It Was Just Snow

February in the Intermountain West can prove exasperating. Two months past the Christmas season, the general population is anxious for spring to appear since the once-celebrated snow now appears worn and melancholy. Winter this year has made this especially so. Normally a fluffy drift doesn’t feel so frustrating, but lately the moisture has been fickle and infrequent, thus making the wintry chill dull—monotonous even.

Today the afternoon held a welcomed surprise. Much to my satisfaction, a beautiful downy snow began right before our hallowed napping hour, and its deafening quiet perfectly matched the calm in our home. Before long baby Coco stirred, eager for her afternoon feeding. I tiptoed into my room to feed her at my rocking chair adjacent to our French doors which overlook the backyard and the open golf course behind it. As I answered Coco’s hunger I smiled to listen to her tiny gulps, and glanced up at the tranquil scene outside the window. Large and irregular, the downy flakes meandered down gently, and reminded me of pieces of colorless cotton candy.

I paused to consider the wisdom in the snow. None of these flakes seemed to be in a hurry. Dancing to and fro, they ease their way downward, obviously enjoying their happy flight. It made them more beautiful, and I wondered if I could learn something about their approach. It seems that in the past I allowed myself to get sucked into the worldly notion that faster is always better. That philosophy asserts that if we don’t all join the rat race of doing more—more—more in less—less time then somehow we’ve failed. Truth is, it ain’t necessarily so.

Going to law school taught me that lesson. The culture surrounding that industry can be acquisitive and cutthroat. More often than not, attorneys enter the trade anxious with ambitious aspirations, only to find that it affords them little time with their families and if they haven’t daringly fought to protect their personal interests they invariably burn out, wishing for the luxuries of a “slower” profession. Though it took me a long time to detox from that philosophy, I can say I now enjoy the unhurried splendor of some of these quieter moments in my mothering.

As I continued to glance at the snowfall I smiled again and wondered whether or not what they say about no two snowflakes being the same is really true. As thousands of them streamed from the alabaster sky, I questioned whether or not it was really possible that none of them could ever emerge identically. . . So many, and each unique . . .

In that moment, I could help but think that we somehow resemble snowflakes. “God sees us this way,” I thought. We all descend on this earth with our own distinctive blueprint, lovely and picturesque in our own right, hoping to be recognized and loved as such. Looking down at my sweet baby I realized all too easily how obvious it is that a parent can differentiate between all the unique traits of each child, every one with his/her own design and pattern.

I closed my eyes and savored the moment in drowsy silence. With Ansel Adams stillness, I stood in awe of my Creator and my worth in His eyes . . . and for the first time this season, I thanked Him for Winter.

My littlest snowflake:

Post-Valentines Delirium

So I have been horribly remiss in being consistent on posting much. . . Which completely defies the entire reason why I started this blog in the first place. Turns out, though I used to pride myself on being a “self starter” (whatever that means) in reality I desperately need deadlines, and without them I particularly fail at recording anything of note about my life. I guess I should just chalk it up as another epiphany of motherhood as I discover more shortcomings I never knew I had. Oh well. I know it definitely won’t be the last time, right?

As far as deadlines go, however, turns out I missed another one this weekend: Valentines Day.

Growing up in my house we always received a Valentine from my mother next to our pillow, along with a small gift when we woke up Valentines morning. In it my mother always expressed her sincere love for us, (whether we really deserved it or not). Since becoming a mother, I’ve tried to keep up and expand the tradition, partially as a way make up for my lack of journaling about my kids. In addition to surprising them with a small gift next to their pillow, each year Pearly-Q and I stay up in the wee hours of the morning the night before V-day and write each of our kids a “love” letter of sorts. In it we share our favorite memories of each child from that year, as well as a snapshot of what they are doing in their lives at that particular moment.

It’s a lot of work and at this point our kids are so small they don’t seem to appreciate this effort yet, but we file the letters away realizing that the real enjoyment will come later when they’ve grown and can read about themselves and what they meant to us.

Sadly enough, we missed even our one annual deadline this year. In trying to get ready to celebrate two birthdays at our house, and prepping for other vacation plans, it simply got past us. We’ll try and get the letters done this weekend, but honestly . . . it’s pretty sad. I suppose I should feel better about the fact that I am blogging at this point. Then again, like I said, I haven’t been so consistent in that department either.

Does anyone else struggle with the desire to record/journal the lives of your children better, but just can’t seem to get there? I feel like my life with them is slipping by so quickly, and my memory of it is so fleeting sometimes. I fear that one day I’ll look back and wonder if I can remember any of it, if I was even there . . . I’m sure it sounds a bit melodramatic, but I get concerned sometimes when I repeatedly walk into a room, wondering why I just came in there. Is it the childbirth that does this? The constant keeping track of kids’ different schedules? The aging? I seriously want to know, b/c sometimes this momnesia thing is downright creepy. . . I promise I used to be smart once.

On a brighter note, though my intellectual capacities seem to be challenged, lately I’ve had some wonderful spiritual breakthroughs in my life that have brought me a lot of solace and joy. I plan to share more about it at some point when I can actually collect my thoughts in a more coherent manner and figure out what is appropriate to share. In the meantime, it is wonderful to know that despite my deficiencies as a mother, I am still cherished by a loving Heavenly Father who knows me individually. It is truly what provides me peace.

Now for a few non-traditional V-day photos:

I came out of my room after feeding the baby to discover the natives like this. They informed me they were "exercising."

Nothing makes my heart swoon like watching a good man care for his baby.