I come form a line of strength and courage. It took all the courage in the world for my Grandma...my Nonna...to survive many of the trials the Lord placed upon her, even as a child. I wrote a small biography of her in school 4 years back, and this is a segment that always holds true to the wonder I feel in my dear Nonna's life...in her divine assignment to come to the earth and remain here for posterity's sake. Without her, my Mother, our Mimi, would not be, and neither I. As noted below, I come from a line of women who are preserved for a purpose and who receive insight far greater than even we can comprehend at times.
"Within years of moving into the little home in Peru, Donna received a beautiful red bike for her eighth Birthday in October 1939. There was a yearly winter activity in the family which involved a visit with her Grandma and Grandpa Spurr. Grandpa Spurr was the Mayor of Oglesby for two consecutive terms, and very wealthy for the time; he and his wife would venture down to Florida every year after the family gathering. As they were about to say their goodbyes, Donna cried and shouted—with the innocence and foresight of a child—“I will never see you again, don’t go,” to her Grandma Spurr. The people in attendance told her that Grandma Spurr would be back. Then, the unthinkable happened. Donna was heading home from school on October 23rd with her friend Betty Jean. The cross guard at the intersection stood, fascinated with the painting being done on the new Coca Cola building, and failed to perform her duties; Betty walked out into the busy street. Noticing the traffic, Betty turned to go back into the safety of the sidewalk while Donna headed straight into the thick traffic. Donna was hit—heavy and strong—by the cars ahead. The town assumed she was riding her beautiful red bike, but this was little Donna, walking home on her own two feet. Donna fractured her skull and required the expertise of a brain surgeon; the dilemma—there were no brain surgeons in Peru Illinois. Fortunately, the new town doctor was an acquaintance with a brain surgeon who resided in Michigan. The town doctor called the brain surgeon; the surgeon claimed he would come to Peru and perform the surgery if he was greeted at the airport with $500. Donna’s parents were poor as church mice; $500 was the equivalent of ½ million dollars to them, they simply did not have the funds. However, Donna’s uncle Herrman had a reserve of money in the bank. He called the President of the bank in the still night hours, arranged to meet him at the bank, received the money, and gave it to the surgeon who performed the surgery in the middle of the night. Donna woke after the surgery saying, “Mommy, I’m so hungry!” Donna survived the traumatic experience, making headlines, but still failed to see her Grandma Spurr the following winter. In January of 1940, her Grandma Spurr passed away due to a stroke, and Donna’s last words to her rang true—“I will never see you again!”
My Mother...she is a woman I admire and cherish more than I can express. I find myself, like many, hearing her words spout through my lips in my frustrations, in my exquisite joys, and even in my daily funky communication twists in words and phrases known so clearly to most people...but not to me!!!
I have danced in the kitchen, singing tunes to my kiddos...I have pointed my dancing fingers to them in sweet flirtatious ways to induce happiness and joy in their hearts. They, in these moments, say, "Why did you shout the words to that song?" as my out of tune voice cracks another line which was misunderstood and slaughtered by my tongue. But still...I see happiness fall into their eyes; they love these moments. Connor usually corrects me when I speak a lyric out of place, but that's okay...because I LOVE that about him! I receive this funky mothering style from my Mother, and I wouldn't have it any other way! Of course, she probably knows the lines to all songs and can sing then in tune far better than me, but the same smile I gave her as we traveled to Smith's on a hot summer day, is the smile I get from my children as we travel to Sonic on a hot summer day!
Now I am raising beautiful little boys and girls of my own. They take everything from me. Time...oh yes, morning, noon, and night.
Beauty...yep. They say it's an old wives tale that when you conceive a girl, she steals your beauty. I say it was proven with me!!! I bore three beautiful boys and was still a petite and glowing woman. Once I conceived my girls, my body went nuts, and I can swear that my hair and complexion were far from what they were when I was carrying my boys! Still, almost three years after my last girl was born, my body is nothing of the beauty it use to be, in spite of my best efforts (come on, even marathon training), but I can attribute some of it to my hypothyroidism...nasty little devil that steals my confidence...
They say that daughters are usually more beautiful than their mothers...
I'd say that's an understatement!
My girls will be heart throbs!
My husband was away in Pennsylvania on Mother's Day weekend. He was actually meant to travel to a place near Lancaster, where we once lived to spend some time with his brother. Unfortunately, mid drive, plans changed, and he decided to find his "silver lining"; he proceeded to Lancaster County...where we lived form November 2006-August 2008. I was 38 weeks pregnant when we moved to Lancaster. I was due with my third child, a boy, on December 4th, 2006. We moved into a brand new three bedroom, two bathroom, two story (with a loft) apartment....on the upper level. Mind you, I carried an entire living room full of tubs and boxes stacked three tubs high, up to the second story loft the night we moved in while Steve was out buying a few bathroom necessities. I was either incredibly young and fit at 38 weeks pregnant, or crazy...you decide!
As Steve visited Lancaster on Saturday, he took a few pictures for me.
This was the building we went to church at through that time. My first Sunday in Relief Society, I sat with a woman and asked her how many children she had, she said, 6, but 5 living. I shed tears for her that day and expressed my sorrow for her loss to which she replied, "It's okay, it was 11 years ago."
Only 2 weeks later, I...still a young mother, but to 3, gave birth to my third son. We named him Shane. It was a perfect delivery. He was born on 12/02 at 3:07am. I cried over him and then asked the nurses for something to eat...I was SOOOO hungry!!!
