I saw my first Monet painting with Richard and Mark. We visited the British Landscapes exhibit at the Utah Museum of Fine Art. (All images are from their website.) At one point during the exhibit, Mark asked if he should stop saying, “Wow!” all of the time. “No,” I replied. “This is why I brought you to the museum with me.”
This week I am in charge of a funeral luncheon and there are several sisters in poor health in my congregation. I was trying to think of how to meet so many needs and I remembered this adventure from my memoir project. I’m grateful that our children are old enough to take care of themselves this week!
To the Rescue with Children, 2003
Our phone rang almost all of the time during the years that I served as the president of the Relief Society in my church in Austin. On this day in 2003, the call was from a woman who needed me to pick up her son from school because he was sick. She was a bus ride away from home and had no way to pick him up. Her son lived with many disabilities and I was on the list of people who had permission to pick him up from school.
I looked down at my three young children, ages a few months to age 6. How was I going to pick up this boy with all of these kids in tow? I had many people who helped watch the children during these years, but finding a sitter wasn’t always possible. Today I didn’t have time to call around for help; the boy needed to be picked up right away. I loaded the kids into the van and drove to the high school.
It was a cool, blank-skied Texas spring afternoon with some rain. My mind dashed among the incompatible players in this situation. Should I bring the kids into the school? I couldn’t believe that this was a good idea. I needed both of my hands to help the boy to the car. What if he was angry and unwilling to come with me? I tried to shield my children from a lot of the anger and grief I saw as I did my Relief Society work. The cool rain gently spattered the windshield as I pulled into the school, still with no solution.
I looked at my children in the rear view mirror and spied a blanket in the back seat. As I gathered up baby Timothy I told Paige and Daniel, ages six and three to hide under the blanket while I was gone. I didn’t want anyone to notice the abandoned children in our van. This was not a smart solution. But it was all I could do. Any other solution would have meant leaving them alone for a longer period of time. I didn’t worry about their safety as much as what people might think if they saw them. I became a mother in the early years of the attachment parenting movement which evolved into helicopter parenting. The cultural reflex to judge a parent harshly when children are seen alone, even in a cool car with its doors locked, caused me more angst than was helpful for the kids.
Those ten minutes while I collected the boy from school were filled with guilt and frustration. I was relieved that he didn’t need to be coaxed into coming with me because he was interested in the baby I had tied against me in a sling.
My children probably remember my work with this family because I would abandon them to do it. “Play in this tree while I go inside this house, kids,” and, “Hide under this blanket while I go and fetch this boy from the high school,” and “Have fun with Grandma and Dad while I go for a visit!” I hope that I was able to frame these maneuvers as adventures to them.
This is my 13th year of home schooling. I only have one student now, but that has its own challenges. It’s harder to be fun with just one kid. I’m 13 years older, too. When we finish our subjects and tasks, I’m am usually out the door or in the kitchen doing something for Relief Society. Driving the older boys to and from school, Frisbee practice, piano lessons, and performances takes additional time. This is why I am thankful for Mark’s art teacher Renon. She supplements Mark’s education in a beautiful way. We are still waiting for Daniel’s drivers ed teacher to issue the final certificate so he can get his license. Every day of this delay is literally hours of driving for me. Here is a painting of how long this process feels like it is taking:
It was a week of music for our family. We watched Daniel play in his first bell choir concert. His current bell assignment is to play some of the big bass bells. He says playing these bells is like pouring out a full gallon of milk with each note, your wrist and forearms carefully managing the weight. In other words, they are heavy. I felt Christmas drift through the air as they played, even though these weren’t Christmas pieces. December will be a busy month for bells and they will be playing at Temple Square. I am really looking forward to that.
The boys had a piano recital. Daniel played Preludium in E minor by Felix Mendelssohn. Timothy played Little Story by Sergei Prokofieff. Mark played Etude in A minor by Dmitri Kabalevsky. (Like those names mean anything…) I know the pieces just by the tunes. I rarely learn the names and composers, but I sing along in my head to every piece, well-learned by echoes moving through the house at all hours.
I did Relief Society things. Lots of that, but the specific lessons I am learning and the heartache and loneliness that I am exposed to is part of a private journey that I am taking with some sisters. We can all be more aware of, prayerful, and helpful to others.
In general, I spoke at a Relief Society meeting, participated in a ward council meeting, and presented specific ways to involve women in decisions and discussions and how to improve in ministering to others; I also counseled with the Bishop in a private meeting. I wrote, helped set up tables, washed linens, baked, and cooked. I texted, wrote letters, and talked on the phone. I hugged people who were crying and received counsel about how to do things better. I visited a sister late one night. I listened and admired. I thought hard and made plans. I used my calligraphy skills. I drew strength from scripture study and prayer and hugs from Richard. Please don’t think I am bragging. I am painting a picture of our life. I am not unique in what I do.
On Saturday Richard and I joined my sister Sarah and her husband Bryan for dinner at Lamb’s and the symphony.
Daniel played the organ in church on Sunday. A sister on our row in church lifted her infant son dressed in a flannel shirt and I remembered Daniel at that age wearing a flannel shirt. I looked at the contrast between this infant and Daniel at the organ and marveled at the time that has passed without effort. I held that tall young man in my arms not so long ago.
