Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

I recently read a story about a wise man who had a series of fortunate and unfortunate events happen in his life. When good things happened, his neighbors would tell him what a lucky man he was. When bad things happened, they would tell him how unlucky he was. With each comment from his neighbors, he would only reply, "Maybe. Maybe not." The man seemed to understand that good fortune would not last forever, and that challenges often brought blessings. Oh, to be so wise.

Over the past six weeks our family has experienced what many would call a series of unfortunate events. It all began with my sister-in-law's unexpected passing. Definitely an unlucky, difficult experience, one I would never wish on anyone, one I would never choose. Yet, with her passing has come a lesson on empathy, a strengthened testimony in the Plan of Salvation--including the resurrection, a renewed reliance and trust on the Lord, more fervent prayers, more love for my family. I could go on and on. Truly, I have learned lessons I could have learned in no other way. So unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

Last week we called an ambulance once again. This time it was for my three-year-old son, Boston. I was visiting my family in Wyoming when he started having signs of croup. He seemed fine one minute, not fine the next. My sister and I gave him a breathing treatment, put a humidifier in his bedroom, and put him to bed. My brothers arrived to give him a priesthood blessing. His breathing was labored and I felt certain it would be a long night. I had no idea. Thirty minutes later I was holding my little son on the front porch in a frantic effort to get him to breathe. He was severely retracting, working tirelessly to get air into his lungs. We got in the car to take him 30 miles away to the closest medical care when it became obvious he needed medical attention immediately. My sister called 911 while I prayed silently for help. The same ambulance crew (except one person) that carried my sister-in-law away only five weeks earlier arrived and off we went to the hospital.

It was a long night of breathing treatments, steroid shots and no sleep as my little son struggled to recover in the same emergency room my brother had just lost his wife in. The reality of it all was overwhelming. Thankfully, this time the outcome would be much better. We made it through the night and Boston has recovered. Of course now we are faced with medical bills we hoped to never have. Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

As I held my little boy that night, I realized once again how grateful I was to be his mother. I wrapped my arms around his small frame and thanked God over and over for this miracle in my life. I knew he would be okay, and my heart was so grateful. Another precious reminder of the value of life itself and of family.

Today, another unfortunate event. My dad rolled a 4-wheeler down a mountain and sustained numerous cuts, scrapes and bruises. Truthfully, he looks like a train wreck. And the 4-wheeler doesn't look much better. He was alone, rounding up some cows. No one knew where he was. Unlucky? Maybe. Maybe not.

My dad has multiple sclerosis. One side of his body doesn't work all that well, and he has to literally drag his left leg around. Ranch work doesn't really suit someone in the kind of shape my dad is in. But ranching is what he's always done. There have been so many close calls. Ones like today, when he so easily could have been killed, or at least broken a limb and sustained more serious injuries. But somehow he keeps coming out of things in tact.

So, tonight, even though I am tired and a little beaten up inside from the battle scars we've received recently, I feel so lucky. Actually, it isn't luck at all. I feel so blessed. Through every challenge, every heartache, every scare, every bad day, there are blessings to be found and reasons to be grateful. And so, even though I miss my sister-in-law terribly and the reality of life for my brother and his children is difficult to bear, my heart is full of gratitude for so many blessings that have come these past couple of months. And even though our medical bills are depressing to say the least, I am so grateful for my sweet little boy who is worth far more than the bills require. And even though my dad is a little beaten up, he's still here, and he's going to be okay.

How can I be so lucky?

Nine Minutes

Another rough day. It seems like I've had quite a few lately. Days when I'm constantly running and yet never accomplishing anything. Days when my children seem especially needy. Days when the reality of certain circumstances in life is all too vivid and painful. Days when all I really want to do is close the curtains, lock the door and sob--without interruption--for as long as needed.

Since my sister-in-law's passing (see former blog post), I've experienced quite a few days like this. It's not that I don't feel peace about it, and it's not that I haven't accepted the fact that she's gone. I guess it's just that I miss her so much, and the pain of it all just blindsides me constantly. Life is good. It's really, really good, and I have so much to be grateful for. But there is still heartache and pain, and somewhere inside of me, I am deeply mourning. And so, if I have any quiet, still moments at all, I find myself in tears--tears of sorrow, tears of gratitude, tears of a thousand different emotions all at once.

