Falling in Love Again

Lately, I have fallen in love all over again with my children. I love them. I have always loved them. But lately, I love love love them. And I may be a bit biased but my children are the most darling creatures to ever walk this earth.

Now, if you know me well, or at all, you will know that Motherhood and I haven't always gotten along very well. Especially in the last year or so. We had a bit of a falling out. She got demanding, opinionated, messy; and I got tired of her encroaching upon my space, time, possessions, and sleep. (Thank you PPD, SAD, and the other 29 Mood Disorders of the 31 Flavor Sample Platter.)

There were things that needed to change with both of us. We spent a lot of time talking things over, and I came to the conclusion that the problem was much more me than her. So, I have been trying to change. And here is, perhaps the most important thing I have learned: sacrifice makes things sacred and special. But only when that sacrifice is done with a loving heart.

Go back with me to January, if you will. Meg turned three. Oh Holy Nights, it was like the devil planted himself in that tiny little body at exactly 6:50pm that night and proceeded to show up every night thereafter. And suddenly the child who was always a dream to put to bed became a monster. And by monster, I do mean bloody murder screaming--kicking, flailing, wailing with the devils of hell--head spinning--strip herself naked and pull out her hair--stand on the floor naked and pee in front of me--monster. See, told ya the devil showed up right after dinner!

Well, now, I wasn't about to have that in my house. At least not from my 3 year old. But from a 30 year old is a different story. So, I did the same thing she did (minus the stripping naked and peeing on the floor). And its no big surprise that she saw my tantrum and raised the stakes. How I didn't seriously hurt myself, her or end up burning down the house with my eyes glazed over and the music to Carrie playing in the background can only be attributed to the prayers of some amazing people and the angels of Heaven. Ok, I guess I had my agency, and so I had some part in it also (to be quite honest, the thought of jail terrified me!) .

Fast forward a little bit to a night of sobbing. Gut wrenching, from the depths of my soul sobbing. I could not do this. I could not be this kind of mother. And I could not handle this kind of child. And God told me to throw away all the parenting philosophies and ideas and seek to establish Peace first. And so I set out to do that.

But dammit, Satan is a seriously obnoxious house guest! He just stays and stays and wears out his welcome and doesn't help pay the rent. So we had to battle back and forth for a while. All the while, I gave in to the idea that I needed to find a more peaceful way to get everyone to bed.

I began rocking my 3 year old to sleep again. We'd read stories and listen to music and then I'd rock her to sleep. But, if she wasn't asleep when I thought she should be asleep then I'd get really mad. Angry. And I'd yell and scream and undo all the calming I did and shove her in her room and let her cry. And I'd console myself by telling myself that it was absurd that I had to rock her to sleep like she was a 3 month old. And I resented the role that I had. I cursed Motherhood for making it impossible for me to just do what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it, and for making me deal with issues that I didn't want to deal with. Especially when I was tired.

So while things were much less dramatic, my heart was not any softer and I felt no peace. Fast forward a little more to the last few weeks. Again God told me to seek peace. And emphasized that peace and love go hand in hand. So I made a goal to tell my babies how much I love them multiple times a day and to not raise my voice in anger any more. Also, I told myself that Motherhood was right-I was being selfish-and that I needed to make my babies my top priorities. And that meant, when they call me, I come. And I come happily.

As I've tried to do those things, peace has come. And Motherhood has rewarded me for good behavior with glimpses into my kids' souls. And I have fallen in love again. And I feel for them the feeling that I felt when I first looked into their glassy, swollen, watery, fresh from the oven eyes. I see that light, that joy, that gratitude.

So let me just list a few of these little rewards-mostly so I don't forget.

