Making Enough of Me

I wasn't going to send out Christmas cards this year. I have done one every single year since I moved out on my own at 19. But I wasn't feeling it this year and it was just "one more thing" on my checklist that I am trying so hard to get rid of.  

A few days before Christmas my husband asked when I was sending them out. And then the kids asked if they could see our card. I told them I wasn't going to do one this year, and I was met with cries of complaints and how it was our tradition and I just hadddddddd to do it. 

So I caved. I am a sucker for Christmas traditions after all. 

I mailed out a few, hand delivered some others, and kept our Christmas keepsake just like all the others I have tucked away. The kids loved their honorable mentions about their year and suddenly I didn't mind so much about that checklist anymore. (Especially because this 🗹 looks so pretty on paper.)

And now for your viewing pleasure.... or to satisfy your curiosity.... or because you don't follow me on Instagram and have no idea what we have been up to this year... or because you need something to scroll through late at night besides Facebook ads...

I used to cry on Father's Day. 

I wondered what it would feel like to be a Daddy's little girl. I knew that with my own circumstances that was never going to be a reality, but I knew other people had that experience and I was always envious of it. 

When I finally had children, I saw it on the looks of my children's faces and my husband's face, and I knew that they would never have to wonder. 

But still, on Father's Day I would cry.

I don't cry now. My dad passed away this year and when all was settled and things had quieted down, something miraculous happened. The scriptures call it "a peace that passeth all understanding." Jesus promised to make our burdens lighter and I have seen that promise fulfilled.  I am filled with only fond recollections now. Moments that made me laugh and memories that are glued to my heart of happier times. 

However, I wake up this Father's Day different than I ever have before. No father and now no husband. Daddy is gone, called to duty. Thankfully there are only 10 days left on this assignment but still, my children are feeling it. They live for days like today. Instead there is an emptiness and a longing and an uncertainty about what to do with our missing tradition of breakfast in bed, crayola laced pages filled with expressions of adoration, and singing about daddy coming home and patting his cheeks with a great, big kiss. As I write, they've been wandering around the house, trying to find something to fill in the gaps and so far it's not been going well.

So I might cry a little today, for my kids. But assure them that they will never, ever have to wonder if they're daddy's little favorite. Because they are. And always will be.

I got a phone call yesterday and a raspy voiced Makenna said she wasn't feeling well and could I please come pick her up from school. I was hesitant because Spring Fever is real, ya'll, and this girl has been pulling out the stops lately to avoid going to school. She had woken up with a stuffy nose, so I wasn't too surprised.  I told her if I picked her up then she had to come home and eat some garlic. 

Don't freak out. I give all my kids raw garlic when they get sick. I took it when I was a child and I can eat it now without drowning it in applesauce. The boys do pretty good with it, except for my husband who gags and tears up because he thinks I am poisoning him. One or two doses of garlic at the beginning of symptoms gives a cold the kick it needs for a quick recovery.

Makenna knows this. And like her father, feels like I am poisoning her. But she was certain she needed to come home and promised she would take the garlic. That was the deal.

I chopped up the smallest clove I had in my cupboard. She was totally for it. I added the applesauce, poured a glass of fresh orange juice, propped her near the kitchen sink (because, barf), and handed her the spoon. Then the tears started. And the shaking of the head. The applesauce slowly started to drip off the spoon.

"I can't do it. I just can't. It's just too hard.  I can't do it. Why does the garlic look green? It's never been green before. It looks like you gave me a lot. I didn't want this much. I know I said I would take it but I really can't do it. It tastes yucky. Please I can't do it. I just can't."

My temper got a little elevated. I told her if she wouldn't do it then we were going back to school. I wasn't going to let her play me with those big brown eyes when I had so many things to do. (Side note: I recently injured myself pretty severely and am wearing a brace from ankle to hip on my left leg. Getting around requires a great deal of effort, not to mention pain.) Standing there watching her fuss and cry and and snot and wail for 25 minutes left me feeling anything but motherly kindness.

"Okay, I'll do it. I will. No, I can't. Please don't make me! Why is that garlic green? It's not supposed to be green. I don't want to do it."

I finally had enough. I lifted her off the counter and told her to put her shoes and jacket back on because we were headed back to school. She really lost it. "Please mommy, please I don't feel good! Please don't make me eat the garlic! Please don't make me go back to school! Please, if you could only understand! I will eat it later, I promise!" 

I calmed myself down, counted to ten in my head, and told her I would give her another chance. She took a deep breath, calmed herself down and climbed back on the counter. I cut up more garlic (I had "tossed" the previous spoon in the sink), added the applesauce, and handed her the spoon.  She opened her mouth and took her spoonful of medicine in less than 3 seconds. A slight gag, a swig of orange juice, and it was over. 

