Amateur Realizations

I just need to get a few things out there:

1. I started "pinning" last week and already have a love-hate relationship. While I realize the value of the site, I also realize the time-suck/waste factor. It is almost as confusing as that one time in high school where I was really good friends with a boy but we weren't boyfriend-girlfriend, but it kind of felt like it, but he had a girlfriend. Oy vey.

2. My child recently parroted me saying "shoot" and "heck." She also already loves TV. How do I know? She constantly brings us the iPad to pull up the PBS Kids app, cries if we turn off before she was done watching (she lets us know by ungluing her eyes and walking away), and knows when to clap and cheer for certain Sesame Street shorts. She also wreaks havoc in church every Sunday and I don't do anything to stop it. For example, she stands/plays peek-a-boo at the podium while someone teaches, helps play the piano during a hymn, and rummages through various purses. This last Sunday, she somehow got a dollar bill and wouldn't loosen her grip for anything - not for toys, or treats, or any other distraction. Basically, I'm failing at decent parenting. I have a disruptive, cursing, media-obsessed, kleptomaniac daughter. My over-achieving self now sits in a corner and cries while my lazy self continues to lounge on the couch and not care. It is like when I was in high school and in band and worked relatively hard and thought it was really cool, but I'm now realizing that it really wasn't. Should I care about that?

3. While I'm no Shakespeare, I never thought I was a terrible writer. However, after my last post, we were bombarded by questions of our safety and well-being. My husband just stared blankly at the kind soul asking if I was okay at the church trunk-or-treat. People, it was a METAPHOR. My life FELT like a car accident. Obviously, I'm really terrible at writing because even my wisest, most-respected friend asked me on our last phone about if I was in a car accident. It is like that one time while teaching Sunday School where I tried to make a joke and nobody laughed or understood and it was really quiet and I got really warm and it was super awkward and uncomfortable. But I've always thought I was kind of funny?

4. I feel awful for Holly Petraeus. This isn't necessarily a realization, but rather recognition and awareness. I just feel terrible for this woman.


And for your viewing pleasure, a few cute photos of C that aren't on Facebook or Instagram because they were sent to my by my awesome baby sitters:



Raking leaves with YaYa while mom works in a cubicle




Playing at the park with Auntie while mom works in a cubicle

 Don't worry, working in a cubicle is super fun, too.

Amateur Annie

Today was one of those days. Crazy and on-the-go from 7:30 AM to 7:30 PM.

But is that really any excuse?

Today was a day where I screwed up. I took a wrong turn at work and ended with a totaled car at home.

Today was one of those days where I wished I was Bill Murray on assignment in Pennsylvania to see if Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow or not.

But I'm not Bill Murray, and as cool as it would be to have a career in weather forecasting, I don't do that either.

Today was October 22nd, not February 2nd.

I felt like I spent today day trying to weigh out the pros and cons of my decisions in order to determine the best course of action. But I really didn't. I didn't stand long enough at the scale. I didn't move the slider back and forth on the beam to find where a balance. I may have toyed with it for a bit, thought I was in the right area, but unfortunately I moved on before I could see if horizontal bar leveled out.

Today, I upset people and caused them strife with my poor choices. Today I felt regret as the scale tipped in the wrong direction.

Today, I crumbled while rocking my baby before bed in realization that I can't change anything. I did what I did and then I apologized; that's all I could do today.

But thankfully there is tomorrow. Tomorrow I will hope for forgiveness and learn from my mistakes. While I will continue to make choices that will affect others, I can change. Tomorrow, I will take time to be humble and thoughtful. Thankfully, I live a life where I always have a say in how my tomorrow goes.

And I say today that tomorrow will be a good day.

Amateur Journaling

Every Sunday, I lead a discussion on scripture in an adult Sunday School class. We read together, I ask questions, and others respond with their thoughts or perhaps another question in return. Some Sundays we have a full-ish room, others may be a bit sparse; but size doesn't usually matter as long as a few of us come ready and willing.

