Love: Nine Year Old Boy Version

 

See that cute, chubby, little bundle of all-boy joy sitting on my lap?  He grew up.

He grew taller.  Thinned out.  Got teeth.  Lost teeth.  Grew bigger teeth.  Needs braces.  Got glasses.  Picks out his own clothes.  Earns straight A's.  Wishes he was taller, but guards his guy on the b-ball court with a determination that makes up for what he lacks in size (no one Justone guards scores a point).  Wants an Austin Collie jersey before the Superbowl, badly.  Knows more about electricity than I do.  Recently fixed the automatic door on the minivan when the problem stumped me and dad was away.  Doesn't sit on my lap anymore.  Wouldn't accompany me to the school's mother-son *dance because my dancing "would embarrass him" and "it would be more fun to go bowling with you, Mom."  

How and when did all that happen?  I've been awake, haven't I?

Well, happen it did.  But, I was glad to discover recently that some things haven't changed.  

This week, for Family Home Evening, I borrowed an idea from Shawni at Life.  (Shawni has lots of great ideas.  Thanks, Shawni,  for sharing them!)  After reading some passages from the Bible about love, and discussing how important it was to love others and let them know how much and why we love them, we made our own "heart attack".  We wrote down on paper hearts--construction paper, made by my daughters earlier that day--reasons why we loved one another.  A heart for each reason, that we posted all over the kitchen to enjoy until Valentine's Day.  

Superkid drew pictures.  I wrote paragraphs.  The Bionic Man wrote short statements that meant a lot.  Endeavor was careful to make sure that her reasons were warm and thoughtful.  And Justone was very honest.

My favorite of Justone's hearts:

It reads, 

MOM:

she makes food

Now, scroll up and take another look at that chubby, darling, full-of-breastmilk baby.  And then a look at the growing nine-year-old boy, who still appreciates a good meal.  Probably will when he's home from college, visiting.  And I'm sure his future wife will never be able to make a death-by-chocolate-cake that is as good as mine.

It's quite possible that Justone could have come up with other reasons he loves me.

MOM:

she has a college degree

and could probably get a job somewhere

but she wants to be at home when my sisters and I

come home from school.

MOM:

she has a great sense of humor

and likes to make us laugh.

MOM:

she plans the best family vacations

MOM:

she's very pro-active about my health

and well-being.  If it weren't for her,

I'd still have a chronic sinus infection.

MOM:

among her other talents,

she can come up with great ways

to help us memorize our

spelling words.

But you know what?  I'm really content with being loved because I make food.  

After all, don't they say that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach?

*Note:  AFTER the dance that we did not attend was over, I was relieved to discover that it wasn't all my dancing that was embarrassing.  Only one specific dance.  When Endeavor was trying to memorize all the states and capital cities earlier this year, she was having some trouble with Charleston, West Virginia.  I did the Charleston for her, which made the capital city of West Virginia unforgettable for all my children.  Justone explained that he was afraid I would do the Charleston at the mother-son dance.   Because I'm like that, apparently.  A dancing fool.

How did she know?

Yesterday was Monday.  As I've mentioned before, Monday is Family Home Evening at our house.  Last night, however, we weren't at home.  First, the entire family accompanied me to the doctor's office.  I'm going to live!  (Not that there was ever any question of that.)  No, seriously, I'm doing great.  Even though I'm still sore and slow.  Then, we made a trip to McDonald's for ice cream.  Before we returned home, our plan was to deliver Christmas goodies to some of our friends.  So, we made a bathroom stop before we began our deliveries.

This may not sound like the traditional Family Home Evening, but the point is that we were spending time together and there was ice cream involved.

Speaking of points, I'm not getting to the one I intended to fast enough.  My intended point is the following story:

As we approached the large, heavy, public restroom door, I considered my physical state.  I considered the door.  I was tired and achey.  I listened to Endeavor, who was trying to convince me that since she had no need for a restroom break, she should be allowed to stand outside and wait for her father and brothers (being male, they had probably already finished their business in the restrooms before we girls had even entered).  I considered the door again, and the possibility that there may be another heavy door beyond this one.  "No, Endeavor," I said, my decision made on all counts.  "I need you to join Superkid and I in the restrooms.  Because you can't wait outside by yourself, and because your mother is afraid she can't open this door by herself."

Endeavor grudgingly obliged, saying as she pushed open the restroom door, "Fine, Mom, I'll come and open doors for you. "

At this, Superkid looked up at her older sister and said seriously, "Mommy's superpowers have been weakened.  We have to do what we can to help her."

She's so on to me.  What was it that gave it away?  My lightening reflexes?  My laser vision?  Perhaps my ability to talk on the phone and measure out the ingredients for cookies simultaneously.  Whatever it was that tipped her off, I'll have to be more careful in the future.

And, speaking of SUPER.......

Best wishes to all of my fellow supermoms as you prepare your homes for Christmas!

Memories

Last night we had Family Home Evening.  For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it is a night--usually Monday--that our church leaders encourage us to set aside once a week to spend time together as a family, getting closer to one another and learning more about the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  That is the goal, and sometimes we accomplish it.  Sometimes we attempt to accomplish it, but the squabbling and couch jumping get in the way.  But B and I are convinced that we'll be blessed for trying, so we do.

Sometimes our Family Home Evenings (which I'll refer to hereafter as "FHE") are better planned and prepared than others.  Some of our best lessons have been given by the children.  Seriously, you should have been there a few weeks ago for the lesson E taught about family history and journal keeping.  She's good--so good that she's already preparing her powerpoint presentation for next week's lesson.  But I digress.  Last night's lesson wasn't so well planned, maybe because I was attending parent teacher conferences for three children while B was doing the ballet carpool and feeding everyone dinner.  Way to go B!

I came home from parent teacher conferences to find everyone clustered around the computer.  And to hear the sweet sound of L cooing.  B had pulled up a bunch of video files that he hasn't burned onto disk yet, and he and the kids were watching them.  I joined them, and we spent the next two hours just watching ourselves and L.

It was bittersweet.  We all loved seeing L again.  I think E and I took turns getting teary-eyed as we watched.  (I'd post some video here for you to see, but I haven't figured out how to post video on my blog yet....and it is just as well, because I'm not sure I really want to share moments that now seem so private and special.)  The kids were fascinated by how much they themselves have grown and changed in the past two years.  E realized how much speech therapy had helped:  "I couldn't say S's!".  J could see that he'd become much taller and less pouty.  S was startled to hear her four-year-old self sound "like a baby."  We were touched to see how obvious L's love was for each of us.  Our memories haven't played tricks with us on that.

I was taken aback by the video record of how hard I worked to have L with us at home and to give her and all of us some sort of normalcy.  Sometimes, I tend to look back at that time of my life with a lot of self-criticisms.  I should have done this, or that, or made sure that this happened, etc., etc.  Last night I was able to watch myself on video with love and charity.  I was doing the best I could, under the circumstances.  I'm so proud of myself for trying.

There was one video, taken on J's seventh birthday.  It was in between a long string of winter hospitalizations for L.  It was mid-January, and all of our Christmas decorations were still up.  The house looked pretty disorganized.  The birthday cake was obviously from a bakery.  We only had five birthday candles.  I was carrying L in my arms, and a portable oxygen tank over my shoulder, which was attached to L.  Judging by how close I was standing to the flaming birthday cake with a tank of oxygen, I'm pretty sure we'd just been released from the hospital that day, and home health hadn't arrived yet to explain home oxygen use to me, yet.  (It is extremely combustible.)  There are dark circles under my eyes and my hair looks really bad.  E's clothes are mismatched and S's hair looks as if it hasn't seen a brush in days.  From behind the camera, B is complementing the girls on how well they wrapped the gifts, and I'm viewing some of the birthday gifts with clear displeasure--obviously, I hadn't been involved in the purchases.  E, J, and S are clearly starved for attention, judging by the number of times they jump up and down in front of the camera and turn somersaults over my feet.  L looks like she is struggling to breathe.

It almost gave me an anxiety attack watching.  That was my life.  Somehow I lived through that.

One of the last videos I watched was filmed with me behind the camera.  B likes to have us fade in to each new date, and as the scene fades in, you hear me saying, "It is about four o'clock in the morning."  I'm pointing the camera at L, who is lying on the spare bed in her room, happily playing with a small stuffed giraffe.  It is about a week before L died, and I'm filming something that was typical for L and I: a night with very little sleep.  In the video, I explain that L often tries to let her siblings have my attention during the day while they are awake, but she likes to have fun with me while they are asleep.  The camera follows L playing with the giraffe and batting at other toys.  She is clearly enjoying herself.

"Are you wide awake?" I playfully ask L.  She responds with a happy grin and an outstretched hand.

"Is Mommy tired?"  I ask L.  She looks at the camera and blinks a yes, then smiles widely.

"You are right, Mommy is tired,"  I agree.  "So, do you think we should turn off the lights and go to sleep?"


L emphatically shakes her head back and forth, "No."  I laugh.  "You are so smart.  You know exactly what you want, and you are so good at telling Mommy."  I laugh again as she grins at me.  "I love to play with you, too."  I tell her.


I watched that video.  And I watched it again.  That was my life.  That was why I lived through the portable oxygen tank and the slapped together birthdays and the messy house and the long hospitalizations and the anxiety attacks.  For beautiful moments like that.

That was my life.  It was amazing.

Suddenly, I realized that FHE should have ended long ago.  It was 9:30 P.M., way past bedtime.  It was time for everyone to brush their teeth and say prayers and get into bed, and someone remembered she had a permission slip for me to sign.....and I looked around at the chaos of bedtime and felt so grateful.  Families are forever.  I have these three wonderful children and a husband to take care of right now, and they need me so much.  And I have L, who doesn't need me so much right now, but she's still part of our family and always will be, because we are a forever family.  And I'm looking forward to the day when I get to hold her in my arms again and she's well and whole and we can do things without a tank of oxygen strapped on my shoulder.   


This is my life, as it is and as it will be.  It is amazing.

See?  Blessings do come from having Family Home Evening.