Tater's First Day of School.

It's hard to believe my second little one is in Kindergarten. I don't think I've entirely gotten over the shock. It still seems so unreal that it's just Maylie and me in the mornings now. And I don't even want to think about next year when both boys will be gone all day.

The day dawned bright and early for my little Tater Bug--who is not really a morning person and prefers sleeping in and waking up slow. I crept in to their bedroom and woke him up slowly with a back rub and cuddles. That first morning he woke up quickly--maybe because he was so excited...or nervous. (Now that he's gone to school for two weeks, the newness has worn off and he likes to roll over and go back to sleep; but I am persistent.) I listened to their morning prayers and helped them make their beds and get dressed.

He chose toast for breakfast and of course, as is tradition, he ate from his golden plate that gets used on every special occasion.

After we combed hair and said family prayer, and took our traditional front porch first day of school picture, Tate asked me to kiss the palm of his hand. At first I thought, "What!?" He's so grown up he won't even let me kiss him on the cheek anymore? But I kissed his hand anyway, and he held it up to his cheek and then over his heart. And then I knew.

It was a "Kissing Hand." I had meant to read him that book the night before, but we forgot. And yet, somehow, during one of the times he listened to the story, he had stored away that special information for future use. My heart kind of broke as I watched him walk out to the garage with his hand over his heart and ask Easton to open the car door for him so he wouldn't have to move his hand.

Patrick took the boys to the bus stop and Easton promised to take good care of Tate on the bus and sit with him so he wouldn't be scared. Back at home, Maylie and I got ready in 10 minutes and then Patrick picked us up and we all headed over to the school. We met the boys in the commons area and when they finally raised the gates so they could go to their classrooms, Easton hustled off to his room without so much as a goodbye--he's so grown-up these days. Tate was clutching my hand nervously but was grinning and looked excited.

When we got to his classroom, I helped him find his cubby to hang his backpack and then we found his seat. It was such a tender mercy that his teacher put him on the "orange table." It was a comfort to him that he got to sit at the table with his favorite color. He wouldn't sit down at first; he just wrapped himself around me, begging me not to leave. So I told him I would stay for a few minutes until his teacher told me to go.

He reluctantly sat down and I stood behind him while the other kids all got situated. One by one the parents started saying their goodbyes and drifting out of the room, while the teacher passed out coloring pages. It was all so soon and so sudden. I wasn't sure if I was ready--and I knew Tate wasn't. I lingered a little longer, hoping other parents would too, but pretty soon I was the last one. So I leaned down to Tate and whispered in his ear that it was time for me to go. He gripped my hand and said, "But my teacher hasn't told the parents to leave yet!!!!" I showed him that all the other parents were gone and I needed to go too, but I would watch him from the window for a few minutes. I told him he would have so much fun and that his teacher would be so nice and I would see him in just a little while. He finally let go of my hand, gave me one last hug and I kissed his head.

Patrick and I watched through the window for a few minutes, and he never looked back. He seemed to be doing just fine. So we chatted with our neighbors as we walked out the door and I had to put on a happy face. But as soon as we parted ways, my eyes filled with tears and the whole reality of it fell upon me like I knew it would. It had happened with Easton on his first day of Kindergarten and I was prepared for the rush of memories that would accompany the sadness this time around. Even so, it wasn't enough to take away the sting...

...I remembered holding Tate for the first time in the hospital that cold, snowy December night and noticing his cute little ears and nose first thing. I remembered seeing him smile for the first time on my cherry wood bed with the patchwork quilt in our little Rexburg cottage. I remember how he had calmed and comforted my heart from the very beginning. And the feeling of sublime peace he brought to our family that winter of 2008-2009. And then the memories flashed past in spurts--just little things like his big blue eyes, his marshmallowy little body. His utter contentedness in every aspect of his life. Watching him explore Gram and Pop's sheds--observing the wonder of it all. His humor, his joy, his silliness, his perfect politeness and sweetness. Truly, there has never been another quite like our little Tater Bug. And I walked in the windy street to the car wondering how five years can seem like the blink of an eye. Oh my little one, how was I ever blessed to be your mother??