Meg has begun saying her prayers all by her self. She says thank you for toys, and trucks, and tress, and friends, and library books, and the Bishop and squares. (Nearly every night she thanks the Lord for squares! ) And she tells me that she loves to pray. And she sings. That child has a song in her that just won't quit. And for those of you who have heard me say that music isn't a huge part of my life and that it probably wouldn't even be noticeable to me if I never heard music again--well.....I lied. Because I would seriously mourn my life if I never got to hear her songs. She sings things like "mommy, mommy, mommy, i love you so much" and "mommy loves it when i obey" and "follow the spider" (to the tune of "Follow the Prophet"). She reads scriptures to Isaac and says things like, "Behold the wickednites." She helps Isaac get dressed and tells him that he's getting bigger. She's making friends and draws them pictures. She holds hands with Isaac and takes him for walks around the house. She takes him in her car (the empty bottom cupboards that she plays in) and tells me that they are going to the park, the zoo, the temple, to Sydney's house, to Nana's house, to Bonnie's house, to "Winda's" house (Alinda's house). She tells me that they're going with Sydney, and Jane, and Camilla, and Samantha, and Jesus. And she says things like, "Iys, is your name Isaac? No, your name's Papa." And if you ask her why something is, she says, "that's a because," "when I was a baby," "last night," and/or "I was possed to be doing/going... ("Mom, remember? Last night, when I was a baby, I was possed to be sleeping, that's a because I was just a tiny baby." Or something like that.)

So Meg and I spend each night reading stories and scriptures. We rock and I hold her and hug her and tell her all the good things she did that day. And I hold out my arms and say, "I love you this much, because that's where a bug fits" (And I know it makes no real sense, but I like it.) And she does the same thing back to me and tells me that she fits right there in my arms. And When she's asleep I lay her in her bed, where she'll stay for a few hours. And then, around midnight, she wakes up and comes into my room. She has a little cat bed (a blanket and pillow on the floor) next to my bed. She sneaks in quietly, trying every so carefully to not wake me--she knows if she wakes me up she has to go back to her room--and lays her self down, spreads out her blanket, curls up and goes back to sleep. I've made peace with the fact that she may very well be sleeping on my floor until she goes to college. And I love waking up to her little face as she crawls into the bed with me in the morning. Peace.

And then there's Isaac. My angry squirrel, my sunshine, my angel boy. During the drama with Meg he got the short end of the stick. But oh, how I love that little boy. He's smart. He's clever. He's hilarious. He says prayers, too. "Sanks mommy, Sanks daddy, Sanks Mey-yan." He loves to wear his ties to church. He builds amazing towers that are 6 blocks high(of those big cardboard blocks) and then he'll "punch it down"...but not without running to find me, grabbing my hand and saying, "Mommy!!! I show sump-ping! I show you sump-ping! I did it!" He still eats his blanket like Winnie the Pooh does with a pot of honey. He still gets angry and throws fits like an angry squirrel. But he loves his mother. And runs to me and hugs me and climbs up me just to give me a hug. And when he kisses me, I get one on each cheek. And he sings! He and Meg will get books and just start singing while one of them plays on the little piano. He talks in complete, and often times compound sentences. And he always tells me he loves me when I tuck him in at night. He goes to Meg when she's having a tantrum or in time-out, and calms her down. He hugs her and tells her, "It's ok Mey-yan." And then grabs her hand and brings her to me. He loves to kill bugs. "A buggy, a buggy, Mommy!! A buggy!! I KILL IT!!" He loves to draw on anything and with anything. He loves to build things. He loves to jump. "Mommy, I a foggie. Ribbut!" He'll yell to me, "Mommy! Stop Singing!! Stop Driving!" And his favorite thing to say is, "I do it." and "Like Isaac." ("Mommy, a tie, like Isaac's"--pointing to Jesse's tie.) And he follows most statements up with a nice polite/conversational "white?" ("Mommy, a Mey-yan's Mei-mei, white?" ) And he tells me what he likes. ("Mommy, a candy! I like it a candy!") And when he sees something he know or likes he says in a lound, sing-songy, italian type voice, "It's a Piggie!" He makes me smile and laugh and feel so happy multiple times a day.

So there. Now you know why I've fallen in love with my kids all over again now that Motherhood and I have reconciled. And because I love them, adore them, and most importantly, I enjoy them again, my time with them, the sacrifices I make for them are sacred to me and dear to my heart. And Motherhood and I are back on good terms. And I feel peace.