'second' mothers

The other day I drove out to Mona to go to a family reunion on my mother's side.  As I was driving and watching the green fields, orchards, farms, and mountains flow silently by, I felt a sense of peace, the feeling you have when you are going home...I watched the land morph and blend... country that I had been so familiar with... country that led me to a house I used as a refuge in my youth.  Aunt Larita's home.  She is my mom's sister, and to me so unlike my mom and yet so like her too.  To me, they have inherited (don't all my mom's sisters?) they have inherited what I imagine to be my grandma's best traits... A quiet strength, courage and composure, a tinge of sassy fiestiness with sweetness in the contours of their faces.   For me, she became like Emily, the chicken, in the Virginian, who would adopt potatoes, puppies and other farmland offspring... I was not hers, and maybe I was a little bit strange, but I felt warm and comfortable, drawn into her warmth, into her brood, and into her home. (although Emily is a comical tragedy; my Aunt is not :)  I would make her laugh at my fickleness with all my "Cecily" type romances... very one sided, but none-the-less-real and dramatic to me.  She would feed me food, food I can still remember today.  Grilled zucchini and tomatoes with basil and melted mozarella... bananas foster... my tongue still reminds me of how delicious it was.  Occasionally, she would take me horseback riding and would always push me to be brave, take control, ride tall, and have fun.  Once, the horse I was riding became so unruly that both she and I panicked a little bit.  This horse WOULD NOT do what I was asking it and was even bucking and rapidly walking backward, I think it knew it had a novice on its back.  The situation became slightly dangerous and I kept thinking, I will not give up... I will just listen to Aunt Larita and everything will be okay.  If I remember right, she was also unsure of what to do in the situation and was hoping all would turn out well, it was lucky that I didn't know if that was the case.  I can't remember how it all ended, but it did... everyone was unhurt and Aunt Larita rode that horse from then on...she needed to tell it who was boss after such an unseemly display.  Now, with my two children playing in the back of the car, I was heading back to this safe haven a harbor to turn to... a second mom and it felt oh so good to be heading home.

My Aunt Marlene was another 'second mom' to me.  When I graduated from school, my next place of education was the oh, so cold Ricks College in the frozen town of Rexburg (Iceburg).  My first semester there I was... drowned, drenched, weighed down with homesickness... It was healing to have a home and a family to go to. I still remember my first visit to her house.  It was a Sunday dinner... warm and complete... which was significant to a college student who was learning to live and cook on her own... yum, boxed noodles :).  The thing I remember most... or the feelings that still burn like an ember within me... were the feelings of... family, love and peace... not that there was a yoga zen quality... or that it was even quiet and peaceful... there was movement, noise, laughter, bantering, teasing, and fiestiness... but it was family and it was love... which made it peaceful.  My Aunt Marlene... I love her... I love all the red haired, Irish fight in her little body.  She worked at Ricks, and if there was ever a problem to resolve, who did they call?  Did they call a three hundred pound, muscle bound, tall, dark and brooding man?  No.  They called the little 4'11 Irish lady with nerves of steel and a sharp wit and tongue.  I think she could keep a pack of wolves at bay, scare terrorists into submission, and convince any soul to obey... just by her mere presence... her calm and firm reasoning and maybe a prudent tongue lashing.  And yet... she was so soft and gentle.  I remember crying with her, over some sadnesses on certain occasions.  I would talk.  She would listen.  And she would share stories, her love stories about my Uncle.  How and Why she came to America.  I would tell her about school, the things I was struggling with... and she took me in, wrapped me up in love and family.  I trusted her.  I trusted her heart and her love... she and her family were people that I absolutely loved.  She was an adopted mom.
Time and distance has changed these relationships ever so slightly.  I am not the same and neither are they.  Relationships do change.  I am not able to see either of them as much as I would have liked, and I am not good at the occasional phone call... email??? Facebook?  Is that were you go to strengthen the bonds of 'second motherhood'?  It sometimes seems that in parental relationships there is a constant ebb and flow...there are times when we cling to the lifesaver and times when we must swim alone... but still appreciate that the lifesaver is still there... home is still there, safety, love and peace are still there.  I know that if the need ever arouse that absolutely... they would be mothers I could turn to.