The morning passed quickly--but it was so strange with just me and Maylie. The dynamics changed when Easton left and they changed again with Tate's departure. And soon, we were waiting down at the bus stop for our little boy to return. We waited there with the other mothers for over 45 minutes, they were so late. But Maylie faithfully held the small bag of candy corns she had been entrusted with--leaving them unopened as a gift for Tate for being so brave and not even crying a bit. And when the bus finally stopped, I saw him through the window, waving excitedly with the biggest grin on his face.

He skipped over to us and koala-bear hugged me (meaning he wraps his arms and legs around me completely). Maylie gave him his candy corns and of course, as is custom for Tate, he happily offered to share with her and told me all about his day (or at least all about recess) as we walked back home.

All in all, I survived and he thrived. It's different having him all grown-up and gone, but change is part of life, I am accepting this change as good and blessed, even if my heart will always secretly weep for those days long past that will only be relived in my memory.

Dear Tate,
You are amazing and brave and bright and bubbly and sweet and perfect just exactly the way you are. I could not live without you. You are my ocean of peace.

Com grande amor,
Mommy

P.S. I love you...

It Was Mom: A Mother's Day Tribute To Moms #itwasmom

Tomorrow is one of my favorite days of the year. There's something really special about celebrating a day that is in honor of YOU and your mother(s), grandmothers, and all of your heritage--as well as all of the mothers worldwide who live or have ever lived. I don't know quite how to explain it, but I feel as if all mothers join in this special bond on this one day a year and are revered for all of the world-changing work they do. There's something so sweet and so powerful about the whole day that causes a continual lump in your throat. Tears are close to the surface and the whole day is somehow softer, and lighter, with a gentle air about it.



And so today (and tomorrow), I wish to express my deep gratitude for the mothers in my life. My young women leaders who mothered me in their own special way; grandmothers on both sides of the veil who have shaped me, nurtured me, comforted me when no one else was there, and been my very best friends; a mother-in-law who treats me as if I were her own daughter, loves me, and cares for me; and most especially, for my very own, one-of-a-kind, perfectly perfect, all-star mother who raised me, loved me when no one else did, championed everything I've ever attempted, inspired me to great heights, and in reality, laid down her very life for me time after time, in so many ways. I love you Mother. Forever and for always you will be the one revered as Mother Supreme in my eyes.



Love Always,



Jamie (Gigi)



And, if you have a minute, watch this short video.

To all of the mothers everywhere, this is the sweetest tribute of the year.

#itwasmom

It's Mother's Day again.

And this year is so much better.  Last year, with postpartum depression weighing me down, I felt so bitterly undeserving of the day and all of the thanks and love that came with it.  I just wasn't myself and it was one of the hardest days of the year.

But this year brings a contentment so deep and reassuring that I feel like a firm rock in a riverbed.  Last year it was a dry bed, but this year the river is full and overflowing.

I've been given homemade flowers from each of my little ones, five cards, a flat of dusty rose petunias, and a gift from sweet Patrick still to come.  And this year our new ward gave all of us mothers a tall potted geranium, and I was so happy.  It's what I've always wanted.  I remember seeing my sweet mother receive a potted flower every Mother's Day and I loved passing them out when I was a young woman.  As a girl, I couldn't wait for the day when I would be a mother and receive the treasured plant.  But this is the first year of my 6 years being a mother that I have received one, and I'm happy as a lark.  I beamed the whole way home.  It doesn't matter that my little red Geranium was one of the only plants not blooming yet; I finally have my flower.  And I hope I can help it bloom--as a great symbol of the children-flowers I'm helping to grow....

And this poignant video clip is enough to warm the weary...