Such has been today. A hectic morning, running a little behind schedule, exhausted. Wanting and hoping to be the woman I need to be, all the while trying to hold it together when I know at a moment's notice I may break into uncontrollable sobs.

My five-year-old throws her usual tantrum about having to ride the bus to school. She's begging me to give her a ride instead. I'm holding her hand, walking her to the bus stop, thinking I have allowed her enough time to get over this whole bus problem she's developed and that surely it's time to encourage her to do something she doesn't want to do. But inside, I wonder if I'm being a good mother. I'm thinking to myself, Just drive her to school. She can ride the bus tomorrow. But then comes the opposing voice, But if you drive her today, she'll want you to drive her tomorrow, and this has got to stop sometime. I look into her beautiful blue eyes and I want to tell her just how much I understand how hard it is to keep putting one foot in front of the other when you don't feel like it. I hug her goodbye, blow her a kiss and help her get on the bus. Thankfully, she's smiling as she waves goodbye through the small windows.

Then my three-year-old doesn't want to eat his lunch. He just wants snacks instead. I don't blame him. I don't feel like making lunch, and I could really care less about nutrition right now. But then I realize this has been my attitude for the past month, and it's probably time I become a more responsible parent and be sure my little one is eating something with nutritional value every day. I decide to ignore his crying. I clean up the kitchen while he sits on a stool and sobs as if his heart is broken. Finally, I put my rag down, wrap my arms around him, snuggle him in his favorite blanket and plop down on the couch, holding him as closely as I can without impairing his breathing.

Neither of us say a word. It's like we both know all the other person needs is a little breather, a moment to sit and be held. Finally, I ask him if he would like to watch a movie or read books. He shakes his head no. "Well, what would you like to do then?" I ask.

"Just sit on the couch."

Me, too. I just want to sit on the couch and hold my precious child and cry about everything in life right now that hurts. I allow myself nine minutes to do so. Then, I gingerly prop my now-sleeping son up on the couch and get back to work.

That's all life allows sometimes--nine minutes. And then we as moms have to get off the couch and get back to work. I have to admit there are days when I just don't want to. But truthfully, I'm grateful that motherhood demands more of me because I am becoming someone far better than the person I would be otherwise. And I'm finding that it's often the hard days I end up appreciating the most because they force me to turn to God for help and to take a deep breath and exhibit patience (with myself and my children--and sometimes even my husband) and to simply show love. And through this sanctifying process, I am becoming more like the woman, the mother, the wife I really want to be.

I guess it's just one more reason to appreciate motherhood.

How Do You Replace a Mother?

When I signed off from blogging a few months ago, I never expected my next entry would be about something so tragic and so personal. But, as I'm sure most everyone knows, life happens, trials come, tragedies occur, and we are left to pick up the pieces, to try to keep breathing in and out--even when it takes a conscious effort to do so, to try to find understanding in whatever event that occurred that rocked our very world.


Three weeks ago my brother lost his wife. She was 31. She was perfect. She was beautiful and healthy and full of life. She was the mother of two children.


In the days following her death we tried so hard to make sense of it all. She was not feeling well, had gotten up in the night and thrown up, thought she had a little flu bug that was going around. The next day she felt better. She was tired and lay down to take a nap. She never woke up.


I have thought of this dear sister of mine continuously over the past few weeks. And I've thought of my brother, only 31 himself and now a widower. And I've thought of their children. Michael is only five, just beginning his first year of kindergarten. Olivia celebrated her first birthday (without her mother) yesterday. And I've wept for these dear children. Not because they will not know love now; not because they are alone; not because their futures are not bright. But, how do you replace a mother?


