I Didn’t Sign Up For This

The first time one of my children vomited on me in the middle of the night I remember thinking, “Wait!  That’s part of motherhood?  I didn’t sign up for this!”  I must have been insane with the ideas of a perfect mothering experience…no vomit, perfect sleep, no tantrums.  This middle of the night introduction into the woes of motherhood was a rude awakening.  There have been many times since then that I have thought of that moment.  It was almost like an “on-off” switch; one that escorted me from one realm and on into another.

Since that fateful night as a young mother, I have had similar experiences with motherhood.  Along with the highest highs and joys of being involved and so in love with the souls that have come to me and my husband, come the lowest of the lows.   The sorrow that accompanies so many of the childhood and adolescent experiences when things don’t work out the way someone anticipated…the physical frailties and injuries that come with normal physical wear and tear (I’m thinking the derma-bonded scalp of a two-year old…the broken arms of a 6 year old…what have you)…the hurt when friends come and go and disappoint.  All of these things and so many more are part of the emotional toll that raising children takes on a mother’s heart.  On MY heart.

Perhaps the most trying times are the times when you long to protect your child from the brutality of the world, but can’t.  Life was not designed to be lived in cocoon fashion.  When the unkind wills and words of others are imposed upon someone without thought of damage, the instinct to protect kicks in.  The labeling and the berating of her child–to their face and behind their backs–are enough to drive even the most well grounded mother to her knees.  I know that life goes on and that we all lived through it but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.  I can still hear damaging words said to MYSELF at that tender age.  Though I think I grew up to be pretty awesome, no matter how hard I try to ignore them, those voices pop back up at the most inconvenient of times. I had hoped to save my kids from that kind of baggage.  Ignorance is bliss, so they say, yet the bliss bubble is going to pop.  I can feel it.

And so, I cry for the ones who are being mocked and berated behind their backs by someone else’s child.  I pray that the pain can be dull enough that the words won’t have  power to injure the tender feelings of someone still trying to figure out where they fit in this big world.  I wait, patiently, for the slamming of the front door and the tears that will surely come as the sting of unkindness and the loss of a degree of innocence pokes a hole in our somewhat peaceful existence.  I cry for them. I cry for me.  Surely this can’t be a part of motherhood.  But it is. I didn’t sign up for this.

I will wait patiently for hope and patience and love and forgiveness to enter.  I MUST be the voice of reason, the voice that tells my child that no matter what unkind thing anyone says, he is worth so much more.  I will be the safe place, the warm place, the impossibly unconditional loving place  that will give shelter and the promise of better times.

For now I will take solace in the words of Dieter F Uchtdorf:

“The pure love of Christ can remove the scales of resentment and wrath from our eyes, allowing us to see others the way our Heavenly Father sees us: as flawed and imperfect mortals who have potential and worth far beyond our capacity to imagine. Because God loves us so much, we too must love and forgive each other…

Brothers and sisters, there is enough heartache and sorrow in this life without our adding to it through our own stubbornness, bitterness, and resentment.

We are not perfect.

The people around us are not perfect. People do things that annoy, disappoint, and anger. In this mortal life it will always be that way.

Nevertheless, we must let go of our grievances. Part of the purpose of mortality is to learn how to let go of such things. That is the Lord’s way.

Remember, heaven is filled with those who have this in common: They are forgiven. And they forgive.

Lay your burden at the Savior’s feet. Let go of judgment. Allow Christ’s Atonement to change and heal your heart. Love one another. Forgive one another.

The merciful will obtain mercy.”

http://www.lds.org/general-conference/2012/04/the-merciful-obtain-mercy?lang=eng

Certainly, we ALL need that mercy.  Even mothers.

Here I Come! Again.

I always seem to find the most inopportune times to write what I am feeling.  Take today for example:

-I need to be at school in less than 50 minutes.

-my house is a freaking mess.

-I am not ready for my day in any way.

