January 17, 2018

When I first set out to be a mother, I had grand ideas.  I was ambitious.  I jumped into motherhood with both feet and approached it with a cheerful smile.  Oh, what a mother I was going to be!

Mom and Me (pregnant with baby #6!)

I know women come into motherhood in completely different ways.  Some are hesitant, some are reluctant, and some are surprised to find how much they love it.  Some are more relaxed, some are along for the ride, and some are in full-on survival mode.  I think at times I have felt all of these attitudes during my years as a mother.  But in the beginning, I was just excited to get started.  I couldn’t wait for bedtime stories, after-school snacks, outdoor adventures, piano lessons, sports practices, and lots of love.

About three days into my motherhood adventure, I sat on my old couch in my dark apartment, so full of milk I thought I would burst, and a baby fussing to be fed.  My eyes were a bit glazed over from a lack of sleep, but I could sort of see my own loving mother handing me a freshly-washed breast pump while she cradled my brand-new baby in her other arm.  I sat there like a wet, exhausted lump of dough.  I felt a panic creeping up into my throat.  Is this motherhood? I thought, frantically.  

That was the first time, as an adult, I thought deeply about how much women need each other.  My mother held my hand and walked me through those frightening days.  Her soothing ways helped me to believe that there was a light on the other side.  And although I was tired and emotional and terrified, I was normal.  And I would get through this.  She would teach me how, but best of all, she filled me with her faith and optimism for better days ahead. 

I’ve decided that the lessons my mother taught me during that week have served me well for all these years I’ve been a mother.  That moment on the couch is burned into my mind forever.  I distinctly remember thinking that this is it.  This is motherhood.  This moment is all-encompassing.  And I just can’t do this.  

Mom sat up with me in the night as I fed my newborn.  She knelt on the floor next to my feet, ready to hand me anything I might need.  And she made me laugh.  My mom is a lovely soul in the middle of the night.  She has this laugh that takes over her whole body, and she tries to plug her nose to hold it in.  I adore that.  I remember giggling our heads off together, and when the milk sprayed my baby’s face, we completely lost it.  I cherish that memory, even amidst a difficult day in my life.  When my baby was done eating, Mom took her gently from my arms and shooed me back to my bed.  I was over-the-top exhausted, but I remember wishing I could stay there by my mom’s side, laughing and talking and basking in her love.  

Mom kept telling me that it would all be okay.  She kept telling me to give it two weeks.  That’s her famous line: Just give it two weeks.  It will be better.  Whenever I’ve wanted to quit anything that’s really worth doing, I’ve heard those words play over and over in my mind.  Just give it two weeks.  It will be better.   Mom helped me to see that this right here isn’t motherhood.  It is so much more.

So, now when potty training threatens to overwhelm me, or the sleepless nights run together, or my relationship with my husband seems difficult to maintain, and there are days and days of difficult moments, I try to remember that this isn’t it.  This moment won’t last forever.  It will get better.  And when I think I can’t do this, I am grateful that this isn’t all there is.  

Having walked the same path, my mother had the experience to understand how I was feeling, the wisdom to know it wouldn’t always be this way, and the love to show me how to carry on in a difficult moment.  I am so grateful that she didn’t dismiss my feelings simply because she had learned how to make it across this same bridge.   

I want to be just like my mom.  I want to lift up tired hands that hang down.  I want to show up for my young children, today, with love and understanding when they face a tough moment.  When my teenagers sit at the table late on Sunday night crying over the enormous stack of homework that they somehow forgot about until this very moment, I want to be like my mom.  I’ve been there.  I’ve struggled along these same roads.  Instead of piling lectures and guilt trips onto their stack, I take a deep breath.  I can’t do this, they cry.  And then I think of Mom sitting there in the middle of the night with me.  I think of the way she made me laugh, the way she held my hand.  The way she made me believe that I, indeed, could do this.  I look back at all the things in my life I thought I couldn’t handle, and I’m amazed that I’m somehow still standing.  It’s like the quote: My track record for surviving difficult days is 100%. 

It’s going to be okay, I hear myself soothing my children, it will get better.  Of course, my children have a lot to learn.  And I’m here to teach and guide them, but I am always amazed that there is so much room for love in motherhood.  

