The Dylan Boy Graduates

Oh, this boy of mine.

He is tangled up in my heart, and there have been some knots. But over the years, we've untied them with love and acceptance and patience.

I have really missed him these last three years. As involved as I've been as a mother, it's been strange to not have had many high school memories with my oldest son. I've missed so much, but there has been mercy in that absence as well. We needed the time apart, and he's needed space to grow. He's figuring things out, and I've been able, with the distance between us, to separate him from his actions. Him, I adore. Completely and unconditionally, I love him. His choices? Well, they haven't all been my favorite, let's say. But they're his to make, and ultimately, I trust him. He's a good, good kid. Sometimes he doubts that, but I'll keep reminding him.

It's hard to believe that another child is grown up. We drove to Arizona to attend his graduation ceremony. My dad lives in a nearby town, so we stayed with him and got to visit a bit, long overdue. Dylan didn't really enjoy high school. He tried not to attend any more than he had to, and he was really feeling burned out on school altogether. He thought he might not attend college, and rather just focus on working, since he isn't sure what he wants to study anyway. But then he found out that he was awarded the Presidential Scholarship for the local community college! He and I had worked on the essay and application early in the year, but then I never knew he actually submitted it. Turns out, he won! Full tuition, books, and costs! He was so thrilled, and I am beyond thrilled for him. He really needed that validation. So now he is excited to start taking college classes in the fall, and I am proud of him. He is such a bright, capable young man, and he can do anything he sets his mind to. I'm excited to see where his path leads.

We attended the pre-graduation party at his dad's house, which was lovely, and then we walked across the street to his school. It was nice to gather all together to celebrate this boy.

There he is! He did it!

This picture means so much to me. Dylan and I have come a long way together. I think he really knows now how very dear he is to me, how much I love him.

Oh, my boy. My heart is yours. If you could see what I can see in you. If you knew what I know about you. You have every reason to feel blessed.

As am I. Thanks for the ride thus far. You make me better.

On Saturday

I don't know about 'special', but Saturday is a busy day, for sure! And this weekend was my last weekend before I become a working mom, which means things will only get busier. I'm really praying for the stamina I will need! 

Before the football game, I took my meal plan and grocery list to the store to do the weekly shopping. 

I got home in time to find Aiden in a panic that I might be late, which would make him late, but hey, kid, I got it covered. Carry in the groceries and calm down.

Then we headed over to the park for practice first (I read more of Outliers on my Kindle and Conor played on the playground equipment while Aiden was with his team.)

Then they played an awesome game. They ended up losing (and Aiden may have broken his hand when it got stomped on by a teammate, we're not sure yet), but it was action-packed and Aiden plays his heart out! It is so thrilling to watch him. He had some glorious plays, and as always, had a lot of fun.

After the game, we picked up his friend Nick and headed up to the orchard where the boys work. They were so hot and tired (and injured), but bless their hearts, they got right to work.

I headed home, folded a load of towels, threw my bedding into the dryer, and took Conor out to the pumpkin lot/petting zoo. I love to go up to the big farm in October, but I just couldn't do it without Aiden. He would have wanted to be there. But I had seen a parking lot not far away that was fenced in and advertised pumpkins and a petting zoo, so that was a quick fix for Conor.

Just like my own kids when Mom's got a treat!

After the petting part, Conor got to choose one pumpkin. I like that they are the smaller pumpkins because those are good for cooking. I figured it could be an afternoon craft project for him now and pumpkin pie for us all later.

Back at home, I gave him some permanent markers and he set to work. Meanwhile I put the sheets back on my bed, and started baking.

I made some chocolate chip oatmeal cookies to stock up the freezer for snacks and sweet tooth attacks when Mom's not home yet from work, or too tired to bake.

Ground up flour for the week.

And made some whole grain blueberry muffins for breakfast on Monday, plus some for the freezer. It's going to take a bit of practice to get us back into this routine and to feed us all well. I do not want to slip into the "grab something quick" (takeout) mode. That's really important to me, but it definitely will require planning and follow-through.

Once Conor was in bed, I sat down at the sewing machine to finish up his Halloween costume. It wasn't difficult, just time consuming, especially the boots. I ran out of thread just before making the belt  buckle decoration, so I'll have to do that later in the week, but it's mostly complete and we're both happy with it.

I finished up around 10pm. I read a little of 'Salem's Lot, my feature scary story for this season, and talked to Aiden a bit (who got home from work around 9:30 because he went out to dinner with his friend's family after they picked the boys up) before going to bed around midnight.

I am very mindful that my life is about to change forever tomorrow morning when I start my new job. Even though I've always earned money in some capacity, it's been in my home and I've pretty much been my own boss with a few exceptions. Now I join the ranks of Working Mothers Who Work Outside the Home. It's certainly not my ideal, but at the same time I am so grateful to be able to have the opportunity to learn and work at something that I love and have such personal interest in. I'm so grateful that it's at a hospital I love and that it's close to home. I'm grateful that I've earned the education that allows me this opportunity, and I feel inside that even though things are about to change, most of those changes will be positive ones for me, for those I'm able to work with, and even for my family.

The Down Side to Acceleration

Testosterone is everywhere, let me tell you.

He blames it on his "Staley temper", which is definitely a factor, but really, I think it's the testosterone. Hormones are a cruel trick.

There has been one project after another for Aiden. This month has been the Major American Author theme, with a project due every single week. Aiden chose his favorite author, Orson Scott Card. First there was a Timeline project, then an oral presentation (he did a game show), and now he's finishing up the book he chose by Card to write a report on it. (I write all of that like it was smooth sailing, oh no. Those were each mountains to climb.)

This is why today I am making Vanilla Pudding Cinnamon Rolls with Cream Cheese Frosting. Because I'm gonna need some help, and cinnamon rolls have never let me down.

Aiden wants so much to do a good job. He has very specific ideas in mind of how he wants to do things, and he has very little patience at this particular time in his life. This can mean flying glue guns and staplers, and possibly even some tears.

The hard part is that he has very little time. He leaves at 6:15am and doesn't get home until 4:30pm. He has football practice and games three times a week, and he doesn't do homework on Sundays. He has good intentions of staying on top of everything, but time really does fly by when you're busy.

Yesterday after school and a very large snack, he arranged himself on my bed with his Kindle and the cat and set to work reading. He dozed off a few times, but tried his best. Several hours later he was almost in tears. He was so tired and still had 50 pages left to read to stay on track to finish by Wednesday. Worse, he said he was just not understanding what was going on in the story. My heart went out to him. I offered to buy the audiobook for him. He protested because he didn't want me spending my money on him, but I solved it with an "It's my money and you can't tell me what to do," and sent him off for my wallet. Turns out that because we'd purchased the Kindle book, the audiobook was only $4, so it was an easy solution. He can now go back and listen to the parts he didn't understand, and make use of his hours on the bus.

By this time it was 9pm though, and he still had a science assignment to do. This always happens on the days when I am ultra-exhausted. I didn't want him up working by himself, so I told him to bring it into my room. But by this time, he was tired and frustrated, and about shot for the day.

He brought in a worksheet full of charts to graph and formulas for velocity and acceleration. Kill. Me. Now. I started explaining, because apparently this teacher gives assignments before teaching lessons and wants the kids to figure it out and then come in the next day to see if they are correct. But I was tired too, and things weren't going too well. I'm talking him rolling around on the floor saying that the teacher sucks and this is so pointless and school is so stupid not going too well. Meanwhile, I'm narrating word problems, ignoring him, and trying to redirect whatever words have to be spoken to filling in formulas.

Man, I hate velocity and acceleration. Can't we just SLOW DOWN ALREADY?

He would have moments of pulling his act together, only to melt a few problems later. I was drawing question marks next to some of them, and he was worrying about how he was going to lose points. And I'm threatening to WRITE A LETTER.

At one point, I said to him, "Listen, Aiden, is this what it's going to be like for four years in high school, because this is going to be rough."

And then I thought to myself, "Are you kidding me? Four more years? That's all I have after this one? Son, you roll around and keep me up late with whatever you want. I'm here. Right here. We'll learn it all together. I got you."

So, we did it together. We'll do it again tomorrow, I imagine, like I did it with his brother and sister who grew up too fast.

And this is how I know he's growing. The next morning I got a text message from him that said:

"Heyy mom i just wanted to apologize for my irrational actions. I love you and i don't want to hurt u in any way. I don't know why i get so mad i just do. I'm sorry. I will work on it. I hope you can have a great day. Love youu."

Here's to late nights studying with my boy! And cinnamon rolls!

Jiggety-Jig!

Aiden's home! We were so excited to go to the airport this morning and pick him up. I hate these long absences!

Sweet Conor. He was so happy to see Aiden, who was the first one through the airport doors, that he just ran and jumped up into his arms. 

That is some serious brother love. I sometimes feel so bad for Conor that he always has to say goodbye to his favorite people because they're so much older and leave so often. It's a heartbreaker.

