Love Hate

Dora is my three year old.  She was so excited Eli was going to school and she was desperate to go.  Last year I put her in preschool at her request and had to take her out a month later.  She hated it.  This year, she vowed, would be different.  I had my reservations.  I signed her up but the preschool agreed to waive the supply fee until she stayed for four months.  We all knew she was a flight risk.

Cut to the first day.  It was a breeze.  She floated in, said bye, and played.  The second day was a little dicier, but she ultimately waved bye and I waltzed out.  By week two, the bloom was off the rose.  She was still excited to go.  Got dressed, put on her new hat, generally had lots of excitement and good humor.  She lost her marbles when I went to leave. I mean, they had to PRY her hands off my pants to keep her from ripping the pocket off as I walked away.  That was after attempting to reason with her about my departure for a good 20 minutes.

I have now been through two more experiences that were almost, if not quite, as harrowing.  Before you think I'm the world's worst mother, I should add that at all times other than the exact moment I leave, she is excited and interested in going to school.  She babbles about it.  She looks forward to it.  She dresses for it and helps me pack her lunch.  It's only right as I leave that she loses it.  Tonight I sat her down and we had a "talk."  I finally thought to ask her why she was so sad that I was leaving.  Her response?  "That why I love you so much."  (In Dora talk, this means, Because I love you so much.)

Where in the world am I going with this? I do have an actual point.  If you will bear with me, I will make it soon.  But first I have to cut back five years.  My son, who is five now, was an absolutely miserable baby.  Call it colic.  Call it bad parenting.  Call it being formula fed when he would never latch.  I have no idea, but that kid did not like me one iota more than a blow up doll.  He was just as happy (or as unhappy) with a stranger off the street as he was with me.  I thought it would kill me.  Obviously he's very loving, sweet, and affectionate now, but he is very very very independent.  To a fault.  He wanted to learn the alphabet at three.  How to read and write at four.  And he wants to do it all on his own.  And he does.

I hated that about him when he was a baby and a toddler, too.

I loved him with all my heart and every time I tried to hug him or squeeze him, or hold him, he would cry and push away.

Ironically it is what I love about him the most right now.  He is so helpful and independent.  The kid combs his own hair, he can read the scripture reader (about half the words) on his own now.  At our house, for school, he sets the alarm, gets up, gets dressed, makes his bed, puts his clothes in the dirty clothes (because he wants chores) and then comes and wakes me up.  I don't worry about alarms.  I don't worry about getting up on time.  MY FIVE YEAR OLD does that stuff.  He then scrapes his plate and all his siblings plates after breakfast, rinses them and puts them in the sink.  He combs his own hair and puts on his own shoes, and tucks in his own shirt.  It's pretty ridiculous.

This made me think.  It is making me nuts that in church Dora wants to sit with me in my classes (quiet as a mouse, without moving) instead of going to her class. At school she can't stand to be away from me and it makes things miserable.  But I have to remind myself that with each of my children, as with each of my loved ones, it's what I hate that I also love.  Dora loves me.  She wants to be with me all the time.  I should love that! I finally have a child who wants to spend every single waking (and every single sleeping) minute with me.  Isn't that what I wanted?? And now I see it cuts both ways!

The same is true of other people I love.

For instance, my dad is the best listener I have ever met.  It doesn't matter what you want to talk to him about, he is completely and totally interested.  He laughs at my tiny jokes, sorrows with me when I am sad and is angry when I feel wronged.  He is completely, 100% vested in anything that I have going on in my life. How could anyone not love that!?!  It's only good right?

Except that he also thinks everything is interesting so you might be in for some stories you personally find boring because there is absolutely no topic on earth he does not want to hear about.  It doesn't occur to him (unless you tell him so) that you don't care about the rock strata in the surrounding hills, as one random, non-specific example.

How about my husband?  Am I going beyond the pale when I say that he makes me absolutely bonkers in his incessant and never-ending searching for things online?  He will spend hours reading about and researching various guns (the vast majority of which he wants to buy), and then when you think your head might explode on the topic of guns, he'll switch to RVs/vans.  He will find a gazillion that are just perfect.  And then he will switch to trucks.  And then to something else.  And then back to guns.

But it is precisely that exuberance, that excitement, that joie de vivre that I absolutely love about him.  When I went into labor with my son, for example, my adorable, extremely smart, 6'3" tall husband did this little dance of joy.  When we have an anniversary, a birthday, a holiday coming up, he spends lots of time doing little things for me.  He's made me, in no specific order: a custom jewelry box (which he promised to fill and he has completely filled it...), a wooden chest for my rubber stamps, a pillow case made from scrubs so I could hug him when he's gone at work, a tiny hand carved kangaroo ring holder to put by the sink (because I had a pet wallaby), a custom sewn (by him) and modified care bear (when I was collecting them before Dora's birth for her room) that looks like a doctor, to show me and eventually our daughter he supports her in reaching for the stars.  I could go on and on.  He leaves me notes and sends me texts constantly telling me he loves me.  He plans little surprises, brings me flowers (still after six years for no reason) and folds laundry, does dishes, cooks.  He does all these little things because of his zip, his energy, the very same part of him that has his questing fingers clacking over the keys of the computer looking up guns, RVs, trucks, and imagining our family adventures (okay, not so much with the guns maybe).

