Two love letters

I do not keep a regular journal. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because I am very embarrassed by my teenage self when every entry, every entry! was about a boy. Not always the same boy, but you get the picture. Oh the angst, then and the angst now, remembering. Then there's the undeniable fact that sometimes I'm crazy. So when I'm crazy and I just have to let the dam bust, I write by hand on random loose-leaf paper. And I write quickly and sometimes I cross out paragraphs with large x's. And the handwriting is not neat. The letters are small and kind of spiky. And the lines scratch my unhappiness or anger across the paper. Then I fold those papers into quarters and stuff them in my dresser drawers. And I feel a lot better. But I don't want them bound into a journal! Hello, posterity, your great great granny sends you her love and...tempests. (yyeck-I don't want to be called Granny.) So, I begin journals when I am well and happy and spiritually on. But I'm only human and I don't always stay that way. And it's just too real.

But I do this instead: I blog, irregularly. And I write love letters and save them on my computer. (Sometimes a tad bit of the crazy seeps in, just in case you're worried that I'll only pass that down in my genes and parenting practices.)
Mostly, they are intensely personal and I feel like a traitor publishing them, so they stay private. But here are two I wrote tonight:

October 22, 2010 (wee hours of the morning.)


Dear Luke and Pete,

Tonight I made 2 fresh raspberry pies. I am very proud of myself. I put them in the freezer and we will bake them later. Raspberries were on sale for 50 cents a half-pint and that is a tremendous deal. Your father and I picked through them and tossed the moldy ones—they went bad quickly! That was frustrating. But, oh well. I told your Dad that if he didn’t help me do that, then he couldn’t have any raspberry pie (like the story of The Little Red Hen) because I did NOT want to do it by myself and he did NOT want to help. I won. He helped. Then he took out the garbage. Bless that man. I gave him packages I thought would be extra moldy so I wouldn’t have to deal with them. My selfish plan didn’t always work though; I got some really gross ones. Anyway, this is supposed to be a note about how I’m going to bake wonderful and delicious raspberry pies. Maybe we should call them Moldy Raspberry Pies because you guys always seem to think that gross-ness is hilarious.

Love, Mommy

Dear Brandon,

Tonight I slipped you the packages of raspberries I didn’t want to pick through. Thank you for helping me. I think you’ll like the pie.

Love you always,

Carrie

In the Rain with Pete

To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well.

-Gwendolyn Brooks

Pete and I had an impromptu walk in the rain today. I was supposed to be putting him down for a nap. Instead, we sloshed our flip-flop clad feet through the rivers of water in our neighborhood streets and gutters.

A man in the passenger side of a pickup truck gave me a thumb's up as he passed.

When we got home, we stood on the front porch and held our hands out to catch the water spilling from the roof. I wish I could transmit my memory of his wet skin, his hair plastered down, his laugh when he bent his head down to suck the shirt on my shoulder for a drink, how it felt to hold him on my hip in perfect health and happiness.



Also Gwendolyn Brooks : Exhaust the little moment. Soon it dies. And be it gash or gold it will not come Again in this identical guise.

A disjointed post

Today we went to the library.  We were there to return books, to avoid accruing more late fines on Julia's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, to check out Book #3 in the Magic Treehouse series, and to get a few books for preschool. Well. I had forgotten all about the library's Easter Extravaganza even though Kaylyn sent out an announcement.

(Kaylyn heads up playgroup now. I feel blissfully happy about that.)

When we were depositing our library books, someone mentioned it to us in passing, "Are you guys going to the Easter thing? They'll have bouncers and stuff." Luke said, "Can we go?!" I couldn't say no, but I wanted to. I don't know why I'm like that. I like the mundane day to day stuff, not the crazy, this is SO fun stuff. But, I'm glad I didn't say no.

At first, Pete was afraid to try out the big blow-up slide. Right before they closed up shop, he did it though, and he loved it. The first time, I had to go in after him and help over the second hurdle (it had two different slides, one after the other.)but, then he figured it out and didn't need any help. He had the hugest grin on his face and his hair was all wild. He would still be sliding if he could.

