My Girl Turns 4

Four years ago at this very moment I was lying in a hospital bed with 30ish stitches and a gorgeous and perfectly healthy little baby girl.

And now she's a sassy preschooler with enough brains to manipulate her mama regularly.

Plus she's totally gorgeous. When she's not dirty, that is.

We're doing the whole cake and ice cream thing on Saturday when Daddy comes back from his business trip. But she knows that TODAY is her birthday, and she seems to think she should get to open presents and eat cake today and on Saturday.

So I pulled some orange rolls out of the freezer for breakfast and stuck some candles in one of them. I told her they were her special Birthday Rolls. She got very excited and danced about. I love how simple it is to make a child happy.

Well, sometimes it's simple.

One of Those Moments

I couldn't sleep last night. I was lying awake around 2:00 a.m. when my baby started crying. He's not a baby any more, but I still see him that way. I'd better procreate again soon or my son will be doomed to a mother who stunts his development.

He sounded sick.

Now, normally when James wakes up in the middle of the night calling me, I wake up grumpy. I find sleep to be an elusive companion, and I resent anything that interrupts our time together. I usually lay there for a minute or two, listening to my son cry, giving him a moment to see if he'll just go back to sleep.

This was not one of those times. I could tell he wasn't just having a momentary waking, but needed comfort. Then I surprised myself. Rather than feeling resentful at my loss of sleep, I realized that I actually wanted to go into the nursery and hold my boy. Perhaps it was because I was already awake, and thus sleep loss would be less of a burden. Perhaps it was because my husband is out of town and my bed was feeling awfully large and lonely. Regardless of why, I craved to feel the weight of James' limp body in my arms.

I went in and performed the tortuous nasal syringe ritual and then cuddled him close. He just melted into my arms and it was as though he really was a baby again, wanting nothing more than to be close to his mother. His hair smelled good. His fingers clasped mine. His head lay heavy in the crook of my elbow. His chest rose and fell against mine as his breathing became deep and regular.

I whispered to him "I love you, James."

A pause. Then a tiny "Too" muttered from behind his binky.

Ahhhhh.

These are the moments that make it all worthwhile. These are the moments I must cherish now while they are still abundant.

I'm Not Depressed. Really.

I've been sleeping a lot lately.

A lot.

Like 10-12 hours a night. (Not including the 2-3 times I wake up and have to take care of little ones who cry at ungodly hours.)

It has been fabulous.

I like to luxuriate in the comfort and warmth of my bed in the mornings for as long as possible. The sexy man I am married to rouses me when he gets up to shower. But I still lay there. Sometimes I doze. Sometimes I just revel in laziness. And I don't like to get up until my children wake up and I HAVE to.

To, you know, do mom stuff.

So when Sexy Man goes off to work, I'm barely out of bed and looking my most fetching.

Then I spend the day taking care of little helpless ones that have endless needs. And I try to remember to take care of my own needs. Like eating. And occasionally bathing. Once in a great while I even dry my hair and put on makeup so that I don't look like Medusa. Although, if I'm being completely honest, I don't usually get around to demedusifying myself until about two o'clock. Because that's when the tiny one is napping instead of pulling on my pants and crying "Hoe jew!" (toddlerese for "Hold you!"), or writhing in my arms and banging his skull against the bridge of my nose while screaming "Nooooo! Uh-huh! Nooo!"

I spend my days wiping a myriad of things many times. And bending over. I am forever bending over to pick things up. Toys. Paper. Crayons. Bits of sandwich. Children. Clothing.

Living the dream, right? I am, actually. This is my first choice. To be a virtually unappreciated stay at home housewife. I certainly am not going to let anyone else raise my children, thankyouverymuch, and since children need constant supervision, that's my job. Well, I'd let Brent be the stay at home parent, but he is capable of making a lot more money than I am. I have a lot of skills, but none that anyone would pay me for. And so we have fallen into traditional gender roles. And happily, too, I might add.

But just because my life is exactly how I would choose it to be doesn't make it easy.

And so after nine hours of being SuperMom I start to lose it. I lose my patience. I yell. I cry. I hide. And while I am yelling and crying and hiding, I sometimes try to pick up the rubble and occasionally cook dinner too.

And then Sexy Man returns home. He comes home to a disheveled and rapidly deteriorating wife. And suddenly the demons that have been possessing my children for the last one-hundred-and-forty-eight minutes (not that I'm counting) exorcise themselves and two cherubic smiles beam brightly.