We all face things that are very nearly overwhelming.  Some of us on a daily basis.  There are relationships that don’t work, jobs that we don’t like, children who don’t cooperate, days that don’t flow.  And some of those things, unfortunately, will never change.  But not one of those things is all there is.  In the tapestry of our lives, there are millions of strands combining to create a colorful lifetime of experiences.  And it is those difficult experiences that give us depth.  Someday I will sit by my own daughter as she feeds her newborn baby in the middle of the night.  I will hold her hand and smile.  I’m sure I will tell her to just give it two weeks… And I will be forever grateful that I have climbed this mountain before.

Today as I’ve thought about this, I’ve wanted to stand on the rooftops and shout, Look, Mom!  I’m doing this.  I’m a mother!  But I’m left to wonder if Mom knew that I could do it all along, or if all of her love and encouragement and unwavering faith in me helped me to do all the things I could have never done otherwise.  That day as I sat exhaustedly on my couch, I’ve never felt such strong urges to just give up!  But Mom was there when I needed her most.  

I want my children to feel that love.  Every time they think, “I can’t do this!” (which will be often if they are anything like me!), I want them to remember that this isn’t all there is.  Life is never so one-dimensional as this.

My motherhood HAS been filled with bedtime stories, after-school snacks, outdoor adventures, piano lessons, and sports practices.  It’s been everything I ever dreamed it could be.  And mixed up in all of that is a whole lot of tears and tantrums and trying moments.  I’m forever grateful that I didn’t give up on something that has filled my heart and soul so much.  I wish I could go back and tell myself during those first few discouraging days of motherhood, when I thought, This is it?, that yes, this is it.  This and this and this and this and this…  I wish I could have told myself that it would be everything and more.  Just hang in there.  Keep trying.  Keep going.  It’ll be better in two weeks.  

But I didn’t need to tell myself that.  My mom already did.  

January 8, 2017 - part 2

I took a lovely break from everything during the holidays.  I even took a break from showering or getting dressed!  In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, I hope everyone in our Relief Society is hanging in there.  Or, I would think, I'm pretty sure the PTA is fine right now.  And I just focused all of my time and energy on my family and my house and me.

I went to the spa with my sister, Sunee.  It was a gift from our husbands.  We relaxed and talked and ate a really healthy lunch at their health-conscious buffet.  It was such a wonderful day.  I went on that overnighter with Greg, and I loved spending time with him.  I played with the kids, exploring their gifts, baking yummy treats, and watching movies.  I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until everything feels fresh and orderly.  I slept in and read books and ate a lot.  It was such a nice break.

We were all sad to wake up Thursday morning and start our school-morning routine once again.  The kids trudged out the door, sad to leave our cozy cocoon.  I was sad, too.  But then, the house was quiet and calm.  I couldn't believe how quiet and calm it was.  Lunchtime was a breeze--to make and to clean up!  And I thought, okay, this is kind of nice.

I felt ready to sit down and open back up the books of my life.  I pulled out my Relief Society binder and I stacked it on top of my PTA President binder.  I started to get things in order and make some notes.  Pretty soon, the work was piling up.  PTA texts were coming in.  Relief Society calls were ringing.  I had a LOT to do.  I just kept thinking, Goodbye, vacation.  Hello, real world! And I've been on the run ever since.

By Saturday night, we were in full-swing church mode.  With our church time switched to 8:30, we had to be completely on top of things by bedtime.  We did showers, laid out clothing, cleaned the house, and put away laundry.  Once the kids were in bed, I worked a few more hours on my lesson, which was actually our first Council Meeting of the year.  I had no idea how that would go.  When I felt good about all that I had planned for that, I spent another hour finalizing the Visiting Teaching changes that I have been contemplating for the last month.  I had even spent time on the phone with Rachel going over things for Sunday.

By the time I fell asleep, my brain was still going 100 miles per hour.  I set the alarm for the morning and felt anxious about losing a morning of rest.  Sure enough, Lance woke me up before the alarm, so I wouldn't have slept in anyway.

Everything ran like clockwork, and I felt so good about my new Sunday outfit.  Emma and I had gone  shopping earlier in the week.  I came home loaded with ten new Church outfits.  I'm so excited, I could burst!!  So, there I was, all dressed and ready to go.  Everything went like clockwork.  We got the kids up.  They were all helpful and quickly got ready.  We made it to church early, and ready for the day.

It was such a beautiful day at church.  Lance went to his first day of Sunbeams.  He pretty much hated it, and he is the youngest one, but we all acted super excited for him, so we will see what happens next week.  I led the day in Relief Society.  I had studied and prayed so hard for help and guidance.  I felt my own abilities were expanded.  I gathered that huge room of sisters into a circle, and we shared a warm, delightful discussion.  I felt love for each one of them there.

When we ended, Rachel grabbed me into a hug.  She told me that was all so inspired.  It had just gone so well.  And I'm so thankful for the spirit that we all felt.  I just love everyone!  I find myself hugging and checking on everyone I see.  It feels so nice to be serving.

After church, Greg played Catan with the kids and then baked cookies while I went back to the church and had an awesome, lengthy discussion with the Bishop.  He always invites me in and makes me feel like he has time to talk about all of my concerns.  I also love the way he treats me as an important partner in the work.  I love and respect our Bishop so much.  I left there feeling so uplifted.

When you have church at 8:30, there is a long, glorious day spread before you.  A day to accomplish much good.  I checked in on my family, and they were all busily baking and having fun, so I ran over to visit a sister in our ward who is going through chemo.  We had such a nice visit.  We cried together.  And I told her how much I love her.

Since the Bishop had approved my Visiting Teaching changes, I dropped them off to our coordinator and headed on home.  There was still so much time to make dinner with Julia, and hang around with the family.  Greg took a nap, and we waited to bake the cookies until after dinner, and after we had all ended our fast.

I felt so uplifted.  I spent so many hours, while fasting, doing all that I could to serve other people.  But I was so happy to be able to spend so much time with my own family.  We had such a lovely day.

My sister, Judi, and her family stopped by for a quick visit.  They are passing through on vacation.  We laughed and talked with the kids played.  We shared cookies and stories and had such a fun time.

Finally, we tucked everyone into bed, and I plopped down next to Greg.  The Bishop counseled me to give plenty of my time to my family and to my husband.  So, I grabbed Greg for a kiss.  And I spent time with him. :)  I am so grateful for my beautiful family.  I thanked Greg for being an awesome dad, and for supporting me endlessly.  He has surprised me immensely with his extraordinary support.

As we cuddled in each other's arms, he said, I just wish you didn't have the PTA.

Why? I said.  It's not hard at all.

He laughed a little.  I just wish you didn't have so much on your plate, he told me.

And then I hugged him tightly.

I love everything on my plate.  Every bit of it.

And I kissed him for good measure.

January 8, 2017

The sky is very gray today. I can't even detect the sun in the sky at all.  It's lunchtime, and my freshly-scrubbed house is almost dark inside.  But that's fine with me.  I love the calm feeling of a clean room with its lights off.

I'm sitting here at the table, eating my healthy lunch of cottage cheese and grape fruit.  I'm trying to ride on the coattails of my sisters who all seem to be very motivated to make healthy changes in 2018.  We have a text group to support each other, and honestly, when I go throughout my day, I imagine each of them cheering me on to eat healthy and exercise.  But mostly I just want to text them all because I'm a little lonely for my family.

I cried a bit this morning, right in the middle of my cleaning.  Owen has been frustrating me quite a bit lately.  He is so very smart.  And he has such a strong, dominating personality.  He is nearly the smallest brother, and the fifth child in our family, but he's ready to put up his dukes if anyone challenges him.  I've tried calming him, wrestling him away from a fight, talking him down, pulling him away, shouting, and I've even tried putting up my own dukes.  He turns toward me, his beloved mama, the one he wants to hug and kiss and stroke her hair all day, and he puts up his fists, ready to fight me.  I always pause, "Owen, look how much bigger I am than you..."  I'm flabbergasted that he is willing to fight.  He's even willing to fight Greg, if he feels like he needs to.

