I don’t think “conflict” is the word that describes my relationship with my kids, but I earned the Broken Heart, Bravery During Driver’s Training, and Legion of Worry just this week. I am not a candidate for Outstanding Restraint this week, and the dishes are not done.
I read a book about how to write a memoir, and there was a chapter about creating a persona. The authors contrasted their writing personas with their true personalities. Each was very funny in writing, but admitted that in person, she was more complicated. One even shared she was a bit depressive.
I like to think that the overall positive, thoughtful persona I try to nurture here is my truest self, but maybe it is not.
I am a reclusive, sensitive, intense person who is often exhausted after basic interactions with people. I interrupt Richard and try to finish his thoughts as he is speaking. I can be abrupt and I don’t like family reunions. I have a terrible sugar habit and hate to exercise. There is a smell in our house that has been here since we moved in and I can’t stand it. It is endlessly frustrating. I suffer emotionally when one of my family members is sick. I am struggling to find purpose in house work. I wonder if I will ever ice skate again, or make the time to go to a special bookstore. I regret that I don’t enjoy most vacations. I regret that the collagen and elastin in my skin gave out before I ever had a good tan. I don’t regret that I wear hats and got braces as an adult. I don’t regret home schooling. I love the sunlight in the kitchen in the morning and the sound of my violin when I am thinking about something. I sip a mug of warm milk at least once a day. I need to be courageous to be fulfilled. I keep a lot of secrets. I love dill, sourdough bread, and fashion. I wish I had a telephone friend, one who would call me, and I would never have to call her. In exchange, she would never want for a good listener. I wish I had a pen pal. And that is enough of this nonsense.
Here are a few items from the last two weeks:
Feb 26-March 4
Feb19-25
Well, I finished it. I really like how it turned out, even if my hand quilting is not great. It makes me appreciate the tiny stitches in one of my heirloom quilts even more. Many of the doll blocks were made by my friends in quilt group about 2 years ago, and this quilt will always remind me of them. My sisters and Mom helped me begin quilting it, and it sat in a storage room for months. I did most of the stitching during the winter Olympics, of course. It is the perfect lap quilt in size and coziness and memories.
This video is really lame, but I felt so sad today as I ironed Daniel’s church shirt that I turned up the music to perk myself up. I won’t get to do this little service much longer.
Ed Sheeran is my sound track to life lately. Don’t judge.
I had my stitches removed yesterday. After a week in an uncomfortably large splint up to my elbow, I was nervous to move my injured hand at all. After hearing my questions about wound care and mobility concerns, the doctor sat back and reassured me that I had healed beautifully. I really was ok. Today I see the truth to what he said, now that some stiffness and tenderness have worn off.
Today during my prayers, I had a long list of to do’s that I wanted the Lord to help me contort myself to accomplish. During the prayer, a thought that came to my mind: forget the baking project. In other words, I am ok without doing all of the extras.
I wonder if Mary worried that she wasn’t doing enough as she took time to sit with the Savior as Martha served. Did she feel some relief when she heard the words, “One thing is needful”? This concept always makes my cumbered mind feel so much better. Focus on the basics. If there is time for more, great. If not, you have already chosen the good part.
I won’t be delivering cupcakes with buttercream flowers piped on them to my committee today. I won’t finish hand embroidering a towel for a bridal shower. Really, only one thing on my list is needful, and I will do it peacefully and with purpose.
I am so ok with that.
10:30 pm Sunday night. I am recovering well from a hand laceration. Richard still has no energy after the flu. The boys play trumpet and piano while we rest.
Last Sunday Timothy gave a talk in church with 30 minutes to prepare. He did so well!
Timothy and Mark played in a piano recital on Tuesday night.
It was a good week to be a parent.
Daniel advanced to a regional level in the Sterling scholar competition.
Daniel was named a National Merit Finalist.
Paige began work towards a summer internship in New York.
I finished hand-quilting my international doll quilt. I will finish the binding some other day.
Richard and I watched the John Adams miniseries, except when my eyes were closed during the violence and 18th century surgeries.
We watched Wonder. Tears streamed freely for me.
I can’t type this week as my hand heals, so this is it for a while.
Austin, TX, 2001
I had three major abdominal surgeries, one year apart, beginning in 1999. We learned during my first hospital stays that I did so much better when Richard was in the room with me. So, in 2001, he spent extra time with me before and after the surgery, spending long hours through the days in a dimly lit, lavender-papered room. He was needed at work, the kids needed him at home, and I needed him at the hospital. He balanced these demands without complaint.
His calming influence was so helpful. I felt less pain when I was with him. I didn’t feel anxious, which is what happens to me when I take pain medications and I am separated from the kids. My mom stayed with our kids so Richard could be with me during the days.
One day he sat down on the bed and read Tuesdays with Morrie aloud to me. Although this was a book about dying, it was a good choice because it also reminded us to celebrate life. He read for a long time, eventually resting against the pillow with me, bringing his legs up on the bed. At each page turn, he kissed me on the cheek. I felt so much love and fulfillment through his kindness to me that day. I felt loved, absolutely. As a mother, I have struggled to make room in my life to receive. One lesson from my illness was how important it is to allow myself to be loved.
When we were married, there was no thought of potential illnesses and hospital stays. These experiences showed me how much I need Richard on an emotional level. He has always been a good provider, but it’s not just in temporal things. He is also a provider of peace.
This is the robot in progress.
He has a job as a clerk for a company related to construction. He has saved almost enough money for his mission.
He plays the piano in a stream of consciousness, blending melodies from different pieces, without music, late at night.
These are just a few of the things I admire about Daniel.
A line of light from the kitchen streams beneath our bedroom door: someone is up early.
The pantry door squeaks: the boys are hungry.
No sounds from the basement bedroom: someone has slept in.
The rumble of the garage door: someone is returning or leaving.
The squeal of pipes through the wall: someone is in the shower.
The floor shakes with muted explosive sounds: someone is watching a Star Wars movie with surround sound in the basement.
Ding! A message from Richard or Paige
Bing! A message from Timothy
Chime! A message from Daniel
Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap Yap: the dog needs to come back inside.
“Here’s to the Fools who Dream…”: I am doing dishes or mopping.
Sniff, sniff beneath the door: the dog is looking for Richard.
Bwa ha ha ha: Mark is watching YouTube videos.
Scratchety scratch scratch: the dog is cold and needs to come inside.
Clickety clickety clickety clickety: Daniel is typing.
Long, sullen pauses and no eye contact: oh, boy, am I in trouble.
Crinkle, crinkle: I turn the pages of my scriptures.
Beeeeeeep, beeeeeeep: the chicken is cooked.
Blat blat blat: trombone practice
Toot toot toot: trumpet practice
Brrrrrruuum, diddly dum: a son practices piano.
Ping, pingy ping: Paige is playing the piano.
Lawrence Welk is on: it’s haircut time.
The hallway floor creaks: someone is looking for me.
Light streams beneath our bedroom door: someone is up late.
Longer stretches of silence each day: the kids are growing up and leaving.