Homes

I know Pendleton so well. I know the dust, the farm lands parceled amongst the undulating hills, like a patch work quilt stretching until it rolls out of view. I know the blue mountains in the distance, and the surprising closeness of the stars on a dark night.   How often have I inhaled the cool smell of pine and traced, with my eyes, the outline of the trees, like black lace, against a burning red sunset.  The clouds that roll in are full and fluffy.  When it rained, I would dance on the front lawn transporting myself into a different world, swaying to Enya as the thunder cried through the mountains.  I learned to love the blueberries so round and sensuously clustered together.  I am homesick for it... My parents' home, so snug and tucked away.  it was a haven, a place of tranquility, time to escape and be healed... it will always be a home, my home, a place for my heart... but, now it is only a place to visit... I cannot stay indefinitely... getting there is hard work...and now I must work on building that same sort of home, for my children... a place of safety, love, peace and healing. ... Home can be so many places, it seems to change almost constantly and usually it is the one place you crave the most... the quiet and safety.  There have been a few places, and people that have seemed to embrace me and have become family and home for me... 'home' is always the best place to be :)


Just recently, home has become somewhere different.  We have moved from a small two bedroom apartment with asphalt out front, to a spacious medium/large, three bedroom, 100 year old house with a fenced in backyard and a 15 foot ceiling.  Even though every room is stacked with boxes; the boys seem to relish the exploration of new space.  I wonder how they will feel when everything is all put away.  I can't decide how I feel in this moment.  Anticipation, sadness, overwhelmed... I guess a part of me is a little spoiled and wants more.  Like maybe room enough for a horse (not in the house of course)... or no neighbors, somewhere up in the mountains far away... or I would even take everything put away and feeling like home... right now I just feel suspended... unable to truly breath surrounded by a pile of my belongings.  If my stuff could find a home... then maybe I would feel more at home :).  In later years, will I know this house and this place like I know Pendleton?  Will this place be the one where we welcome more children?  Graduate from school?  Learn, even more, to be poor and in love? Is Provo a place you can know?  Or is it too large to be personal... too many people too close and squished together... and none of us knowing our neighbor.  Sometimes I think that modernity has made it impossible to know each other... we have all been compartmentalized, separated in our homes, cars, cubicles etc...  This is my home now.  This is where my husband and my children are, the loves of my life.  I can plant a garden here.  I will probably sorrow here.  Experience bliss, joy, and happinesses uncountable.   In the end, this is where I will create and come to know the beauty in people, nature and life.   I will post pictures later :)

Further thoughts on Motherhood

So, I have been having conversations with myself about motherhood because I posted something, on Facebook, about it.  To me it was moving and beautiful, but I can see how some could be offended by it if they are working mothers.  This is what I think, and it is completely personal and doesn't need to be thrust upon anyone else (ie: you don't have to read this and you can disagree :).  I think that both stay at home moms and those who work can do an excellent job at being mothers.  I believe that we should not judge one another either way.  We cannot know each other's hearts and motivations.  I think that staying at home, in some ways provides more opportunity to nurture your kids because of the amount of time you are with them.  When you work out of the home, you have to work harder at finding the quality time your children need.  I think.  but...those at home could be distracted just as easily with their time too, I guess.  In the end, what really matters to me is that I try every day to be a little bit better (and that is hard work, I have so much room to improve!).  I try to find one on one time and be a friend and a mother.  I like the idea of remembering where my children are in my life... what priority they take in the list of things I have to do.  And are they really just on that list of have to doos... and if they are on that list is it ever done? :)  My job is to help my children to be healthy people who know they are loved and are lovable... who are healed and can help heal others... they aren't something I have to do but people I can embrace and love so that the work I do, becomes a joy.  When we do what we do because we love God, family, people then Motherhood can become a joy.  The end.

Peace, and sickness

I have shrunk, cringed, hemmed and hawed at writing.  I don't know why.  Fear. Possibly.  But I must and should press on.
I don't want to forget all the little moments, good and bad.  Maybe, I will not do it perfectly but I will learn to embrace both.
Josh is still sick.  We had a few days, maybe even a week where I felt more hopeful... it was as if we are nearing the end of this last bout of chronic fatigue... I could see the finish line nearing.  And then.  We had too many late nights in a row with Birthdays, 4th of July and other celebrations and NOW... he looks gray again.  I can feel the tiredness emanating from his body, pulsing fatigue.  And I feel a little crushed.  I will repair myself.  But.  I would so love to have a healthy husband.  I would love to play basketball with him, hike and run and jump and play.