This particular last Sunday was a little light on attendance. A few of the usuals, a few who dozed in the lull of an afternoon without a child in tow, and a few every-so-oftens. The topic for the day consisted of a few chapters from the Book of Mormon detailing the beginning of Christ's visit to the Americas. To set the scene, many great cities were destroyed "to hide their wickedness and abominations... that the blood of the prophets and the saints should not come up any more..." before the Savior appeared. The previous quote actually repeats about six times in one chapter, so I asked everyone why they thoughts the exact same words occurred so many times, just to say the same thing about various cities?

I must say that just like any good teacher/mother, I'm not supposed to pick favorites. But I'm pretty sure everyone there that day felt the same amazing spirit that I did when we were interrupted by a dear woman translating the lesson/discussion for a man with a hearing impairment (along with other challenges).

"He wants to say... Because history repeats itself. We need to be careful, because history repeats itself."

A tidal wave of emotions hit me. Feelings of humility, gratitude, and awe swept me up and churned my heart in an undercurrent of love. Salty tears filled my eyes and I knew - these are the moments I cannot forget. I must hold on to this lifesaver thrown to me in order to keep swimming until I find the shore.

I wanted to stop and hold those two tightly, and whisper in their ear about their greatness and influence. But I didn't. I agreed, and thanked them and moved on in the lesson.

We continued, and then it happened again. Again. This time we read about, the Savior using one of His many analogies, where He likens Himself to a hen and His people to chickens (3 Nephi 10:4-6):

"4 O ye people of these great cities which have fallen, who are descendants of Jacob, yea, who are of the house of Israel, how oft have I gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and have nourished you.


5 And again, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, who have fallen; yea, O ye people of the house of Israel, ye that dwell at Jerusalem, as ye that have fallen; yea, how oft would I have gathered you as a hen gathereth her chickens, and ye would not.
6 O ye house of Israel whom I have spared, how oft will I gather you as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, if ye will repent and return unto me with full purpose of heart."

These verses sparked the questions as to WHY Christ wants to gather us. A few people spoke again, about how we gather children and love them and want to nurture and protect them. This gave way to another interpreted comment:

"Because we a precious. We are all precious to Him. He wants to gather us because we are precious."

Isn't it so true? ALL of us are precious; everyone from the President of the United States down to the homeless guy on the street corner.

At this point, I felt this strange dynamic of euphoria and being crushed all at the same time. I bursted with joy to have this level of participation from someone who never commented before. I also felt incredibly humbled - who am I to be standing at the front of this room? Who am I to continue on in this life and not recognize the mercy and graciousness that surrounds me daily?

I write this so that I do not forget. I write this so that I might influence others to remember those precious moments where they felt deep, abiding love - a love that builds you up and rips you apart all at the same time. I write this in hopes to always remember.

Amateur Letter Writer

Yes, I'm a mom. Yes, I have a blog. Here is the obligatory letter to my child who can't read, published for the rest of the world to see.

Corinne,

Even just typing out your name still amazes me. I have a kid - and her name is Corinne! Who ever saw that one coming? Your dad named you. It was tough finding a first name that went well with the middle name "Mary" (that was a must - I'm named after my mother and BOTH of my grandmothers... or maybe I'm just really self-absorbed and want a name-sake), and he didn't like my favored "Penelope" (Penny for short). We (I) hemmed and hawed at the hospital (I thought you looked more like a "Jordan"); but it was I who wrote down your name not only the birth certificate form our last night there, but also on the newspaper release (you didn't know how you were a famous Labor Day Weekend baby in the local paper?) the day of your birth.

We took you home, where we were locked out, because we gave my parents both of our house keys. That was fun. You were hungry, your other grandparents were actually there decorating the yard, and the neighbors had friends arriving to visit. Once we settled, I left you with your Aunt Christy and I slept. And you slept. Have I mentioned how much I love our village?