I think he's taller!

These two. A perfect sibling match.

So happy to have my boy at home!

The End Will Be Better Than the Beginning

Yesterday I was alone again.

Lyndsay left to have lunch with a friend, spend time with her boyfriend, and then head to work. Conor left with his dad around 2pm.

I don't mind being by myself, don't misunderstand. I'm perfectly content to be in my home with no one else here. My books alone provide me great companionship and escape.

But last night, after a long day of job searching and submitting applications, followed by a few hours of reading to unwind, a very heavy feeling of despair swept over me. Total aloneness.

Sometimes I struggle with feelings of abandonment. These feelings stem from several sources: the majority of my family abandoning the faith I was raised in (being united in our religion always brought me deep feelings of security, even when more temporal affairs were shaky); my first husband leaving me, leaving the family we had created; my children growing up and making decisions that are contrary to what I have taught them; losing a second marriage and family. All of these events in my life sometimes rear their ugly heads in the quiet of my mind to say, "You are alone. Nobody wants to be with you. You are rejected. Nothing you have done has ever mattered, will ever matter."

The worst demon. The enemy of my soul. He is real, and so very convincing.

Above my bed, hang framed pencil sketches that my mother did of each of my children as babies. They are one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given, and usually they bring me such comfort.

But last night, I looked up into the eyes of my precious babies and just missed them so much. The days of Little Ones. The days before Everything. Fell. Apart. The days of homeschooling them and hearing them play, and feeling the security of our family all together. The days of bath night with three kids in the tub, and then jammies and stories, and tucking them into bed. The days of feeling like the future would only get brighter. A reward for the investment of dedicated and purposeful motherhood.

Truthfully, the days before any real agency on their part took effect.

I do realize that without the trial of the first family falling apart, that last framed picture up there of Conor would not be there. And I had garnered my faith to believe in second chances. The children were all still young and impressionable, and things seemed to still be manageable, if not ideal.

But last night, everything felt so useless, so fragmented. And I felt so good-for-nothing. So disposable, even in the lives of my children. I have such personal worries about each of them, individually. Sometimes they come crashing down upon me, and when they do, they bring with them a huge amount of guilt.

If only I had been different.

And all of this is to tell you that Heavenly Father knows my heart. And He knows yours.

I sank onto my bed last night, weeping tears of anguish. "What is the point of my life?" I wailed. "What have I done that has mattered? Will things only get sadder and more discouraging? Will my children just continue to reject all that I have taught them, offered them? I have no one! No one to lean on, no one to help me. There is opposition all around me and it seems to have much more influence than I do."

I cried for a long time. And then I fell asleep.

After my shower this morning, I had the feeling to put in a Conference talk instead of the morning news, as I usually do. I debated, really, because finding the DVDs from Conference are a bit more work than simply turning on the television. But I knew I probably needed something uplifting to start my day off right, and the feeling was insistent. The set of talks I had in my room were from 2009 and 2010. I went with 2010 and chose the talks from the Sunday session. When presented with the menu screen, I clicked over to the afternoon session, scrolled down a few talks, and selected the talk by Robert D. Hales, about parenthood being a duty to God. I went into the bathroom and applied my makeup as I listened. I'd heard it before, and it is really good. I even blocked every cynical thought and just listened.

But the next talk was what really hit me. I could swear I've played these DVDs dozens of times and yet I do not remember ever hearing this particular talk, nor could I recall even ever hearing of the member of the Seventy who gave it, Bradley D. Foster. I heard him begin with a story from his life of being raised by a single mother (because his father passed away at a young age). He spoke of the importance of motherhood, even apart from fatherhood or parenthood. He said that his mother taught her four children to follow the paths of the Lord in all things and that no matter what happened, the end would be better than the beginning.

When he said that, I felt distinctly heard and understood by my Father in Heaven, who was reaching down to encourage me. "Here is what you need to know," He said.

The end will be better than the beginning.

"Listen. This is for you," I felt. I left the bathroom and came and sat down on the bed to focus more attentively. He quoted Joseph F. Smith as saying that "The love of a true mother comes near to being like the love of God." 

