Thursday, February 2, 2012

The Hoops We Jump Through...

As I was laying, or maybe I should say propped, by Jacob while he was falling asleep, I realized that I spend many uncomfortable minutes trying to make my children happy.  I was perched on the edge of his bed, laying there,  with my knees on the ground, wanting to go to sleep myself.  Sometimes it takes hours to get a child to sleep.  Desperation strikes at times, and you fall asleep only to be awakened by the child climbing over you to get a toy, a snack, or leg warmers.  I was still in the game, but barely... I forced my eyes to stay open.  I was staring at the side of his head, admiring the wax that is so plentiful in my children's ears, just wondering when he would fall out, when he turned his head, and closed his eyes.  I could see what is left of his darling baby face through the gaps in my bangs.  I wish I could have captured a photo just like that, with my hair in the way, his baby face exposed just enough to remind me how sweet and innocent he is, and how much we have to learn from each other.  Then he was asleep, breathing deeply, and I was filled with relief, as well as excitement;I could now get on with my evening.  It was a fleeting, precious moment, I am so glad I looked.

Dear Patty Presbyterian...

I have a friend, who will hopefully know the titled name to be hers.  The kind of friend that you have for a season, that you know is put there in your life for you to learn very specific lessons.  The kind that you wished you had taken more efforts to see.  We used to joke about the pressures of being Molly Mormon and Patty Presbyterian, and while we only keep touch through our blogs, I admire her, as many do.  I read her writings, and I think, "How will I ever be that amazing?"  I know she is a real woman, with real struggles, and I feel for her and her family, especially now.  She really is an exceptional woman, with an exceptional family.  And I hope that when she reads this, she will know I was thinking of her, though I never called or wrote.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

Musing on Men: Why Mine is Better than Yours

Ladies...(and I address the ladies because it is exceedingly doubtful that any man reads this, including my own AND you must imagine that I am talking as if we are sharing a cup of tea, 
sampling cake, and wearing fine dresses, with parasols by our sides) 

It is not a new thing to get a compliment on my husband.  Oh yes, he is a great Man Child, and does not volunteer to clean the toilets, and frequently falls asleep during church, but that is what I call Charm.  You know, Charm, right?  The things that children and husbands do that are most bothersome, but no one is brave enough to tell you to your face, so they say they have "Charm".   I myself am guilty, and I apologize  if I have told you that you or your children, or your dog are full of Charm.  If you feel the need to take offense, then consider that I would never tell someone they had Charm, if I didn't have a special place in my heart for them.  It is almost pre-requisite.  And don't worry, if you haven't measured up yet, you will.  I have the ability to find Charm anywhere, for Charm adds variety, and I like variety.

Now back to my Charm.  I recently received a lovely compliment on how my husband helped me during a moment of distress, of his own accord.  Indeed, he saved me from having a complete emotional breakdown in the presence of everyone we know.  Instead, I was able to carry on in the bathroom.  Thank you, Dear !  It could only have been better if he had handed me an handkerchief as he swept the babe from my skirt.  I accept these compliments, like I am the deserving recipient of them.  Of course, the Man Child is the one who should be receiving them, and I always pass them on, and he is very humble, and even more deserving in my eyes.  I find that I am overwhelmed by how he helps me; I, an awful hormonal creature who often makes his life so much more stressful.  He takes me as I am, and knows what will get me where I need to be, he occasionally admits that I am right, he puts the boys to bed, and has amazing biceps. 

I have found that I am, perhaps, proud.  Indeed, I have noticed that he has competitors.  He is no longer the hands down winner of this non-existing competition.  I informed him of this, and he was shocked.  Shocked that there was such a competition going on within my brain.  In the end, he was not surprised, for even though he swears he will never understand me, he definitely knows me.  He is racing, he just doesn't know it, and though he may not win, I suppose, I am just glad that he is in the running.