Dylan's perspective

We re-started the Book of Mormon for our family scripture study this year, and a week or so ago we were reading about how the boys' mom started to murmur because she thought they were probably dead when they went to retrieve the brass plates from Laban. We talked about how long it must have taken to walk back to Jerusalem, and the first two attempts at getting the brass plates, etc. Then I explained that it was a long, long time ago, and there wouldn't have been any way for them to check in and let their mom know that they were OK. I said, "They didn't have any phones, or email or Facebook, or even a post office."

Dylan got big, wide eyes, raised his eyebrows and exclaimed, "Yeah, and they wouldn't have had any swim flippers, either!"

I wasn't sure how swim flippers were relevant to their situation, but I agreed. He was right, after all.

I Blinked Again

I peeked around the computer to see what the kids were doing, and Keira was sitting up in the child-size wooden rocking chair (which she had climbed into by herself), rocking happily while drinking from her sippy cup and when she noticed me looking, she unleashed one of those wonderful squinty-eyed, squished nose, open mouth smiles of hers. She looked so grown up.

For a split second I thought, "I'm running out of babies. And I don't think I get anymore for a while." My heart stammered a bit. Couldn't decide if that was a relief or a little heartbreaking.

No matter what I do, they seem to just keep growing up at warp speed.

New Year?

As I logged into blogger the other day to read a few friends' posts, I realized I had one blog post this month, and it was mostly photos.

I haven't written very much the last year. Its not that I haven't tried. But I sit down at the keyboard or with a notebook, and everything gets so jumbled--the exact opposite of what my brain's reaction to a fresh page has always been. Most of the challenges of the last year or two haven't been able to knock me off my feet--with a few rare, momentary exceptions, I've been on a pretty even keel, and usually have remained overall quite optimistic. It never escapes me that whatever challenges we have, we have too many blessings to count, and so we ought to be happy--not complacent in our circumstances, but faithfully cheerful.

But Doug has been unemployed for over a year now. There are things that we genuinely need that keep getting put off. No clear employment prospects are ahead of us, and we still haven't entirely figured out how to make our long-term desires doable, let alone meet immediate needs. I'm grateful that we've been so well taken care of. I'm grateful to be in Montana and with my family, but at the same time I miss my friends so terribly much. Having my phone break on the way here has been a challenge--I've had almost no communication with my friends since we left. The other day, there was something funny I wanted to text message to Emily and I couldn't, and I got a little bummed out. Moving hasn't entirely broken the habit of reading the local news for Tulare county, and disappointments continue to abound.

Its been a strange time for us, emotionally, as some relationships have ended (burying a couple of grandparents), some have had progress being reestablished after long estrangement, and others are (at least temporarily) suspended due to confusion, disappointment or hurt. I hate those kind of self-imposed boundaries, and yet sometimes in life they are necessary for everybody's health and sanity.

The other day, I finally had a mini breakdown. I'm not an overly-emotional person; I don't cry a lot, I don't throw tantrums much, and I'm not really much of a brooder. But I had thought of the third thing-we-need-but-really-can't-afford that day, and then something small went a bit awry (so itty bitty that now I can't even remember what it was) and I started to cry. For about five minutes, I just cried really hard and I wasn't even entirely sure why until I heard myself say, "I just need a break from my life!" (I said this to myself, apparently, as I was alone). I started mumbling about how I hated being the calm one, the balanced one, the chore-accomplishing one, the baths-and-school-and-homework-and-groceries one. The mom.

And when I got to that moment, I pulled myself together and stopped whining. I'm the mom. This is my job. There are people counting on me. I willingly and intentionally took this responsibility on myself when I decided to be a mom. Of course, I didn't know all the details of what that would mean, and no one does, but I knew it wouldn't be easy. For goodness sake, if childbirth doesn't clue you into the fact that motherhood is going to be hard, you're probably a bit too slow to be raising children very well.

I suddenly remembered a conversation a few years ago, where I had said something to Doug about how sometimes I hate the talks that General Authorities give about motherhood, because it just ends up feeling like the whole world is on our shoulders as women, and he smiled wryly and immediately responded, "Well, it is." After I laughed, he added, "But not just yours." We have a Father who loves us, and ultimately he shape us and direct us for good. I am not the last line of defense for my family, and it is always such a relief for very imperfect, flawed and impatient little me to remember that. It changes my focus.

I remember that I am needed by others. That I have made certain covenants, and that those covenants involve a whole lot of responsibility to those around me--first and foremost my husband and children. I haven't been the best wife and mother lately--I can do better. I haven't been the best friend or sister lately--I can be better.

