It Takes a Village

The other night, everybody enjoyed the BYU Game while I was the babysitter. Okay, not everybody, but Greg went with some work people and Lisa and Matt went as well. Thankfully, my mom took Austin and Macy for the night to spend some quality time together. So, from 4:00 until midnight, I played mom to one two-year-old and three five-month-olds (well, almost five months). I'd by lying if I didn't admit to slight nervousness and anticipation. But, I think we did quite well. After figuring out how to fit three babies into a two-seater stroller, we actually left the house and went for a walk. We even managed dinner and all four kids slept at some point through the evening. There was one brief spell when all four were crying: I had just put Paige to bed (her tantrum was to express her disapproval) and as fate would have it, hunger pains hit all three babies at exactly the same time. The grim reality was that they would simply have to wait in line as I slowly, but diligently worked my way through three simultaneous feedings. Overall though, I would call the evening a success.

At one point, I was holding my nephew, trying to get him to finish his bottle before he succumbed to drowsiness. Just minutes earlier, I had changed him and put him in his pajamas. As I cuddled him, I thought about the fact that at some point in my life (of which I can remember very little), I undoubtably had several caretakers. It is a given that my parents changed my diaper, fed me, rocked me, bathed me, cared for me when I was sick, etc. I remember taking care of my first child in his first few weeks of life. One day, a flood of emotion hit me as I stood over his bassinet, having just changed him. I remember being overwhelmed by the fact that two other people loved me this much and took care of me so unselfishly for so many years. I sobbed and contemplated my new understanding of "Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother." Even though we are adults, we are definitely not equal. Through years of unselfish service, they have earned a different level of respect. The other night, as I held Cash, I realized the obvious: there were others.

Memories for me come like they do in the movies. I just have little snippets of the past that I can pull up like looking up my favorite videos on YouTube. I watch most of the scenes from above (as if I'm Scrooge, peering through the windows of my past). Occasionally, I watch the scene from my own five-year-old or eleven-year-old eyes.

I recall a time when I was sitting on my grandmother's lap (I was probably around Macy's age at the time). We were in her spare bedroom, sitting in a rocking chair by the bed. They had this huge bed (it seemed huge to my three-and-a-half foot frame) that was old so you could see the box springs. As a kid, I was fascinated by those box springs and just how uncomfortable that bed was. My grandmother was reading me a story, and I threw up all over the book. I remember her patiently picking me up, taking me into the hall bathroom (the one with the pink sinks), and just taking care of everything. I can almost recall feeling sick, and I can definitely recall her patience in the situation.

I recall moving the chair and coffee tables out of the way and laying out sleeping bags on the floor of the living room of my other grandparents house. I'm sure they were taking care of us while my parents enjoyed Date Night. I remember countless Sunday dinners at her home, and I also recall all four of us sitting in the bathtub at their house when we had chickenpox.

I recall staying with my Aunt while my parents were out of town. For some reason, I recall being in her Provo home when she asked what I wanted to eat while my parents were gone. I said, "Lucky Charms." (I do not recall if she got them for me.)

I recall sleeping out on the trampoline at my other Aunt's house with all of my cousins. I also recall countless camping trips with this aunt. She would walk us to the bathroom, help cut up our food as we all sat around a huge picnic table, and always sang to us.

I even recall the morning after my brother was born. I remember opening the door to our bedroom and seeing our neighbor walking down the hall carrying a basket of laundry. She had spent the night with us since Gavin was born at 10:30 at night.

I recall staying with another friend when my parents were out of town. I remember being in their kitchen and requesting Sloppy Joe's for dinner. (I also recall that I didn't eat the Sloppy Joe's because they didn't taste the same as when my mom made them. My friend's mom wasn't too happy with me.) Afterward, I remember going down their stairs in a sleeping bag and camping out in their living room.

So many people that loved me and cared for me. And there have been so many to love and care for my own children. My sisters and brother have all taken their turns changing diapers, fixing meals, reading stories, rocking babies, feeding bottles, and tucking my own children into bed. My parents and Greg's parents have shown countless acts of love and kindness toward my children as they have assisted us in raising our own little brood. So many neighbors have welcomed my children into their homes, taught them in Primary, and displayed so much love and patience. I feel so blessed to be surrounded by such good, good people who have loved me and my family.

From the bottom of my heart: Thank You!

A few adorable pics of Mr. Cash and Abby and Max: