My Husband Gave Me An Hour-Long Massage Because I Wrote This

I love to talk about my husband. But I'm not going to brag about what kind of wife I am.  You'll never know whether I give good back rubs, cook his favorite dish or wear a swimsuit for the haircuts I may or may not give him. 

This letter is all you're getting. (I hope it makes you cry. I always like an emotional response.)

Dear Velcro, (Because I'm stuck on him.)

 I love you! Always know that. Everywhere you go, I love you. I am thinking of you. Eight years doesn’t seem like such a long time after all. I want more. So many more.

Thank you for being sweet and supportive. For working so hard. 

For dancing with me by candlelight. For helping me choose my clothes in the morning. 

For helping me shop. For letting me spend our money, knowing that you won’t get mad, even if I blow the budget.

Thank you for playing with our sons. Nothing warms my heart more. I look at you in those moments and think, “This is what a good father is.” 

I never had a father. Thank you for teaching me what they look like.

Thank you for cooking every single day. I know it gets old. I love you for it.

Thank you for being so patient with me, with the boys, with God and with yourself.

Thank you for trying to change for the better. I love who you are. I love that you want growth.

I love that you think I’m beautiful right when I wake up. I love how sometimes you suddenly stop and look at me and forget to listen as I’m speaking.

I love that you read to me and let me read to you.

I love that you let me sing to you. I love that you like it. 

I love when you write me notes. 

I love when you play your bells just for me. 

I love that you laugh at all my jokes.  I love that you send me flowers. I love that you open my door. I love your kiss on my hand.

I love that you help with the cleaning and laundry.

 I love that you remind me to work on my goals. I love that you work on yours.

I love that you taught me how to cross stitch, carve pumpkins, fish, make bread and shave a man.

I couldn’t ask for a better friend but I get a new one every day. It’s always you. Please let me love you forever and ever.

Your Lover

Our trials make me love him all the more, because I see him not giving up on me. Here's to forever.

How to Make Miscarriage Suck LESS

I have had five  miscarriages. I've been pregnant seven times so that means I have a 71.4% failure rate. It sucks--It really does. And the more you have, the worse it sucks. (See my post.) There are times, especially in the first few weeks after a miscarriage, where nothing will help, at all, even a little bit, and you just have to endure, and pray, and get through one day at a time. However, while there may not be anything to make it better, there are a whole lot of things to make it worse and you can AVOID these. If it's too late to avoid the first two, you can still try the rest. Here's what you do.

1. Don't Tell Anyone You're Pregnant.

OK, you should tell your spouse and your doctor. Otherwise, Nobody. Not your mom, not your boss unless you absolutely have to. If you don't tell anyone you're pregnant you'll never have to tell them you miscarried. This way, you don't have to talk about your loss to anybody you don't want--and you can avoid hearing dumb questions over and over. Once you feel strong enough, you can tell select people that you've miscarried, and they can give you support.

2. Have Health Insurance

It really helps if you don't have to worry about medical expenses and it may even cover therapy, which I recommend.

3. Take A Break

You need a week or two off for grieving, to say nothing of physical healing. Work can wait. Get a letter from your doctor to make it official, then stay home and sleep in. You'll be crying, dizzy, unable to think straight, having no motivation and little physical strength, with occasional seething rage. (And the possibility of a bleeding mess.) Trust me. A sane boss doesn't want you there. Take your rest and do some things that you want. Continue for as long as it's helpful. See # 7.

4. Avoid the Person, Place or Activity That Is Most Painful

Pick one or two things that bother you most and feel free to skip them. Refuse to feel bad about it. My personal choice is baby showers. I avoid baby showers like bubonic plague and conjunctivitis. I also minimize my contact with chatty pregnant women. (You can probably think of a few. They don't mean any harm but they can't stop discussing pregnancy and it's seriously annoying.) There is no reason to exacerbate your difficult situation by forcing burdens on yourself. Once you feel ready, you can pick up where you left off.