Whatever our troubles, our children our well-fed, well-dressed and have a warm home to come back to at the end of the day. That is so much more than most people in circumstances such as ours can say. And those are not our only blessings, not by a long shot. I need to stop and look around more often and really look. Keilana and Dylan have each grown about an inch and a half in the last couple of months. Keira is starting to walk and saying a few words. Kylie has developed whole new big-word repertoires to converse and entertain with. Life keeps moving, no matter what I do, so its best to jump in and enjoy the little moments. Too often we let life's stresses wrap us up in ourselves, so that we look all day at our loved ones and all the rest of the good folks around us and never see them.

Its a new year, a good a time as any to refocus my energies. What needs have I missed in others because I was so wrapped up in my own little troubles? What have I not seen because I spent so much time worrying about me?

Have I done any good in the world today?

Home

There are a whole lot of nice things about living around here. Like the world looking like this everyday:

Or being just a short distance from this beautiful place:

Not a California mission, but a beautiful one, nonetheless.

Its been nice for Ginger to have so much space to run around:
And, most importantly, the kids have really been enjoying it:

Of course, what's not to love about Yaya and Papa's yard? Its pretty fabulous.

2011

Its hard to believe its been a year. The year began with a bang--just a few days after our holiday guests went home and as I was putting away the Christmas decorations and cleaning up after the tree, Doug came home late in the morning, angry tears fresh on his cheeks, and told me he didn't have a job. Part of me wanted to freak out, but mostly I felt relieved. I had been half-expecting it for months, and mentally preparing myself for that possibility on a daily basis for weeks. I didn't know what would happen, where to go from that moment, but at least one type of uncertainty was over, and the nature of the uncertainty changed.

That was 361 days ago.

We took a trip to Cal Poly to see what it would take to get Doug's master degree completely, officially finished. It looked to be just in time, and as we pursued that avenue, things kept falling into place just right. While we were over at the coast, we stopped in to visit Doug's dad. The kids had only met him once before, as had I, so we sat and visited with him for several hours and started to get acquainted. Several necessary trips to Cal Poly throughout the quarter gave Doug the opportunity to spend some time with his father, something he hadn't done in a long time.

In the spring we welcomed our little St Patrick's Day baby. I put off the induction in order to make it a little easier for my mom to come for the birth and so that Keira (or Ciara, if you prefer the proper Gaelic) could be a St. Patty's baby, and that almost didn't work. The hospital called 15 minutes before I was about to leave and told me they were slammed and I'd have to wait. I didn't make it to the hospital until lunch time, and the induction seemed to be going as slow as the rest did, and I was pretty sure I would have a March 18th baby. But, at the last minute (or hour, as the case was here), things started to move along quickly and she made it with 50 minutes to spare.

Just before Easter, Doug's grandmother (Katy's mother) passed away. It was not a surprise, as she'd been sick for some time and in that sense it was a relief. Though she has been missed, it was wonderful to have the opportunity to spend some more time with Doug's sisters and their husbands, and listen to them all tell wonderfully funny stories about their grandma's spunky personality.

The kids finished their school year in Lindsay, just as Doug was getting near the end of his time line for school, and it became apparent that he was not going to finish his project by the end of the quarter. Thanks to an understanding and very, very encouraging professor, the project was finished, but most of our summer was eaten up by it.

In the mean time, I was hunting for jobs for Doug, and he applied for quite a few. Nothing. No interviews. No call backs. Fewer and fewer options. School started for the kids, and we started trying to identify what our options were--it was obvious they were getting fewer and fewer. By the fall, we knew something had to give. Our savings dwindling rapidly, no offers forthcoming, we made the decision to move.

Its good to be home.

We spent the month of October cleaning and painting the house, packing and arranging and prioritizing, and then, the first week of November, with all that we could fit into two Dodge Caravans and a Honda Accord, we drove to Montana.

Its nice to be here a couple of months and realize that I wasn't romanticizing Montana and the freedom of the lifestyle--it really is that wonderful. Its nice to realize that I wasn't romanticizing my family because of the distance--I really do like them that much. Lindsay was so good to me, and my in-laws have been such a wonderful blessing, that I didn't realize until I came home just how much I was still living outside my comfort zone the past 7 years. When we left Hawaii, Doug went back to California, but I went to a whole other completely new and unfamiliar place, to a family I barely knew. I feel so much more at ease in so many ways than I have in a long, long time. I've spent a third of my life now somewhere besides here, but its always been home in my heart. Its good to have it again, if only for a little while.

That being said, I do miss my in-laws and my friends. I'm so glad to be with my sisters again, and yet a part of me feels like I'm a few sisters short. Emotionally and socially, my sisters function a lot more like I do than my in-laws do, and that familiarity is comforting, but I also missed the way being so close to my in-laws made me live outside my comfort zone so much--I'm a better person for it, and I'm grateful to have people in my life who push me to be better, who help me to understand and love people so different from myself, and love me even when I fall short.

