Madhouse

My cute niece had a baby a few days ago. It was her first, and the first great-grandchild for my in-laws. She has this adorable little dark-haired bundle. I find myself a little jealous of her situation. Not break-the-10-commandments, unrighteous-envy type jealousy. I remember being in her situation, and I find myself longing for her innocence.

I remember that Greg and I wanted to "have a baby." We were so thrilled with Austin. Of course, he was an adorable little bald-headed bundle. And when his hair did grow in, it was practically white so it didn't look like he had hair anyway. We were head-over-heels in love at first glance. He was the most wonderful thing ever to enter our life. It never occurred to us that we had "started a family," when all we wanted to do was "have a baby."

It's not that I ever regret living this life. I am extremely grateful for my kids, and feel beyond blessed to get five of them.

I just could never have imagined how hard.this.was.going.to.be.

I had a woman talk to me at church last Sunday about "some people's children." Granted, this woman is quite old, has lost most of her eyesight so she only has her hearing, and has never had children of her own. She told me all about how "it seems like the children are raising their parents." All I could say was that she was right. When she says "some people's children," she's really talking about mine. The image I had in my mind of my six (that's right - SIX was what I always wanted) darling, perfect little angels who were independent and individual thinkers (although in my daydreams, they always managed to come to the "correct" answer all on their own adding to my joy and pride) is not exactly what I got. In fact, it isn't remotely at all what I got. I used to dream of Greg and I sitting lovingly next to each other at church every week, holding hands and listening intently so that our children would know how much we meant to each other and how important the gospel was to us. They would sit reverently, arms folded and listening intently with matching dresses, pressed shirts, and hair bows that looked darling in their perfect hair. I imagined us working together in the yard, learning and growing together. I imagined us all singing songs and playing games while we cleaned up the perfectly organized playroom. It was such a happy, perfect little life in my head.

A life in which I actually showered every day.

I was given five vastly different soldiers. At times, it feels like there are actually seven different armies in my home, all battling one another. The noise...the arguing...the attitude...the tears...the whining...the eye rolling...the tattling...the nasty looks. It's just tough. Last night, Family Home Evening went something like this: (Me) If you are going to act the same way tomorrow that you acted today, don't bother coming out of your room in the morning. We are a family! We are supposed to be each other's greatest blessings, and we treat each other like garbage. I'm sick of it!

That went well.

The only thing these children seem to have in common is that they are all fiercely spirited and individualistic. Which is wonderful! And very challenging!

And they were sent to this Earth with their own, hand-picked set of challenges - trials and struggles that will help mold them and shape them and help them humble themselves to come to Christ. As a mother, it is hard to watch them get older and know that I can't just take it all away. When I realize that a kiss and hug and a Batman/Barbie Bandaid isn't going to magically "make it all better." It is hard to gain a testimony of allowing my children to live their own life and trusting that the Lord will provide them with the experiences and people in their life that will help them grow and evolve.

Motherhood has stripped me of everything I ever knew about myself. In a lot of ways, that woman at church was right: my children are raising me. I make mistakes. It's trial and error you know! And a ton of prayers!!! I am constantly trying new things, some of which work, most don't. I find myself surrounded by a mess - literally and figuratively. I just hope that if we keep trying...keep praying...keep learning from our mistakes...keep getting up every morning (despite the exhaustion)...and keep trying to express our love that we can get glimpses of that love and excitement again. The love that a newborn brings to the home. The excitement of what the future will bring.

"Things work out, it isn't as bad as you sometimes think it is. It all works out, don't worry. I say that to myself every morning. It will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. If you do your best, it will all work out. Put your trust in God, and move forward with faith and confidence in the future. The Lord will not forsake us. If we will put our trust in him, if we will pray to him, if we will live worthy of his blessings, he will hear our prayers." - Gordon B. Hinckley

This is quickly becoming my mantra.