He came at me.  I held him off and sat down to be at his level.  He charged me again, like an angry bull.  I clenched my fist just as he jumped at me, and before I knew it, my fist sunk into his little tummy.  He fell off of me and dissolved into tears.  "You almost killed me, Mom!" he sobbed. "I hate you!"  My heart broke a bit, right there.  I used all of my loving tactics, every last trick I had in the motherhood bag.  I talked to him until I couldn't think of another thing to say.  I don't know if any of it helped.  But, we hugged and said sorry, and had a long talk about being kind and obedient.

That was the other day.  So, today when he was making Lance scream like a banshee, and I could not get Owen to stop bothering Lance, and Owen turned at me like he was ready to fight.  I started to cry and ran out the laundry room door into the cold, winter morning.  I can still feel the feeling of my fist colliding with his little tummy the other day.  Please, I don't want to be physical with him, I prayed.

I took some deep breaths.  I looked at my sad, sorry fruit trees.  They haven't grown an inch since we planted them four years ago.  Why don't I rip them out? I wondered.  Every time we talk about it, I hesitate.  Give them one more chance, I hear myself saying.  We even had a professional arborist come out to the house.  He told us the soil was all wrong in that space, and that those trees were bad and would never amount to anything.  But for some reason, they still sit there in the ground, greening up in the spring, flowering in the summer, acting like they might produce something, teasing us with a piece of fruit or two, and dropping their leaves in the fall.  What will I do when I rip them out?  Throw them in the trash?  I sighed and went back in the house.

Owen and Lance had calmed down, and I'm pretty amazed they hadn't followed me outside.   Still feeling super frustrated, I laid down on my bedroom floor, tears seeping out from under my eyelids.  Lance kept asking me if I was hurt, but Owen crawled over to me.  Pretty soon, his little hand was rubbing my back.  He kept telling me that he was sorry, promising to be nice, and asking me if I was okay.  And all I could think about was his little hand going up and down along my back.

"Hug, Mom?" Owen finally asked me.

I'm so embarrassed that my first thought was, No!  I'm still mad at you!  But then I came to my senses.  I promised myself a long time ago, that I would always forgive a child who is genuinely saying sorry.  Always.  Immediately.  Especially a little child.  So, I wiped up my tears.  I sat up.  And we hugged.  Oh, I had a few things to talk to him about.  But my tone wasn't a reprimanding one.

I don't always know how to be the mom.  That is so frustrating for me.  I have to try things and work my way through the problems.  And just when I perfect a certain technique, another child comes along and reacts a completely different way.  I have to start all over trying to figure it out.

Owen is one of my most loving kids.  He is very aware of emotions and how to please me.  I don't know why he has been more difficult lately.  At first, I thought it was Christmas break, and all of the excitement.  But now I'm home thinking deeply about it.  What is making him angry? What is making him purposely pester his brothers?  Could he want my attention so badly that he is willing to fight me for it?

I have been trying so hard to give him one-on-one attention.  I have played Catan with him, alone, so many times over the last few days.  I don't know if other six year olds can master that game AND be the banker at the same time, and handle all of the complicated rules, but Owen can!  He is so dang smart.  He thinks he knows everything about everything.  And he's using that smart brain to try to be in charge of this whole family of eight!!   And really, he just might be that smart.

Somehow, I have to help him channel his smarts, and his massive leadership inclinations (ha ha), toward something good.  He's definitely a worker.  Put him in charge of the dinner dishes, and he will do it all!  He just needs to feel that he's in charge.

I don't know, but I do know that I'm parenting on purpose.  And I will spend some extra time on my knees prayerfully thinking about how to be the mother to this determined six year old.

He's gone to kindergarten now.  And we held up our hands in a heart shape to each other to say goodbye.  The other day, I told him that my heart was breaking, and he said, Mom, hearts don't really break like that.  And I said, Well, it sure feels like it!  Then I held up my hands in the shape of a heart and said, It feels like this.  And I pulled my hands apart.  When we said sorry and hugged each other, he asked if it felt like this, and he held his hands back together in a heart shape.  Yes, I told him.  Thank you for fixing my heart.

As he jumped out of the car an hour ago, he said, "Don't let your heart break at all!  I love you, Mom!" His hands went up into the little heart shape before he turned, happily, and ran up the sidewalk.

And all I could think is how pieces of my heart live in the bodies of these six little people.  And I'm completely at the mercy of them.  My heart beats for them.  It grows as they grow.  It aches for them. And yes, they all have the ability to break my heart.