Only 4 months later, I had to willingly give him back to the Lord. He was taken suddenly as I was away. I nursed him to sleep before I left the house one Saturday morning, and a few hours later he never woke again. The Lord led us to Lancaster County, inspired a woman of my future sorrows to sit beside me only 2 weeks before the birth of my son, and then gave me what no mother could bear to ponder...horrendous pain and suffering. Kelly Russell, my RS friend the first day of church, took me under her wing ..as she and her husband were the first ward members in our home the moment news was heard that we lost our baby. I remember her hug...the tight grip she held me with, and the tears that streamed both of our faces.
I remember every bath I gave my baby boy...I remember lathering him with lotion and wiping any dripping milk form his face to keep him beautiful. The ultimate trial came when I had to watch my son's casket be placed into my future grave. A grave is long enough to hold a short woman and a baby...and it will someday hold me with him. I remember the nightmares of his perfect body, being taken from my hands, so I could never wipe the dirt away. I cried and gasped for air as I questioned how I, as his mother, could possibly allow anyone to take him so far from me. I am meant to care for his every need...every second...of every day.
Yet, one day, my body will be taken and covered in dirt as well. When it does, it will be closer to him than I have been since March 31st, 2007 at 8:30am when I nursed him into a sweet slumber and kissed his tender cheek, stating, "I love you so much, you're so beautiful". Our Spirit's, at that time will embrace as we see each other as mother and son, once again. At an appointed time, The Lord will allow me to cleanse my babe's porcelain skin with my tears...he will be beautiful and whole as his body will rise to perfection and life through Jesus Christ, and I will hold him and raise him again...I know without a doubt this is true. I AM his MOTHER and he IS my SON.
These are images of the beautiful rolling hills in Lancaster County where he is buried. He is buried in a section of this large cemetery called; the section is called "The Garden of Many Faiths". When he was blessed as an infant on December 31, 2006 in church, he was told through his Daddy's lips, but from his Father above, that he will be a missionary, and will be tolerant to many people of different faiths. The Lord was correct on all accounts.
This is the tree he lies beneath.
As I went to bed on Saturday night, into the Sabbath, I sat up in my bed, pondering my role as a Mother. I looked over to catch a glimpse of the time, and it was 12:02. I placed my face into my hands, and wept for a moment. My dear baby, the child who has given me strength to be a better mother every day of my life, was born on 12/02. He reminds me often, through simple symbols like that, that he is close. Many who have lost, understand these symbols...I believe with all my heart, that those who are gone, aren't really gone at all; they are simply incapable of sight to our frail and mortal eyes.
Then I woke on Mother's Day morning to my youngest little Maya beside me...so still, so peaceful, and so very beautiful.
My children were so gracious to me. They wrote me cards and school and church. Lydia (4) told me in her card at church that, "My Mom tells me...to go back to bed!" I had to laugh, that is the one thing I am working with her on these days...two kids with two adults in one bed is becoming a nuisance! Both of the boys said that their favorite thing to do with me is cuddle, I believe they are just like their Daddy...and touch is a love language to them. Aiden said that my job is to be a nurse, and Connor said it was to clean the house! Yet, on Monday...after Mother's Day, I took the loaded bag of trash out of the garbage can and set it down to place the new bag in. Without prompting, Connor came into the kitchen, grabbed the bag and took it outside to the trash can. I am raising a chivalrous boy...and I am so very honored to do so!
We tried to grab a picture of all of us...
This was the best we could get!
And Lydia insisted on trying to snap a shot of us...her little and finger and all.
After church, I cleansed my kiddos bodies like I would every other day, and then did funky braids in Miss Maya's hair!
We watched some church videos....
At days end, I pondered on all the things that I'd love to do better as a Mom...
Cooking is on the top of that list! I have always admired women who make meals a priority in their family lives. Bonding and trust are developed around a dinner table, I believe!
I would LOVE to just relax with the thought that the house has to be in order at days end and just sit with my kids laughing more often than not. I do this on occasion and it is so much fun--my boys can make me laugh so hard, I love it!
There are things I am proud of as a mother....
People think I am nuts for making hand stitched quilts, but it is a reflection of true devotion and love to those whom you make it for. I looked at Lydia's baby quilt that Steve actually helped me with. She laid it out over my white quilt on the bed, so as to not dirty the white one, and as the sun kissed it's surface, I took a picture of all those pretty crinkles that represent the thousands of stitches placed by hand for my baby. I am currently working on Aiden's baptism quilt. My children cleave to their quilts...baby and baptism quilts...I believe they truly do sense the love put into it.
I am a good homemaker...and my Connor especially notices it, "Mom, the house is so clean and organized" he will say when I have put a lot of time into it. It is true for me that when my house is in order, I am able to feel the peace of the Spirit more readily...and then extend it to my children and husband.
I love to read to my kids...especially my boys right now. I spend time every night with each child, reading from books about colors and the many ways I love them (with my girls) to fiction chapter novels about the Savior and all of His work upon this Earth. My boys are devastated when that time is out of question at night...whether it be because of extreme naughty behavior, or time restraints.
And I am most proud of the fact that I have taught my children that when you are upset or feeling out of control, the best thing to do is pray. When Connor was going through his terrible two's I placed him on my knee with his tantrums and would express my insight into the hard day he appeared to be having, and then I would offer a prayer to our Father for him. To this day, when I have alone time with my boys, there have been occasions where they ask me to pray with them on their hard days. It has remained a source of comfort for Lydia...and Maya, well, she is one of a kind...there are rarely times when she herself can't get out of a tantrum on her own, she's kinda easy in that regards.
I AM A MOTHER...
From a Mother...
Who was from a Mother too...
I am grateful for this divine stewardship I have!
