Transitions

When I hear the word, "transition," I usually think of childbirth and the three most painful moments in my life. I know everyone is different, but for me, transition is the most difficult part of natural childbirth. It happens very soon before the most wonderful part: the part where the baby is born, fresh and sweet.

I hear a lot of parents talk about the transition from having one child and then two, and then from two to three. Some say it is most difficult going from one to two children. They say after giving all of the love and attention to one child, it can be complicated to divide it between two. Others say that going from two to three is hardest because you only have two hands. I am wondering if going from three to four may be even harder because we would have to buy a larger vehicle (I wish someone would invent a double/triple carseat so I could fit four kids in the back seat)!

For me, the transition from one to two children was smooth because my oldest was three-and-a-half. She understood, for the most part, what was happening. And she was ready for it. Although it was hard for her to be second in line so often, it wasn't long before the baby had grown big enough to play with her. We learned that transition happened before the most wonderful part: sisterhood.

The transition from two to three was more complex because my second child was only eighteen months old. The day after the baby and I came home from the hospital, I panicked when I was laying down with my eighteen-month-old at nap time and the new baby began to cry in the next room. I knew if I left, my nap-needing toddler would not stay in bed. I worried to myself, "How am I going to do this?" Then I realized that as long as the baby was fussing, I knew he was okay. And again the transition happened just before something wonderful: In a matter of minutes, they were both sleeping soundly.

And so it goes in life. How often I have seen that something difficult is then followed by something wonderful! The darkness and cold of night are followed by a sunrise and the warmth of the sun. A devastated cry is followed by the release of pent-up emotions. For me, years of infertility were followed by grateful mothering. And how can we forget that resurrection followed the crucifixion and tomb?

When I was a kid, my daddy always told me that the bad times would help me appreciate the good times. I have learned that he was right.

This weekend, I will go to the funeral of my grandfather. It is sad to know I will not see him again in this life. But deep down I know that death is only a transition into the next life.

I think one of the greatest things mortality teaches us is how to love Heaven when we get there.

My Hate/Love Relationship With Life

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I hate:

static in my hair, clothes, or coat
itches that scratching won't fix
fingernail snags
cracked fingers & feet (the story of my life)
uncorralled shopping carts (I think the coin deposit carts I saw in Finland are smart)
ironing (I almost put this on the next list, because I hate it less as time goes by)
when I go to check on what's cooking and the heat escaping the oven melts my mascara

I don't like:

book covers (the kind that come on hardcover books--I always chuck them)
loud eating (By the way, I married a man who is certifiably among the loudest. I used to have earplugs in the kitchen drawer! It doesn't bother me as much now. I think I've gotten used to it.)
lip gloss (my hair always gets stuck to it)

I still haven't made up my mind about:
orange marmalade
sore muscles after exercising
my body

I like:

laundry & dishes (good thing!)
freckles
good books
good movies
Star Trek (but not the new movie)
crocheting

I love:

my family, my husband's family, & our family
forehead wrinkles on a newborn
snow
sweets
toddler giggles
the smell of wood burning in the fireplace
Christmas
dimples
the way a bath curls my babies' hair (and then makes their heads soft and fuzzy like a baby chick)
autumn
friendship
pictures/scrapbooking
LOVE

How about you?

Quoting the Cute: Page 3

2-year-old daughter: "Did you see that?" She says this a lot.

5-year-old daughter: "I don't like the taste of milk. It tastes like rubber bands."

2-year-old: "No way." (She doesn't say "no." It's always "no way.")

5-year-old: (Emphasized with dramatic head and arm movements) "Shots are NO fun. No fun at all."

My sixth-month-old has this new cry that is hard to describe. It's like a mix between growling and choking. It's his "I've-had-enough!" cry.

Comparisons

My children have a lot in common. They've got the same noses, eye shape, & happy dispositions. As babies, they all learned to do things at about the same age (sitting at 6 months, crawling at 7, stepping at 10, etc...).

I read a very good book called Siblings Without Rivalry. It discouraged comparing children to their siblings. However, I can't help but wonder as I analyze the many differences among my children: Will their baby/toddler personality traits stay with them as they grow?

For example, will my left-handed child become President of the United States (or president of something)? Will she be assertive because she was my only child who always grabbed the baby spoon at feeding time? Does the fact that she is a furniture-climber mean she will be brave? She found peek-a-boo to be boring until she was old enough to be the peek-a-booer. And she makes some of the funniest faces I've ever seen. Will she make people laugh?

I wonder if my son will be a kind man: he is such a happy, friendly baby. Will his dimple-in-the-cheek smile (which melts my heart) melt the hearts of the girls in his school class? Will it be easy for him to laugh, will he be patient, understanding?