If he were better, we could take the kids to the park, we could finish school faster, have another baby (I would like four, I think.)...We could eat Green Eggs and Ham with Sam I am! we could take a walk with the Sheep as they walk in their sleep from here to there where mysterious things are everywhere... the possibilities seem limitless.  But we are not there yet.  Despite this thorn, this pricking painful thorn... life is good.  We are poor, sick and happy.  We have enough to cover our needs and some wants :)  We laugh together and enjoy one another's company, even though we cannot be as adventuresome as we would like.  I feel that I have the choice, to find happiness/peace in these difficult circumstances or I can allow myself to become bitter and resentful.  Being bitter hurts.  Peace is soothing.

Asher, my sweet boy, who finds tiny wizards hanging out on his head.  What an imagination.

Sometimes I feel like I am rediscovering him... like he isn't just a person but a world, a galaxy full of wonders to acquaint myself with. His potential and his abilities are limitless.  His intelligence, his sweetness astound me.  Not that his intelligence surprises me... he is smart... but you forget exactly who and what your child is... You start thinking of them as children who spill milk, make dust clouds in the dirt, mud pies on the side walk, don't listen to you at the park, eat pancakes for breakfast, play with their brother (sometimes sharing sometimes not)...

and then one day, one afternoon, one minute you stop and listen to what they are saying... you bend or kneel down to their level and listen and find that no, this is not a child at all... but a spirit, full of light and intelligence... someone so full of endless possibilities and greatness.  It causes your heart to expand with love for this sweet person and you feel So grateful for this small opportunity to be with them.  Moments like this happen for both my sweet little boys, where I am in awe of who my little children, really are.  God's children.

My Hug gives you Super powers

The other night, Joshua was spurring Isaac to attack me.  At the same time, Asher was trying to save me.  Asher came and gave me a big squeeze and then said, "My Hug gives you Super powers!"  His hugs do give me super powers, they fill me up with love and laughter (especially when we are playing).  What could be more super and powerful?

Life has a tendency to continually define and redefine who we are.  Sometimes the scriptures refer to this as the refiner's fire, or smoothing out the rough edges.  We have moments that seem to, with brilliant force, expose us... either with our weaknesses or with our strengths.  Sometimes both.  Occasionally, it is when we feel weakest that we are the strongest.  For, despite our frailty we keep moving forward, pushing ourselves against or over the insurmountable.  In our sojourn, we sometimes have moments of keen introspection.  We surprise ourselves with what we are able to accomplish and are sometimes saddened with the mistakes which can slowly burden us.  It is not always easy to take a step back in these moment... moments where we see just how destructive a burden can become... and still love and accept this fugitive being.  Often, this is when we find ourselves pleading with God, wishing most fervently to be encircled within His peace and love, as if in an embrace.  In this place, there is divine affirmation and healing of all the wounds we carry within.  Isn't this one of our greatest needs, to be healed and to know that God loves us?  He sees everything about us, our strengths and our weaknesses, but is most concerned with what we can become, who we really are.    It is before God that we are most vulnerable, because He knows who we are... I wonder if we were to stand before Him, like the woman waiting to be stoned... how vulnerable and frail we would feel.. knowing the effect of our sins and that they would keep us from his presence... but he does not condemn us... He knows that we are more then even we could imagine... we are an inner world of intent, desire, and love... souls aching to find safety... burdened with unmet needs...desiring to do and be good.  He knows what we need and how to heal us and give us strength to overcome.  He will light the way, allowing us to see who we truly are.  As we come to know God, we come to know ourselves and see, with His eyes, who we truly are and all the good we are capable of doing.

http://mormon.org/me/3QV2#

Soldier's letter to his Wife

A week before Manassas, Major Sullivan Ballou of the 2nd Rhode Island wrote home to his wife in Smithfeild: 

July 14, 1861
Camp Clark, Washington

My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days-- perhaps tomorrow.  Lest I should not be able to write again, I feel impelled to write a few lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more...

I have no misivings about, or lack of confidence in the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter.  I know how strongly American Civilization now leans on the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and sufferings of the Revolution.  And I am willing--perfectly willing-- to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt...
Sarah my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me with might cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battle field.
The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long.  And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of the future years, when, God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grown up to honorable manhood, around us.  I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whipsers to me--perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar, that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed.  If I do not my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battle field, it will whisper your name.  Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you.  How thoughtless and foolish I have often times been!  How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness...
But, O Sarah! if the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the gladdest days and in the darkest nights... always, always, and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath, as the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.  Sarah do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again...
Sullivan Ballou was killed at the first battle of Bull Run
one week later

What we really need is to celebrate love like this.  Mostly, our media encourages a fleeting temporary love... the relationship will only last as long as the brief moments of passion... a year maybe seven... but often not forever.