Luke had so much fun too. After receiving plastic eggs with chocolates inside, he played, "Which egg-shell is the chocolate egg under?" with me. We just sat on the carpet and played. I love that he thought of that. I love that I wanted me to play. I love...well, you know.

So because of all the candy to be had, and bouncers to jump in and slide down, and friends to play with,

We were at the library from 10:45-ish until 2-ish.

As always, they cheered when we left.

But, I'm glad we went because Pete spent lots of time experimenting with the drinking fountain. It was very enriching for him. He learned:

Yes, it really does arc water everytime you push the button! And, you can squirt water in lots of directions!  (I didn't want the library to get sued, so I mopped up the mess.)

And, I did check out a few books for preschool. Twenty-two, to be exact. (Oh, dear.)

And, has anyone seen a stuffed frog? And, thank you to those friends who: helped me track down my stroller, find my toddler, and watched my boys while I checked out all those books. I'm a mess. But I'm a hot mess. Hey, that reminds me, the bumps on my face are pretty much cleared up. (Sonja, it's not cancer.)

Here are pictures to show how I'm feeling about the arrival of Spring.

I love baby animals! I love blossoms!

image courtesy of flickr, by thatsanotherdory

Happy, happy, happy, happy Spring. It's another most wonderful time of the year.

And, more importantly:

General Conference

The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints

(The Easter button above is from Shabby Blogs.)

I guess that's it.

My Heavenly Father Loves Me

Our primary children will be singing this song in Sacrament Meeting on February 28th. It will be a secret gift from me to our ward, but they don't know that. Our Bishop said it was his favorite, and it is one of mine. Here is a link to my very favorite, Jesus Is My Shepherd. (sheet music)

a page from this chapter: Connected

There is an ad I see fairly often on "pbs kids." It shows a little paper person kicking a ball and the little paper person kicks the ball off the table onto the floor. The little paper person goes to the edge of the table and leans over to look at the ball far below, unable to reach it. But then, a chain of little paper people are revealed as they unfold from the first little paper person. They retreive the ball by unfolding all the way down to the floor. Once on top of the table again, the little paper people form a circle and the kick the ball to each other. The announcer says, "Connections make life meaningful."

I saw this ad for perhaps the 50th time on Tuesday. (Yes, my son really does watch that much t.v.)




The Spirit confirms to me that personal connections do make life meaningful, but even more than that, that spiritually, we are connected:

That our individual welfare is linked to others and we are to help one another, That our Heavenly Father answers our prayers through other people, That we are instruments in His hands to answer other people’s prayers, And that when we kick the ball off the table, we need not, and cannot, retrieve by ourselves. And although it is through our direct relationship with the Savior that we are saved or helped, often other people are supposed to be involved in the process.

Developing understanding of this personal-interconnectedness is perhaps the biggest lesson I have been learning while we live in Lubbock.

B. and I are often--continually?--blessed by the generosity of others and their willingness to listen and obey heavenly promptings. It is both daunting and happy to hope to become like them--to be one of the little paper people in the chain that retrieves the ball.

And I hope that through regular temple attendance and spiritual progress, I can become more capable of the love it takes to be a good servant.

More capable, more responsible, more willing.

a page from this chapter: an abundance of love

Before P. was born, B. gave me a Priesthood blessing. Within that blessing, one of the things I was blessed with was that I would have everything I thought I needed to feel okay. Shortly afterward, I was up in the middle of the night with false labor pains. They hurt. They were at regular intervals. But then they would go away. On the third night, the pain intensified, but the contractions were no longer at regular intervals. I assumed that I couldn't be in labor unless they were five minutes apart.



I was wrong. With excruciating contractions at 13 minutes apart and then 1 minute apart, we finally called a friend to come stay with L. and then B. drove me to the hospital. On the way there, I said I was thirsty. He said, "Do you want me to stop at a gas station and get you a bottle of water?" I know he meant well. :)



It was almost 5 in the morning when we arrived at the hospital and made our way upstairs. By the time the elevator dinged for the third floor and our stop, I knew with a dread I have never felt before, that we had waited too long. I knew the baby was coming very soon and I was terrified. As we slowly made our way down the hall, I held on to a handrail and muttered panicked prayers to God. I begged Him repeatedly, "Please, please let me have an epidural." I truly, truly thought that I my heart would stop and I would die from pain or fright or a mixture of both. I was not going to be okay.