But I love these little souls with every bit of myself.  So, I will lean on my Savior for help.  And as long as my heart beats, I will keep trying to be the mother these precious children deserve.

December 31, 2017

It's just after midnight.  And the night is quiet as all the kids have gone off to bed.  I must admit, I'm feeling quite melancholy.  I noticed a lot of people were saying how ready they were to leave the year 2017 behind, how difficult it had been, and how much they were looking forward to a new year and a new start.  But as the ball slowly dropped in Time Square, and the seconds counted down, I felt an ache for all that had been during the year 2017.

My Dad was here in 2017.  He was alive and well and vibrant and very much a part of my life.  We visited each other, went on vacations together, shared family history adventures together.  We talked and played and sat side by side as we rode up the tranquil ski lift in Park City.  And now, like a stranger moving in, 2018 is here.  And it feels a bit empty.  It's like I've walked through another door, into another room, and my Dad isn't here.  And he's never been here.

I remember asking my dear friend Mya how she felt on that New Year's Eve a few years ago just after she lost her husband.  Her daughter was at our house for a little party.  At midnight, we all pressed our faces against the back windows to watch the fireworks bursting high in the sky around our neighborhood, and suddenly Mya's daughter said, "My dad isn't here anymore."  She was looking out the dark window, but I was looking at her.  We all sat silent for a moment.  My heart broke for her.  So, I asked Mya later,  "How does it feel?"

She told me that it was so strange to walk into a year that her husband will never see.  Like, every new day and every new year is leaving him farther behind.  We shed a lot of tears together about that.

I never could have dreamed that I would be looking out the dark windows just a few years later, thinking those same thoughts, "My dad isn't here anymore."  It feels like I have to take a deep breath and face that reality all over again.  I started thinking about how my Dad has been here to ring in the New Year every single year since 1952.  And he's been ringing it in with my mom since the early 1970s!  So, yes.  This is different.  This is new.  This hurts a bit.

All day, I've been thinking about what I could write to end this year.  It's been on my mind as we played our new, awesomely fun game, Catan.  I've thought about it as we played Jackbox TV and laughed to Brian Reagan, the comedian.  It was on my mind at church, as I led the music and listened to the speakers.  What can I say to sum up my feelings about this year?

First of all, I am so thankful that I set the goal to write.  I am so grateful for the prompting to do so, because I could have never dreamed or anticipated all that has happened.  I thought it might be fun to sit down and record some thoughts every day.  But, it has become a precious gift in my life.  Each day, as I have looked back over my day, I have recognized blessings that I didn't see before.  I have felt my heart grow in love and gratitude.  I have felt closer to my Father in Heaven as I have typed out my thoughts and poured out my heart.

I didn't know that I would be the PTA President, or how the marathon would turn out.  I didn't know that my Dad would get sick and die, or how I would survive through that.  I didn't know that I would be called to be the Relief Society President, and how I would love serving in our ward.  I just didn't know.  But now I do know.  And I've written it all down.

I've talked about this before, but years ago, I helped edit my Grandma Fowler's life history.  She had been gone for a few years, but I could still hear her voice as I read her words.  During one week of her life, she decided to write down every single thing that she did.  She thought it would be interesting to see all that she did as a busy mother of eight children, a wife, a business owner, and a Relief Society President.  I cherished every word she wrote that week.  It gave me such an intimate look into her life and her heart.  And it inspired me.  When she wrote that, I wasn't even a blip on the horizon.  My parents weren't even married.  She probably wasn't thinking about how much it would mean to her granddaughter someday.  I can't wait to tell her how much fun I had reading her detailed description of that week.

And somehow, I've done mostly that...for an entire year.

When I started, I wanted to write little essays or tidbits each day.  I just wanted to spend a little more time writing.  But before I knew it, my daily life was spilling out onto these pages.  I started feeling pressed to write about my day.  Each day.  That day.

At church today, we had a lesson on Family History.  I love Family History, and I will be forever grateful that I took the time to sit down with Dad so he could teach me how to do it.

