One Month Old

Mar 222012
 

All day long I’ve been close to tears: my baby is already one month old! I cannot believe how quickly that time passed by. I pick up Caroline and she is heavy (comparatively). Her tummy is chubby and her face is squishy. Today, I saw her eyes have tears for the first time when she cries. She is smiling more regularly at me and staying awake — happily — more frequently. Her going-home-from-the-hospital outfit is almost too snug for her. She’s almost no longer a newborn!

I just want to sit and cuddle her a long while. I can’t believe I’m losing the newborn baby stage so quickly! I miss her little crooked legs and her newborn innocence already.

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Spring has sprung this week in Chicagoland. It’s been in the 70s and 80s all week, so Paul, Caroline, and I have tried to get out a little bit each day to enjoy it! Here Paul is telling about the city he drew on the driveway.

I know this is new Mommy emotion, but I’m choked up as I type this, thinking about how big my little girl already is getting. On to month two for her, despite my desire to cling to the newly newborn baby!

This weekend Grandma Peggy and Papa Paul and more family are coming to celebrate Caroline’s recieving a name and a blessing in church on Sunday. We’re so grateful that Daddy honors the priesthood and can give her that special blessing.

Unwrapping Your Children

Jul 062011
 

Well, about these girls. They came as they were, unique, wonderful spirits and my blessing was to just unwrap the package to see who they were and to help guide them into who they could be.  I didn’t ever feel like I had to mold them or make them into somebody different than who they were because they were so great when they came. It was a fun discovery to learn who they were. They are different, different people, but they are delightful fun daughters and I always enjoyed our children.

Julie B. Beck on her two daughters

I want to say that about my own children. I never want my son to think I don’t appreciate his own personality. I don’t want him to think that I expect him to be something he is not. That would be a painful thing, to feel like a disappointment. I don’t want my son to feel he disappoints me for being himself.

This means I need to never talk about his faults, or things I disapprove of, in front other people. I need to avoid criticism when he does things differently than I would do them. I need to make sure I don’t manipulate him into doing something I want, when his personality would do something differently. I need to always remember that he came to me a precious spirit, with his own personality. He will make choices different from those that I’d make, but that’s a part of his precious personality.

As his mother, I can help guide him into who he can be. I can help him discover his potential.

I don’t need to mold him: I need to unwrap him.

To listen to the entire conversation between Sheri Dew and Julie B. Beck and her two daughters, visit Mormon Channel.

The Perfect Age

Jun 082011
 

As we were driving to church the other day, I was struck by how perfect Paul’s age is right now. Although he sometimes has tantrums and he’s certainly opinionated, overall, it’s so delightful being his mother and seeing his blossoming into a human being, and not just a baby. I need to do a better job of recording the adorable and perfect age things Paul says and does. I am going to miss this age so very much!

Imagination

If he wants something, he simply creates it. He’s had a hard time grasping the concept of Christmas being a very long time from now. So instead he creates his own: “Did you know that tomorrow it is Christmas underground?” (His imaginary friends live underground.)

If I can’t play with him, suddenly the imaginary doorbell rings and there is an imaginary friend to play with him. And then there is the fact that he can create anything, you name it.

Games

Paul is in a serious board game streak right now. He loves them. He loves following rules and he loves making up rules. His turn usually takes him about five minutes, so I read a book waiting for my turn. Seriously. But he’s learning about taking turns, about winning and losing, and about counting and money (Monopoly). He loves to play games.

And the greatest thing is that he loves to make up games all the time. “Let’s race!” he says when it’s time to get dressed. “Let’s find shapes!” he said as we were driving to church. And when he said he saw “funny ovals” I was at a loss as to what he was talking about. “I see a lot of them!” he clarified. Cars, it turns out, are funny ovals.

Stories

Along with his great imagination comes his impressive ability to tell stories. I am reminded of my creative story writing when I was six and seven years old. Somehow, I lost that urge to write, to record creative inventions that I imagined in my mind. I hope I can nurture Paul’s story telling abilities so he doesn’t lose it. I’ll be so sad when he grows up too much for stories. I hope that never happens.

Learning

The other day, he brought me the guide book I had about NYC and said, “Mommy, this is about New York!” and I was amazed that not only could he read and understand it, but that he knows New York City is a place, that’s it’s far from here, that I went there. And I know most three year olds don’t read yet, but even without the reading, I love watching his discovery of new things. We’re learning about the moon and about outerspace this week and I love watching his fascination as we read a picture book.

Honesty and Sincerity

Sometimes I don’t appreciate his honesty. (“Yuck! I do not like this soup!”) But other times I find it so sweet.

“I love you,” I say.

“I already know that!” says Paul.

