My Notebook

I cannot believe that it has literally been over three weeks since I have posted anything! Craziness . . . The need to do so has sat repeatedly at the back of mind, and repeatedly it has been shelved because of so many other pressing concerns that surround any typical mother of young children. You know the list:

• Laundry
• Cleaning
• Cooking
• Teaching kids to clean
• Practicing
• Reading with the kids
• Getting to all the end-of-the-year school programs
• Birthday cards/gifts
• Laundry
• Weeding/mowing the lawn
• Soccer games
• Dance classes, Music classes, Chinese classes
• Fitting in individual time with each of the kids
• Planning out meals
• Grocery shopping
• Planning out summer schedules
• Organizing playdates
• Dentist/doctor appointments
• Mothers' Day gifts
• By the way, did I mention laundry? (Made worse of course by Sassy's insistence on wearing at least three different dresses/outfits per day).
• Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. (I envision the adults in Peanuts here, cause that's how I feel even looking at this list).

Sometimes what requires my time is enough to make me wacky, and I wonder how to fit all of it in with some sort of serenity. Then, when I allow myself to take a giant breath, I remember that there is indeed someone who has the capacity to help me.

There is a scripture that reads: Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good . . .

I believe that there is more wisdom in that statement than meets the eye.

Think about it. If one truly believes that God lives, that we are His children, and that He absolutely loves us, then it stands to reason that He is indeed willing to guide us in even the tiny particulars.

And with that in mind, lately I have decided to take Him at His word.

For the last couple of weeks, each morning starts off with the same domestic chaos of feeding children, dressing them, overseeing the completion of chores and practicing, etc. But, as soon as they are shuffled out the door or dropped off at school, and I have put the baby down for bed, I pull out my notebook.

"A notebook?" you may ask. "So big deal . . ."

Actually it is a big deal, because that trusty little spiral bound number is where I begin to write and write and write. I list all the items I need to logistically accomplish that day--everything that comes to mind.

And then I start to pray. Actually, like the scripture says, I begin to counsel.

"Is there anything I have forgotten to include on the list?" I ask.

I note the changes.

"Is there anything else I should consider?" I inquire.

Again, I write the response. Sometimes the answer doesn't include just logistical items, but things to consider or ponder upon in my relationships with others as well. . . Particularly my husband and children.

"What items on my list are the biggest priority today?"

I star the items He feels are most imperative.

And so the process continues, while I glean more and more and more information.

Pretty soon I have a pretty good-looking list, with a peaceful picture of what I really need to do that day, and, best of all--the preferred way to go about doing it. Inevitably after a "counselling session" like this, I can expect all sort of magical moments in my day--like the moment I hear that still, small voice in my mind that says, "You have an extra 10 minutes to spare right now. It's the perfect time for you to stop at the store and pick up a gift for Big-O's birth mother for Mothers' Day." . . . "Thank you very much," I say.

Or the moment when I hear, "The kids are doing well downstairs for a minute, now is the perfect time to call the individual I mentioned this morning." . . . "Wow," I think again. Or, "Aren't you forgetting to call and reschedule those appointments?" . . .

And the list goes on and on.

Over and over I am astounded at the degree of help I receive for things that may seem meaningless to others, but are incredibly important to me. In fact, the process is often so personal that it often brings tears to my eyes as I marvel at His awareness of me as an individual, and the love helps center me in a way that nothing else can. As I stop to consider this process, I can say with absolute certainty that God hears and answers my prayers on a daily basis.

And, most importantly, the guidance He is willing to provide is constrained only by my own limited expectations--not His.

Ni Hao

This picture was taken last year at Disneyworld's Epcot Center with MuLan. My kids have only seen that movie in Chinese (many times over, to be honest), and naturally assumed that she would only be able to speak Chinese. (She is Chinese, after all). You can only imagine the look on her face with my three little caucasian children busted out in Mandarin. It made my heart swell with pride.

As most of you familiar with our family know, I am one of those curious mothers who insists are her children sometimes doing strange things. Depending on the day, some would say the constant drive to feed my children fresh vegetables would be enough to qualify for the title, "off-her-rocker." But no, it gets even more bizarre. I have decided that I want my children to learn a foreign language, Mandarin Chinese to be exact.

Now why in the world would a mother of small children ever have the desire to do something like that?