5. Get Enough Sleep

Really. In the first few days, it may be the only relief you get emotionally. Don't stay up late. Sleep deprivation causes every kind of mischief. Plus, the physical and emotional stress you're experiencing places increased demands on your body. You'll need extra rest, perhaps for a long while. Give yourself a break and go to bed as soon as you want. Take naps. Sleep in sometimes, perhaps often. If anxiety or depression keeps you awake, sleep with lights on, have a good cry, do yoga before bed, turn on soft music or read a low-stress, spiritually uplifting book. Ask your doctor about sleep aids, natural and otherwise.

6. Keep Taking Those Vitamins

It may be hard for you to do anything for you, and it may seem pointless when there is no longer a baby to benefit from your self-care. Do it anyway. With or without a baby, your body now has to heal and transform itself to a non-pregnant state. It's almost as much work as growing a baby. You don't want to become deficient in vitamins and minerals--that makes everything worse. Keep taking them regularly. If you can't make yourself do it, ask a friend to remind you and make you accountable.

7. Make Yourself Get Out And Do Stuff

When you wake up in the morning and your body says "Get up" and you mind says, "What for?" that's normal. You do need to get up though. After your initial rest, staying in too much will not only lose it's usefulness but actually cause more depression and anxiety. It's time to get back in the world. You may hate everything you used to love and think nothing sounds fun, but chances are, it will end up being more fun than you thought. And it will help you, little by little, to get out of the rut. For me, having a (flexible, non-demanding) job was the best thing. It forced me to get dressed, to comb my hair and to focus on something other than my misery for a few hours.

8. Exercise!

Relieve stress and occupy your thoughts with something you CAN control. Exercise does it all. I have had great results from hiking every week. Think about it. You've climbed a mountain! You've accomplished something difficult. You're getting fresh air, sunshine, exercise and a change of scene all in one. You'll have positive memories to look back on. And, if you're feeling fat or slobbish, a workout helps with that too.

9. Try Not to Think Too Much

Make time for physical activities. Thoughts and feelings are important, but don't make negative thoughts the center of your life. Get things done. Work with your hands. Try something new. Don't get caught in the guilt-building nightmare of "I should have," "I wish" or "If only." Instead try, "This is the situation. This is how I feel about it." Allow your feelings. Process them when it helps and distract yourself when it doesn't.

10. Don't Go Back

You'll need time to grieve and cry. Give yourself this time. It's a process that may take years. However, once you've got past the most painful time, (probably several months,) don't keep going back. Dwelling on the pain long-term will not help you. Instead, try to focus on the positive as much as you can.

Things will get better. There is always hope.

There is one more thing that really helped me. I tried to think of what purpose God might have for me and why I kept having miscarriages.

I found one; so personal, so wonderful. And I received a special witness that my children are real, mine, and they love me. My Leif, Jenna, Alice, William and David. I do have seven children after all. And despite all naysayers and advice to the contrary, I do not believe that I'm done. God has a purpose and I will not fight it anymore. His way is always the best way.

I believe He really will wipe away all our tears. "Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning"-Psalm 30:5

10 Reasons You Should Be Glad You're Short

Wish you were taller? Think again.The air isn't better "up here." Really. It's exactly the same as "down there." And there's a lot more to it. I am almost six feet tall and can tell you it's not all roses. Here are my top ten reasons you should be glad to be vertically challenged and give your self esteem a boost.

1. Tall isn't skinny. Skinny is skinny.

I sometimes hear people saying that if they were tall, any extra weight would be more evenly proportioned and their overall appearance would be improved. I don't like to be the one to contradict, but this makes no sense. Tall people already have "extra weight" simply by having more vertical mass. Since bigger bodies require more energy and nutrients to maintain, tall people have to eat plenty of food. What that means is, if you have the same health habits as a tall person that you had as a short person, the weight gain would increase in proportion to the new size. Here is the nicest way I can say this: When I have extra fat on me, I look like an ogre.

