Calling an Angel

Dear God,

Would it be such a bad thing to ask that Logan get an actual hit this season?  It's not that I'm ungrateful.  I'm thankful for every walk or wild pitch that has hit her in the foot, but just one hit...that's what she really wants.

I know you've got a lot of baseball player/angels up there.  Maybe you could just send one of them to lay a gentle hand on her bat and guide it just the teensiest bit?  What is The Babe or DiMaggio up to these days?  I know there are bigger problems out there, so if they're busy, I'd even settle for a no name baseball player.  Anyone that can hit off an 11 year old girl would be fine.

Anyway, if you can do without one of them for five minutes, we'll be at the ballfield this Friday at 7:30. 

Hope to see you there.
Laurel

All I Wanted Was a Family Picture on Mother's Day

It should have been easy.  Just set up the tripod and use the camera's self timer to take a quick picture after church, right?  How hard is that?  Well, between Mr. Wicke's tie, Griffin's silliness and sibling bickering, it frayed my nerves.  Who would have thought our two year old would be the most cooperative?

Here's the final product:

Here's the rest...

Acts of Chivalry

On Wednesday I went to "Moms and Muffins" in my son's first grade class.  It was adorable.  He welcomed me with all the chivalry his 7 year old spirit could muster. 

"Thank you for coming," he said as he led me to his desk and pulled out my chair.  He lovingly placed the paper lei that he had made himself around my neck. Then he showed me his many gifts. The laminated poem with a handwritten note on the back:  I love you, Mom.  Love Griffin, it said.  The hand written and illustrated book he had made described all the things that make me special.  (Did you know that I can do a backflip off the diving board and the thing I do best is diving and swimming with dolphins.  I didn't either.  Not until I read his book.  I am much more amazing than I thought.)  Then he asked me what I would like to drink, "Lemonade or water?" and he asked me what I would like to eat, "Blueberry or chocolate muffin?" and then he waited on me, and when, because he had to wait until his group's number was called and didn't have anything to eat or drink yet, I asked him if he wanted some of mine, he hesitated only a moment before refusing.  "No.  That's for you," he gallantly replied.  Like I said, it was an amazingly chivalrous day, and I loved every minute of it.

I even wore my paper lei all that day.  But, you can't keep everything, which is what I said to myself when I threw the paper lei in the garbage yesterday as I cleaned up the kitchen.  I had lovingly stored away the book and the laminated poem, but the paper lei was just too unwieldy.  Besides, he would never even know...

...until he returned home from school and found it laying in the garbage can.  "Mom?  What was this doing in the garbage?" he accused as he walked into the living room, the paper lei swinging from his index finger.

And then I did what every good mother would do.  I lied.  "What?  That was in the garbage can?  How did that get there?  Maybe the baby put it in there.  Boy!  I sure am glad you found it!"

And he was amazingly chivalrous as he laid it gently in my hands.  "Me, too," he said.  "Me, too."  As for the fact that I blamed a two year old?  Well, I've been thinking about that, and I've decided he can take it.  It's chivalry in training.

Teaching Kids is Often Exhausting, but Never Boring

I love communal worship.  To gather together in His name is an inspired principle for many reasons; one that I've already written about in fact.  But, like on Sunday, it can also be hysterical.  As I was teaching the primary children a song about our prophet Joseph Smith for this year's program, I wanted to make one thing very clear. 

"Do we worship Joseph Smith?" I asked.  It is a common misconception about our religion.

"No!" they chorused.

"That's right."  I continued.  "We absolutely do not worship Joseph Smith.  We simply believe he was a prophet on earth, just like Moses, or Noah, or Abraham.  People who say that, do not really know what we believe.  Who do we worship?"

A little five year old raised her hand pleadingly.  Looking into her big, excited eyes made me smile.  "Yes?" I asked.  Jesus is the first answer to every question in primary.  It doesn't matter what you ask, the kids will always answer Jesus.  Who was Jesus' mother?  Jesus.  Who came and talked to us last week?  Jesus.  So I was totally unprepared for...

"Satan!"

...Her parents were so very proud, as you can imagine.

Radio Silence

Can we pretend I've been blogging every week for the last 4 months?  Because the explanation of my radio silence might be slightly depressing.  And who wants to read that?  Or write it for that matter?  Not me so much.

The truth is I think I have had a little more than writer's block.  I think I have had thinker's block, because I haven't been thinking much.  Really.  My mind has been blank.  Like a low hum of static all the time.  For me, that is not a good feeling.  Sort of numb.  Paralyzed.  Blocked.  Stuck.  No one would know it from the outside.  Life moves on, and I keep walking through it, but inside...I'm stuck on low static.

I warned you.  Slightly depressing.  And I wouldn't bother to write it except...I don't think I'm alone.  We all get stuck sometimes.