One of the comments really pierced my heart.  The teacher said, "If you think you will have more time when you retire, you are wrong.  Prayerfully consider how to add it into your life now.  You never know what the future holds, and if you don't make some of these important things priorities now, they won't be priorities then."  And then he said, "You never know how long you will live."

I thought of Dad, and the feverish pace he kept up with family history.  He had this little bell above his computer, and he would ring it every time he found a new ancestor for our family tree.  He would keep at it day and night, ringing that bell as he went.  And that's exactly what I thought about today in church.  Yes, we just never know how long we will live!  I wanted to stand up on top of my chair and shout it to the class.  YOU NEVER KNOW HOW LONG YOU WILL LIVE!  I wanted to tell everyone to stop procrastinating the important things!

At the end of one of my favorite movies, Second Hand Lions, the little grandson of the sheik says, "They really lived?" Meaning, those men from Grandpa's stories are real?  But the answer came back, "Yes, they really lived."  And at that moment, you get it.  They really lived.  They had adventures and love and heartbreak and stories to tell.  They really lived.

Awhile ago, I told Greg I was going to try out just two goals for this next year.  Somehow that had worked for 2017.  I ran the marathon and wrote every day.  So maybe I could keep up my winning streak.  I told him I was going to write a book and become a decent golfer.  He was SO excited about my goals.  First, he loves to golf.  Second, he's always wanted me to realize my dream of writing an actual book.

But then, I got called to be Relief Society President, and I told him that maybe my book-writing dreams would have to wait.  His face fell.  "No!  Rindi, you have to do it," he almost begged me.  And I had to smile.  I felt so loved right then and there.  He is the best husband ever.  And he is so supportive!

Maybe that's part of why I have felt a bit melancholy to see this year end.  I just can't see where I am supposed to go.  But I know that if I turn my life over to my Savior, He can show me where to go.  He can help me see the important things, the things that must not be procrastinated.  He can help me to really live.

My sister, Stalee, texted this morning that Dad's name appeared in an article in the Standard Examiner about all the influential people who had passed away in 2017.  Dad was on there, directly ahead of Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.  My dear sister-in-law Laura's dad, Rick Favero, made the list, too.  We were all heartbroken when he died suddenly in January.

I felt kind of mad when I heard about this article.  I just didn't want it to be true.  No, I thought, I don't want him on any list like that.  I want him here!  But then I started thinking about how influential my Dad really was.  And my heart swelled with gratitude that he was so influential to me.  I am so grateful for every good day I had with my Dad.

Mom sent us all a beautiful text.  She identified all of the blessings from 2017.  I cherish her optimism and love.  She reminded us how blessed we are to have our dear, brother-in-law, Jaron, with us, and how blessed we are that he recovered from his brain surgery.  She pointed out all of the blessings we've all experienced with Dad.  And high on her list of blessings from 2017 was the week we all spent loving each other between watching Dad slip away in the hospital and gathering for his funeral.  I thought a lot about that.  Some people might think that would rank as one of the worst weeks of our lives.  But instead, Mom claimed it as one of our greatest blessings.  And I totally agree.

With a mother like that, how could I ever go wrong?  So, I'm adding her to my list of absolutely blessed things about 2017.  I dreamt last night that I saw my Dad.  We all ran to him, but he told us that he wasn't able to hug us.  Instead, he raised his hand, and one by one, we slowly pressed our palms to his.  I instantly recognized the warmth of my Dad's hand.  I would know that hand anywhere.  I woke up after that, and even still I can feel his large hand against mine.

Maybe that's the way the year is supposed to end.  Dad stood on the side of 2017, and we pressed our hands warmly together.  Then he turned back, and I stepped across the divide into 2018.  With all the love and the feeling he could muster, he touched my hand and sent me on.  He gave me everything I would need.  Go, Rindi, he seemed to say.  Go ahead.

I've got this, Dad.  I'm stepping into uncharted territory.  But, I've got this.

And then I thought, Welcome, 2018.  I wanted to make a sign for all the world to see on January 1, 2018 that said, If you wake up this morning, get out of bed, and are able to take a deep breath, be grateful.  Please, be grateful.  Not everyone made it to 2018.

But I did.

And with gratitude for my very life, I will make sure that I make it the best year ever!

Oh, what exciting things will happen tomorrow...