Would a Rose by any Other Name Really Smell as Sweet???

The other day found Daisy and I sitting in a little waiting room – waiting (hey, how about that) for her tdap shot booster – the one required for Jr. High. (Jr. High? Two kids all cool and . . . unelementary schoolish?). The nurse came out, lifted her little clipboard, called “Daisy?” then, as she spotted us, sighed dreamily and said, “Your mom must have loved you when she gave you that name.”

Yes. I did. I did love her. I still do. And, that was rather brilliant of me, wasn’t it? Naming her Daisy.

How is it that half the world isn’t named Daisy? Never mind. I’m glad they aren’t. But I do love her. . . . And her name.

Happy Elementary Graduation day, Daisy! And thanks for coming home with me afterwards and helping decorate cupcakes and wrap presents and get “fun” all in order for Penny’s seventh birthday today.

(Below: a shot or two of Daisy and I after said graduation, along with other end-of-the-school-year activities – Penny’s author’s fair, Goldie’s state history program, etc.)

30 WEEKS!!!

30 weeks?

Do you know what this means?

It means “well into the third trimester”.

It means a baby who only needs to add a few measly inches to her height.

It means . . . counting down instead of counting up! (“Only ten weeks left!” “Only eight to go!” “We’re down to six weeks!”)

Of course, there is danger in the “counting down” mind set; because . . . I do. I do count down. Weeks then days of counting down to one day. My due date. And when I reach that date . . . and then have to start counting UP again?? (“One day past due”, “three days past my due date”, etc.) I start to turn into a bit of a wreck.

Still, it can’t be helped. After months of counting up (“When I get to 12 weeks, my miscarriage risk goes down.” “As soon as I hit 14 weeks we’ll have an ultrasound and then tell everyone the news!” “At 20 weeks, I’m finally half way.” “As soon I get to 28, I’ll be in my third trimester.”), I am finally counting down!

I am so anxious for Summer to be here. I feel such a longing to have her here with us – to have us all together. I feel like I’ve been waiting and worrying and hoping . . . without even knowing it . . . for . . . I don’t even know how long. Sooo long. 

Still, I know I should be patient. I don’t want to rush this. Ten tiny weeks – ten little specks of time – out of an eternal existence is so short. Such a little piece of time left to contemplate what is happening . . . what is about to happen.

And I have been contemplative this pregnancy. I don’t know exactly why it has taken me seven pregnancies to wonder and think about the things I’ve wondered and thought about this time around, but I feel so mindful of . . . I don’t know the right words . . . just the “bigness” of what is happening, I guess. I wish I could have been this aware in prior pregnancies.

I don’t know exactly how things work – when a spirit enters a body, etc. But in thinking of sacred experiences others have shared with me, in thinking of Christ visiting Nephi to reassure him on the very day he was about to be born, and in thinking of my own feelings (as I’ve been about to greet my new babies) of a thinness in the veil – of goodbyes being said as we are preparing our welcomes; I feel certain that they are still very connected to the place and people they are leaving. I don’t understand how. Maybe they can be a bit static during this wild time when their physical bodies are being created? I don’t know, these thoughts aren’t doctrine – they are simply bits of speculation and feeling, bits of my ponderings that I hope aren’t inappropriate to share. I just keep thinking of Summer’s birth. I keep thinking of that moment of Summer’s spirit entering her body in some type of powerfully bound way – not a way as tightly and inseparably connected as it will be when we are resurrected and our spirits claim our bodies permanently, but still, in a powerful way – a way I am convinced does involve power – a power that will allow her eternal spirit to finally inhabit a body for its span of human years. It feels . . . so tremendous to me and like it is something bigger, more significant, and more amazing, beautiful and powerful than I yet realize.

I keep thinking of Summer right now. I almost start to cry – sometimes I do cry – as I think about the brave leap she is about to make. An exciting leap, one I am sure she has been anxious to make. When I think of her, I don’t sense any of that “wading in slowly”. I sense a spirit who will leap in fully no matter how deep and frigid the water is likely to be. Still, how did any of us dare when it came down to it? How did we dare to make one last goodbye to everything we’d known for all of our existence – everyone we loved – knowing that in a moment a veil would shut over our eyes – that we wouldn’t remember any of it? That we’d plunge into that water and come up with no recollection of where we’d just been or of why we were here?

Maybe part of it is because we weren’t saying goodbye to everyone we loved. We were going to be with some of the very ones we’d already said goodbye to and loved the very most of all.