So you were a terrible sleeper, and I was a terrible nurser, but whatever. Now you'll eat anything in your path (including, but not limited to, cardboard, paper towels, apples, stray Kix, peas, and broccoli heads).

You like to rip things open with your teeth, like some crazy medieval king ripping into a leg of meat.

You also hate juice, and will only drink milk from a bottle. As a result from all of this, I now have a post-partum, post-nursing body! Good times. But I digress, this is about you (really!), and not me.

Your dad is still in charge of bath time, but I'm the lucky duck who gets to rock you before bed. Lately, though, you'd rather play (cry) in your crib for a few minutes than sit still with me. But to make up for it, just last night, you woke up crying around 4:30 AM and I got to cuddle with you! You sure do have a funny way of making me feel grateful for the oddest things.

You are now officially a toddler. And that's exactly what you do! You toddle around - a mix of hesitant steps and head-down, ram-speed crawling make up your main modes of transportation. Your baby steps are like a planned free-fall: you know where you're going and exactly where to stop the motion control and just land in your predetermined destination.

You astound me as an example of human development. Weren't you just learning to roll over? And now you're repeating words and actions? Oh, and whistling? Where did that come from?

I get a kick out of your stubbornness - just when we feel like we've taught you something new, you won't repeat it when we ask you to in front of others. I think you get some kind of twisted satisfaction from performing only on your terms and making us look like giant idiots. I also think this might be a sign of things to come.

You are quite the generalist - every fruit at the store is an apple, every picture is of daddy, and every 4-legged anmial gets a "woof woof." You are also polite - each speakerphone call merits a hello, and anything that should be fun deserves a hearty "wheee-ooo---wee." You fake laugh better than anyone I know; and while at the moment I find it adorable, I hope I can help you be confidant enough in your own skin that you don't feel a need to always fit in with the crowd.

I still struggle accepting your growth out of the infant stage - I forget that you actually need something to cover your feet in a public place, useless baby spoons litter the diaper bag, and I finally went through your clothes to pack up everything that is too small. I'm actually glad you're so bald - it makes you feel more like a baby and less like a little kid.

I also struggle with the thought of having more children. I can't imagine loving another person the way I love you. I feel very satisfied with being your mother - I love where we are in our life right now. I also know that it might be a little selfish to not have a sibling for you - no one to turn to when all the adults in your life overwhelm you, no one on which to blame a mess, no one to perhaps give you nieces or nephews or cousins for your own children. I've discussed this concept with many, and know that it is indeed possible to have more than one child and love them in the same capacity. Maybe one day.

Your dad and I pray every night in gratitude for the joy you bring to our lives - and I know you bring happiness to the lives of countless others. You're the best, Corinne. To summarize, I can't help but think of an awesomely cheesy Rod Stewart song:

For the morning sun in all it's glory,
Meets the day with hope and comfort too,
You fill my life with laughter, somehow you make it better,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.
There's a love less defined,
And its yours and its mine,
Like the sun.
And at the end of the day,
We should give thanks and pray,
To the one, to the one.
Have I told you lately that I love you?
Have I told you there's no one else above you?
Fill my heart with gladness, take away all my sadness,
Ease my troubles, that's what you do.

Be rest assured, I will continue to amaze you with how incredibly lame and sappy I can be. It will surprise you at times, but doesn't everyone like surprises, anyway? I know I'm surprised at how much you've changed my life, and how I can't really remember what life was like before you. It's like the past two decades have been random events just slowly evolving to this pivitol moment in time. To be sure, while the next two decades will be a whilwind, there's not much that I'd rather be doing than being your mom.

Amateur Identity

For some time now my thoughts have drifted around the idea of identity.  It started with my family, continued with this article on slavery in Mauritania, then again while visiting teaching earlier this year. About a year ago, pending motherhood consumed who I was and the effect it would have on my other identities - wife, friend, co-worker/employee, Sunday school teacher, family member in various capacities. Sometimes I feel like it finally seems as though those specific roles nestled into a comfortable place around my primary role as caretaker to my daughter. Other days, not so much.

