Encouraging kindness when it counts

Audette and I spent a moment in the car together yesterday, having a discussion about her choices. To be honest, most of the time our chats about “her choices” are usually geared towards how we can work on them. Poor oldest child with an intense mom. But as Benetton slept in the car, I took those few quiet moments we had together to tell her how proud I was of her.

During church, Benetton stayed out of her class because she is recovering from a little cold. As we were wandering the halls, we ran into Audette’s class. They were on a full-blown scavenger hunt throughout the church. Benetton followed at a distance with me, but as soon as Audette noticed her little sister, she ran to her and grabbed her hand, inviting her to join. Despite the fact that Audette is still a four-year-old, and became a little distracted by her sister, forgetting to fully listening to the teacher or the lesson, I watched the two girls hand-in-hand with silent admiration. Audette made sure Benetton found her place in the scavenger hunt line, met all of the other kids and got her own cookie prize at the end. This sweet, unprompted kindness between siblings is so heartwarming and makes my mother heart burst.

Later that day, as we were walking down the sidewalk, Audette noticed a little girl in a wheelchair, probably 7 or 8 years old. She stopped and asked me from a distance why she wasn’t walking. I quickly explained that every child is born different and some can’t walk. That’s why they use special chairs to get around just like we do. I asked Audette if she wanted to say hello and she quickly responded, “I’ll probably see if she wants to share my banana with me.”

We walked up to the girl, her little brother and her dad. Audette’s typically outgoing personality became a little guarded as she realized that this little girl was not acting like most kids she has played with. We said hello and the little girls’ response was not a typical hello, but you could tell she was happy and excited by her movement and her eyes. Her younger brother piped right in to introduce himself, as well as the two monster trucks he was holding. The girls’ name was embroidered on her chair, so I read it to Audette and my girls started talking to the new family. “Do you want a bite of my banana?” was, naturally, Audette’s first question. The conversation continued, as the kids compared how both our families were wearing matching clothing and they began racing the monster trucks on the sidewalk bench.

Back to the car ride conversation. So many times I let the sweet moments go unnoticed and I wanted to make sure Audette knew that I recognized how kind she was, both to her sister and the girl in the wheelchair. Not only did I notice, but I was inspired that her kindness didn’t know the bounds of family or ability. She told me she had been nervous to talk to the girl in the wheelchair at first, but I assured her that it was okay to feel that way, what was important was that she was kind. And now she would know that all children can be different AND just like her, all she needs to do is say hello and be kind to make a new friend.

Our family has been praying for and talking about the victims of the tragedy in Orlando quite a bit. We’ve been discussing ways we can teach our children how to help and support people who experience such an unnecessary hardship, and how to help them avoid tragedy in the first place. I know most of the country has been celebrating pride month with even more sentiment based on the loss of life. It is beautiful when people band together to show love. But deep down, I wish that our world didn’t even require designated months for different groups of people. I wish that we all felt, like Audette, that it doesn’t matter who someone is, their relation to us or how they live their life, but that everyone deserves to be treated with love and kindness. All year long, I hope that we can celebrate being kind and showing more love, not just this month or any other. And that as mothers, fathers and parents, I pray that we take those special moments, that I so often miss, to help our children recognize that being kind already comes so natural to them. Let's help our next generation be the one that doesn't worry about what is different in each of us, but what is the same.

Because in the end, of course I would be thrilled for my children if they become doctors, teachers, lawyers, dancers, pop stars, counselors, mothers, but all of that won’t matter to me in the slightest if they aren’t kind.

Let's hear it for the dads!

It’s Father’s Day and I am not with my fathers. In fact, because I won’t be able to share exactly how I feel with each of them, I am sharing it with all fathers.

First of all, let’s get rid of the horrible stereotype that media continues to push about dads. They’re not all clueless, lazy or uninvolved. Dads are great. Yes, they’re goofy. Yes, they’re full of “dad jokes.” Yes, they drive us all crazy sometimes, but they have one of the most important jobs in the world. I have been so blessed to have so many stalwart men in my life who prove the “sitcom dad” stereotype wrong every day. I’m pro dad! Let’s give dads more credit.