I've learned a lot this year, and often in uncomfortable ways, but I can't say that I'm unhappy to have learned the lessons. I wish that I hadn't been so terribly disappointed. I wish the disappointment was a surprise. I wish that my friends, some of the people I love, admire and respect the most, hadn't been hurt. But even if we're bruised and tattered a bit, I think we're all standing a little taller for it, and I can't think of better people to have standing at my side. Three years ago when we considered making this move, we very much felt the answer was "Not yet" rather than "No". I now understand some of the reasons we needed to be in Lindsay the last three years, especially this one. Every rough tumble is so completely worth it, feeling so tremendously loved by people that good and decent and likable.

So here we are, a year later, totally broke and still jobless. Still hopeful. We may have a long term plan, if only we can figure out how to live in the short term. We're seriously considering putting Doug back in school one last time, for a Master's Degree in architecture. It would be a long and expensive process. But five years of expense and times (and 20 years of student loan payments) seem a small price to pay in the long run if it means doing what you love, what you're passionate about, for 30 year after that. Am I nuts? I think with time and practice added to his natural abilities and his drive, he could be one hell of an architect. But even if he's only ever average, at least he'll love what he does. He'll be happy. That's what I want for my kids: a daddy who comes home happy because he feels like he's doing something worthwhile and he's enjoying it.

So here's hoping that the lessons of 2012 will be a little less painfully learned than those of 2011. It has not been lost on me this year how many wonderful, amazing blessings we've received. I hope to see things come together for friends and relatives who are in similar circumstances to us. They deserve good things.

We're OK. We have each other, we have our marvelous children, we have amazing families, and we have the very, very best of friends. I thank the Lord for that--in the people he has placed in our lives, he has blessed us more than we deserve.

Happy new year.

Sunshine

2011 has been a challenging year. But one of the best things about it, hands down, has been welcoming and getting to know our little Keira Bell. In an otherwise sometimes bleak and cloudy year, she has been a ray of soft light. She is mostly mellow, usually happy, and has just enough Irish in her to keep things interesting. She started smiling on purpose at 3 weeks, and hasn't stopped. She's a little sunbeam, a window into eternal blessings at a time when they could've been easy to lose sight of. I'm so very, very grateful that she came to us this year. I've already learned a lot from her.

Perfect

I've been thinking a lot about perfection lately. . .mostly about how far away it is, or seems. In the scriptures the Lord says, "Be ye therefore perfect. . ." Most days that seems like an overwhelming commandment.

I remembered recently that when I was a teenager, my dad told me that another translation of the Hebrew word from whence that term "perfect" comes is "whole" or "complete". As I pondered Christmas this year, that thought kept coming back to me over and over again: whole. I think we've had a lot of feelings of inadequacy, incompleteness at our house this year, trying to figure out how to patch all the holes.

The promise of Christmas is a promise of perfection, of wholeness. The first Christmas was anything but "perfect" as most new mothers would define it--giving birth in a barn, days from home, with little support. The first Christmas was painful, bloody and exhausting. But from that discomfort came a perfect, new little life. The bookend to that life was filled with anguish, blood and exhaustion. But from that blood and anguish came a path to perfection for the rest of us, as incomplete as we now are.

What does a promise of wholeness mean to you? As I talked this evening with my 83-year-old diabetic grandmother who has leukemia and congestive heart failure, I pondered what the promise of wholeness means to her. I thought of a very dear, far away friend, facing the huge daily challenges of raising a profoundly autistic daughter, and pondered what the promise of wholeness must mean to her. I thought of other loved ones who suffer from difficult, and sometimes debilitating, chemical or structural imbalances and pondered what the promise of perfection means to them.

The imperfections in body, mind and spirit are not so obvious with everyone. Some people are good enough at hiding the thin patches that few besides the Savior even know that they're there. But he does know. He knows the fatigue of the supermom who is more tired than she dare tell anyone. He knows the hidden sorrow of the parent who watches their child drift through life, directionless and unfulfilled. He knows the loneliness of the widowed grandparent who isn't sure whether they want to stay or go.

He knows you. He loves you. He can patch the holes. That was the promise given to the world that first Christmas: a Savior who will love you no matter what, who knows you through and through and will bring you comfort and joy, even or especially when you don't know where to find it yourself. "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." He'll fill in the holes as we work our way through this life--helping us to carry the burdens we cannot carry ourselves, giving us that encompassing, eternal comfort that does not exist apart from him--and someday, through the power of the Atonement, making us completely whole and perfect in ourselves, so that through Him we can gain all that He hath and be His joint heirs in our Father's kingdom.

We have a Father who loves us, who offered His one perfect son as a ransom for our sins and transgressions that we might be made whole and return to Him. How could we refuse such a gift? All he asks in return is a broken heart and contrite spirit--a humble willingness to forsake our sins and follow him. A small price to pay for eternal joy.

His law is love and His gospel is peace. In knowing that, sleep in heavenly peace. Much love and a very merry Christmas.

Becky