We visited Paige for a few minutes on Sunday night and as always I asked to see some of her art. This was one of her doodles-in-progress, not for an art class. She is critical of it, but there is LIFE in this drawing. I had to share it.
Also, even her scrap pieces of paper with color gradations and paint mixes could be hung on the wall. I smile every time I visit the dorms because the windows and walls are more decorated each time. Twinkle lights, banners, flags representing mission calls to other countries, and little touches of homemaking are creeping into each unit.
And finally, there is Timothy, who goes to school in the dark early hours for jazz band practice. I bought him some new black shoes and black socks to wear with shorts because that’s what you wear now, at least in middle school. It looked strange at first, like they forgot to change out of their dress socks, but I’m good with it now.
Oh, and Halloween is this Saturday and Mark and I have not made any progress on his costume. Aaack!
This post might be TMI but I don’t feel like editing out pieces of our story today like I usually do.
I felt sluggish today so I hitched a ride on Mark’s enthusiasm for getting things done. I cleaned when he cleaned. I practiced the violin when he practiced the piano. I studied and wrote while he worked on school. He’s a great companion and help to me. I’m so grateful for him. In this picture he’s tied himself to the chair to keep from getting up and playing with the Legos on the floor by his desk. Now that’s self discipline!
Richard came home from a Scout camp in Goblin Valley last weekend and said he really wanted to take the family back. So we took an impromptu, quick trip with perfect weather and good company. We didn’t camp because we didn’t want all of the extra gear. We stayed in a cramped motel in Hanksville and watched super hero movies late into the night. We were gone for 31 hours, but we filled those hours full.
The boys were mountain goats. I don’t know how they had the energy to climb all day long. We loved the hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon which had slot canyons one after another, each with its own look and colors.
My floppy hat has flopped through its last trip. It’s time for a new one. I’ve said this before, though. This trip was not the same without Paige. Someone said you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I’m not there yet. Regardless, the boys were super fun and Richard gave his all to make the trip a success, as usual. It’s good to be in this family.
I finished a book this week about the impact that different women have made on the world. One of the women in the book was Mother Theresa. It wasn’t the many deeds of service that she did that made the biggest impression on me. It was her words about sometimes feeling distant from God as she did good works. I have felt that way this week and other times.
In my life I expect that service and scripture study will make me feel light and happy, but that doesn’t always happen. I have learned that if we want to become like the Savior, it means that we will have days where we become acquainted with grief, a little like the Savior, who was also a “man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” And that feeling of distance from God may not always be a feeling of distance. Perhaps at times it’s a closeness to what He feels for his children, and sometimes that is grief. Of course there is always a distance between me and God, and this leads me to see how much I need the gift of grace.
I have no regrets for my time spent in the scriptures and service, even if I don’t always feel warm and fuzzy about it. I DO have regrets about my time spent doing frivolous things. 24 hours really is a lot of time each day to get things done. How much time I waste, worrying what other people think of me and following news that isn’t important!
Timothy whipped out these drawings in a hurry last night for a book report. He is quite an artist… and reader.
Timothy is the child that surprises me the most. He goes about doing his thing very quietly. I am not successful when I ask Timothy to do things related to school or time management. He is independent, quiet, funny, and full of unheralded qualities. And he is successful. He teaches me that some people have a different pace and that he’s actually accomplishing more than I expect; his process just looks different than how I would have him work. He delights in mystery and gives the appearance of just getting by, when really he is working at his own pace on extraordinary things. I think that he makes meticulous plans in his mind before starting anything.
He’s Timothy, my young man of mystery and accomplishment.
We’ve given our hearts to many projects this week. Mark and Richard spent every evening and all day one day working on a pinewood derby car. I once went to a fireside by Noelle Picus-Pace where she talked about coming in 4th place a the Olympics and how you almost want any place but 4th. That’s the situation that Richard and Mark faced last night. Mark didn’t understand how the race was decided, and knowing that he had won all of his races, he thought he had won first place. We tried to explain that it was all about time, but in his mind, he was going to win the grand prize. He was brave, but I watched his heart break when his name wasn’t read. I watched his heart break over and over as he tried to understand what had happened. I know it’s good for kids to learn to cope with disappointment, but it hurts to watch it.
On a lighter note, Timothy played some great baseball this week and he and a partner made a model of an atom. I have never seen students take the electron cloud so literally, but I like it.
And I made quilt squares. I haven’t perfected the art of sewing a “scant” 1/4 inch seam, so 7 of my 9 squares are too small. Surprisingly, I am not too flummoxed about this. I am leaning toward just starting over rather than reworking seven more squares. It’s a good project for me, because the seams are just a few inches and I can step away and come back. Instead of long stretches of time, I have many 15-minute intervals of time in my days. I have a sewing room, so I can walk in and out of my project without having to clean up.
The project room for the rest of the family is the kitchen, and it’s a big mess. Someday I will miss the projects strewn all over the hearth, island, table, and computer desk, but today I am just getting up the courage to face it.
I can tell what my boys have been up to when I walk into the room based on what they leave behind. This morning’s clutter trail included two Bibles that they read independently before setting out on their adventures. All clutter was forgiven immediately.