He said, do not be disheartened if, for a time, one of your children should stray, and do not ever give up, because we do not know when the cares of the world will weary a soul to the point of turning around, and when that soul does turn around, he will most likely turn to mother. He quoted a poem by Elizabeth Akers Allen:

Rock Me to Sleep

BY ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears,—      

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—   

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,—   

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;

Weary of sowing for others to reap;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother – rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed and faded, our faces between:

Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I tonight for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;—   

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures,—      

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;—      

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

    Again Elder Foster said, "The end will be better than the beginning." I knew that was for me. That was an answer from God to comfort my troubled heart. He didn't want me to give up. If I hang in there, I will have the glorious opportunity to see with my own eyes that my efforts, imperfect and flawed as they have been (and continue to be) will yield magnificent results in the lives of my children. I should never judge the future by the present. The end will be better.

    I have not altogether failed. Somehow, through the Lord Jesus Christ, all the wrongs will be made right.  This is a new phase of parenting for me. I have to allow my children their agency, and sit back in complete assurance that as they hear the competing voices in their heads, one of those voices will be mine. They may not pick mine every time, but at least I'm in the running! 

    And life is long. 

Feeding No Masses

I sat at the dining room table tonight, on the bench, not even walking around to my usual chair, and ate a microwaved frozen burrito. I didn't even turn the light on in the dining room, but at dusk, there was still enough to see my plate.

Weird, I thought. My life has become so weird. What has happened to my life, and when did it happen?

It wasn't long ago that I was tripling batches of pancake batter. Now I make half a recipe and wrap up the leftovers. There is rarely anyone to cook for. Dylan, of course, hasn't been home in a year. In fact, I haven't even seen the 17-year-old version of Dylan, and I only saw 6 days of the 16-year-old version.

Lyndsay is home from BYU, technically, but she works the late shift at the restaurant, which means she eats a late lunch--usually out somewhere with her boyfriend--and then something from the menu at work during her break.

Aiden is gone for the summer visiting his dad and brothers in Arizona.

Adam has gone the way of all Adams. With him, went his teenage son and daughter.

Conor's here. But cooking dinner for Conor is so thankless. And I'm not picky. So.

Cooking for a large family has always been part of my identity, long before I had a family of my own. When I first married, I didn't know how to cook anything except in a 9x13 pan.

It's in my genes. Besides growing up the oldest in a family of nine children, with a mom who was always whipping up something yummy, there's this part of me:

That beloved woman is my Italian grandmother, my father's mother (and my aunt, who plays dutiful and capable sidekick, as well as faithful dishwasher, to Grandmom.) Cooking is what she does. Well, that and baking. And dipping chocolates. And decorating cakes.

She has seven children, who grew up and moved out, but they keep showing up for dinner, bringing more people with them. And she just makes more food! Anyone who's hungry can just go to her house. All the missionaries eat there, all the stray folk. All are welcome anytime.

Whenever she comes to visit me, I'm not even allowed in the kitchen. Well, except to wash dishes. Grandmom doesn't wash dishes. She's known far and wide for the love she has shared from her kitchen. And I never realized how much a part of my identity cooking for my family was.

So, these days I feel a little lost when there's no one here to cook for. And when I do cook, that other part of my identity--the frugal, waste-nothing! part--goes a little haywire when there are leftovers not being eaten. I'm trying to readjust. I'm trying to glory in the lower food bill, the additional reading time, the smaller loads of dirty dishes, but it's all just plain weird. And I don't know how to be in it.

The table set for two reminds me of the passage of time, of course, that children grow up and move on, and that's what we want, isn't it? But another part of it whispers of failure to me, and I think that's been a stumbling block for me. I took out two leaves in my table because a relationship failed, and with it, a family. My son had to leave, for both of our sakes', and while we clashed and butted heads about so many things, I could always give him love at the table. Feeding him was one of the only ways I felt successful in connecting with him. I wish he would show up at the door. I would hug him so tightly, and hope he would say something like, "I'm hungry, Mom. What's to eat?"

Oh, would I get to work!

Yes, evenings are different around here. Quiet, for one. Lyndsay goes off to work, Conor and I eat something simple, maybe some soup, or a sandwich with lots of veggies and fruits. Some chocolate milk. Two plates in the sink afterwards are hardly worth making a fuss over. Bath time and read-aloud, and then off to bed he goes before the sun is even done for the day. And then I get to my book. I try to keep my thoughts positive against the opposition, and I marvel at how many years I craved a clean, quiet house, only to get it and realize that clean and quiet equals empty. Something I hadn't fully considered.

I hope, like my Grandmom, that my children will always want to come home to eat. That they will bring others with them. That my home will be a place where there is nourishment. And understanding, and forgiveness too. I hope food can be redemptive and healing. I think it can be. I'm counting on it.

In the meantime, tomorrow will be breakfast for three, which is certainly a far cry better than one. And I haven't forgotten that.