 

Despite this, I have to write.  I popped by here to take a gander and realized it has been almost a year to the day since I have posted anything.  Which is sad to me.

I think about writing all of the time but I don’t really have much of a chance to do it anymore.  I’m just struggling to keep up with my family and the needs of our lives (just as everyone else is) and “working it out” through my poor writing skills is not at the top of the list anymore.  But it needs to be. Even if it only is for myself.

So, this is my solemn vow.  I will write more…especially my gratitudes.  Beginning NOW!

Look out!  Here I come!  Again.

Closing The Gap

Yes, it has been so long since I have written.

I could yammer on about how busy I have been or how I’ve been trying to keep up with the children or other some such nonsense when the truth is, I haven’t known what to say.  I would have fleeting thoughts about things that I COULD write about but when it came right down to it, I could have pumped out about three sentences….four, tops.  So I didn’t write.  Anything.  Public or not.

I’ve missed it.

I’ve needed it.

The past few days I have felt the beginnings of something stewing in me and as I’ve rolled it around in my head, I have also wondered about what kind of reaction I might get.  Then I remembered I write for myself.  How others react is residual.  Though my intent is not to offend, my intent is also to be true to what I am feeling.

Sunday was a bad day for me, spiritually.  My track record for church attendance has been poor in the past 3 months.  When you consider the fact that I work every other Sunday and have had no real desire to go on the other Sundays, it doesn’t leave much for me to work with.  Finally, FINALLY, this past Sunday I was looking forward to my meetings.  It was a refreshing and welcome feeling after such a long absence.  As I anticipated attending Relief Society (a women’s meeting, for those of you who don’t know) I became happy.  I have felt for a while that I need to be there…to nourish me spiritually.  I imagined sitting there, being able to think and ponder and listen and just SIT.   Not having to do anything.  I received a phone call shortly before church, asking me to play the piano in Primary (the children’s meeting).  This meant that I wouldn’t be able to attend the meeting that I was looking forward to. Though I am generally happy to do what is asked of me for anyone, this particular Sunday I agreed to play and then felt like I could cry.   In fact, I did cry.  I tried not to but I couldn’t help it.  To make matters worse, I didn’t cry when I was at home in private, I cried while I was playing the piano. Then this kicker: the piano faces everyone in the entire Primary.  I was hoping it just looked like allergies.  ”Maybe,” I thought, “it doesn’t look like I am sour and not wanting to be here.”  When someone approached me and asked me if I needed a Tylenol because I looked like I was in pain I realized that I didn’t look well as I was trying to hold it all in.  Unsuccessfully, evidently.  And so, I felt as if I had failed.  Again.  What was wrong with me?  Why wasn’t I happy to serve?  Why was I so disappointed?  Why could I only think of myself?  I felt deflated and beaten.  I left church early because I just wanted to forget it all.  I was embarrassed by my aloofness.

I have thought about this some since Sunday and haven’t come up with a satisfactory answer.  Nothing that would look good in a crowd of church-going folks, anyway.  I can come up with all kinds of  pat “sunday school” answers; the kinds of answers that sound good and are completely ideal in theory.  What I can’t do is justify my Sunday foible in any way that would fit the “sunday school” answer category and sound beautiful and edifying.  The only explanation I can give is that sometimes, you have to be selfish.  Especially when you’re floundering.  Sometimes it’s more important for a person to take care of their needs first–no matter how sorry a soul it makes them look to others–in order to keep on the right track.  While I know that service to others is important, like lifeblood, it certainly doesn’t do me any good if I’m not able to provide a needed service to myself.  I may be way off base here.  Well, off base for others, anyway.  But for me?  This is where I stand right now.  Perhaps down the road I will be able to see things with different eyes and step out of myself enough to truly be an asset.  Right now, this is the best I can do.