2. Tall people still have to use stools and stepladders.

An extra 6-10 inches is not the same as an extra 3 feet. I still have to use a stool to reach into, and see the back of, all but the lowest kitchen cupboards. I frequently find myself standing on a chair.

3. Tall people do not make better basketball players.

Strength, agility, speed and great hand-eye coordination (and a whole lot of practice and dedication) make great basketball players. Height can help in some positions but it's not the end all. Some amazing players are short. See this link.

4. Height does not mean you should be a model.

Some of my sisters have been models and none of them are more than usually tall. Some are quite short. Anyone can be a model. If you have healthy hair, you can be a hair model. If you have nice hands, you can be a hand model. Nice neck, feet or skin? You get the picture. Plus, with all the photo editing, the magazine pictures of models don't even look like themselves. The only thing required to be a model is work. It's a work I never wanted to do. I simply don't care enough about my appearance to want my paycheck to depend on it.

5. Being a tall girl makes it harder to find taller guys.

If you don't care about this, good for you. I, however, do like my date to be a leetle taller than me. Tall guys are not exactly in short supply (see what I did there?) but the chances of hitting it off don't increase just because you look good together. Finding the right person for you is hard enough as it is. Now try adding height into the equation. I feel blessed that my hubby is one inch taller.

6. Clothing challenges rise to new levels

If you can find pants long enough, it's like a miracle. A very expensive miracle. When you do find long ones they are usually too big around. The perfect fit is pretty much only available at the mall and runs approximately $70. If you're still growing (and you can never tell!) it's pretty pointless.

All too short. And that shirt I'm wearing, it's a dress. 

All my favorite knee-length dresses have become thigh-length dresses. And they were so cute! Sniff. Shopping has become something like a bad dream. You're looking and looking for something. You can't find it anywhere and then you realize all your clothes are missing. Aaaah! Wake up! It's not real. Oh, wait. It is.*%^&

Beautiful dresses that would be stunning on a shorter person look like a shirt on me. A weird, evening gowny shirt. (Or maybe lingerie.) Speaking of shirts, they are made for short torsos. The designers can't/won't lengthen them without also increasing the width, so finding one long enough pretty much guarantees you a tent. Did I mention that you can't trade clothes with your short sisters?





7. High heels make you a giant

This is bad for two reasons. One, all the really cute shoes make you taller than all the really cute guys. (The guy I liked in the beginning of my sophomore year in high school was six inches shorter than me by the end of it. Not cool.) Two, you're so tall that if you trip, you fall for miles, or so it feels like. Even when you aren't falling, you're like a floating head. Just floating around above everyone else's heads. It's even worse on skates.

8. You hit your head on things

Low doorways. Crawl spaces. Attics. When you sit in the back seat of a car and your head bumps the rear window the whole drive, life is pretty ridiculous. I haven't even mentioned leg room in cars and planes.

9. Sinks and counters are too low to use without stooping.

Short people are always complaining that they have to stand on their tippy toes to reach things. Well, tall people have to do that too and at least it doesn't destroy your posture. It gets super annoying having to bend so far all the time just to do the dishes. And they should make counters taller. I'm taking my protest to new heights. Seriously. I may refuse to cook.

10. People always think you're the oldest

People will think that your younger siblings are your children. Your older sisters will be mistaken for your younger sisters and people think you're a grownup when you're sixteen.That's not all bad (hee hee) but you'll never blend in at your old high school (just in case you were sent there on assignment like in Never Been Kissed.)

If this doesn't pump some gratitude into the hearts of all you short people, I know something that will. Just think of all the closet space you can fill with your smaller clothes. Extra room for all those super cute high heels. I hope you trip. XOXOXO

I Married Superman

How do you know if you've got a good man? Well, if he's willing to put others above himself, stay cheerful in times of trial, knows when to keep his mouth shut, doesn't take things personally, works really hard, doesn't let fear stop him, keeps his promises, says he's sorry, doesn't make excuses, treats every woman with respect, gives up his seat to elders, picks up little children when they're crying, helps unload the groceries, listens to how your day went and saves his best smile for you, he's AMAZING. Keep that guy around.

