Victorious

Last week was a week of accomplishments for our little Eva.  After warming her up to the idea of sleeping without a diaper, and offering a bribe if she did, Eva agreed that giving up the ol’Pampers was worth her time.  She made it 5 nights in a row without an accident on her first attempt.  Hooray for Eva!  No more diapers at our place.

Her reward was a trip to an indoor playground so she could visit her pet Lulu.   Well worth the $7.

  

Her next accomplishment was giving her first talk in Primary, completely unassisted.  We worked all week to memorize her talk and she was excited by the idea of standing at the microphone and speaking.  On Sunday, she sat up in front of the Primary waving to all of her friends like she’s famous.  Then she marched up to the microphone on her cue and delivered her talk perfectly.  Michael and I had such beaming smiles that we bordered on being obnoxious.  It was a proud moment for us and we loved all the attention from the Primary leaders for having such an impressive child.

Her bribe for that performance was sprinkle ice cream.  Well worth the $3.

This little girl is growing up!

More Conversations with a 4-year-old

At swimming lessons:

Before jumping into the pool, the kids choose what kind of animal they are and then jump as that animal.  Eva chose to be a unicorn.

Myke: Wow, Eva! That was a great unicorn jump!

Eva: Yeah, even sparkles came out.  Did you see the sparkles?

Flipping through a book with pictures of napping cats:

Me: Whatcha doing?

Eva:  I’m trying to decide which kitty to get when Aika is died.

In the car:

GPS says for us to turn left at the traffic light.

Eva: Turn left at the traffic light, Mama.

Me: I’m going straight instead because I think it’s faster.

Eva: You can’t just ignore the GPS!

At church:

Drinking the Sacrament water.

Eva: Mmmmm.  That one was super good.

Cleaning up Eva’s bedroom:

Me: Eva, are these underwear clean or dirty?

Eva:  I’ll see if they have a bruise.  (Checks the crotch)  Nope, no bruise.  They’re clean.

 

If only Myke’s underwear didn’t have any bruises…

If I’d Known There’d Be Gifts…

I hesitated posting about our quest to have another child.  I debated over whether it was too personal, too emotional, too none-of-anyone-else’s-business.  But the more I pondered the event, the more I wanted to share it, to open up the hidden corners of my soul.  I also considered that I don’t want my blog to be a discourse on my perfect life, since it is anything but that.  If everything I post is silly or idyllic, then I’m full of crap.  I ultimately felt that omitting my struggles would mask the authenticity of my mortality. So I shared.  Then I felt paranoid that it was an over-sharing and smacked myself across the face.

But then something wonderful happened.  The people I care about the most responded to me with love.  I was incredibly heartbroken and sad, and in the clutches of my sadness, my hope was renewed, slivers of happiness emerged.  I was surrounded by the concern and support that I needed.  I received flowers.

From my sister, Chris.

From my parents.

From my husband.

I received phone calls and texts.  I was strengthened and encouraged.  I was reminded that I am not alone.  How grateful I am for that!

There has been some healing for me in sharing.  The tender emotions of my heart are not so raw anymore and I feel like I’ll recover from my sorrow.  I even feel like I’ll recover as a stronger version of myself.  I might just share more personal things with you. 

And I expect flowers when I do.

Moving On

For nearly 3 years now, Michael and I have been trying very unsuccessfully to have another child. For the past little while I have felt like we had no clear direction on whether we should keep trying or not, or really if God was answering any of our prayers.  I was weary from the journey and discouraged at our seemingly directionless flailing.

We had a lesson in church a couple of weeks ago about offering sincere prayers to the Lord and asking what His will is for us, instead of suggesting our will to Him.  I realized that in these past 3 years, I have never asked God if another child was meant for our family, I just asked Him to give us another one, and felt dismissed when we weren’t successful.  I decided to change my prayer.  Michael and I asked the Lord if there was another baby for us and should we keep trying.  Then we went to the temple.

As we were making the drive, I knew in my heart what the answer was but I dismissed it and pretended to be enjoying the scenery of dead winter trees and roadside litter.  I wanted to wait until we were in the temple to accept any answer.  Michael and I sat in the temple chapel waiting for our session to begin and I said another silent prayer.  I felt the answer come over me with more force than any other answer I have received in my life.  There was no mistaking or doubting the power of the resounding, “No.”  I was devastated.  As I began to cry, Michael knew precisely what was happening and put his arm around me in quiet comfort. He also knew the answer was no.

I sat and pondered what this meant for me.  Never again would I have my newborn baby sleeping in my arms.  I would never see more first steps, first words, or feel the overwhelming love that a new baby brings.  Eva won’t have a sibling.  She won’t know the bonds that I know of staying up late to talk to your sister or turning to her for comfort in times of need.  My sadness was overwhelming.  My answer was, “No,” and yet, in the quiet of the temple, I knew that God loves me.  I was peacefully heartbroken. 