Reflections

Apr 172011
 
  • In Paul’s primary talk, he said, “Jesus rose for us.” He then, in a different context, saw the  picture of the Risen Lord appearing to Mary and said, “Look, Mommy! Jesus rose-ing!”
  • Normally during Sacrament Meeting, Paul sings “mah blah blah mah!” as loudly as he can in time with the music, as he or I points to the words on the page. Today, the speaker introduced the song, “Behold, the Great Redeemer Die!” Paul sang along with the correct words for the first two lines. I was amazed: he knows that song. I know that is because we go to church every Sunday.
  • Regularly, Paul stops playing to say, “Mommy, I say unto you, I love you!” This is how I know he really does hear the scripture study we do together, even though it seems he’s not paying attention.
  • Paul is regularly teaching me a lesson in humility and generosity, from his sharing his fruit snacks to his outpouring of love. From his example, I better understand the Savior’s injunction to be as a little child. I’m to approach life with sincerity, to love and give without thoughts of “scarcity” and selfishness, and to be honest in my thoughts, words and deeds. (Although I should mention that Paul has learned to lie, he is still for the most part a very truthful, loving, sensitive child.)

A Letter To Santa

Dec 082010
 

Note: This post is for adults and parents ONLY. No kids allowed beyond this point. Continue reading »

Easing into Fall and Saying Goodbye to A Slow Summer

Sep 142009
 

Now that I’ve finally finished scrubbing out the refrigerator, I can come back and tell you how much I love fall.

This summer was great, don’t get me wrong. I felt we were busier than normal, even without a change from school to no school. This year’s summer weather was wonderfully mild, and Paul didn’t fuss on the days when I said, “Sorry, but it’s just too hot today. We’re staying inside.” (I have a feeling that won’t work so well next year.)

But now the weather is back to a reasonable average, and I just love to sit in the (pleasantly cool) sun and watch the leaves fall from the trees.

Today, the weather is staying in low 80s and the coming week has a perfect partially sunny forecast of 70s and upper 60s. It’s cool enough to walk to the library without dying of misery and perspiration. It’s cool enough to play in the back yard for extended periods of time. It’s cool enough to sit on our deck and eat dinner.

I love my yard. The landscaping keeps the neighbors in their own yard, so even when they had a party and football game the other night, our yard was still blessedly private and quiet. We had our own dinner outside too. I love privacy: good fences truly do make good neighbors (and we don’t even have fences; just perfect yards!!).

In the fall, I go to the library and it’s not overrun with noisy, cranky kids. In the fall, I go to the park and there aren’t any big kids sharing sand with Paul (I hate sand). In the fall, I can call up my friends and schedule play dates again, since the big kids are back in school.

In retrospect, I realize now how much I didn’t finish over those crazy weeks called “summer.” Why did they feel so crazy? It seemed all the people we met with were on “hyper” mode, trying to fit things in to the short time.

We didn’t do any fun “activities,” per se, and our budget kept us close to home (until we finally made it to Utah in September!!). But Paul and I both had a great summer all the same. Paul played with his cousins a few times, we visited Grandma and Grandpa in Naperville a few times, and we did little things together, just the two of us.

I’m realized I’m just not an activity girl. I’d rather sit and chat with people than “do” something “exciting.”

As I ponder the fact that I’m a sitter and not a “do-er,” I realize that my son may miss out on some things. He’s not going to have memories of busy childhood summers. Ever. I know I’m not going to drag him around all over the place next year either. We’ll do the special things that he loves: playing on the swing set, going to the library, going to the petting zoo and park, playing with friends, going on picnics. Maybe next year we’ll find some new favorite thing to do together. But I’m not a “crazy summer activities” Mom and I never will be. I like to keep life simple.

Paul is the happiest, least cranky kid I know, and I sincerely believe that a regular nap and bedtime schedule helps him to be so. In order for him to get his sleep, we sometimes have to say “no thanks” to some of those “crazy” activities in order to be home by sleep time. And you know what? I really like it that way.

As he gets closer to age two, Paul is becoming more independent. He resists obeying, and he’s begun to have screaming fits when I misunderstand what he says or when I decline his requests. The next few months of autumn will be interesting as I adjust to this new personality he’s developing. And yet, he’s still, overall, an incredibly happy, well-adjusted boy.

I suspect he’ll turn out just fine, our non-exciting summer be darned.

Simple Pleasures

Jul 212009
 

It lasted about 20 seconds.

It had been a typical Monday. He was whiny from his sleep-deprived weekend. He was frustrated, bursting in to tears over the smallest things. But now, newly awakened from a refreshing nap, he was running in the back yard, chasing a ball, swinging, and otherwise being happy.

It was a beautiful afternoon, with the puffy cumulus clouds dotting the uncharacteristically blue sky. A light breeze kept the temperature around 70 degrees, which was perfect for an afternoon in the yard.

My son looked and pointed at the sky, maybe seeing another airplane or a bird. I told him about cloud shapes, and called him over to look with me. I lay down in the grass, and he toddled over and lay down beside me, his one-year-old head resting against my arm and shoulder. As I pointed up at the sky, he giggled and burbled along, pointing upward towards the clouds.

And that is why I stay home with him every day: to lie down in the grass and look at the clouds with him for 20 seconds every now and then. It’s all worth it.

My Nights

Jun 142008
 

It wasn’t fair! I was two years older, but I still had the same bed time as my little sister. I complained every night, stomping and whining.