Sometimes I can't believe how blessed I am. I can't wrap my mind around the fact that my husband loves me. Loves ME. LOVES me. How unlikely. How impossible. And how true. How and why did he ever fall in love with me in the first place? I thought at the time and I have thought since, that it is a miracle.

Because it is.

I used to talk about my husband all the time with girlfriends. Listening, really, as all these women playfully criticized their soulmates. Again and again the complaints would come out. "He doesn't help around the house. He won't change diapers. He gets ticked off when..." It was social murmuring, a time of "getting it out" and sharing. I'm a social person and the exercise seemed harmless enough at the time, but I honestly couldn't think of anything negative to say about my husband. Not one thing.

They'd all be complaining because their husbands all did something or other, and I'd have to admit, "My husband doesn't do that." I hadn't learned to keep my mouth shut, and why should I? My love is sweet and deserves to be praised. I don't want anybody talking bad about him, especially me. Other women didn't see it that way.

I must have been pretty convincing in my praise, because they all believed my husband to be sweet and clever and good. They just didn't think that I deserved him. Since I never took the trouble to brag about myself, they just assumed that I was a grouchy, horrible wife, who was all take and no give and who would soon be divorced. Ouch.

I'm going to skip all the "Where do they get off" outrage at their presumptions and just get to the part where they insulted my husband's intelligence. Sure, he's smart, sweet, good natured, hard working, determined, a veritable superman, but he can't tell that the girl he's dating is a complete witch. Anybody that nice is bound to be unhappy in marriage because nobody will ever be as nice to him. It's a mystery why he seems so happy. He'll eventually catch on and dump her.

I actually received long, unsought and downright nauseating lectures on all that I must do to keep him. Under constant attack, I found myself obliged to declare that I did do nice things for my husband. I'm angry just thinking about it. Not because anyone would be that... [choose your own adjective here] but because I put up with it for as long as I did. I'm angry at me.

I'm getting over it, and so must everyone else. I intend to brag about my husband any time the subject is mentioned and anyone who doesn't like it is welcome to leave. There will be no man-bashing here. There is no one to bash. My husband is awesome!

A dinner 

It's been seven years now and he still hasn't seen the light and dumped me. I wonder if my constant admiration for him has anything to do with it? (Or maybe dinner?) It's probably true that on some level, I don't deserve him. I might be called upon to acknowledge that on some level, he might not deserve me. But I won't. Our imperfections fit together, like those brain puzzles he's so fond of working. Together, we're pretty amazing and since I see him best when we're together, I see perfection.

If anyone wants to get together to brag about their men, I'm in. Better yet, let's write it all down, give it to our husbands with a [whatever thing they like] and see if it doesn't work for another seven years. Or maybe seven hours. Whatever.

Happy Crazy Backwards Day--True Confessions of a Working Mom

Being a mom is hard work. Being a Mormon mom is a blessing with lots of responsibility. Being a working Mormon mom is like trying to juggle EVERYTHING! Show up. Look nice. Be nice. Get the job done. Try and keep your priorities straight.

 I love being a wife, a mom and a Mormon. Especially with angelic help, which I believe I am entitled to. I  try hard. I really do. HOWEVER, sometimes, I get a little mixed up. Or a lot mixed up. And it's usually funny. (If it's not funny now, it will be in ten years.) If I can't be perfect, I am at least going to laugh. Here's a story of how all my ambitions and good intentions went completely backwards.

 The backwardness actually started with my working all night, and then going to bed while my family was waking up. Things just got crazier from there. I sat around all day trying to wake up and forgot to eat, so I was starving by the time I left my home, where my husband was MAKING DINNER, to go hang out with some girlfriends, where I knew there would be no food. I even had a headache coming on. That backwardness was just the beginning. I realized that I had forgotten my sewing machine, that my hair and makeup were not done, and I was headed to a craft night with two very pretty ladies who never forgot to do their hair and makeup. This is going to be good.