Superman, I mean, the anesthesiologist, was already at the hospital because he had been called in for another patient. It all happened so quickly, that I signed all of the check-in paperwork and permission forms after giving birth.

In retrospect, I probably would have survived natural childbirth. But Heavenly Father did not bless me with what I needed to be okay. He blessed me with what I needed to feel okay.

Two Sundays ago, our bishop (and father of 5) spoke about our Heavenly Father's love for us. Drawing on the experience of his own fatherhood, he said (and I paraphrase), "After our first baby was born, I could not imagine being able to love another child as much as I loved her." He resisted having more children. But, "then our second child was born and I loved him just as much." Then he used the pie analogy: When you have more children, you don't divide the pie [your love], you just make more pie."

Heavenly Father has a whole pie for me. I feel it even as I type it. Sometimes I forget it.

I understand that this abundant love often blesses me with things that I need, but don't always want. But sometimes, His abundant love and plan for me includes the things I want for no other apparent reason than that I want them. I have heard, "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away." But sometimes, He, who knows the beginning from the end, just gives. And I am thankful for those rescuing moments. And as time goes on, maybe I will learn to see all moments as rescuing moments, even when He gives and takes.

A page from this chapter: Lifesavers

We will be moving from Lubbock this Spring or Summer. I still have time and I'm not saying goodbye yet. But, I know the time is coming so I've decided to begin recording highlights (and lowlights) of our family's Lubbock Chapter. I hope this will be a series of posts. And please forgive the journaling and sometimes brutal honesty. It wouldn't be my blog without the drama.

When we came to Lubbock, I was pregnant with a capital P. We drove south on I-27 past the crummiest, most industrial area. All I remember was grey earth, grey buildings, and grey telephone lines. Presumably, that wasn't reality since it was a bright, blue-skyed summer day.
A few weeks later, I stood in an "office." (Read, "rented corner space in a run-down, strip mall; it's only neighbor a cigarette shop with bars on the windows.) I wore black flipflops and a red maternity top and white capris. I had an hour and a half to memorize that outfit as I waited in line to make an appointment with a Medicaid social worker. I was appalled at the plight of the already down-trodden with their fate resting in the hands of state beauracracies everywhere.
With the blinds drawn, I watched People's Court and waited.
Enter: Ray of Light. My Blue Sky Boy, born November 17, 2004. I was in love with you from the moment I saw you. You looked up at me with slate-blue eyes and a wrinkly forehead. You had me at Hello, Baby.

But I was sick. I didn't snap out of it. I couldn't think straight. I didn't even know I wasn't thinking straight. I was blessed to stay in love with you, but not with myself. I sat on the bathroom floor and made fists so hard, I pressed tiny half moons into my hands with my fingernails.



Lifeguard: A phone call. "Can I come over? Right now." Catherine (Sweet) shared her experiences and honesty and egg salad sandwiches with me. She brought the best bread and by some miracle, I didn't overcook the eggs. I began to understand the preamble to "Men are that they might have joy." (See 2 Nephi 2:22-25). As I talked about it, it solidified. I took a shower while she held the baby. She left me with wet hair and an opened view.



Lifeboat: Fanny invited us to Family Home Evening and introduced us to our first real pal-around friends. Quinn made a small carrot cake just for me for my birthday one year. Kristan Hemingway gave me a tulip. Around Christmas time, Jeremy sent me home with his Sudoku games. Cathy taught me how to make THE best raman with fresh vegetables. Johnny Pang gave blessings and called to follow up. After one Thanksgiving, we went for a walk. Johnny said we could all live together and share the cocaine. (Okay, he actually said we could share the COOKING, but a boy from Hong Kong can be misunderstood.)

And I officially broke through the ocean's surface and breathed bright, fresh air.

P.S. I asked my Brandon if I should publish this, and he paused and said, "Well, it's personal." If that's not a green light, I don't know what is! No, these experiences shaped the arc of of my progression here, so they're in.
P.P.S. The flipflops were "Locals." Hollah, Katri!