Every now and then, I feel a little lost as to who I really am. I know I'm not exactly the same person I was 10 years ago... but doesn't she still reside in my basic persona? While obscure band t-shirts and canvas all-stars no longer crowd my closet, experiences of that age brought me to who I am now. I found parts of myself - hooking onto the liberal arts, establishing life-long friendships, and most importantly stopping in my tracks overcome with the love I felt from my Savior.

Now, those not-so-obscure-anymore bands remain on my iPhone, and I continue to find great strength in the women I met that year. When Corinne was just a few months old, I fed and rocked her to sleep every night. On one particular evening, my eyes rested on her peaceful, sleeping face and I siltenly plead for her to have friends like the ones I do - people who inspire her to be honest, hard-working, intelligent, well-rounded, happy, fun, active, and spiritual. People who she can always count on, no matter how much distance may separate them. I stared down at her for a long time, hoping that she could only be so lucky.

I know that I can work on instilling those same attributes as a parent, but I also I know how critical it is for her to have a good, solid group of friends. Thanks to such influences when I first arrived BYU, I stayed in Provo and realized my self-worth and testimony. During that time, I came to fully accept my identity as a child a of God who can receive innumerable blessings - like personal revelation and forgiveness.

I know that this identity is at my core, and will never change. While I may falter in my faith or understanding of this concept, it is an identity that will always be there, ready for me to accept.
When I first began writing this post, I had lines written describing former selves - the girl consumed by cryptic song lyrics and late-night (early morning?) parties... but once I began to recall that evening in the rocking chair, this post slowly morphed. While my past identities matter, they don't define me. Those identities slowly morphed, too.

At times I struggle, thinking I have no sense of self... I don't run marathons, letterpress, or sew. I grasp at the disappointment of not having an identity - I'm not a cool hipster, a super mom, or corporate success. Thus, I began exploring this dissatisfaction of self and began to write.

That night with Corinne proves that my current identity mainly focuses on my role as a mother to Corinne (possible in part by being wife to Scott, of course). But there is so much more to it! My persona as a mother stems from who I've become through my relationships with those around me, relationships that led to a grand turning point of my self-actualization. When I get down to it, I think that is all that really matters. The angst I've felt off and on for the past few months seems so futile - why feel bad that I'm not a crafter or a cook? That's not my identity. My hobbies (or lack thereof) do not define me (thankfully). Right now, I need to be at peace with letting my family - both earthly and heavenly - do is instead. I like to think I'm pretty good with that.

It Takes A Village

Be forewarned: this is yet another post mixed with bringing up baby. Shocker, right? But no baby pics. I post enough of those on Instagram. However, I do feel that having a child has made me more introspective than normal. And I promise, this ties into things other than how amazing my daughter is.

For the past couple of months I can't help but think about how I could never raise a child on my own. For example, a few months ago after a Sunday dinner at Scott's parents' home, the entire family participated in helping Corinne learn how to crawl on all fours. The poor gal was downward-dogging all over the place or inadvertently scooting backwards, and it was time to get her moving with purpose. We placed books under her hands, and my father-in-law pumped her legs, my sister-in-law stabilized her middle, all while I moved the books in sync with her legs.  That was all it took (three grown adults on the floor) - and the wee lass hasn't looked back since mastering her new skill of freedom.

Shortly thereafter, following yet another Sunday dinner, my mother-in-law worked on teaching Corinne to crawl up on something using a box like unto a mid-sized cardboard priority mailer. The very next day while getting ready for work, I turned to see my hard-working daughter sitting atop the landing at the bottom of our stairs (one step up from the main floor). Then this:

Corinne constantly surprises me with new tricks: clapping her hands, saying "uh oh," and playing peek-a-boo. While I know I do those things with her, I can't take the credit - it goes to everyone around her who influences the course of this growing human being's life.