I picked her up and we hugged for a long time. She let out a huge sob, the pressure of the moment too heavy for her tiny shoulders. And I felt like the worst mother in the world. Who "poisons" their child on purpose?

I took a moment to gather my thoughts. I knew I had to give this innocent and fragile child -- the one that holds the deepest recesses of my heart-- some sort of explanation. I had to help her understand why I needed to give her something that she didn't like so that she could get better.

I cupped her face in my hands, and first told her how much I loved her. We both choked back the tears. (Those big, brown, long eyelashed eyes get me every.single.time.) I assured her that there was no one in the world that I loved like I loved her and that I only gave her that yucky garlic because I knew in my heart...the one that used to beat with hers... that it would help her get better. I wasn't trying to punish her or make her do something that was hard because I felt like being mean.  She looked up at me with all the trust in the world as the tears fell down her cheeks and she nodded... wanting to believe me...but still with that bitterness on her tongue. I held her close to me and told her I was sorry that it was so yucky and how proud I was of her for being so brave. I felt my heart would burst, all over a spoonful of garlic.

She went upstairs and changed into her PJ's, grabbed her soft blanket, and snuggled up on the couch while I made her the promised fruit smoothie to help wash away the taste. I didn't want her to see me cry. Agony for putting her through that.  Exhaustion for being on my leg so long. Frustration for not being able to keep my temper more in check. And wonder at how our Heavenly Father does this with His countless children every day. 

I bet if He could, each time we were asked to do something hard, He would take His strong and mighty hands and cup our faces safe and securely. I bet He would look us in the eye and tell us how much He loves us and how special we are to Him. I bet He would tell us how proud He is of our bravery and strength. I bet He would encourage us to keep trying and to not give up, no matter how yucky and bitter it tastes. And I bet His eyes would meet ours and with tears streaming down our cheeks, we would know and trust what He was saying completely. And then He would remind us how Jesus took away the bitterness so we don't have to taste it, hold us close to Him, and then send us safely on our way to do it all again.

I'll keep giving my kids garlic when they get sick. And remind them how good it is for them, even though it tastes yucky. But I'll keep the applesauce and orange juice close by, just in case.

(Also, after a night with a lot of snot and coughing, Makenna woke up feeling better today. #garlicrules) 

I had to take some time to really process what I was feeling about my dad passing away,  the handling of the funeral, and aftermath of all the crazy. January was a difficult month in that the roller coaster of emotions was nearly insurmountable. 

Leading up to the day of the funeral, I spent a lot of time with my mom getting things planned. My dad had a few requests that I wanted to have honored, and my mom needed to be shielded from anything that would cause her further grief or anxiety. With such an expansive history covering 95 years, there was much to sort through and we wanted to make sure the day was spent on the greatest aspects of my father's legacy: his faith in Jesus Christ and the gift of each other as siblings.

My dad died last week. On January 9th, to be exact. Was it expected? Well, he was 95. Did it come as a shock? Absolutely. I had a visceral reaction to his passing. I had been with him the day before because he had slept all day, had no food or drink, and the staff at the nursing home felt that he was probably coming down with pneumonia. When my husband and I arrived Monday morning, after I laid awake all night thinking we were going to get "the call," we did not find a sickly man in his bed. There was dad, awake and alert, sitting up in his rocking chair, throwing back some waffles and chugging guava juice. He did his best to get my littlest one to play peek a boo with him (a 95 year old man hiding his face under a napkin can be scary), he cracked jokes with me and Alfer, and talked about anything and everything. This man was going no where, not any time soon. 

While we visited with him, I asked Dad if he would like to have a (priesthood) blessing. He joked about not wanting his hair messed up (he was bald), but that yes, a blessing would be nice. Alfer laid his hands on his head and blessed him to be at peace. He told him not to be afraid. And said that he was a good son. I wept audibly. As I left, I hugged him goodbye and he told me, "I am so proud of you. You're such a good girl. I'm so proud." 

On Tuesday morning around 8:50 AM, Dad left this life (in a literal heap on the floor), and wasn't afraid anymore. My mom called me and I lost.my.mind.  Thankfully I was alone so no one had to see me in such a state, and my husband came to get me almost immediately. We drove to the nursing home in SLC, and I was able to hug a few of my sisters, my mother, and to see him before they took him away. We participated in a military honors send off, with taps and the American flag and all the other veterans in the nursing home standing at attention. It was a very moving and emotional experience, especially for my sweet mother.