When I arrived at my friend's house, I found that no one was at home, they all having gone to the fabric store. One friend had sent me a text of the change of plans but it was unclear to me (probably I was reading it backwards) and the other friend's text ended up somewhere in Hawaii (where I would like to be but in the interest of opposites, reversals and backwardness, I was not there to receive my text.) My husband advised me to come home and bring back a movie for us to watch together. At that point, I really wanted to, but my friends felt so bad for the crazy communication that leaving now would have been cruel and insulting.

I sat there in my car, watching the house and being as creepy as possible. (Actually, I was watching Internet videos and so missed the exact moment of arrival.) After forty minutes of this, I finally went inside and had a great time eating candy and popcorn for a nutritious dinner and watching the same movie I would have seen with my husband that night. No crafts after all. Once the movie was over, I declared that I needed to go home, sent a text to my husband to that effect, and then proceeded to stay another twenty minutes.

 Having asked hubby to get a movie for us to watch, I went home expecting to snuggle up in my messy house. What I found was a much tidier house than I had left. Backwards, but a good backwards. There was no movie. I checked my phone, (which had been on silent the entire night!) and found a message from my love, asking me to get the movie, as the kids were in bed. There was no time for it anyway. Oh, well. Might as well go to sleep, which he immediately did. Having slept all that morning, a REM cycle was much more difficult for me to achieve. I knew I was going to be up late, which was bad, because I expected company in the following early afternoon and the house was not up to par. I finally drifted off into a troubled dream state and that was the official start of my Crazy Backwards Day.

The alarm must have rung eighty times before my husband got up and took our oldest son to school. The knowledge that my youngest boy would tear apart the whole house in short order was enough to drag me out of bed too. Hubby and Denny were gone and hot cereal was on the table. Perhaps it was a nod to Opposites Day but whatever the reason, my husband had switched the bowls--not the portions, just the dishes around, giving the toddler a giant bowl and reserving the baby bowl for me. Good, I thought, I'm just going to embrace it all. If this is backwards day, bring it on.

I ate my breakfast, calling down blessings upon my hubby's head for it, and then decided to clean the house. I was totally exhausted, but GUESTS WERE COMING and the house must be in order. I started by unloading the dishwasher of all the dirty dishes that I had put in there clean the day before. (Backwards is beautiful.) I planned the meal I would cook, (pasta with homemade sausage) and grabbed all the grody towels and stuffed them into the washer. I went to dress and was combing my hair when a ginormous wave of fatigue jumped on my face and beat me into submission.

"You need a haircut and a bath," I told my son as I changed back into my pajamas. "I'll cut your hair in a little while" and I lay down on top of the blankets in my unmade bed. "You have time to get some cleaning done while Mommy is napping." With that, I slept like a baby, which means I woke up all the time and screamed. "Leave the fridge alone! Don't break that! Turn the water off! Did you clean your room? That's too loud!"

I eventually got up. It was time to pick up my son from school, so naturally, I started frantically cleaning my house again. After a while, I knew that my guests would be arriving, so I immediately left the house. They texted me that they were running late. Perfect. Me too. I picked up my son, and returned home to find peeps on my porch. They looked surprised to see me in my pajamas but I just smiled and asked if they'd been waiting long. Once we got inside, I wanted to be the best host ever, so I left them all alone in the living room while I changed into slacks and a sweater.

The house was presentable, sort of. The bathroom was cleaner than it looked and the living room looked cleaner than it was. I started making a late lunch and needed my apron, only to remember that it was still in the washer. I didn't get a chance to talk much. My kids were doing plenty of that anyway. My four-year-old got so excited that he kept shouting. Every time he did this, he disturbed the baby, which disturbed his mama, which disturbed all of us. Things were going great.

After a while, my guests said they had to go visit other friends and so departed with hugs. My oldest son burst out crying because they couldn't stay, and screamed after they left because nobody would leave him alone. He got a timeout and then we ate our pasta and sausage by ourselves. It was delicious. Heedless of the cold outside, my boys ate huge glasses of ice and played Ghost in the Graveyard in daylight.