My husband inspired my thoughts, when we were on a date last night. I took him out, alone, to celebrate Father’s Day. I know that sounds like an oxymoron, since the point of the holiday is to celebrate the fact that he has kids, but I wanted him to recognize how grateful I am that he is the father in our family. A couple nights ago, he spent several hours watching video clips and reading about some exemplar fathers in our life. He quoted one of the men during our date, as we talked about our family, “I may not be good at a lot of things in life, but I am good at a few things, and one of those things is being a dad.” The simple statement stuck with Eric and brought on some sweet sentiments during our dinner together. I am so grateful for the simple confidence Eric has in himself, his role as a father and the love he has for his children.

Beyond that, Eric has found a way to take his role of father to the next level these past couple months, as he has been sensitive to us losing another pregnancy. I expressed in my last blog post that it can be very difficult for men to understand miscarriages, yet he has found a way to be patient with the changes I am experiencing and to be sensitive to the needs of our family as we grieve and move forward. Eric and I find every way possible to add more change, adventure and stress to our life, and it isn’t always easy on us. But somehow, we manage to cling to each other more and more, as we work through every challenge. Eric thanked me tonight for letting him be the father of my children. Eric, you are the only man for me and the only man for the job.

I don’t know if someone thought I needed a little extra help in this life, but I was given two dads. Not everyone is quite so lucky. My first dad, Fred, spent a couple of short years as a father in this life. He had me, his oldest daughter, and was anxiously awaiting another daughter, when his life tragically ended. My memories of him are simple and sweet, most of them comprised of stories told to me as a child. Recently though, his life and his love for me has become a bigger part of my life.

I can only imagine that God has helped urge the people who knew Fred to reach out to me and share some of his love. From phone calls, to letters and photographs, to sweet meetings with his friends and family, I have felt him watching over me. And it always seems to be that those moments I learn more about him is when I need it most. I strongly believe that even when death separates children from their loved ones, or parents from their children, those people are not gone forever. I can feel Fred’s love. I know life didn’t allow him to do all he planned as my father here on earth, but he will always be my father and will always be caring for me.

Then there is Bob, my dad. It’s hard to find words to describe a man who chooses to father children who are not his own. But for my dad, we have been anything but. This may seem like a strange way to recognize his love, but I think the first time I understood how much he cared was the first time he was disappointed in me.

Bob was engaged to my mother, and he had given me my own ring, as well. I was only three, but the tiny pearl ring was such a sweet token of his love. Unfortunately, my age and the ring didn’t mix well. He found me one morning, sitting in his room, chewing on the ring. The soft gold was now a squished mess. I still remember his disappointed face, but his loving reprove.

More than twenty years later, my dad gave his first granddaughter a similar, sweet gift, a hand strung pearl necklace. It was her third birthday. And as if time was reminding all of us of his patient love, my daughter broke the necklace when she gave it a quick tug, the first time she wore it. I recognized the loving reprove and the patient laugh as we all picked up the pearls from our hallway floor.

I can not imagine anyone else teaching me how to change a tire, waking me up every day for school, walking me down the aisle on my wedding day and welcoming my two little girls into the world on the day of their births. I will never be able to adequately express my gratitude for the father he is to me.

So, I wish a happy Father’s Day to the men in my life, and the men in yours. Happy Father’s Day to the dads who are pushing the stereotypes and creating a new generation of dad; one who gives more, sacrifices more and loves more. And I wish to all those who are missing their fathers or children or brothers or husbands this Father’s Day, a sweet reminder of their love, because they are always watching.

Remembering Mothers

Photos from our last day of ballet class in Seattle
and those early weeks of pregnancy, when everything seems so hopeful.

It's Mother's Day and I can't help but write down a few of the many emotions I have been feeling over the past two weeks.

I was quietly getting ready in my room Saturday morning when Audette came in and knelt down beside me. She gave me a hug and said, "Mom, how are you feeling? Are you done bleeding? I want to make sure you are getting better."

Two weeks ago, my family relocated to a new state. Less than 24 hours later, I realized I was losing my unborn child.