It's not that I mean to diminish in any way a father's role in the lives of his children. His influence is so important, his role in a home so vital. But, he's not a mother. He may be able to cook, to clean, to taxi, to teach, to guide. But he's not a mother. He may be a great multi-tasker, a patient listener, a careful organizer. But he's not a mother. How do you replace a mother?


When little Michael can't find his backpack, it's Mom who always can. When he asks for a particular shirt to wear, it's Mom who knows just which one he's talking about. When he sits down for breakfast before school, it's Mom who knows what his favorite thing to eat is--oatmeal--and she makes it just the way he likes it. When Olivia is crying inconsolably, it's Mom who can soothe her. When she smiles that beautiful smile, it's Mom who lights up right along with her. When she's taking a bath, it's Mom who knows she doesn't like to lean back, but would rather have water poured on her head. You see, Moms just know stuff no one else does. So, how do you replace a mother?


Grandmas step in and offer love and stability. Aunts and uncles wrap loving arms around as often as they can and whisper love. Grandpas show more patience and listen more attentively to stories about school and friends and ideas. Cousins are especially kind and spend more time playing. Friends are understanding, offering sympathy and concern. Teachers take special note to attend to tender feelings. Dad does all he can to mend the hurt and fill the void. But, regardless of everyone's selfless efforts, how do you replace a mother?


Leaders of nations are replaced by their successors. Soldiers that fall in battle are replaced with new recruits. Retirees are replaced by fresh graduates. Sports heroes are replaced by younger replicas. But, how do you replace a mother?


The answer is straightforward. You don't because you can't. You see, a mother is the one person in all the world who simply cannot be replaced. No matter how many people love Michael and Olivia, no matter how hard everyone tries to make up for their loss, the truth is, it can't be done. No one is Zoe. No one is their mother.


And so, I just want to say to every mother out there: Remember--you are not replaceable. No one can step in and do your job in just the way you do it. No one can love, nurture, guide and bless her children like you can. No one. And for all of you who have lost your mothers, my heart goes out to you, for you have lost a precious jewel.


When I think of my dear sister-in-law, I think of a woman who gave everything to being a mother. She only had a few short years with her children, and she soaked them all up. She was bright, she was funny, she was dedicated, she was irreplaceable.




And so are you.

Final Thoughts

I have been pondering this decision for a few months now, struggling with the idea of letting go of something that has become such a part of me and my life, but today is my last blog post--at least for a time.

I began writing this blog a couple of years ago. At first I struggled to think of what to write on a monthly basis, but before long, I committed to writing a weekly post, and it quickly became a commitment I looked forward to. One of my major motivations for beginning the blog in the first place was to improve my writing skills, to write on a regular basis, thus becoming a more experienced, improved writer. What I received in the process, was a love and passion for sharing something much greater--my thoughts, feelings, and personal experiences as a mother.

I knew from the start I wanted to write about motherhood; after all, it's the thing I'm most passionate about, the role I reverence and appreciate more than any other, the responsibility I want to succeed at more than anything else in life. Writing about it came easily. There were weeks I could have written a post nearly every day, but in an effort to not become consumed by blogging, I refrained. I loved writing about my children, about what they are teaching me, about what motherhood means to me, about the difficulties, the frustrations, the trials and especially about the joys, the victories, the growth.

To all who have read my blog over the past few years, and especially to those who have commented, I thank you. I have appreciated the connection we have built though enjoying each other's words and gleaning from the glimpses into your minds, hearts, and lives. I think that's one of the surprising enjoyments of blogging--the thoughts and inspirations gained from the associations built through connecting in this way. Nevertheless, after much deliberation, I am saying goodbye for a season.

The thing is, I've spent two years writing about my family being my priority, writing about my desire to make my children and husband the focus of my life because I know one day--all too soon--my children will be grown, my husband and I will older, and I will be left with lots of time to ponder how I spent my time. I don't want to live with regrets, to wish I had not busied myself with things of lesser importance to the point I didn't make the necessary time for what matters most.

My life has become increasingly busier. Out of necessity I have taken on greater responsibility, and because my children are getting older, their commitments are increasing as well. As a result, I often have a large number of obligations demanding my time and attention. I have found myself sitting at my computer to write, only to finish hours later, due to constant interruptions. I have also found myself sending my children away so I could type out all the reasons I love them and want to be a good mother to them. Somehow, that seems a bit hypocritical.