Will my social child make friends easily? Will she be as brilliant an adult as she was a toddler? As a baby, she loved to be caressed. Will she show affection for the people she loves? Will her terrific ability to remember details follow her? I wonder if she will always be a cat lover. Will she be an artist? A scholar? A mother (she is an amazing big sister)?

I am fascinated at how one baby could loves baths more than anything while another could hate them more than anything.

I think God must enjoy His children, so different in so many ways, yet all His.

You Are My Friend and I Love You

My first memory of Mary is of the Sunday she sang a song called "I Lived in Heaven" for the Primary children. I don't know how old I was, but I was not yet twelve. I can still recall her lovely voice and angelic face whenever I hear the words:

"I lived in Heaven a long time ago, it is true
Lived there and loved there with people I know, so did you!"

I joined my church choir when I was twelve and Mary was there every week. She went out of her way to be kind to me, even though I was just an annoying freckle-faced kid. Everyone loved Mary. When our Young Women church group chose widows from our area to adopt as "secret grandmothers," many of the girls requested to do secret service for Mary. Smiling often, she radiated joy and love for everyone around her.

Often members of our church go on missions after they retire. Most of them go with their spouses if they have one, but she went with her sister as her companion. I thought it was sweet that they had the chance to do that together. I wrote letters to Mary, knowing that missionaries enjoy letters from home, but her letters to me blessed me more than she probably ever realized.

In one of my letters to her, I had shared some of my teenage gripes about my mother. The letter she wrote in answer CHANGED MY LIFE. She wrote it two days before I turned fifteen--words that were exactly what I needed to hear.

I will summarize part of the letter and fill in with direct quotes. After a greeting, she said, calling me by name, "You are in control of your life." Then she told me of the suffering she had witnessed among the poor in California where she served. She reminded me of all that I had to be grateful for. She spoke of her love for my mother and said she would pray for her every day and asked me to do the same. She said, "She has her choice the same as you do. So you have to let her have that choice & not get angry because she chooses different than you would like her to. Just remember: She is responsible for herself--& you are responsible for you. You make your life what you want it to be." Then she shared her advice for how I could make my life better. She bore testimony of the Savior and said, "He came down to earth and died to show us how to live. He gave His life--Do you think it is important?...I hope we don't ever forget what He did for me & you & everybody."

She closed the letter sincerely, "You are my friend & I love you." As the tears rolled down my face, I knew that she meant it. She, being so wise and graceful and beautiful thought of me as a friend, an imprudent whiny teenager. After the day I read that letter, I stopped fighting with my mom because my heart and perspective had changed completely. I not only learned how to honor my mother, but I realized that I was responsible for my own happiness.

After her eighteen-month mission, Mary returned home and resumed singing in the choir. Not long later, I heard that she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, with not much time left to live. I remember everything about the night I went with the choir to her house. We stood on her front porch and sang to her, "God Be With You Till We Meet Again*," knowing the words were more for us than they were for her. I think she cried, but I couldn't see past the tears in my eyes.

She left this life at the age of seventy-two. I wonder how many people were touched by her the way I was.

Heaven must be so happy to have her!

*If you would like to read the lyrics,
click on "more info" (or the down arrows)
in the box with the contributor's name.

Heavyweight

I delivered a nine-pound baby boy into this world. When they laid him on my chest, I couldn't believe how HEAVY he felt. He had big strong hands: just like his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather. He was a newborn for about two days. After that, he was a HUNK.

And BOY, did he grow. Rapidly. At two months, he had gained six pounds. At four months, he was wearing the same size of diapers as his two-year-old sister. After having two little girls, it was a bit of a shock to suddenly be mother to a MAN-CHILD. With little baby biceps.

When he was four-and-a-half-months old, I told my sister-in-law with surprise, "I just saw his first tooth!" to which my brother-in-law shouted over the phone (like a victory cheer),

"Somebody get this boy some MEAT!" Which I thought was very funny since he hadn't even had rice cereal yet.

Quoting the Cute: Page Two

5-year-old daughter: "I didn't get a crayon."
Her Sunday school teacher: "Oh, I'm sorry."
5-year-old: "That's okay. You can repent."

22-month-old: "I Juan walky," which means, "I want water."

5-year-old: "Nellie just swattered Timo!" (Nellie is our grouchy female cat & Timo is our sweet male kitten.)

22-month old: "D-D-D-D-Doe-wuh!" or "D-D-D-D-Doe-wuh?" (The opening song of Dora the Explorer sings "D-D-D-D-Dora" [like a stutter]. So my daughter says it that way [never just "Dora"] if she sees a picture of Dora in the store, or when she is asking to watch Dora [at least 12 times a day] . Some one gave us a bag of old videos and my girls grabbed those Dora videos before I had a chance to get rid of them.)

One time, I was checking my 5-year-old's pupils after she hit her head. In a nervous voice she asked me, "Are my eyes still brown?"

Oh, and my 4-month-old son now has a happy squeal that sends me to cloud nine every time.