Explanation:

Well, there are a myriad of different pieces that answer this question, actually--the least of which includes the amazing experience Pearly-Q had with learning Spanish as a preschooler. That has, I believe, resulted in his insane ability to pick up foreign languages like nobody's business. (And his accents are awesome, I might add . . . His Chinese sounds better than mine).

Combine this with the enormous gift it is for anyone to speak a foreign language and expand their perception of the world, along with the uncanny ability young children have to pick up any foreign tongue when exposed to it, and voila--thus enters into this momma's heart an ardent desire for her children to learn another language.

Incidentally, Chinese turned out to be the language of choice b/c I actually speak it . . . Kids progress much better the more someone speaks to them consistently in the foreign tongue, so I figured we'd better stick with what I knew. That aside, who can fault Mandarin for being an incredibly & important language? Since my LDS mission I have more opportunities to speak it than anyone would ever occasion to guess.

These are the answers I give initially others whenever I get the funny looks about why in the world I would do something like this with my kids . . . all incredibly viable and important reasons that I stand by these 2 1/2 years laters since embarking on this journey. Funny thing is, now that hindsight becomes clearer, I understand so much more about why I felt so compelled to do this. There is much I have to say about this, and I will continue blogging about this tomorrow, because it has much to do with the peace I have found in my life. In the meantime, jia you and zaijian!

The Evolution of a Mother

Snapshots of the Big-O and me taken on the morning of my law school graduation.

"To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy not rich, to study hard, think quietly, talk gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages . . . with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await occasion, hurry never.

"In a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconsious, grow up through the common. This should be one's symphony."

--W.H. Channing

Twelve years ago, at the outset of my LDS mission to Taiwan, I wrote this wonderful quote in the opening folds of a beautiful, leatherbound journal someone had given me. The journal accompanied me everywhere on my mission--through the rain and blazing heat of that island, and through the ups and downs of one of the most pivotal experiences of my life. For whatever reason at the time, Channing's words really resonated with me, and each time I read those words it would cause me to reflect upon what really brought me happiness. It is now interesting for me to consider just how much those words would most powerfully apply to my mission as a mother.

For those of you who know me well, you will also know that mothering for me has brought with it some exultant peaks, and it has also delivered some difficult days of paralyzing darkness. Ushered in with the incomparable miracle of Big-O's remarkable adoption, I was only six weeks away from graduating from law school. Thrilled to have this experience, I rejoiced at the blessing of having the chance to embrace such a beautiful little baby, and though I wrestled with how I was now going to make things work with my new career and my new role as a mother, I felt confident that I would be able to figure something out. After all, I'd felt strongly that I had been guided into the path of pursuing law school, so it seemed to make sense that all of this would synchronize in a way that would make sense.

Well, as the story goes, I became one of those bizarre adoption statistics--where adopting a baby also invites a miracle of conception along with it. Just three months after we'd adopted Big-O, and as I was studying for the bar exam, I couldn't understand why in the world I was feeling such intense stomach cramps. After a couple dollar-store pregnancy tests, and a doctor's confirmation, we realized that I was really pregnant.

It's difficult to explain what I felt at that point . . . I felt both guilt for worrying that our darling adopted son would be shortchanged with individual attention from us, as well as relief for the fact that he would indeed experience the blessing of a sibling . . . I felt great marvel and wonder at the miracle of a previously long-awaited conception, as well being overwhelmed at the thought of having tiny two babies to take care of all at once. I felt both thankful, and bewildered. Between these emotions, the stress of studying for the bar in the midst of caring for a newborn, and the hormones of pregnancy, I cried every night for a month. (Poor Pearly-Q.)

Suffice it to say, I did pass the bar, got sworn in with many of my law school classmates who were more than shocked at my new bump, and faced the oncoming storm. At the encouragement of a wonderful law school professor who became my mentor, I made efforts to pursue personal legal work in estate planning, (I know--useful, but boring), while caring for our son. Soon after, little Bitty was born, and my life was once again transformed. Unfortunately for me, beyond just discovering another little person who would become another center of my universe, I also faced the most horrific recovery (including raging insomnia) that led me down a path of ill health that continued for well over a year, further complicating my abilities to pursue the career path I'd originally intended.