And so, in a process to weed out what is unnecessary in my life so I can devote plenty of my time, energies, and attention on what I value most, I am writing my final blog entry for a while. Even as I write this, tears fill my eyes, because through the process of sharing my life with you--my thoughts, my goals, my frustrations and discouragements, my humorous moments and my joys in motherhood--I have grown. I have come to see just how much this sacred role means to me, and how vital I feel about succeeding at it. I have come to see myself as so much more than just a mother, but a nurturer, a cheerleader, a trusted friend, a leader, a provider of truth, unconditional love and patience. I have been blessed with four incredible little people who look to me to help them become the best that's in themselves, to lead them to truth and true happiness, despite living in a world where counterfeit ideas of happy living are all around us. To succeed, I must devote the best of myself to them. I must be willing to give up some things--even good things--that distract me from this sacred, daunting responsibility.

And so, I say goodbye. And I leave with a hope that my readers, however few or often you read, gleaned something from my ideas about motherhood. If nothing else, I hope you laughed or cried at some point along this journey.

I know I have.

Motherhood and the Energizer Bunny

I've been on vacation. Actually, can you call it a vacation if you take three of your four children with you? Either way, it being summer and all, we're trying to take advantage of fewer commitments so we can travel a little bit. My husband took my oldest son to Canada fishing for nine days, and I took the rest of the troops to Wyoming for a week to visit my family--a much anticipated trip.

Everything started out great. The kids played nonstop with their cousins while I rested, visited, snacked and enjoyed the beautiful fresh Wyoming air (all except the drones of mosquitoes, that is). It was exactly what I needed.

Unfortunately, the best things always come to an end.

Halfway through the week I felt my patience starting to thin. Between the tattling, the whining, the begging for snacks, and so forth, I realized that location means very little when it comes to children. They can drain my reservoirs just as easily at Grandma's house as they do in our own home. When day four came and my three-year-old hit me for the upteenth time, I found myself on the other side of a bedroom door, wiping my brow in exasperation as my little guy threw a fit on the other side--a scenario I've participated in all too many times lately.

My 85-year-old grandfather came out of the next bedroom and must have noticed my reserves waning. I let out a sigh of frustration, to which he responded, "The trick is to outlast them. Then they learn to respond better to you." I laughed at his comment as a picture of the Energizer Bunny immediately appeared in my frazzled head. No one outlasts the Energizer. The familiar commercial jingle repeated itself in my mind as I nodded in agreement.

As the day wore on, and my stamina wore thinner and thinner, I decided my grandfather was exactly right. Motherhood is all about "outlasting"--outlasting fits, poor behavior, groundings, potty training accidents, poor attitudes, and so on. Our goal is to become Energizer Bunnies, so we can outlast all the problems that arise in a day and thus produce happy, wonderful children.

So, on days when my endurance is low, I'm just going to remember that little Energizer Bunny beating his drum as he rolls along outlasting everybody. And maybe then I will be able to outlast my children's determination to be naughty. If only I had batteries to help me!

Fortunately

One last backpack full of papers/books made it home to my kitchen table a week ago, signalling the final days of school. I had already chucked a large amount of collectible items, so I tried to put a little effort into sorting and saving a few remaining mementos. Eager to read my eight-year-old son's writing, I began by picking up a story he wrote entitled "Fortunately." Just as I was hoping, it tickled me clear to my toes and made me chuckle the entire day. Here's how it went (with corrected spelling so you could actually understand it).

Fortunately, my friend invited me to his birthday party.
Unfortunately, they were riding bulls.
Fortunately, I was sick that day.
Unfortunately, my friend decided to wait until I got better.
Fortunately, I got to ride a little bull.
Unfortunately, I figured out the little ones are the wild ones.
Fortunately, I only rode for one second.
Unfortunately, another friend invited me to his birthday party.
Fortunately, we went swimming.