This has been about the best Backwards Day ever, although, my poor guests got the brunt of it. Someday I'll have them over again and I will be at home, on time, and dressed. The only thing I want to do now is watch the second half of a girly movie and then cuddle to sleep with my love.

 My boss just asked me to come in for an evening shift. I guess I'd better change into my work clothes. Now if I can just pull these pants over my head and work my feet through the sleeves of my work shirt, I'll be set. I'll head to my job as soon as hubby gets home from his. When I come back, I'm starting this day over. When you run a backwards day in reverse, it comes out right. (If you get enough sleep.)

I Took All Their Toys...And They Like It.

I like toys. I think they're cool and I like trying out new ones. I rarely buy them though, because I hate clutter and my kids hate cleaning. I only buy brand-new toys for birthdays and Christmas. That's 2 per child, 2 days a year, times 4 years. That is 16 toys. So WHY do we have so many?!? Somewhere, the math isn't working. Okay, so there's the occasional thrift-store yes, like the toy vacuum (I wish it were real) and the light saber. My kids also earn money for chores and they sometimes buy toys. Then there are the gifts from friends and relatives. But considering how many things they break, lose and give away, you'd think it would balance out.

 Some of you are laughing now. You know what I'm talking about. It never balances out! In fact, there is a tremendous worldwide imbalance. All the kids in less-developed countries who don't have any toys, ever wonder why? They're all in my house, that's why! (The toys, not the kids.) It's time to correct the imbalance! I'm sending the toys back to Uganda.

Here's the story. One night, I had told my kids to clean their room for the billionth time, only to hear once again that it was too hard. You know what? I believed them. I came in with a handful of large trash bags and said I was coming in to help. They believed me. One by one, we gathered up all the toys, organizing them by category, and stuffed them ALL into the bags. The kids looked relieved and never complained or protested. The bags went into the attic but we can't keep them all. Some really will have to be sent away and I still want to help out needy kids. I'm just not sure how to get them to Africa. In any case, my boys have not had to pick up toys in a week and they're much more relaxed.

I wouldn't recommend such a drastic approach in most cases, but we've seen some neat results from this experiment. Here's what happens:

My children are much more creative in their play. They have to be. They're building tents out of blankets, dressing up with sheets, and playing music with dishes. They're building puppet theaters using cardboard. (They don't have any puppets so Daddy's old socks might get repurposed.) They pretend to be gates, bridges, trees and banana splits. This afternoon, they were giving one another horsey rides. They appreciate shadows, colors and music more. The few straggler toys that escaped the sweep are much more enjoyed.

The boys are much more interested in learning about whatever I'm doing. Today they helped me assemble first-aid kits for their emergency bags and I taught them about preparedness. They talk to me more and tell me about their lives. They read more. My older son is teaching his little brother the alphabet.

I guess less really is more. Less is also less. Less whining, less TV and less mess. Less time looking for things, less fighting over things. Less time worrying about THINGS and more time with PEOPLE. I think this experiment is a success, more or less (I just had to do that.)

Playing with toys helps children learn about their world and be more like their parents. Not having toys does that too. I'm wondering what tomorrow will bring. Will my children start cooking and thinking that laundry is fun? Will they get excited about real tools and real vacuums? We'll have to wait and see. I'm sure that I'll bring the toys out of the attic sometime. But not today. Today, I'm a caterpillar, crawling around in a vegetable garden. So I can't go in the attic, can I?

Why I Didn't Wait to Have Children

As Latter-Day Saints, we have an interesting culture. We believe in having children, and anytime a couple is newly married, we assume that they want and will have kids. We assume that they will have a child within two years, and probably more than one child at some point. We are not bad people for having these assumptions; they're often based on real life and what we've seen. The problem arises when we carry our assumptions too far, and start telling people they have to fit into a mold based on our expectations.