And the story gets more crazy . . . 10 months postpartum I went into a checkup with my fertility doc to try to understand why I was having all sorts of unexplained bleeding. Turns out, my infertility issues appeared to be getting worse, and he recommended that if Pearly-Q and I wanted another child, we'd better try soon since our window seemed to be disappearing . . . I cried all the way home from the appointment. Yet, we couldn't deny that we felt like we needed to have another child, and that in the long-term picture we really wanted another child, and so . . . our darling Sass showed up 10 months after that.

Are you getting the picture? It seems like overnight we went from facing complete uncertainty over whether or not we would be able to experience the blessing of parenthood, to facing life with three children, age 2 and under. . .

I guess its no wonder that right before Sassy turned a year old, I hit a serious wall. It seems that the giant adrenaline rush that I'd experienced since adopting the Big-O finally gave out, and was left with unbelievable exhaustion, and what felt like a complete loss of identity. . . I cringe to think about it now, because it was just that bad. Looking back I think I was probably depressed, and thankfully I did seek out help. Between seeing a counselor, and searching desperately for divine help and guidance, (which often manifested itself in the form of many ministering angelic friends), I gradually climbed out of the cave I had fallen into.

Suffice it to say, many miracles led Pearly-Q and I to the pivotal decision to have another baby. It was no flippant matter, I tell you, to decide to take the plunge again. In fact, it required complete and total surrender on my part.

Uncertain of my own capacities unlike any other time in my life, I moved forward with faith, and one step at a time, I gradually stripped away all the excesses in my life that I could, trying to include things that would add more to who I was as a person--I decided to give birth naturally (in the face of great familial disdain), I put my joyless legal career officially on hold (a true sign of failure to many that I know), I decided to write (both for causes that I believe in and for my own introspection), and--heaven forbid--I even allowed myself to nap every day when my children did (while my household duties lay continually fallow)! With every effort to simplify, I became increasingly determined to savor what I thought may be my last experience with a baby. In short, I made room for the essential quiet space in my life, and this has made all the difference in my experience as a mother.

Recently for my book club, someone suggested that we read a book entitled Mitten Strings for God--Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry, by Katrina Kenison. (I cannot say enough about how much I recommend it as a vital read for every mother that I know.) The book resonated with me on so many different levels, and yet it did so mostly because much of what the author discusses were truths that I had discovered on my path back to joyful mothering. Here are some golden nugget examples, courtesy of the author who is much more able to express much of what I have felt in this last year, and especially since Coco's birth:

"When I clear a quiet space for my family, I make room for our souls to grow."

"When I stop speeding through life, I find the joy in each day's doings, in the life that cannot be bought, but only discovered, created, savored, and lived."

"In stillness, we find our peace. Knowing peace at home, we bring peace into the world."

"In simplicity there is freedom--freedom to do less and to enjoy more."

To say that I have enjoyed this stage of my mothering would be a serious understatement. The kind of soulful transformation I have felt cannot be conveyed, and I cannot express enough gratitude for the change.

It's strange because I often look back at who I was at the height of my "mommy burnout" and I hardly recognize the feelings that I had then. It pains me to think of what I put my husband and children through, and I find it ironically easy to judge how shortsighted I was during that time, (even when this same kind of judgment infuriated me beyond measure during that very stage of my life).

I suppose the best way I can reconcile it is this: I believe that facing those demons allowed me to savor this period of my life that much more. Like a chiaroscuro painting, the areas of brilliant illumination would not appear as breathtaking without the contrast of the shadows behind them. The silhouette emerges when the two forces blend, allowing one to fully comprehend the presence of the other.

I feel like I have finally stepped out into the light, and I must say that I do not believe the sun could ever be more warmly welcomed. Praise be to the Lord for that.

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.

Belle of the Ball

Mornings at our house are full of entertainment. As the baby awakes bright and early at 6:30 a.m. we can already hear the kids playing together upstairs, awaiting us to catch up with them. After Coco is done eating and starting her morning coos (we discovered more dimples this morning, BTW), her older siblings amble in one by one and eventually surround their little sister on our bed. Surrounding their favorite nucleus, they gleefully hover over her with electric excitement.

Fortunately Coco’s neck is pretty strong, and allows for her to look back and forth, back and forth, as each sibling competes for her adoration and well-earned grin. Meanwhile, she holds the finger of one of them in each hand and basks in all the attention. I mean, who could resist?

Lately this whole scene has been accompanied by its own soundtrack. Sassy loves to sing (in her sweetest little voice replete with cracking), “I love you baby, I love you baby, I love you baa—bee soo much!”