The next question that came into my mind was, “Is my faith sufficient to accept God’s will?”  My answer to that question was an emphatic, “Yes.” I don’t know or understand why we can’t have another child.  I could drive myself mad asking why.  Instead, I choose to have faith; faith that God knows what He is doing, that He is eager to bless me, and that I will one day understand everything.  Right now that is enough for me.

I spent the weekend sobbing.  I have been grieving the loss of my desire and my hopes, and I have felt a palpable emptiness.  But I also feel blessed and grateful for the one little girl that I do have. 

Next week, a pregnant woman from my ward is coming over to take some of Eva’s baby things.  I am heartbroken over the finality of parting with our baby equipment, but glad to know another sweet family can use it. 

I think my heart will always ache for the child that never was.  But I find comfort in knowing that I asked the Lord and He answered me.  I will never have to question whether or not we did all that we could or if our family is complete.  It is.  I have the unbelievable honor and joy of Eva.  I love her deeply and purely, and I recognize that she truly is my miracle.

It’s a good life.

Conversations with a 4-year-old

In the bathroom:

Me: Eva, it’s time to take a shower.

Eva: I can’t.  Kitties hate water and I’m a kitty.

Dinnertime:

Me: Eva, come to dinner, please.

Eva: You can call me Dexter.

At Walgreens:

Eva: Let’s go look at the toys.

Me: Just a minute.  I’m looking at the cold medicine and then we’ll go look at the toys. 

Eva: (Wandering towards the toys with my shopping cart)  It’s okay, we can split up.

In the car headed to Fred Meyer:

Eva: If Playland is open, then I’ll go to Playland.  If it’s closed, then I’ll go with you and look at the toys.

Me: That sounds like a good plan.

Eva: Yeah, I just made it up.

Dinking around the house:

(Eva’s playing with her fishing pole and the magnet comes off the string.)

Me: I’ll glue that magnet back on for you in a minute.  Please don’t lose it.

Eva: Ok.

I look over to find Eva feeding the fishing pole line into the heating vent.

Me: Eva!  Did you drop the magnet down the heating vent?  We can’t get that back out.

Eva: Calm down, Mama.  It’s just a string.

Snuggling in bed:

Eva: Can I play on your phone?

Me: Not right now.

Eva: You've got to be kidding me!

Getting ready for bed:

Me: Eva, you’re getting to be a big girl now.  What do you think about not wearing a diaper to bed anymore? You can get up in the night and go pee in the potty instead.

Eva: (Pauses for a moment) I think I like peeing in my diaper.

Enough said.

Wanna See My Kids

If it was still cool to carry photos in your wallet, these are the photos I would have in my little plastic sheets. 

And I would be really obnoxious about showing people my kids.  Just like I’m doing right now.

Bottle Drop

Oregon charges a bottle deposit on any beverages that you purchase in the state.  It will cost ya just a nickel.  A nickel?  Riiight.

The only way to get your nickel back is to return your empty cans and bottles to a designated return site.  I hate returning cans but I also hate the idea of the state getting a bunch of free nickels out of me.  So I play along.  We have a couple large trash bags hanging in the laundry room and we throw all of our empty cans in them.  When the bags are bulging and making it impossible for me to move around in my tiny laundry room, it’s time to head to the Bottle Drop.  Then I procrastinate and kick the sacks around for another two weeks.

Since I try to only drink one soda a day and Michael drinks less than that, it takes months to accumulate enough cans to warrant a trip.  I had enough cans last week and decided it was time to face the Bottle Drop.  I loaded the sacks into my car, drove to the Bottle Drop, lugged them through the parking lot like a hobo, and went inside to surrender my dignity.

Here’s the thing.  The Bottle Drop smells rank.  Like really rank.  Like if booze were a sports team, then Bottle Drop smells like booze’s locker room.  The floor is sticky, the machines are sticky, and depending on when you go, there are plenty of creepy people inside.  And the machines are mean.  I was calmly feeding my cans into the slot and the machine kept flashing rude messages onto the screen.  “Don’t throw the cans!”  “Only one can at a time!”  “I gladly accept your dignity!”  Jerk.

Each time I go to the Bottle Drop I think, “Man, did I drink all this soda?  I should lay off.  This is a lot of soda.”  Then by the time I’m done, I’m parched and need a soda.  I also always think, “Woo-hoo-hoo!  I’m gonna be rich!”

I finished processing my cans and took my receipt over to scan at the money machine.  I rubbed my paws together and waited for me treasure to appear like a retiree in a Vegas casino.  Out scrambled my money.  $15.45.

Woo-hoo-hoo!  I’m rich!