Skip to main content


Raising children is hard.

Very hard. They don't tell you that when you're pregnant. They don't tell you a lot of things when you're pregnant, like your body will never be the same, you will be a walking zombie for years to come due to massive sleep deprivation. You will probably break your ankle by walking on toys in the middle of the night, you will clean up more vomit than you ever dreamed was possible, and you will accept soggy cheerios from chubby, grimy little fingers and cherish them as being better than gold.

Your refrigerator door will hold art that means more to you than a Rembrandt. Finger food will give way to real food and wars over broccoli and asparagus and whole wheat goodness.

Once your children are old enough, friends who have been parents longer than you have will tell you how much to dread what's coming and you look at your sweet angels and can't ever imagine that such a dark, hormonal cloud will erupt within them.

But it does.

You go from bottles and diapers to backpacks and homework. From diaper rash to pimples in the blink of an eye.

You worry, you cry. You struggle. You spend a great deal of time on your knees pleading for help to know what to do, to make the right decisions and to know when to step in and when to step back.

You wonder if it is all worth it. You continue to struggle and try and just get through one more day. Then another. And another. You're told by others who have walked this path before you that one day you'll get your child back from the grasp of whatever it is that has them. They will become your friends and wonderful companions once they become adults.

You try to see that far ahead but have difficulty believing that it will happen.

It's not all bad, but sometimes it's bad enough that you stand outside their bedroom doors at night when they have gone to bed and cry. Pressing your face to the cold wood of the door, you pray, as you often do. You pray for the strength to continue to do what's right for them, you pray that all your teaching and hugging and loving will one day be remembered and that they won't really hate you as they have sometimes said they do.

And happens.

Dear Mommy,

Thank you so much for everything over the years. You're truly the best mom in the world! Now that I'm older, I can see how difficult raising kids & everything else is in life is & I can see that you brought us up to be the best we could be.

I love you and want you to know how grateful I am to you; without you I would have no right sense of direction in the world, or truly understand sacrifice. I love you Mommy!

Feliz Dia De Las Mamas!


Today I had a job interview for a job within the school district working with our immigrant families. It's a wonderful job and I'd love to have it. I was a bit nervous sitting in the office waiting to be called into the conference room for the interview. As I waited, I pulled that letter out of my binder and re-read it. Twice.
As I read it, I felt a wonderful sense of calm steal over me. Though I'd love to have that job, in the grand scheme of things it really doesn't matter. My real job, the very best job I've ever held is the one I've had for the past 21 years, 4 months and 11 days.

I'm a Mom.


  1. I read this poem maybe 20 years ago and I still remember it to this day...

    Excuse This House

    Some houses try to hide the fact
    That children shelter there.
    Ours boasts of it quite openly,
    The signs are every where.

    For smears are on the windows,
    Little smudges on the doors;
    I should apologize I guess
    For toys strewn on the floor.

    But I sat down with the children
    And we played and laughed and read,
    And if the doorbell doesn't shine,
    Their eyes will shine instead.

    For when at times I'm forced to
    Choose the one job or the other,
    I want to be a housewife...
    But first I'll be a mother.

  2. It's those brief moments of joy that make being a parent survivable. Like when your children graduate from seminary, even though they didn't graduate from school (groan). Or when the first one actually does graduate from school - and does us proud. Now that same son is getting ready to sent in mission papers. We have to hope that at least we did one thing right... ;)


Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…