Meanwhile, the Big-O croons, “Hello baby, hello baby. We love you sooo—“

Bitty’s version repeats, “I love you, baby. You’re so cute—baby, baby, baby, ohhh!”

Sometimes all these tunes are delivered simultaneously, which at first might seem overwhelming for a newborn. Gleefully however, Coco identifies with the happy noise. After all, it symbolizes all the sweetest cacophony of childhood.

Finite

It always gets away from me—my time as a mother, that is. Every morning I awake with the best intentions. Today I’ll get the laundry done, the practicing done, the cleaning, the cooking, the reading, the grocery shopping, the research for any number of needed items, the bills paid, the office and closets organized, the thank you notes written, I’ll try to actually say a meaningful prayer, and oh yeah, I’ll take care of the baby and manage to absorb and enjoy my kids. (Exhale here). . . If only, right?

Truth is, one of my most difficult struggles with mothering is the wide divide between my expectations of what I would be able to undertake as a mother versus the reality. Think about it. When parenting is at its theoretical stage, (i.e. before that first baby has landed in your home), one has any number of expectations of the experience. Mine included all sorts of glorious ideals: I was going to read classics with my children every day, include them regularly in service projects in order to foster empathy for others, give them access to lots of physical exercise or sports, have each one of them learn a musical instrument, make sure each of them was nurtured individually in their relationships with me on a daily basis, and help them foster a deep love of the gospel of Jesus Christ. And all this was supposedly going to take place in the midst of maintaining some sort of a meaningful career/outlet on the side, having a clean home, and getting enough sleep to look like I at least look my own age. . .

I suppose much of this anticipation evolved from the fact that I used to be capable of accomplishing a lot on my own as an individual. In my former life I used to be a serious musician, and later an attorney. On my own it seemed I could get anything done with just a little concentration and time management. I even used to have the arrogance to tacitly judge stay-at-home mothers of my acquaintance in wondering what it was they did all day.
Oh my, does karma have a way of biting you in the back side or what? Eventually, (and thankfully), I had my own turn with closely spaced little children, struggling health, and all of my previous expectations staring me back in the face . . . Judging me JUST AS I DESERVED.

There was simply no way to anticipate the realities of trying to get anything done when you’re trying to help other little hands and feet move at any “normal” pace, nor the time it takes to decently and consistently discipline/referee, to even get them dressed, to build in time or plans in order to avoid tantrums , to plan around very necessary naps, or what it feels like when the little folks constantly find ingenious ways to undo your work. (I always tell Pearly-Q it feels like someone keeps hitting the delete button around here). There’s certainly nothing that can prepare you for what it feels like when you have appropriately done all these things, are finally ready to walk out the door (hopefully with at least a little mascara on by this point), and then your baby has a complete diaper blow-out—usually part of it ending up on you. The whole world comes to a standstill, and you essentially start all over again. I mean, yesterday I finally took my first shower of the day at 5 p.m.

I suppose that much of this stems from the fact that we are, I believe, actually eternal beings, with spirits and desires that are greater than our current earthly capacity and are eager to progress as much as possible not only here, but also in the eternities beyond. Our intentions are bigger than we are, and we’re still trying to get our heads around how finite time is here. For as many times as it hits me over the head, it is still hard for me to believe that I really only have 24 hours in each day, and that somehow most of my heavenly intentions are left unrealized at the end of the day. I can’t stand it. Sometimes it makes me mad, (which makes absolutely no sense). Then again, it certainly gives me greater empathy for other mothers, and most especially for my own, which--in the end--makes a lot of sense.

Whisper Sweet Nothings

If there's anything I adore about having a baby, it is the chance to experience each little nuance of development. With Coco turning 6 weeks old tomorrow, she's now trying to communicate with me. She coos and smiles and sighs--all in her own sweet way. I usually get to chat with her this way when I feed her, or just when we cuddle together.

Today when I was at a doctor's appointment, I was caught up in conversation with my CNM, and Coco tried to get my attention by looking right at me, smiling as bright as she could, and letting out long verbal sighs of delight. Now, there might have been a time in my mothering that I would have more or less ignored her communication, letting it wait until the conversation with my practitioner was over. Not this time. I now realize just how fleeting this stage is, and I immediately turned to smile back and recognize that her message came through loud and clear.

"I love you, too, honey." I responded.