I think this may be the case with almost everything.  So, the point?  I did say I had one.  Here it is.  I will say it loud and clear so you don't miss it.

Think of someone you love very much but are frustrated with right now, for whatever reason.

Now, think of what's frustrating you.

Now, here's the hard part.

Think about how that thing you HATE is also the very same thing you LOVE.  And get over it.  Forgive him.  Forgive her.  Realize that the things they hate about us are also the things that they love.  Every single coin in the world has two sides.  You can't have heads without tails.  And vice versa.

And the next time they do that annoying thing you hate, say, throwing their socks on the floor and walking off like they didn't even realize their feet were formerly housed by socks... remember that it's their very carefree attitude (I actually don't have this problem with anyone) that made you love them.  It's the reason why they don't mind that you fill the entire sink with icky foundation when you wash your face.  Or it's why they don't mind if you eat the food they ordered at the restaurant, or whatever.

I bet if you really think about it, you'll see how that thing you just couldn't handle for another minute is really the very part of them that allows them to love you.  That makes you love them too.

And for a final, pontificating point... I'd like to add.  Your heavenly father, and your brother Jesus too, they love you for who you are.  It's a who that has things that they love and probably some things that they don't like very much.  They take the whole package, and they are willing to work with you on the things that they'd really be better off without.  If we're trying to be like them, we'll extend the same courtesy to the people we love too.

Sunglasses

I think I may have to change the title of this blog!  Not only have I been so sick with pregnancy that I kind of just dropped it, I have shifted from being a ranting mom to being a preachy preacher.  Huh.

I guess I learn so much from my kids that I am having trouble feeling like I have no where to share it.  Some of my insights feel really colloquial or folksy, but I want to put them down somewhere or I'll forget them.  So without further adieu, here's the latest...

Every single day for 3 weeks now, I've been taking Eli (my five year old) to school.  He just started kindergarten.  I am too "new mom" with him and I insist he ride in the car to and from school, afraid he will get picked on or pick up bad things on the bus.  Plus it's just more time with me.  My husband works nights so he is always in bed when I do the drop off run, which means 15 month old Emmy and three year old Dora are also in the car with me.  Every single morning the sun shines directly in our faces.

I am old enough to put on sunglasses and put down the visor.  Eli sits in the back so he's okay.  Dora is right in the line of sun and she asks for my extra pair of sunglasses.  Every day I have said, "Okay, sure, but make sure you don't touch the lenses."  I figure if I tell her not to, it will happen somewhat less, but let's get real here.  I know she's gonna touch the lenses, and I have an end game as well.  I will clean them off.  :-) The more cleaning, the more scratches, the sooner I have to toss this pair and get new ones.  So I say it over and over.

After a week and a half, her tiny voice says, "Mom, I'm so sorry.  I didn't mean to, but I touched the lenses."  Then when I didn't say anything (distracted) she said, "I can still wear them, Momma?"

I obviously reassured her it was okay and I could fix it, but I reiterated that she should try not to do it.  It made me think.  

Our Heavenly Father is always telling us not to touch the lenses.  It takes many forms.  Every single morning though, it's there, if we are reading our scriptures, the Ensign, etc., like we're supposed to.  If we are paying attention to his counsel, and listening to the Spirit's promptings, we're being reminded.  Don't touch the lenses.  Sometimes that counsel takes the form of, "Be kind to your children." (or "Love One Another.")  Sometimes it's "Serve One Another" or "Repent" or any number of other scripture messages.  I mean, how many times do you read the same exact counsel in the Book of Mormon?  You could probably boil the Book of Mormon in a pot for an hour and end up with just a handful of phrases.  If we'd only follow those, we'd keep that pesky sun out of our eyes and never ruin our sunglasses.

And yet... Our Heavenly Father knows we will touch the lenses.  Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but sometime we are bound to do it. After all, we are only three.  Our coordination is not so good.  Our focus is not so great.  We forget.  There are any number of reasons why it happens but the result is the same.

He reminds us not to so we will touch them less but when we've touched the lenses, he has a protocol in place to clean them off.  It's called repentance.  And he's not angry.  He's not upset.  He's not even disappointed I think.  He just wants us to avail ourselves of His prepared solution, His perfect, free, wonderful solution.  The glasses won't end up scratched, they won't end up being discarded because unlike this analogy, his solution is eternal.  It's perfect.  And it can be repeated indefinitely.  Until we develop the maturity, the confidence, the dexterity to perfect ourselves in that one area.  And move to another.

I am so grateful for the insight I can receive into the love our Heavenly parents have for us as a result of the love I have for my tiny earthly charges (I mean my kids, in case that's too obtuse).  I am so grateful for a Heavenly Father who loves me, even when I touch the lenses after being repeatedly and consistently reminded.  I pray that one day I can stop but for now, I just keep wiping away whenever I do.  And I know that's okay with Him.