And it isn't just those in close proximity. Many friends in far-away places also take part in the shaping of my daughter. Those who I've watched for years, raising their own the best they can, who impress me with their love, wit, and creativity. Who inspire me with a goal and a vision of a family.

There's also those who were in my own village as a child, who will probably never fully comprehend (or let alone even have an inkling of) the effect they had on my life and on what kind of person I am now. The youth leaders, the teachers, the parents of friends, the older kids; some of their parts consisted of short cameos, but their presence proved crucial nonetheless. Some still actively participate in the drama (Comedy? Romance? Tragedy? Depends on the act and scene, I suppose).

This reminds me of a question I brought while teaching a scripture study class at church yesterday - how has the testimony of another person affected your own testimony?

Did a person ever walk through your village and leave an abiding footprint?

One of my most vivid life-shaping experiences occurred my sophomore year at BYU. I've never been your ultra-conservative, ever-faithful, never-asking-questions kind of person. I want to know why I shouldn't go against the grain. I want to push the limit of my understanding and beliefs.

At that time, I wavered with my stance on abortion rights. My tent stood adamantly in the pro-choice camp (for many reasons, which may or may not be discussed another day). Yet, I questioned myself. I knew what my church preached and struggled to gain testimony of this pro-life concept.

One nondescript Sunday, hymns were sung, bread and water were partaken, and talks were given. The overall theme was that of tithes and offerings. Half-listening, thinking "I already pay my ten percent," I was blind-sided by one girl's closing testimony. She spoke of sacrifice. More importantly, she testified of the critical and gut-wrenching sacrifice of her birth mother's choice to let another family raise and adopt her. Her mother could have decided to terminate - it wasn't convenient to be pregnant or have a child; but terminate she did not. She made the most selfless decision from what seemingly began as quite a selfish one. Thanks to her mother's sacrifice, she grew up in a loving and faithful home, and ended up receiving an education at BYU. She felt unending gratitude to this woman and the choice to not only let her live, but live with another family.

Tears stung my eyes and I knew. I knew without question what I believed. Someone in my village quickly crossed my path, but left me with a life-changing impression. That day I chose to promote life; and just like when Corinne learned how to crawl, I haven't looked back.

I pray that I can bring up my daughter in a good village - one filled with laughter, confidence, stability, and affection. One that lends itself to random people coming in and shaping her to do good things. I'm grateful for the sea of faces I see when I think about the village that raised me; and the one that I continue to surround myself with today. But when I really think about it... I feel as though I never really left one and went to another; rather, my village just keeps on getting bigger and better.

Amateur Champion

One evening in the car on our way home from dinner at my in-law's house:

"Could you just tell me when you're not tired? Please stop telling me when you are tired."

"Did I just say I was tired?"

"Yes. And you've said it about four or five times already tonight."

"Oh... sorry... didn't realize it." (Obviously because I'M TIRED).

"Yeah... you also say it about four or five times during the day, too... so I'm just always going to assume that you are tired unless you tell me otherwise."

I can honestly say I had no idea how plagued my speech was; I suppose my broken record started to sound like nails on a chalk board. I don't blame him.

In other news, I've passed New Mom 101. After one of Corinne's baths last week, I was proceeded to rub her down with lotion (sans diaper), per our usual evening ritual. Being our child, she passed some pretty foul flatulence. Thankfully her little toots dissipate quickly, so I commenced with the lavender-scented baby massage.

If only I heeded our dear daughter's warning signal! She fired off another one; and before I could let out an "oh my!" she proceeded empty her bowels.

But did it get all over the towel, bed, and me? No way, Jose! In my ever-evolving mothering skills, I grabbed a nearby diaper and got it under her sweet little bottom in the nick of time. Operation save the sheets was a success!

Also of note last week, she basically slept through the night once. This resulted in my bringing bagels and cream cheese to work in honor of the event.

Needless to say, I'm celebrating the little victories these days.