Now for those of you who will be partying it up this New Year, enjoying all the many forms revelry that comes along with the holiday, have a great time and live it up. Enjoy the stage of life that you're in, because each one has its perks. As for me, I'll be savoring the one that I currently find myself in as I quietly coo in 2010 with Coco. I celebrate this new year with new life, and it doesn't get much better than that.

Tired

In line with the original purpose of documenting my life as a young mother, particularly life with a baby, I would be remiss if I did not include something about sleep deprivation.

There's just no getting around it. For as much as a mother is crazy about her little one, the lack of sleep that accompanies the joyous bundle is something fierce, especially if you have other young children who occassionally decide not to sleep either. Last night was an example of that. Here's the log. (Keep in mind this was all going in the midst of me fighting a new cold Sassy generously passed on):

• 10:00 p.m. -- Coco's final evening feeding. We're done about 45 minutes later, finally ready to sleep.
• 2:10 a.m. -- Coco wakes up for a feeding and change
• 3:00ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up crying for "Mommy and Daddy." We still don't understand what she wanted.
• 3:30ish a.m. -- Sassy wakes up again crying for "Mommy and Daddy," and I lay on thick the need for her to really go back to sleep.
• 5:15 a.m. -- Coco wakes up hungry. I try and hold her off a bit so that we can feed her at her usual 6:30 a.m. feeding to try and get her on a consistent schedule. This ends up her being in bed next to me for a while, as I try to repeatedly replace her pacifier. No sleep here for me, really.
• 6:25 a.m. -- Finally feed Coco. And, I'm really tired.

Seriously, I don't know how single mothers do it. Were it not for Pearly-Q's help, I think I would flip out. The crazy thing is, for as insane as last night was, compare my shameless photo above with little Miss Bright-and-Bushy-Tailed:

The irony!

Mother-to-this-child

Since Coco’s birth, I have done a lot of thinking about an article that I read over a year and a half ago. Written Dorothy Lee, a well-known cultural anthropologist from the 1960’s-70’s, the essay is entitled “To Be or Not to Be—Notes on the Meaning of Maternity.” In the article, Lee advocates that “maternity is a relationship,” and that when we decide to bring a child into the world, or adopt one for that matter, we have decided to not just add another child to the mix of parenting. Rather, we decide to be “mother-to-this-child,” that each relationship with each child is special, important, and irreplaceable.


Lee specifically states,

“When this is recognized, the mother is helped to sense the particularity of her child, and the peculiar flavor, the peculiar quality of the relationship that she can have with each child. It is good to ‘have children,’ it is good to see one’s self as the mother of children, but it is also necessary, I think, to recognize and to develop the relationship that greets personally the individuality of each child.”

Essentially, when we become mother to another child, in a sense we are reborn in that relationship with another human being. I am a new mother to each new child.

I believe there is so much merit to this. When I contemplate on the various stages of my mothering I consider how telling it is that some of my most difficult stages came when I allowed myself to just “go through the motions,” and didn’t savor the particular relationship I have with each child. It seems so easy to allow myself to get run over by the machine of day-to-day living, and this can overtake the inherent joys that lay beneath the surface. In contrast, the times I gave myself the privilege to put aside the things that really didn’t matter—the checklists, the unbelievable expectations that modern society places on us as mothers, and some of the mundane requirements of keeping house—then I really, thoroughly, enjoyed my experience as a mom.

In light of remembering some of these truths, becoming Coco’s mother has been a beautiful rebirth for me. I feel like this time around I am wiser in my approach, in my expectations. If anything, I am loving the chance to savor her very essence, her personality, and the mystery of all that she is now and will become in the future. . .

And so, with that in mind, here is a short salute to the exquisite rarity that is each of my children:

To the Big-O:

My spiritual giant, who already eagerly seeks learning by study and also by faith. I adore his wisdom, for he teaches me much about what is really means to be a humanitarian.

To Bitty:

Whose capacity to love constantly takes me by surprise, especially when he loves me wholeheartedly in spite of my weakness. And, who invariably can find the funny embedded everywhere.

To the Sass:

The little girl whose passion for life mirrors my own. I cherish my chance to have a daughter whose personality I enjoy so much now, I would have chosen her as a friend in adulthood.

To Coco:

We considered naming her Serena, which would have been appropriate for her personality. She brings great tranquility to my heart, and to our family.

May we all cherish the mystery of the individual.