Senioritis

The last few lessons in RS have got me thinking about all the times we're on the brink of something new.  In the counsel in heaven when our Father in Heaven presented the idea of coming to an earth that he would or had created for us, we were ecstatic.  We had reached, or were close to a point where we could no longer progress where we were.  So we couldn't wait for a few new obstacles to overcome:  a body, and distance from our Father to test what we were truly made of.  We had Premortal 'Senioritis'.  It must have been like the point toward the end of High School when we love our parents and friends but, while our surrounding are comfortable, they're no longer always comforting.  We feel stagnant in our progression and ready to leap into a new empty page with a story to be written.  How much of that story is based on previous years is up to us.  We may be eager to test ourselves to see if we can really hold up the habits we've created in comfortable, even cushy surroundings.  We may be eager for a fresh start to create new habits.  We may have previous experiences that we feel like we'll finally be able to let go of with some time and distance.  We may be confident that it'll all be easy, only to find that the challenges ahead pierce through us and are felt much more keenly than anticipated.  Conversely, we may be terrified to go and, once there realize we were much more prepared than we thought.  Over time we become comfortable again with the life we lead.  Most of us, I believe, come to enjoy the times we can return to our previous comforts to visit.  The lives we've come to lead are in harmony with that atmosphere still.  We leave from a visit feeling uplifted and rejuvenated remembering the things and people we love and reaffirming the direction we've taken.  Hopefully we feel the same when we return to our Father in Heaven in prayer or attend the temple and our Spirit adds to and benefits from the Spirit that dwells there.  There are times, however we may avoid returning and, upon closer scrutinizing find that we are not comfortable returning because we've taken a path too different from where we started.  Either way, sooner or later, we find ourselves again at a point of stagnancy, ready once more to leap ahead.

I find myself once more on the brink of that leap.  Perhaps not stagnant, but I'm eager for what comes next.  The nuances of caring for a newborn are no longer so foreign that they require all my mental attention.  My mind is moving onto attending the slightly more mature difficulties of an eight year old.  Unchartered still for me lies guiding a child accountable toward her own vast potential.  I look forward to the next few years as her mind and spirit develop more and her thoughts turn to that of a young woman.  I'm excited for new opportunities that await a son smothered in all things female as he soon will delve into scouting and the more masculine experiences he's so hardwired for.  I look forward to leaving behind the immoble traits of nursing an infant as I help a toddle step toward being a kid.  With a bright mind she longs to fill with 'big' understandings, she waits for opportunites to learn with her peers.  And then I remember that, in some ways, I regret wasting the opportunities I could have taken during my last stint of Senioritis.  And I remember that our Father sent us here also to have JOY, not just when we arrive at a destination, but all along the journey.  And so, I soak in the warmth of a tiny cheek snuggled into my neck after feeding.  And I stop to coax another new shaky glimmer of a smile as cheek muscles get stronger.  I smile at the determination of a fourth child to be heard amidst the evening chaos, when Mom has to tend to everyone else for awhile.  And I always look forward to the time when numbers one, two, and three have retired to dreamland and it's finally time to dim the lights of the house to focus in on baby time.  Even as I feel absolutely giddy about moving onto the phase past child bearing to devote more to child rearing, I relish in once more having the miracle of a tiny baby in my home.  I'm determined to make the most of the close of this chapter despite my 'mild' case of Child-Bearing Senioritis.

Middle Child

My sweet Lizzie, I'm watching you change before my eyes.  Your family is turning you into a "Middle Child."  Since you so excitedly became a big sister,  you've had to learn to wait your turn for Mommy's attention while Katie gets first dibs.  Hyrum's finally learned to value the company of his big sister, at your expense.  JoAnna and Hyrum have to be helped with homework.  We all listen while they both practice their reading.  You're big enough to want to do it all yourself, but little enough that it doesn't always work out.  You're big enough to put on your own slip on shoes, but little enough that you still want Mommy to go with you.  And, often you find her busy and you're stuck waiting your turn again.

                                           

Lizzie, my sweet, bright, happy Lizzie.  I miss you!  I still want to be ready to hold your hand when you want me.  I still want to wait patiently for you while you practice your independence. 

I feel so sad when you shout out, "NO!" and I know you really mean, "Mommy, why don't you come so we can do this task together anymore?"  I don't want to put a movie on to babysit you, but sometimes it's the only way you don't feel left alone without me to play with you.  I want to hold you more.  I want to give you more hugs.  But often my arms or hands are full.   I don't want to do anything to hurt your bright optimism and cheerfulness.  And yet, when I see in your eyes that you're feeling hurt, insecure and alone, it's my actions that have made you feel that way.

You're a gentle and loving big sister, as I knew you would be.  But I want you to still have the chance to be a little sister, too.  We'll have to keep working together to find the right balance.  But, don't grow up feeling invisible.  Don't let me look past you, or blame you.  And don't lose the innate happiness that has always shone from you.  I love you, my "middle child." 

Rose Colored Glasses

Hyrum went to 'help' his dad at work one Saturday.  Left at home with the rest of the kids and a neighbor to play with, this is what I saw looking across from my kitchen:

All four girls (Katie's in the high chair in the background) are in PINK!  There's a pile of pink baby clothes on the table in the back, a pink carseat on the floor, and all sorts of other pink baby accessories lying around. 

And, then, even when Hyrum is home, he prefers a rosy red over a cool blue that would offset all this pink. 

Since then, the term "Rose Colored Glasses" has run through my brain and I've thought about these kids with whom I've been entrusted.  I've never considered myself to be a very kid-oriented kind of person.  I was never one to love babysitting when I was younger.  I didn't want to hold every baby that entered a Young Women's classroom at church.  While I don't think the words have ever come out of my mouth, I might have to admit to thinking the words "grow up" on occasion.  Becoming an Elementary School teacher may very well be one of the most repulsive and self destructive ideas I could have (which only makes me appreciate my kids' teachers even more for their stamina).  I feel like I've always been the mom to drop the kids off at the babysitters/dance class/school/play date as early as I could get away with and pick them up equally late. 

With this perception of myself, I have to wonder at the "ME" who has been molded and lives in my life now.  Among other experiences that have brought me back to these ponderings, yesterday our house hosted a birthday party for Hyrum.  His attending friends numbered in the teens. 

And I remained calm.

And I felt unflustered.

And, given a freeze frame picture of me, one would never have guessed I was in the company of a dozen six year olds in addition to my own rambunctious clan.

And I find myself knowing who these kids are, rather than seeing them only as potential adults.

AND I LIKE THEM.

I'm left now, in awe, grateful at the Master's hand who's been gradually changing out the lenses in my mortal glasses to see more clearly the tender and precious colors of these Spirits. 

Let me be the first to point out that I don't always remember to put my glasses on.  And parenting always has new challenges that continually teach me more.  But, if I were living in my shoes with the same lenses I wore seven and a half years ago, on the first day I became responsible for teaching one of His children everything I know...  Well, lets just say things wouldn't look so rosy.