Category: Motherhood

Memoir project: Daughter

I haven’t been able to write here for a while, but here is something I am working on:

August 1996

Daughter

I lay awake in my room at the hospital, and watched our new baby Paige as I wrote in my journal. I watched her facial expressions, and made note that her hair was the same color as mine. For a time, she lay in the crib, calmly looking about with wide eyes, and I wondered what she was experiencing. I saw Richard’s eyes and nose in her features, but claimed her mouth to be like mine. Her round face is imprinted in my memory. Clichés and effusive expressions about Paige and Richard were all that I could write to mark the day. I was twenty-one years old, and had gained a new title of Mother. I have spent the rest of my life since, trying to master the words to describe what this role means.

Paige was the anticipated first grandchild for my parents. My mom, who left me with a kiss on the cheek, and later, my brother Paul came by the hospital during my labor. Paige was born on a Tuesday afternoon, after several nights of little sleep and false alarms. I felt Richard’s concern for me in the days before she was born, and needed his support at her birth.

Richard went with the nurse to give Paige her first bath and was gone for a while. My room was near the nursery, and I peeked in to find him watching her, intently. When he returned to my room to check on me, he smelled of Johnson’s Baby Wash after holding her for so long, a smell that will always evoke images of our babies.

We named our daughter Paige, after one of my Young Women leaders. This leader was educated, beautiful, and a dancer. The name Paige means “young helper,” and I knew she would be a help to our family.

That night I thought about where her spirit had been before she arrived. Richard’s maternal grandmother passed away just before Paige was born. My Great-grandmother Spencer passed away earlier that year. I wonder if there was a crossing of paths, with hugs, a cheer, and encouragements for Paige from these women as she made her journey to us. It takes courage, I think, to choose to be born, to choose to become a parent, and to choose to embrace the role of women. Yes, I am sure we need the strength and goodness of those on the other side of this journey, and they are with us, not just at the crossroads, but steadily through our days.

Sometimes

Sometimes when there is a special sunrise or sunset, eclipse or meteor shower, I figure it is Heavenly Father reminding us he is there.

Sometimes the word, “remember” is important, because when we are in the moment, we can’t see where we are. Only as we look back can we make sense of things.

Sometimes I see how much I have changed since the children were young. I speak a lot less, but really think about my words when I do.

Sometimes I walk through the toy aisles because one of my violin students wants to talk about Shopkins each week, so I do my research.

Sometimes when Paige is home, I forget that she ever left us, until she leaves again, and I wish we had gone out to lunch together or spent more time talking while she was home.

Sometimes I am surprised when I am practicing the violin and Daniel walks in to accompany me on the piano. I will miss our impromptu concerts.

Sometimes I watch Timothy during the funny parts of movies, because he gives himself to delight so easily.

Sometimes Mark is all I need in the world to be happy. He asks me about my day, offers empathetic encouragement, and makes me laugh. I look at his profile and can’t find the little boy he used to be.

Sometimes Richard and I feel old together, whether it is complaining about aches after working, stumbling around in the middle of the night looking for the Excedrin, or choosing to watch documentaries.

Sometimes I remember that this is the last day, holiday, or season with Daniel home, but I put those thoughts away quickly. I learned with Paige that the parade of lasts can be painful, but this just means the parade of firsts will begin soon.

Sometimes I see so many needs in my circle of influence that I spend a day writing letters to people, since there is no way I can visit everyone.

Sometimes when I run into someone I know out in public, I remind myself that just like the sunrise and sunset, they are a reminder that Heavenly Father is there, and he thinks we should talk. Today at the store I saw a young mother in my ward and another Relief Society president in my stake. Thank you, Heavenly Father. It was important to talk to each of these women today.

Impart

Thanksgiving guests

The line from scripture that stays in my head lately is, “learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.” (D&C 88:123)

To impart is to “make known or communicate.”

I don’t think I have much to impart lately. Perhaps the lessons I need in order to be effective are still making their way into my heart. I hope that it is enough to post a scripture on social media or to reach out gently to someone.


I hope the extra hours pouring my heart and energy into our home and celebrations instead of my usual hours of study and writing will impart love, or whatever God wants someone to understand.

I am only beginning to trust that there are many ways to impart gospel principles. Many don’t require the knowledge I am continually chasing, but they always require a healthy portion of self.

Last roses of the season

I cut the last roses from the bushes this morning. They were a little frost-bitten, and I wonder if the warm house will encourage the buds to open. Sometimes a little shock is all we need in order to bloom.

I continue to feel the shock of new experiences in motherhood. This weekend I watched a son get injured at an athletic tournament, and saw his hopes of playing taken in his first minutes on the field. I haven’t felt that disappointment and sadness before. One night last week, I tried to wait up for a son, only to awaken at 4:00 am on the couch, stiff and incredibly sad. I had missed his homecoming. Fatigue is happening, but I hope the accompanying display of my heart is like these roses, showing their struggle in blooming, vibrant array. I may not be beautiful, curled up on a sofa or sitting bundled on the sidelines, but they are exercises in blooming, and they mean, “I love you.”