Time was, not too long ago, that my religion defined me.  It defined who I was and what I said, how I acted and what I chose to do.  Stepping away from that idea has been scary and isolating at the same time.  Unfortunately, I feel that stepping back religiously has also alienated me (in some degree) from those that I associated with in my neighborhood and during meetings on Sunday.  I have never felt abandoned or mistreated by anyone around me.  In fact, I was given the space that I (at times) requested from those involved in my life at a religious and a casual level.  That has been a tremendous blessing in and of itself.   Now, as I look back, I hope that none of my actions during such a personal turbulent time caused any sort of hurt or anger in others.  I wasn’t exactly forthcoming about what I was dealing with during my depression and inactivity.  It was simply easier for me not to have to deal with others because I was having a hell of a time dealing with myself already.  I was falling apart and didn’t want anyone else to watch it with me.  And now?  Now I am afraid that the space I created isn’t easy to close.  What’s worse, I’m not sure that I want to close the gap.  It’s far to easy to be disjointed from a congregation than have to worry that what I am doing is right or wrong or not being done at all.  For me, for now, my religion is a personal thing. In my case, maybe that’s the best way.

The Trenches

I work full time at Ogden Regional Medical Center.  What do I do there, you ask?  I am a Phlebotomist.  For those of you who don’t know what that is, think of this:  the person that comes at you with a pointy needle in their hand to draw your precious, precious blood.  Yes, that is what I do.My schedule is somewhat hairy.  I work 70 hours in a 7 day time period. Fortunately those 7 days are broken up a bit.  I work 50 hours then have 2 days off and then I work 20 hours and have 5 days off.  Today is the beginning of my 50 hours. 5 days–10 hours a day.  I lovingly call these 5 days on “The Trenches”.  And honestly, I couldn’t have chosen a better term than that.

I quickly learned that I am perhaps the most hated person in the hospital.  If I come to your room, it is only for one thing…and in order to get that one thing, I need to poke you with a sharp instrument.  You wouldn’t believe how many times I get sworn at and yelled at and angry at.  Just for walking in the room.  As if I do this for the hell of it.  Why wouldn’t I want to poke people and make them bleed?  It’s a great way to pass the time.  Pshaw.

Let me just pass a few things along for you consideration the next time you have to have your blood drawn.

1. More often than not, our minds make blood drawing out to be more painful and scary than it really is.  Just breathe!  It will soon be over and you’ll think “Wow! That wasn’t as painful and scary as I thought it would be!  Thanks friendly neighborhood Phlebotomist!”
2. When a phlebotomist misses your vein, and sometimes we will, it is not on purpose, nor is it to torture you.  Unless you are a jerk.  Then maybe it is.  I’m just sayin’.
3. Your doctor has ordered the tests for a reason.  People forget that I am there on the Dr.’s orders and that my contribution will (hopefully) ultimately end in health and wholeness for them.
4. Enough with the VAMPIRE jokes, already!!! I don’t drink the damn blood!  Please come up with some new material.

Now, for those of you who are squeamish at the sight of blood, I propose this to think about.  Blood is amazing.  It is absolutely amazing.  There are thousands and thousands of tests that can be done on it to pinpoint what is happening in your body.  It changes daily–hourly–and reflects your overall health with those changes.  It is life.  It sustains and gives us life.  Under a microscope it is pretty cool.  Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he created the human body.  Amazing stuff and highly under-rated.

This little profession of mine has spilled over into my every day life in odd ways.  I am forever catching myself eyeballing peoples hands and arms for veins.  I have a lot of repenting to do as well because I find myself coveting those veins and wanting to draw them.  That is considered a sin, right?  Vein coveting? My family thinks I’m sick in the head.  I plead the 5th.

I have seen some sad and scary and gory things in this little adventure of mine.  I see things I never thought I would see.  Some days I weep.  Some days I have to shake my head and laugh.  Some days I come home numb.   However, inevitably, I always return home after a long day in the trenches and am thankful for the gifts and blessings I have in my life.  Health and wholeness and safety.  Then I’m ready to poke some more.