Mine feels familiar.  I've been in this place before, like five years ago to be exact.  I'll just say it:  Two year olds are hard for me.  (Whew!  I'm glad I got that off my chest.)  I am developing a theory that all moms have at least one stage of development that tries their souls.  For me it is Year Two.  And it has nothing to do with that attitude that they develop.  Even when I am told to "shop ut!" (stop it) thirty times a day.  Even when I get hit or kicked in the face/arm/neck/chest/stomach/leg many times a day.  I can deal with the attitude.  What I have a hard time dealing with is the solitude.

Year Two is a lonely time for me.

First of all, two year olds don't really talk.  They jabber, and I talk.  A lot.  Ad naseum:  "Let's go bye bye.  Get in the car.  Buckle up.   Look!  What is that?  That's a horsey!  What does a horsey say?  Neeeiiiigh...Wow! There's a big truck.  Oh, see the birdies?  Oh, no...we don't do that.  What do you say?  Say thank you.  Thank you, mama.  Let's clean up.  Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere...clean up, clean up, everybody do you share.  Good job!  What a good helper you are!  Thank you..."  All day long.  But a two year doesn't talk.  And then my brain leaks out of my ears.

Second of all, you can't really take a two year old anywhere.  Well, you can, but I don't advise it.  Because they're horrible.  All they want to do is run and touch everything, which means you have to be watching them all. of. the time.  So you can forget doing whatever it was you needed to do.  That, or you can plan on it taking three times longer than the time you actually have.  I've discovered it's easier to go nowhere.  But that means I'm home a lot--alone--with no one talking--with my brain leaking out of my ears.

Lastly, there is the double edged sword called naptime.  I love naptime.  It's during naptime that I try to stuff my brain back in my head, but naptime also means that I'm stuck at home...alone...still.  And despite the time it allows for brain stuffing, the walls kind of close in on me sometimes.

See, some people/moms can deal with isolation better than me, but for me loneliness is heavy.  It does strange things to my mind and heart.  The silence can be so deafening that it sometimes muffles the song of my spirit. In the silence of Year Two I can find myself wondering if my life has much purpose, despite my own belief in the sanctity of motherhood.  I can talk a hot stream of what motherhood means in the long term, but in the short term of wiping noses and bottoms my existence doesn't feel important, and sometimes the heat of my own ambition burns the roots of my faith a bit.  In Year Two, I live in a paradox of what I know versus how I feel.  In Year Two I feel alone and small, unimportant and unnecessary.  But I know that is not true.  I know it even when I don't feel it.

Ultimately, Year Two is a bitter pill that I swallow willingly.  Because Year Two also brings a little boy with it.  A little boy who is fascinated with "gig cucks" (big trucks) and choo-choos.  A little boy who loves hugs and kisses.  A little boy whose laughter is infectious.  A little boy who is learning to pray.  And I love him, even more deeply than in Year One.

And so I take a deep breath and swallow it all, trusting that this season of radio silence will be but a moment.

On Kissing

I know.

I know.

I promised a story about my Christmas angel today.  It is still unwritten.  Or rather only written in my heart because instead I am busy putting Valentine scrapbook packets together for the 3rd grade party.  And this weekend we have been busy rehearsing The 10 Virgins which I am acting in; oh, and Mr. Wicke and I had a hot date on Friday night, so I had to get my nails and toes done--in red, of course--'cause you have to look good for your Mr.

So, despite my best efforts, I haven't had time to sit down and write.

But...

in the little time I do have, I will just say, on this Valentine's Day, that I want to be kissed like this:

Photo: Alfred Eisenstaedt /Time; Life Pictures/Getty Images/Time

I think every girl, at least once in her life, wants to be kissed like this.  No wonder this kissing couple is famous.  He seems absolutely overcome and she a bit taken by surprised.  Look at that hand on her waist, that arm wrapped around her back.  Wowsy.  The testosterone makes me a little dizzy even from this distance.  That's some good kissing.

Are you listening, Mr. Wicke? 

When you get home, we can give it a try in our driveway. 

Happy Valentine's Day!

I Am Not Dead

The rumors of my death are greatly exaggerated.  Actually, I've been doing the opposite of dying.  I've been living, and so busily, too.  Here's what I've been up to.

1) My mom came to stay for three weeks.  'Nuff said.
2) I drove to Utah for a wedding.  Super fast trip.
3) I brought home the flu/cold as a souvenir.  I don't suggest it.
4) My brother and sister in law came for a visit from Alaska.  As it turns out this family loves to party.  Family get-togethers many nights in a row makes Laurel a very tired girl.
5) Somehow I got on a Senior's Match email list.  No.  I am not interested in dating anyone over 55.

That last one didn't take up a lot of my time in the last month and a half, but it is disturbing so I thought I would mention it.

And on Monday I'm finally going to post a story about my Christmas Angel.  Do you mind reading about Christmas in February?