Look!

I have watched his face this year, and for a little while, his cheeks were sunken and his eyes seemed dull. I have worried and prayed. I’ve had to trust that others would step forward, as my own legs were not made for this journey with him. But my heart has traveled in his shirt pocket, close and warm. It has flown above him, hovering just above his bright hair in hallways, hills, and classrooms. I gauged his strength by the notes on our piano. For a time, there was no music.

“Wait,” is all I hear from heaven.

Quietly, steadily, I watch grace unfold its pattern, like the snowflakes I cut out each winter. No matter how many I make, I still feel wonder when I open the folds.

“Look!” is a common word spoken by angels.

I didn’t have to wait for winter this year to reveal a pattern in the cuts and winnowing. It wasn’t a snowflake this time. It was a jack-o’-lantern, every feature smiling, especially the eyes.

My son is happy.

 

My current tool kit

My current tool kit for life includes:

Tissues: I sense over time that there is a correlation between trust and the number of tears I witness as a Relief Society president. When I hand a sister a tissue, I know her tears are precious, and I am honored to share the moment with her.

Chartreuse, Olive, Purple, Tan, and Silver Thread: These are the colors needed to sew on Scout patches. Recently, I transferred Mark’s patches to Daniel’s old shirt and moved Daniel’s old patches to a larger shirt. Timothy needed me to sew on about 15 merit badges. I do this sewing so they are prepared for big evenings like we had this week. Daniel completed his board of review for Eagle Scout rank, and I was asked to give a few words about his scouting experience. I shared a little of what it is like to send my 11 or 12-year-old to Scout camp for the first time, and to hear later from a leader that he did well. I shared what it feels like to let go, and see a son grow in leadership and ability because I allowed him some danger and adventure.  I didn’t earn Daniel’s Eagle for him. What I did was watch, wait, and encourage. This was the longer and more difficult path, but better. Later, I noticed this was the shirt I was wearing beneath my sweater for the Eagle board of review. Perfect.

One, Three-ring Binder for Each Child: When a child comes home with a certificate, report card, recital program, or blue card for a Scout merit badge, it goes in a sheet protector in this binder. When college and scholarship applications are due, this is a great reference for what they have done during high school. To keep merit badge blue cards organized, I use plastic sheets made for baseball trading cards. I can’t emphasize enough how important it was for me to keep track of these, through a move and changes in leaders.

Small notebooks: I carry these around with me so I can keep track of ideas, which swirl around me and are fickle about staying in my head very long.

Sugar free Ice Breakers Wintergreen Mints: because I talk to many people.

Small fabric bags with zippers in my purse: I have one for keys, and one for pens. They keep me organized.

A great phone plan for texting: for teens and church work

Laser printer: I am learning that writing a book means endless drafts.

Paper scriptures: Lately, I gravitate toward paper over electronic, because I have 20 years worth of notes in the margins of these scriptures. They have been steady friends during times of change.

Yearly tasks written on a calendar: In January, when I put up a new calendar, I took some time to write in the margins some hints about what needed to happen each month. For November, I wrote that during the first week I needed to go to a certain store for the best selection of Christmas cards. Another week we needed to do the Christmas picture. This has been so helpful! (And I realize probably everyone does this already.)

Less: Our family doesn’t need as much as it used to. Toys, art supplies, curriculum, and smaller clothing need to make steady exits from our house… as I have the courage to part with them.

If I think of you, I will make some effort to contact you: This isn’t a tangible thing in my tool kit, just an idea that I have recommitted to this month. Basically, I trust there are reasons I think of random people in a day, and make efforts to find out why.

I know you can guess who this is

This is an assignment for our sixth grader.

This is NOT an assignment that can be completed by a sixth grader without a lot of help.

I don’t know a sixth grader who can construct clothing that looks like it would fit a human but conform to the dimensions of a two liter bottle. It is taking all my will not to just make this thing myself.

I don’t know a sixth grader with the money and skills to shop all over town for doll size wire rim glasses and a tiny cowboy hat.

This is NOT a project appropriate for a sixth grader, but thank you for the doll project. I actually love making dolls.

Did you guess right about who this historical character is?

Yep. It’s Theodore Roosevelt. Mark nailed the teeth and mustache.

Senior Year

Oh, yes, I remember. This is how my heart feels during a child’s senior year of high school: squeezed, stretched, and anxious. I avoided it for a few weeks, but I have arrived at the tissue phase.

I have been working on compiling pictures of Daniel’s Scouting years so I can really wallow in the sweet agony.

Today’s journey through memory brings forth his collections, erudite vocabulary, his good leaders, a tiny blue cast for his leg, the homeschool years, desert views, piano playing, and speckled blue eyes.

A child’s influence is very powerful. Raising Daniel has been one of the greatest honors of my life.