I just love catching a glimpse into the heads of my children sometimes. I never cease to be amazed at how clever and funny they are. They definitely keep me smiling. So, as a tribute to my son, I decided to dedicate this post to him and write my own story entitled "Fortunately." Here goes.

Fortunately, I am a mother.
Unfortunately, sometimes I'm not a very good one.
Fortunately, my kids love me anyway.
Unfortunately, I still want to throttle them at times (not literally).
Fortunately, I'm learning there are better ways to handle frustrating situations.
Unfortunately, I still blow it all too often.
Fortunately, my kids are very forgiving.
Unfortunately, they want to throttle me at times (not literally).
Fortunately, at the end of the day, they're still glad to be my kids, and I'm still glad to be their mom.
Unfortunately, they'll never be perfect kids, and I'll never be a perfect mother.
Fortunately, they'll always be the perfect kids for me, and hopefully I'm the perfect mother for them because I love them more than they could ever know!
Unfortunately . . . I have no more unfortunatelies.

Life is good, and I'm so thankful it's full of fortunatelies.

HOME

Last week being the end of the school year, my children trudged home every day and emptied their backpacks full of papers, books, art projects, etc. they had collected over the past nine months. Needless to say, the thought of going through all of it and choosing a couple of things to save was a little daunting. One day, however, I grabbed a pile of my eight-year-old son's papers and books and started sorting. In the process, I came upon his school journal. I didn't have time to read every page, so I simply flipped it open to see if there was anything interesting. This is what I read first.

"I like to . . .
play soccer out at reses with my friends
eat helthy stufe like brokly and stroberrys
play football and stare worse on the wii
swim and get wet
do my beste in school"

Obviously, spelling isn't one of the things he likes to do, and I am a little surprised by his desire to eat healthy food like broccoli. But, the thing that caught my eye was the last thing he wrote. He drew a picture of our family and wrote, "I like to be with my family a lot."

I immediately choked up when I read those words. Not that I thought he hated being with his family, but the fact that he wrote it in his school journal touched me deeply. So, I read on.

"My family . . .

We like to go to Lagoon;" (can you believe he put a semicolon here? The kid's grammar is atrocious, but then he throws in a semicolon--I love it!) "and my favorite thing to do is play sports like football, soccer, tennis, golf, baseball, basketball and racing; "(another semicolon--they must have had a lesson on these or something. And I love that the kid can hardly spell his name, but he spells every sport correctly) "My mom dose wired (I think he means weird) stuff I would not do like doing like landry every day of her life; (yet another semicolon--and glad he's noticed I do laundry every day) and going on baby rides with my brother; but I still love her very much;" (tears are dripping off my nose at this point, but the next one is the kicker) "My family is the best family there is on the planet."

Needless to say, I couldn't read more for a few minutes because my eyes were full of tears and I couldn't see the words anymore. Sounds a bit ridiculous, I know, but there's just something about your son admitting his love for his family in his school journal that gets to you. When I finally got a hold of myself to sift through a few more pages, I was again touched by what he wrote.

"My Favorites:"
Things to do: sports like football, basketball, soccer, etc.
Things to eat: sweets like candy and ice cream
Places to be: home"

I was expecting his favorite place to be to be Disneyland or the gym or his friend's house. I never thought he would say his favorite place to be is simply our home. But it meant more to me than he could know. And as I reached for yet another Kleenex, my heart was full of gratitude. I wondered to myself if I would list home as my favorite place to be and decided I would. Despite the constant chaos, the never ending list of responsibilities, the continual refereeing, and more, still home is where I choose to be. It's where I get to be. It's where I love to be.

I never did make it through all of the paperwork; in fact, just today I decided to ditch the project altogether and I threw everything else in the trash. But I kept the journal, just in case I need to pull it out one day and remind my son how he once felt about his home and family. Or in case I need to pull it out to remind myself how he once felt about his home and family. Either way, all I can say is that I hope that one day, when it's all said and done, all of us can say that we like to be with our family a lot, that we have the best family on the planet, and that our favorite place to be is home!