And a Mother's Day excerpt from Ann to bolster every mother:

So, sure, there was this talk of The Giving Tree –but there wasn’t one of us who didn’t know all along it was you, The Giving Mother.

I never get over the shade of you, the grace of you, the limbs of you, the God-made Giving Tree —
Because God needed someone to love the least and the little into real whole people, and He knew that to love is to suffer so God made a mother.

God had said –

I need someone to get up at midnight and scoop the most fragile of humanity close to her warmth and rock though she can hardly stand and nourish though she’s mostly sleep-starved and change the diaper and the sheets and the leaked on, leaked through, and leaked down clothes though she’ll have to change them in the morning and next week and that won’t change for years.

So God made a Mother.

God said I need somebody who can shape a soul and find shoes on Sunday mornings and get grass stains out of Levis.

And make dinner out of nothing and do it again 79, 678 times, and keep kids off the road and out of the toilet and in clean underwear and mainly alive though she’s mainly losing her mind and will put in an 80 hour week by Wednesday night and just do one more load of laundry.

And one more sink of crusted burnt pots.

And keep on going another eighty hours because raising generations matters and weaving families matters and tying heart strings matters and these people here in hidden places matter.

So God made a mother…

It had to be somebody who could comb back pigtails and tie up skates just-right tight.

Who could pretend she remembered algebra and how to get home from here and that really, she was just fine, that it must just be the silly onions.

Somebody who would run for the catch, jump on a trampoline and play one fierce game of soccer and not give a thought to all those labors and her weak pelvic floor. Somebody who’d stay up late with a science project that never ends, who’d get up early for the game in the rain, somebody who’d wave at the door until the taillights were out of sight and still be smiling brave.

So God made a mother.

It had to be somebody willing to keep loving when it made no sense because that’s what love does.

Somebody who knew that life is not an emergency but a gift — so just. slow. down. There are children at play here and we don’t want anyone to get hurt and the hurry makes us hurt.

Somebody willing to feed and lead, lay down her life and pick up her cross, give of her time because they have her heart. Someone who knows that we all blow it — and what matters is what we then do after.

Someone who could humble herself into the tender sorry that covers a multitude of sins.

Someone who would live like a Giving Tree — who would would give grace, give life, and give thanks —  eucharisteo:  the giving thanks for every grace that gives back always joy.

Someone who would stand in the mess and the midst and give thanks anyways — because eucharisteo always, always, precedes the miracle of discovering that the Giver Himself is always, always more than enough.

Someone who would live it a thousand times: Give thanks — and discover that the Giver Himself is the Gift and He alone is always, always enough.

Someone who would pour out and bend down and surrender not only to the physical pain of childbirth but the far deeper, unending heart pain of letting go, letting go, letting go –  from the womb, from the arms, from the front door. Someone who would know that umbilical cords can be cut — but heart strings never can.

Someone who’d bow her head at night over the girl sleeping with the doll in the crook of her arm — and give thanks to her Father for this hidden life that’s turning a gear for the whole spinning world.

So God made a mother.

You.

The Giving Mother, made by God to be a safe shelter….

with your roots dipping like lines into aquifers to siphon love up out of the caving cup of His hands.

His hands …. and those always underneath, everlasting arms holding us all.

And lastly, what I wrote in my journal this morning:

On July 26, 2007, a mother was born.

And again on December 29, 2008.

And again on November 29, 2011.

Each time this mother was born, she was a little more bruised, and a little more broken, and yet a little more whole.  Because each time she was a little closer to the One who makes you strong when you are weak.

And each time she was a little weaker, but also a little stronger, because He had filled her heart with a little more grace, a little more wisdom, a little more love.

Her heart had opened wider and made room for 3 little angels at 3 different times and she wondered how her heart had ever lived without them. 

But maybe they'd been there all along--the essence of dreams to come and songs not yet written.  Somehow they were always there, but on 3 separate and special days, these little ones came to life as realities.