I know we’ve all done it, but I want to hug my Summer for being about to do it herself. We talked about this a bit for Family Home Evening last night. I told my kids who they are – how strong and valiant I know they are – and how crazy it must be for Summer to be coming here without a memory of all the things she wanted to accomplish and do and become.

But we also talked about how lucky she was because she is coming to us. And we are going to do all we can to help her remember who she is, all we can to remind her of what she wants to accomplish and be.

My sister sent me this cool quote from Elder Anderson the other day. He says, “We hold in our arms (and here, my sister interjected ‘and our wombs’) the rising generation. They come to this earth with great spiritual capacities. We cannot be casual in how we prepare them. Our challenge as parents and teachers is not to create a spiritual core in their souls but rather to fan the flame of their spiritual core already aglow with the fire of their premortal faith.”

Isn’t that beautiful? I want so much to help my kids know who they are. I see it. I know it – maybe of them even more than I know it of myself. I hope I can help them recognize those whisperings of the spirit that will continue to remind them. That above quote reminds me of another of Neal Maxwell’s I love: “. . . when we now say ‘I know’ that realization is rediscovery; we are actually saying ‘I know . . . again.’” I love that. I believe it. And I think we can know things. David O. McKay once said (in discussing our dual natures of having a body and a spirit) “. . . man is a dual being. He has a body, just as all other animals have. But he has something that comes only from his Father in heaven, and he is entitled, is susceptible to whisperings, . . . to influences from his divine parent.” Of course our spirits are. How could that not be true?

Anyway, I’ll stop my ramblings. As I said, they are mostly just evidence of the contemplative nature I’ve had as I’ve gone through this pregnancy (and only a small tip of the iceberg when it comes to all the thoughts I’ve been chewing on); and I hope it was all right sharing at least these bits here. Some pieces feel too . . . private . . . to toss down anywhere, but I hope these were OK and that my friends and loved ones who read here and don’t share my beliefs were able to, at least, appreciate my feelings and views of life and eternity – as I appreciate theirs.

Happy ten weeks to go!

Ooh. Also, for anyone interested. Here was a good little video clip I used with our Family Night lesson last night:
http://www.mormonchannel.org/youth-videos?v=2816242049001

Flipping Through Pages

Life is hurtling its little self along – in that way it does that is so familiar to most of us: days that are occasionally long, but weeks and months that pass quickly like pages being turned in a novel. (A rather disjointed novel, mind – with plot lines that don’t always seem to lead anywhere or resolve themselves in any clear manner; and so many characters with intertwining lives that only those living the novel themselves can begin to make heads or tails of it all.)

Sometimes it’s easiest to just open a page here and there – share a paragraph or give a glimpse without trying to do so in context of the entire story.

Here are several recent fragments of our passing novel – a few pages maybe, a couple of paragraphs, and a few bits that aren’t much more than a sentence . . .

I have to be careful not to take advantage of our Goldie lately. She is so utterly willing to help – so strangely determined to not only help, but do more than what is asked, that it is very tempting to call on her assistance far more often than I do the other kids.

Summertime must be close because, already, the lawn is in constant need of mowing; kids are staying up far too late each night (riding scooters and bikes or running around with neighbor kids when they should be getting bathed and into pajamas). They are eating popsicles; wearing bare feet or, whatever else suits them – rain boots, mismatched clothes, messy hair, . . . helmets. (Actually, getting Anders to wear anything other than his full-bodied fleecy “snowman jammies” or his flannel spider-man jammies is quite an ordeal. A helmet, some rain boots, and a shirt? Seems like a success to me!)

Mike comes home with enough daylight left to have him out pulling weeds and helping set our yard in order. He bought several lilac bushes for me for Mother’s Day. There are few happier smells in the world, so I am very excited about him getting those in! (Also, when I happen to get a shot of him, I tend to look at it over and over. He’s handsome. I like looking at him and thinking about how happy it is that our stories are bound up in this novel closest of all.)

And now, to end, we’ll flip through  a few of those “sentences” in our book. . . . (Although . . . any one of these could be made into chapters or tied to ongoing themes. Some might be sentences all of their own and some might be sentences that are beginning whole new story lines.)

I spy:
-- The local library kids’ section (when I think of times long ago, I often think sadly about kids not being able stock up on library books whenever it suited their fancies).
-- A rainy day on grandma’s deck.
-- A hug for an aunt who had just gifted a certain child a slide projector!
-- A quilt for Summer -- each tiny bit made by friend Jill (roommate from my semester in Jerusalem long ago).