#TBT: "We Haven't Abandoned Her Yet, But......."

Sometimes we meet people who have the most amazing spiritual gifts. I have observed such a person these past few months as I've gotten to know a woman at my school. She has a very important position as Director of Curriculum (yeah, it's a big deal!), while I'm just a lowly, very part-time English instructor. Nevertheless, she became interested in my blog and particularly my blog books, which I compile and print at the end of each calendar year. She is one of those people who is genuinely interested in everyone she meets. I've heard her talk with folks about sports and cooking and gardening and quilting and, yes, even college curriculum, occasionally. And family history, which is what led her to ask about my blog books.

During our brief conversation, she asked me two questions: Do I go into the past and write about people and events from long ago? Hmm, sometimes. Would I like to see a list she has of 365 family history prompts? For sure! Based on those questions, I have decided to make Thursday a special blogging day, alternating between writing about past events (#TBT) and responding to one of the 365 prompts. So here goes the first one:

#TBT: "We Haven't Abandoned Her Yet, But....."

My two oldest children are just 16 months apart in age. No, we didn't exactly "plan" it that way because we didn't exactly plan it at all, and no, I don't necessarily recommend such a close age span, but that is when they came, and I'm glad they did. Our firstborn, Luke, was the easiest baby in the history of ever, I'm pretty sure. He was calm, quiet, and content. He barely cried at all, and if I hadn't been so committed to attachment parenting, I could easily have put him in an infant seat and left him for hours on end. He was happy to sit and take in the world. And he slept too. During the night even. I had no idea how unusual this was. I remember thinking that parenthood wasn't really all that difficult. And I loved him so.

Sixteen months later, we were blessed with baby #2, a little girl this time, so we got to use the name of our dreams; Shulamith was here! Only this baby was different. Now I don't want to imply that she didn't want to be born, because I know she made the same good choice to come to earth that all the rest of us did, but let's just say her adjustment to earth life was a little rockier. I used to say she was like a marsupial; she was ready to be born but not ready to detach. From me, that is. She wanted to be in the breastfeeding position 24/7. Ugh! Remember, I had a 16-month-old toddler, who wasn't quite toddling yet. Luke didn't walk until he was 18 months old. I had two babies who were entirely dependent on me, and the younger cried relentlessly unless she was nursing or at least latched on.

Fortunately, Luke was equally easy as a toddler as he was an infant, so he would sit happily on the arm of my recliner, as I cradled Shulamith and read him books about dinosaurs. And there we sat. All day. When I absolutely had to put her down to do something for Luke (you know, like feed him or change his diaper), she would cry. And cry. And cry. She was born April 30th, and by Memorial Day, I could have been cast in the TV show "The Walking Dead," had it been around back then. I was woefully sleep deprived. Gerald had Memorial Day off work, and he decided I would sleep the entire day, and he would care for both kids.

You have no idea how grateful I was.

And I was actually able to do it too, despite Shulamith's crying, because (1) I KNEW Gerald would not put her down, but would carry her around and try to soothe her, no matter how many hours or how much she cried, and (2) I was so utterly exhausted, I could actually sleep through the noise. And sleep I did. The entire day. He tells me he brought Shulamith in several times to feed, and I'm sure he did, though I have no memory of it. 

I also slept through the doorbell ringing late that night around 10:00 p.m. It was the police! Evidently, someone had heard Shulamith crying all day and reported a possible abandoned baby. I don't know if he said it aloud or just thought it in his head, but either way, I'm pretty sure Gerald's response to the officer was, "We haven't abandoned her yet, but we're seriously considering it."

I should point out that eventually, by around age 9 months, Shulamith decided life on earth was okay. She stopped crying all the time and learned to smile. She grew into the most delightful toddler, preschooler, child, and teen. And I guess that would be the moral of this story: Even if your baby daughter cries all the time, no matter what, don't abandon her! She could grow up to be your best friend for life. Because that's exactly what happened to me.

#TBT

How My Children Will Do It Differently

As parents we strive to be everything to our kids, everything they could ever need in order to grow and develop to their potential. We seek to empower, ennoble, and enlighten them. We worry incessantly. What if what we're doing isn't enough? What if it's too much? What are we doing today that will be the topic of their therapy sessions 20 years from now? Ahhhhh!

But here's the thing. Regardless of what we do, our children will at some point need to find ways to resist. This is actually a wholly natural and necessary part of maturation. They will seek out ways not to be like us, and those choices will matter to them. "When I'm a parent, I will never _________________________." We all said it. Why wouldn't they?

I was thinking about this today, and here is what I came up with. Only time will tell if my predictions are correct.

How My Children Will Do It Differently

1.  My children (or at least some of them) will probably be chronically late. Why? Because I cannot stand to be late. I am obsessively punctual, and I insist they are too. For example, Seth is supposed to arrive at church thirty minutes early in order to prepare the Sacrament. How long does this job take? About ten minutes. When do the other members of his quorum show up? Between five and ten minutes before the meeting begins, and sometimes not even then. When does Seth arrive? Thirty minutes before the meeting. I make sure of it. So he spends ten minutes preparing the Sacrament and then sits in the chapel by himself for twenty minutes. But he is on time for his responsibility. And I am happy.

2.  My children (or at least some of them) will probably keep messy houses. Why? Because I loathe a messy house. I thrive in order and tidiness, and my anxiety skyrockets in clutter. They have grown up with a mom who tries desperately to get them to care about about tidiness, in most cases, against their very natures.