And though she would fall again and again, They (all 7 of them--including her Father in Heaven, her Savior, the Holy Ghost, her Patrick, and her Easton, Tate, and Maylie) would be there to pick her up.

And they do not know it, but these 3 precious children are making a mother....

Grow.

"On Fridays around these parts we stop, drop, and write.
For fun, for love of the sound of words, for play, for delight, for joy and celebration at the art of communication.
For only five short, bold, beautiful minutes. Unscripted and unedited. We just write without worrying if it’s just right or not.
Won’t you join us?
Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking."
~The Gypsy Mama



Grow.

It's a hope.  It's a longing.  It's a yearning desire for me right now.  I want a few things in my life to grow: 
*my contractions--could you maybe come five minutes apart and just a titch stronger?
*my little baby--oh sweet, glittering star, grow so you'll be ready to enter this world.
*my heart--will you open even wider than you already are to encompass this new little one in the blanket of love?
*my time--will you crescendo to allow all of the extra new baby to-do's fit in our schedule?
*my boys--might you wake up tomorrow with new wisdom shining from your eyes--wisdom to understand that Mommy has to share her time and her heart with another now.
*my faith--may you keep growing and growing and growing, never stopping, always increasing in strength with each new faith-challenging-building experience.

The Simple Woman's Daybook {Entry 1}

{Linked to The Simple Woman's Daybook}

FOR TODAY

Outside my window...I cannot see, for I am living in a basement.  But I hear the cars go driving past...sounds much like the ocean waves.

I am thinking...about my little girl.  She is coming so soon and my heart yearns for her.

I am thankful...for quiet mornings and a routine that works.  It is a blessed thing to begin a day right by spending time with the Lord, writing praise, recording a journal entry, organizing and planning my day, and blogging.

From the learning rooms...we are focusing on the letter K, the number 11, and all things Fall.  We are also striving to develop kindness and peacemaking skills.  Last night we learned of obedience and all repeated in loud voices, "I will be obedient!"

In the kitchen...awaits apple cinnamon cheerios and minty-marshmallow hot chocolate.

I am wearing...old jeans and a striped green, blue, yellow, and white shirt that has lived with me through three pregnancies.  Topped with a soft white sweater.

I am creating...a sweet baby.  She is growing and I am growing too.  Not just physically, but in other ways too.  My heartstrings are lengthening.  My patience is increasing.  My love for her and my sweet boys is flourishing.  My life is widening to welcome her in.

I am going...shopping today.  To buy cans of food storage.  Christmas gifts for extended family.  Thank you cards for a lovely baby shower.  Gifts for the hostesses.  Christmas decor.  Washcloths and towels for our new home.

I am wondering...if I will have time to complete everything I want to do before my little grace comes.  She's coming soon and there's still oh so much to do on my to-do list.

I am reading...the Book of Mormon.  Issued a challenge in August to begin and complete the reading by the end of the year, I have been soaring through the pages, and the messages have been surging inside of me...changing me.  Making me more.  And full of grace.

I am hoping...that the labor and delivery goes smoothly and though I wonder, I know it will.  Because of a sweet blessing from a loving husband promising that it would be so.

I am looking forward to...holding my little girl for the first time.  Looking into her eyes and seeing heaven shining through.  Feeling her newborn fingers and kissing her cherubic cheek on that blessed day when she comes.

I am hearing...Tate's little voice talking to himself.  How I wish I could bottle up his tone and inflection and pronunciation.  His voice is angelic.

Around the house...remnants of things to move to our Farmhouse Cottage along with a scattering of pink baby things folded and ready for Sweet Pea.

I am pondering...on the grace of God.  His mercy, His kindness and long-suffering.  His deliverance of me from so many things.  How He is leading my life through green grass and springs of cool water.  How He is so good.  And so merciful.  My very best friend.  My Father.

One of my favorite things...is waking up in the morning these days.  I lie still in the lightening darkness and ponder on the excitement and plans of the day.  I run through my head the happiness awaiting me and picture the faces of my two sweet boys, while imagining the face of my sweet little girl.