I have been guilty of this. Based on my perception of today's Latter-Day Saint culture (notice I said culture, not doctrine) I assumed that a  couple who did not announce pregnancy in the early stages of marriage was "waiting".  Boy, was I wrong! They had wanted children from day one and my verbalized assumptions caused them pain. I was told in no uncertain terms to "Mind my own business!"

I was shocked. Everywhere I went, people asked other people when and how many children they planned to have. It was "normal". When I spoke to this couple, I meant to show them that I supported their right to make decisions about their family. I learned something: supporting them is not my job. Short of being their doctor, bishop or therapist, there is no necessity, no reason whatsoever, for thinking about how many children SOMEONE ELSE wants to create and when. I can't think of any righteous purpose that would be served by it.

As Elder Neil L. Andersen told us in October 2011 General Conference,

 When to have a child and how many children to have are private decisions to be made between a husband and wife and the Lord. These are sacred decisions—decisions that should be made with sincere prayer and acted on with great faith.

There you have it. Not only is it not our decision, it is private. And just like all private things, we have no business speculating about them. If  someone voluntarily shares their decision with us, we should be kind, realizing that they have shared something private and sacred, like a testimony.  We are not being called upon to agree or disagree.


I Come From A Large Family

I grew up in a family that believed and taught that birth control was a literal tool of Satan to prevent Heavenly Father's spirit children from gaining bodies. Anyone who "planned" their family using any method other than abstinence was evil or deceived. I don't particularly like that philosophy, not just because there are legitimate and unselfish reasons for preventing pregnancy (severe medical conditions that require heavy medications, for instance,) and not because it is a seriously harsh judgment we are not called upon to make.

I don't like that philosophy because I've seen many instances where people would have a lot of kids--providing bodies for those spirits--and not pay any/enough attention to the raising of them. I don't want to be a judge of these people. I just feel bad for the kids, so often raising, and raised by, their siblings. I was born in such an environment, and while I do not condemn my parents--they were doing the best they knew how--I wished to approach parenting in a different way.

I Really Like Kids

My whole life I wanted kids--lots of kids! My childhood was not all bad and living with eleven siblings had taught me to love children and want a house full of them. I used to shock people for fun by telling them I wanted fifteen children, never being quite sure I'd find a willing husband.(That number has fluctuated a lot over the years.) When my husband and I became engaged, we took the matter very seriously. He came from a family of three and the full-house concept--and budget! frightened him a little. I wanted babies right away, and he wanted to wait a year. We were both in school and working, not making much money. I knew that it was not my decision. It was OURS. We talked about it. We prayed. We went to the temple. I did research on birth control, namely, finding out what it was.

Here's what we learned: God is the Maker and Sender of all spirits. He has commanded us to multiply and replenish the earth so we can rejoice in our posterity. We know that when the Lord commands He also prepares a way. He will not send us more than we can handle, and He will help us all the way through to the end. We made the decision to... do nothing. We left it in His hands. We would not use birth control unless medically necessary and we never have.

It seems crazy sometimes to think of how poor we were, but never wanted for anything. We never went hungry, never had to move back in with our parents, and we had FUN. We have been so blessed, especially through others--strangers sometimes-- who reached out to help. The Lord really has opened and continues to open the way for us. We have both continued our educations and have not been hindered by being parents. And we have rejoiced.

Our children are so sweet and funny and we wish we could have more. Someday...it's still in the Lord's hands. Meanwhile, we are blessed by our two little boys. When they say, "Mommy, I'm happy. We're a family" it melts my heart. When they cover my desk with drawings of superheroes, I feel like the luckiest woman alive. And when they put their arms around my neck and cuddle at bedtime, I know that this is what Heaven was meant to be like. My little bit of Heaven, here on earth.

"Mommy, I'm happy. We're a family."

I hope that everyone gets to feel their bit of Heaven. No matter what happens, though, let us not judge others for waiting, or not waiting; for wanting many or wanting few; for spacing or not spacing. Let us withdraw our minds from the sacred and private decisions of others. The Lord has it covered and no one is more qualified for the job. For my part, I'd rather be rejoicing.