But my face? Not so bright. And the very moment my children are behind closed doors in darkened bedrooms, I head straight for my own sanctuary. My blissful bed.

And this routine is what has led my husband to believe that something needs fixing.

Wife crying? Needs fixing. Husband jumps into SuperDrive and takes over the wiping and the cleaning and the parenting.

Wife in bed at eight o'clock? Something wrong. Wife must be depressed. Hormones? Need drugs?

No. I'm not depressed, My Love. I'm just very, very tired. And THANK YOU for taking over the wiping and the cleaning and the parenting, by the way, and not coming home expecting me to serve you chicken pot pie on a TV tray so you can unwind from your own stressful day by ignoring your family that desperately needs you. I'm sorry all you ever see of me is a woman barely conscious or barely holding it together. Someday when we're independently wealthy you can quit your job and be home during the day and then you'll see that the happy and vivacious woman that you married does still exist.

She does. I promise. I just need to find her.

Is it bedtime yet?

Valentines and Mean Girls

This morning Jenny and I were preparing her valentines to take to school today. Jenny wrote her name on each one in the "from" space. Then I inserted the temporary tattoo that came with each one and folded it. Next Jenny removed a heart sticker from the sticker sheet and taped each valentine shut.

During this process Jenny said "And maybe when Vera gets a tattoo she will like it and then she will be nice to me."

I started crying.

What goes on her head?

Whilst sitting on the toilet and talking about how her bum is hurting, Jenny, with no segue, said:

"Mommy. I need you to not ever ever tell anyone that I'm a magician. But you can if you need to, but I'll have to not let you."

It Has Begun

I received my first door-to-door solicitation of the year today.

Isn't it a little early for that?

Curses.

Oh, and happy Groundhog Day, y'all.

Just What I Think

I've been disturbed lately. Well, by lately I mean the last few years or so.

Disturbed by loving, devout, wonderful people who love God and Jesus and his word and use their interpretation of that word as a hammer. Or a measuring stick upon which they judge others.

Here are a few examples of things that have disturbed me:

1. I have a friend that I genuinely like and think well of. She believes that no "good" mormon (since that's what we are) could be a Democrat. Now, I'm not a registered Democrat, but neither am I a Republican and I certainly can't understand members of the LDS church who follow the Republican party the way they follow the prophet.

2. My sister's roommates told her that since she voted for Obama that she was a "baby killer". I voted for Obama. And as far as I can tell I love babies and think they should be given the chance at life.

3. A kid in my sunday school class said that since the demise of "don't ask don't tell" that he wouldn't risk his life for a gay member of his platoon. If, that is, he ever joined the armed forces and there was a gay man in his platoon and they were in a life-and-death situation.

To which I responded: "Even if this gay man was a good man? An honest, hard working and loyal soldier who would be willing to risk his life for yours?"

Then another boy piped in and said "No gay man could be a good man. That's a contradiction in terms."

I was flabbergasted. How could he think that one facet of a person's identity completely defined him and negated all his other qualities?

Yes, the scriptures say homosexuality is a sin. But they also say that we should love our neighbors like ourselves. When we hate a person for something he is how is that any different from hating the Savior? "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Right? Don't we believe that part of the Bible too?

What about the bit about "judge not that ye be not judged"?

And don't forget that when the Savior was asked what the most important commandment was he replied "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."

Now I don't know about you, but I believe that God created all of us. And I believe that he loves all of us. ALL of us. Not just middle-class Christian White Americans like me. He loves the Jews. He loves Muslims. He loves Blacks. He loves fat people. He loves homosexuals. He loves Republicans. He loves the French. He loves the poor. He loves drug addicts. He loves porn stars. He even loves those Enron guys, Dick Cheney, and Bernie Madoff.

I don't have a lot of answers. And I'm sure glad that I'm not the one to judge the wrongful actions of others. But this much I know: I am to love my neighbor as myself. I am to refrain from judgment. I am to worry about the kind of person I am and the way that I treat others. Anything that divides us as the children of Christ ought to be eschewed. We ought to be One.

So when I support gay marriage and any other legislation that protects the civil liberties of my brothers and sisters under Christ, don't judge me.

And I'll try to return the favor.

For additional reading of one of the most thoughtful and articulate essays I've ever read, check this out.