This is not the first time I have lost a pregnancy, and it may not be the last. But it still hit me like a ton of bricks. And even two weeks later, those bricks are still crushing me. Sometimes the weight of my emotions makes it hard for me to breath.

My first miscarriage came early in my marriage. It was our first child. In my innocence and naivety, I decided to hide all signs of pregnancy in order to surprise our families at Christmas. Then, the day before our big reveal, I started cramping and bleeding in Costco. I didn't know what was happening, I didn't want to give away the surprise. I was hundreds of miles away from my doctor and, because it was the holidays, only a few on-call nurses would answer the phones and tell me a little spotting is normal and to go to the ER, if I thought I needed it. I remember clearly where I was hiding in Costco to make phone calls, crying, confused and feeling very alone.

The next day, when my pain and confusion was too much for me to handle alone, I revealed our "possible pregnancy" to my family in a flurry of tears and personalized t-shirts. It was a mess. I was a mess.

It was more than four days later, a plane ride home, a sad Christmas Day and pushing through a couple of holiday work schedules, before my doctor could see me. It was a miracle that my ectopic pregnancy didn't burst my Fallopian tube.

But that wasn't the hardest part. It was the months and years that followed those difficult moments that Christmas. My body suffered, my mind, my heart. To grow a baby, then to stop growing a baby, is no small feat for a woman. It isn't just the loss of the child that haunts you, but the change in your hormones, the postpartum, the lingering reminder of your loss as you bleed, the newly gained weight without the prize to show for it. And then there is the mental preparation you had been doing for weeks, months, years, as you dreamed of the child in your arms, the house you would buy to raise them in, the way they would fit into your family. Life just stops. Life literally stops for that baby and for that woman who was growing the child inside her.

At least that is how it felt then, and how it feels for me now. Life has stopped inside me. Yes, I am still aggressively searching for a place for my family to call home. Yes, I am still waking up every morning with an energy to go strawberry picking, museum exploring and park hopping for my girls. Yes, I am breathing in and out and taking step after step to move forward, but it is not without great pain.

I don't write this to wallow in my loss or to diminish the even greater pain and loss that so many of my friends and family have been feeling these past couple months, but I write this instead to allow myself to grieve. And hopefully help others recognize that it is okay to feel pain and loss and let it hurt.

I have been inspired by so many friends recently who have lost children, pregnancies, mothers, siblings, and have created a way to share their loss in such a beautiful way. I am in awe of the powerful way their words have made me feel; heartbroken at my core, then lifted up with renewed hope for them and for myself.

"Mom, how are you feeling? Are you done bleeding? I want to make sure you are getting better."

Those sweet, simple questions from my four-year-old lifted me up today. And are the questions I hope every mother hears when she loses an unborn child. I hope every woman suffering or who has suffered the same loss finds empathy in the people around her. It isn't easy for others to understand. It is hard to understand something you can't see. But for some reason, it isn't so hard for children.

When I told Audette I thought I was almost done bleeding, her sweet face lit up and she hugged me so tight.

"I am so glad you are getting better, Mom. I know Heavenly Father is watching you and watching the baby. And now you are going to be able to have another baby come."

She is my hope. My girls are my hope.

Exactly five years ago today, in the exact same place, I found out I was pregnant again. It was the night before Mother's Day and we had just attended a friend's wedding in the Bay Area. A simple pregnancy test at a hotel revealed that my sweet Audette was on her way.

Remembering her hopeful and perfectly timed start to life, gives me renewed hope this Mother's Day. First, hope that God is good, merciful and loving. He finds a way to bring light into your life during your darkest moments. Second, that Christ will comfort you. In the way you feel His arms seem to hold you as you sob yourself to sleep, or in the way the disheveled man covered in tattoos smiles at you as you cross the street, then stops to point out his tattoo of Jesus' face and shouts, "Jesus loves you!" Third, hope that we can find comfort in the good people around us who have suffered and lost and been blessed, because their love is what propels us through this life.

To the all women who have loved, lost and are still waiting, Happy Mother's Day. You are not alone. In the sweet words of Audette, "Heavenly Father is watching you and watching your babies."