Finally, my parents succumbed. My bedtime would be 8:31 p.m. Her bedtime would remain 8:30 p.m. I was appeased.

Someone would turn off the lights, and I would lie awake, listening to my dad playing the piano — a lullaby to go to sleep by, he always said. I would remain awake, waiting for the music to end so I could sleep in silence.

Sometimes, my sister would stir slightly in her bed on the other side of the room.

If I knew she was awake, I’d make noises with my spit.

“Stop it!” she would complain. “That’s disgusting!”

Sometimes she’d stomp out of the room. The piano would stop mid-phrase, and I’d hear her voice. I would smile into my pillow.

Some evenings, my parents would go out. I don’t know where our older brothers — our babysitters — would be. But my sister and I would go to our bedroom. She would stand by the window while I jumped from her bed to mine and back again, bouncing and laughing. Then I would stand by the window and she would bounce. When I saw the lights for our car in our court, I’d shout: “They’re coming!” She’d stop mid-bounce, and we’d quickly resume a more innocuous activity, like practicing our headstands on the bed, she against her wall, me against mine.

(One night, ten years later, my mother wondered out loud why those mattresses wore out so quickly. My sister and I glanced at each other and grinned.)

Other nights, we got mad at each other, sometimes for doing nothing worse than existing. While we were not usually physically violent with each other, one night we were. We threw things. I don’t know who threw the winning object, but it met its target. The glass lamp shade, dotted with little blue and pink flowers that matched the wallpaper, fell to the floor and broke. We stood over it in silence, staring at the sharp shards of white on the blue carpet.

Eventually, the “cat fights” got to be too much for my parents. The day my oldest brother left home for college, my parents moved my sister’s furniture, clothes, and knickknacks into his room.

At ages 10 and 12, respectively, my sister and I finally had our own rooms.

That night, I dragged my pillow and blanket into her new room, ready for our sleepover.

We had fun.

To my sister.

(True response to Sunday Scribblings #114: My Nights.)

Sunday Scribblings #111 Soar/Sore

May 172008
 

I lift him above my head: his mouth opens wide in a baby-grin and he laughs loudly, soaring above me, arms outstretched. I smile too, my heart memorizing the sound, the sight, and the feeling of chubby childhood joy.

***

I turn away: in my mind I still see the tears on his pumpkin-covered face and in my ears I still hear his constant scream of baby indignation. I sigh and grab a towel to wipe away the blood on my finger, wishing someone would kiss my sore better.

This is motherhood: a daily dichotomy.

The Opposite of an Epiphany

Jan 302008
 

Epiphany, noun; 3 a (1): a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2): an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3): an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure b: a revealing scene or moment

When I was a young girl, my family went to Nauvoo at least once a year. I was very familiar with the shops and houses and streets, and every visit, a little bit more was developed to be like Old Nauvoo. I enjoyed those visits.

We always started at the Visitors’ Center. We’d watch the orientation video and we’d go on a tour. I was always impressed by a particular display stand. It was a display of the golden plates underneath some glass. A plaque next to the display said something like this:

The Golden Plates: Joseph Smith translated the writings on the golden plates into what became the Book of Mormon.

When I was 14 or 15, I was sitting in a Sunday school class. We were talking about church history. I don’t recall what the subject was on that particular day, but it occurred to me: the plates in the Nauvoo Visitors’ Center were not the real golden plates. It was a moment of realization: “I can’t believe I just figured that out.”

I can’t bring myself to call it an epiphany because the result was realizing how ridiculous my prior understanding had been. It wasn’t an “intuitive grasp”; it was a “wow, I’m slow” moment. So I’ll call it an “opposite of an epiphany.”

I had another “opposite of an epiphany” the other day. I was singing Paul a song about Noah and telling him about all the animals he put on the ark. When I got to kangaroos, I stopped.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Kangaroos are native to Australia alone. How did Noah get kangaroos in the Middle East?”

My husband Looked at me. “What do you think? Do you really think Noah took two of every single species of animal on the ark?”

And then I had the same feeling as when I realized the golden plates aren’t in the Visitors’ Center: Noah’s story, and the entire Bible, is of one people in one nation. We don’t really have to take it completely literally.

Of course, it doesn’t matter where the real golden plates are. My testimony of the translation doesn’t depend on the physical plates. It’s the same thing with Noah. Did Noah take kangaroos on the ark? Did the Lord cover 197 million square miles (the entire surface of the earth) with water? I don’t know. Yes, it’s true that “With God, nothing shall be is impossible” (Luke 1:37), but in this particular story, I don’t think it happened literally and it really doesn’t matter if it did or not. My testimony doesn’t depend on it.

On my last visit to Nauvoo, I didn’t see the golden plates display; the Visitors’ Center has been completely reorganized since I was a young girl.

But these “opposite of an epiphany” moments are reminding me that I have a lot of growing up to do: Was I really an adult before I realized that? What other things am I not realizing?

Have you had any “opposite of an epiphany” moments?

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