Craig and I are in Kingman, Arizona this weekend. Craig is being interviewed for a job position with the Kingman Rec Department. More on that later, his interview is in about an hour...
For now I wanted to write a few things I was feeling yesterday while we were at church. Craig and I flew into Vegas late Saturday night after a long day of soccer games and packing. We spent the night in Henderson nearby because it was cheaper (had to laugh at the number of people in the airport and on the plane conversing with us excitedly about what our Vegas plans were and our "boring" responses- for this Mormon couple, there really isn't a whole lot about the city life there that would appeal to us, the lights were pretty amazing, though!), and in the morning decided to pick a ward to go to (from the FOUR STAKES worth of wards available to chose from just in Henderson...) for church. I was excited to go through a church sacrament service just me and my hubby and enjoy the meeting quietly with him.
However I quickly realized that quiet was just about the last thing I actually wanted once we got there, and it completely took me off guard. My heart ached through the whole thing and I couldn't help but be entirely focused on the other moms in the chapel with their small ones through the whole meeting. Each week at church at home I feel so frazzled at the end of the hour when we've "battled" through the talks and there are crayons spewed across several rows of pews, ripped pages from hymn books from babies, and crushed goldfish in the carpets while people in rows around us congratulate each other on who won the bet for which of our kids got taken out of sacrament meeting the most. Or at least that's what it feels like some weeks. :-) But yesterday my arms felt weird and heavy, and I felt awkward knowing where to put them and what to do with them. My lap felt empty and useless. I managed to stay completely modest the whole hour because there were no little ones stepping and pulling on my shirt and skirt in weird angles. I got to wear a necklace and there was no slobber on it or broken strings and beads all over the floor. And I realized something with a start. I actually missed the chaos. And I realized that these last few years I've been telling myself that no one actually misses it when it's over, they just forget the bad parts and remember the good ones, I was fooling myself. I actually do need to "cherish those moments". The teenage years are going to come all too quickly, and while I look forward to the friendships I (hope) will develop with my kids at that age, I will miss the friendship I have with them now.
I will miss it when Chloe is so upset because of something Linus or Odell got that she didn't and all she wants to do is pout and curl up on my lap for comfort. I will miss the small success I feel when I've been able to divert a volcanic explosion from Linus with a hug or an offer to draw him yet another picture of him riding a dragon that he can color. I will miss Odell laughing manically when I try to get her to sit down instead of stand up on my lap and yell to everyone around us across the chapel. I will miss when I am up singing with the choir and the three of them are sitting on Daddy's lap waving frantically to me and the large smiles they have on their faces when I wave discreetly back. And I will miss giving them hugs and sending them off to primary and nursery to learn about all the things that will make them good and honest and happy people the rest of their lives.
It's a special privilege to be a mother of small children. While I shed many tears of worry over them now, I also know that those tears probably won't go away for a long time, and there have and will be many more moments where those tears will be tears of joy and happiness. And as a mother and a parent, those tears are sacred and special and I am so glad I have the opportunity to have them.
I love you, Chloe, Linus, and Odell, with all of my heart. And I promise to cherish a little more and wish away a little less from here on out.