3.  My children (or at least some of them) will probably not worry about getting fatal diseases. To be fair, my worry stems from a very real clinical anxiety disorder; however, my children have lived this hot mess long enough that I'm pretty sure not one of them will ever worry about dying.

4.  My children (or at least some of them) will probably have family dinners together at the dining table, more often than on Thanksgiving and Easter and when the missionaries come over. I've written about this before, but suffice it to say that while I totally understand the value in this, we just don't do it. We are extremely casual about meals.

5. And finally, my children (or at least some of them) will probably love growing older. They will embrace each passing year with joy and no angst. They will not lie about their age, their wedding date, their parents' ages, or their children's ages. No explanation needed on this one. Ha! 

We try to be the best parents we can possibly be. We know we're not perfect, but with sober awareness, we recognize the massive responsibility placed in our hands as we have the honor to raise Heavenly Father's children. We hope and pray they will choose to embrace the values we try so hard to model. And fortunately, most of them do. But even so, no doubt on some smaller issues, they will resist. In an effort to establish their own identities, they will find ways not to be like us.

These are some ways I expect my children will do it differently.

"Shhhh! Long Distance!"

I still remember as a little kid when my out-of-town grandparents would call. They lived in Seattle, and we lived in Portland. My parents would "shush" my brother and me, point to the phone receiver and whisper, "Long distance!" We knew we had to stop right that second, stop playing, stop laughing, stop making noise. Long distance phone calls were expensive!

Fast forward to today. I just finished a 20-minute live Facebook chat with the former Sister Fernanda Gonzalez, who is now home with her family in Chile. She served her mission here in Salt Lake City, and we became friends when I had the privilege to help her and her companions as she served in our ward. I didn't have to shush anybody just now or limit my conversation to evenings or weekends. In fact, I can chat with Sister Gonzalez any time I want to. For free.

It's crazy how access to communication has changed in my lifetime. I was thinking about that as I overheard Eli Skyping in his room late last night. His girlfriend lives in Rexburg, and he is home with us, "off track" this semester, and won't return to college until April. It reminded me of my own dating days. But only vaguely. Because really, very little is the same.

When I was a teenager, telephones were attached to walls with cords. If I wanted privacy, I had to take the phone off the hook (do you even remember what that is?) and stretch the cord as far as it would reach around a corner and sit on the floor in the hall and whisper. Yep, that's exactly what I did. How utterly inconvenient! If I wasn't at home when a call came in, I missed it. End of story. There were no answering machines or voice mail. Even worse, if I was at home when a call came in, I had no way to know who was calling until I answered. Never had any idea who was on the other end until I said "Hello." Such suspense!

This made it very difficult to screen calls. My in-town grandma even came up with a system in attempt to solve this problem. She called it "The Signal." If she didn't feel like talking to people, she would call us and say, "I'm not answering my phone today, so if you want to talk to me, give me 'The Signal.'" The Signal meant we should call her, let it ring once, hang up, and call her back. This would "signal" her to answer. It worked splendidly, and we all felt quite smug for having figured out something so brilliant. Of course today, with Caller ID, if I don't want to talk to someone, I simply don't answer. Which is most of the time because I really don't like to talk on the phone.

I far prefer text messaging. This may sound cold and uncaring, but seriously, with a text message, there's no need to go through the formalities of "How are you? Fine. You? Good, etc." when really, much of the time we just want a simple question answered. A short text message accomplishes that so much more efficiently than a phone call.

Phone calls sometimes have merit, though. I have a couple of friends who have become almost exclusively online friends since I moved to Utah and barely ever see them. Occasionally, we will do a marathon phone conversation, therapy really, which leaves me refreshed and better able to face life in Utah, where none of my friends (other than family) live.

But it's just that. A phone conversation. It is NOT Skype. Skype is one of those recent technology upgrades that I find utterly baffling. I remember as a young child in school being told what life would be like in the future. My teachers were honest and well meaning, as they predicted as sincerely as they could what life would be like down the road. But in so many cases, they were so very wrong. They told me that in my lifetime, I would most certainly go to the moon. For real. Okay, I hopefully still have half my life ahead of me, but honestly folks, I just don't see the moon anywhere on the radar. They also told me the U.S. would fully convert to The Metric System of measurement, so I'd better learn it through and through or I would never be able to function as an adult. Umm, not so much.

But back to Skype. My teachers also told me that all phones would have video capability, so we would always see the person we were talking to. That obviously didn't pan out as they predicted, though Skype is sort of like that. But no, I don't use it. Eli does. About every single night since he left Malia in Rexburg. But not me. You see, if I'm going to see the person I'm talking to, and (more importantly) if the person is going to see me, then I have to get ready for the call. I have to do my hair and makeup. I have to worry about my clothes. No, thank you! When I'm home, I prefer not to deal with all that just to talk to someone on the phone. I should say here that I did appreciate Skype on four occasions, the two Christmases and two Mother's Days Eli was on his mission. And yes, I did get "ready" for those Skype calls. But that's because those four times were my only opportunity in two whole years to see him.

We have indeed come a long way from the days I spent crouched down in the hallway, whispering into the phone, hoping no one could eavesdrop. Yet I'll never forget the urgency in my parents' faces as they pointed to the receiver in their hands, pleading with us to cooperate: "Shhhhhhh! Long Distance!"