it happened more often.

Eating

I’ve figured it out what to cook for Paul. I refuse to make food for myself without salt, so for now I’m still making two separate dinners. Paul eats at 5 and we eat at 8 anyway, so it’s not that big of a deal. But Paul’s food tastes pretty good these days! I really like pumpkin. It’s a good base for just about everything.

TV/Movie Watching

When do kids actually notice TV/movies? We don’t have a TV but I did try to introduce Paul to Winnie the Pooh, watching it on my computer. He didn’t pay attention for more than 5 or 10 minutes.

I ask because I want to buy Signing Time and I’m not sure it’s worth it for such a little boy who won’t sit still anyway. It’s not that I want to encourage TV watching anyway, so I might as well wait, I guess. We do have an actual TV screen in storage, so we’ll have it again when we return to the USA. (We still won’t have TV, though.)

Toys

What is the best kind of toy for a 9-month old? I’m still relying on his rattles and other 6-month-old toys and they are just not enough for him. (I was going to wait until we got back to the USA to get more toys, but I’m tired of waiting and he’s bored!) I got him a ring tower and today I’m going to look for a peg puzzle. Any other ideas?