A few plans for the rest of the week:

Packing the hospital and diaper bags

Typing more recipes and weekly shopping lists

Organizing everything into an album

Blogging

Imagining my baby

Journaling

Planning a romantic date night for my sweetheart

Scrawling the mercies the Lord is bestowing daily

Preschool

Reading to little ones

Walking and dancing and shopping

Here is picture for thought I am sharing...

{This is how I feel.  In a heavenly mist, on a path of red and orange strewn leaves.  Almost to a bench where I can rest and take in my surroundings.  Waiting in this lovely Autumn for my little girl to be in my arms.}

Countdown to our Shooting Star

Very soon a little angel, a shooting star from heaven, will enter our lives...and our hearts.  Our precious baby girl is due on December 5, 2011, and I can't even wait.  I have entered into the impatient stage of wondering when she will come and if I'm prepared and mourning every day that passes without her.

Praying to know what to do, I had the glimmer of an idea...a baby countdown.  I listed the days out in my composition book and then began filling in activities centered on my sweet pea.  Perhaps by completing this list I will be able to more patiently wait her arrival and prepare more thoroughly so I enjoy the day of her birth as much as utterly possible.  And here is the run-down on the countdown:

11/13  Make a list of hymns and scriptures to read during labor.
11/14  Prepare the hospital bag and diaper bag
11/15  Print Wish Lists.
11/16  Make a list of photos to capture on her birth day and hospital to-do's.
11/17  Write a letter to my Shooting Star with all of my excitement spilling from the words.
11/18  Write out her personality profile.
11/19  Write about the meaning of her name.
11/20  Write out a plan for your relationship with her as a baby and throughout her life.
11/21  Write about your first few days and weeks together (projecting them in the future).
11/22  Review and write about her first "schedule."  Make a plan.
11/23  Go to a mountain to ponder where you are, where you have been, and where you're going.
11/24  List reasons you've loved being pregnant with your sweet pea.
11/25  Read through all posts to and about her.
11/26  Pray for her on the hour--every hours.
11/27  Pamper yourself.  Paint your nails...etc.
11/28  Write out your "motherhood commitment."
11/29  Ponder about your Shooting Star for 30 minutes and imagine her with love and joy.

I would go on...but I'm hoping she either arrives a little early or I can convince our good doctor to induce me (for size reasons).  I  am still wondering when she will grace our home.  I wish I knew the exact day and time of her arrival.  It would give me a day to push towards and look forward to.  But for now, this countdown will have to do and I know I will so enjoy every minute of every activity...

And maybe just one more goal to add to the countdown.  A daily one...

*Think of her and imagine the day of her delivery at least five minutes every day...

Today I'm feeling purple.

Royal purple.  Life is glorious and full of beauty.  I feel like I am part of something grander than myself...motherhood and the growing and nurturing of my soul, and theirs.

And this duty is Divine.  I have been commissioned from on High for the grandest, holiest, most sacred calling a daughter of God can ever have, that of mother.  How can I ever be enough to give my sweet little ones all that they need, deserve in this life?

But the realization then drapes over me like a velvet cloak of purple assuring me of the royalty that runs through my veins, and thoughts of I can do this and He will be with me rest on my careworn shoulders, bolstering them up to the stature of a princess.  Once again, I am reminded that God is my Father and I am His daughter, which makes me the daughter of the Creator of the whole wide universe, the Divine King of all heaven and earth.  And I am His daughter?  I smile knowing, feeling the reality of this truth.

And I can do this mothering journey because He is my Father, which means He will be there to show me the way.  He will be a lamp unto my feet, a lighthouse glowing to steer me aright.  And I will be the mother He intended because Eucharisteo is always enough.  His grace is always sufficient, and if our grace is coupled with His, it will always be enough.

And this is why I am feeling purple. Deep, majestic, royal, and ready to conquer the world...or just my home, where I am the queen.