There are so many things I want to write about (Susan’s experience learning to read and tie her shoe left-handed, my gardening/composting misadventures, Sally’s complete apparent brainwashing into the public school system at the tender age of nine, my disinclination to have Spot’s speech assessed though maybe it should be, and a hundred other little things like what (not) to read while you’re expecting) but I’m suffering from a writer’s block in which every thing around me (though surprisingly not including my children or husband) is BUGGING THE SNOT OUT OF ME.
I read posts that sound pretentious, shallow, or downright irrational. I wish I could muster the energy to leave flaming comments (I should pretend that I have matured enough to keep my critical thoughts to myself, or even better, become a kind, empathetic person, but the truth is I’m just tired of it all). The weather is mercurial and frustrating (though even a teasing, snowy May first is better than the silent resignation of February). Ten of the first forty swimming lessons of the season, including all the preschool level 1, were full within an hour of online registration being open, and I just want everyone else with kids to take a break for awhile and let me get ahead.
I know it’s me. I know my posts are every bit as self-indulgent and I will be forever grateful to Simon Cowell for that phrase. I know that soon enough I’ll be cursing the heat in my pregnancy-swelled incarnation. I know Spot will probably do fine in the preschool level 2 class, seeing as she’s had what seems like seven years of parent-child class.
I know church will someday again not make me want to slit my own throat in futile protest of lazy cliches, testimonies-that-are-not-testimonies, comments about how true ladies are strong but ever-quiet and modestly reserved, eulogies of people or callings or both, empty iterations of how the church must be true and Christ must be at the helm because our recent stake splitting was quick and seamless instead of the bloody, brutal coup that divine oversight averted by just this much.
I know this is me: I read a post where someone lamented having low self-esteem/being fat ever since adolescence even though she wore the smallest skirt on her cheerleading squad. I guess she didn’t get the memo that you’re not allowed to feel bad about yourself unless you weigh almost as much as me (hey, I’m pregnant, I’ll give you a few grace pounds under my current weight, but normally you better weigh at least 20 pounds more before whining). Since I am not a standard (well, I am pretty close to the U.S. average size, but we’ll let that go; i.e. I was right, but that’s not the point), this is a subjective, self-centered, unsympathetic line of indignation in the sand.
I read a different (funny, faith-affirming) sort of post last Monday. It was Conversion Diary’s When Church Isn’t Fun (really, go read it; I’d risk the cliche of saying she said it so much better than I could, it was that good), though her church-wasn’t-fun was for the less-damning (understandable) reason of hooligan children (which I remember well, but my kids are pretty old for that now). I’ve mentioned before my Catholic envy; really it is an envy for the mysteries, for the holiness some devout, fervent, trying Catholics seem to center their lives on.
Mormonism has mysteries, of course, but often we are a practical people, eschewing unanswerable questions for concrete principles of daily living. Which I like. I need concrete principles and valuable, reasonable theories of how best to live the mundane parts. And we say that taking the Sacrament (our version of Communion) is the most important part of our Sunday meetings, but it is purely symbolic; we don’t have the transubstantiation literalness thing going, nor the pomp and circumstance, so I don’t know if that’s why the Sacrament sometimes seems a hurried ordinance to be gotten through before the meat of the meeting rather than a ritual completion at the end.
But this, too, is me. I could arrive early to church (I think; maybe I should walk alone once a month and sit for awhile by myself before 9) and meditate my heart out on the mysteries of God. I could pinch my kids into squawking so they once again consume my energies that are less-well-spent in finding fault. Which is funny because a) I lamented not being able to concentrate on the speaker for years, and b) I’ll have a new squawker soon enough; probably I should enjoy this peace I longed for.
Dalene has one of those small, simple things in her post today (I do read great Mormon bloggers, too), that reminds me that when we are listening, when we are able to hear, God speaks. He speaks through others, and sometimes He speaks in a gesture, a glance, a communion of spirits knowing and apprehending the same thing at once.
Why didn’t I have an experience like that today? I know it was me. I wasn’t listening. I hope God wasn’t trying to tell me something important today. As if God takes Sunday off with no message for those who would hear. Only I wouldn’t.
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I too went through years of not hearing God speak at church because I was distracted taking out a screaming or stinky toddler, sheepishly covering the mouth of a three-year-old who said something completely inappropriate in his outdoor voice during the middle of the sacrament or picking crunchy Cheerios from the recesses of our back bench. But it truly is (usually) much easier to see and hear when your kids are older.
Admittedly, sometimes I still don’t hear because I’m irritable or tired or I’m too busy rolling my eyes. But moments like the one today keep me going back.
(p.s. Thanks for reading!)
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 7:02 am
My kids were really good yesterday (which is always a surprise until I remember that the youngest is 3). The middle one (5) ripped her dress and then complained that the tulle was scratchy, so I had her older sister (9) walk her home to change. They were back in 10 minutes and though I was a little distracted by worrying about them (why do I always worry when I send them on things like that that I know they’re old enough to do, but WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED?), I love that they’re getting mature enough to be more independent.
Point: I think I really am more cut out to be the mother of older kids. Not going to miss the baby-toddler stage. (Though that’s easy to say right now bec. I have one more baby to cuddle coming.)
I love the moods when everything is just grating. They’re fantastic. How, pray tell, do you manage to get the kids and husband excluded? That is a trick I must learn.
Sometimes I read blogs and everything seems either too trivial or too hard a try at introspection. I usually just walk away when I’m in that mood.
And then I wonder why I’m so irritable. And then I wonder why my daughter is so mean. And then I realize the two are related and I make sure I’m well stocked in feminine hygiene products.
Which couldn’t be the answer for you, so good luck riding out the pregnancy hormones.
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 6:50 am
I wish I could blame it on the pregnancy hormones — I mean, I’m sure they make it so I’m unfiltered enough to complain on here, but really I’m this critical in my mind … um, almost all the time. In fact, I used to blame it on having been an English major. But maybe yesterday it was just not having Tom there to roll my eyes at intermittently.
I chalk it up to the phase of the moon…or that whole pregnancy, freakishly raging hormones thing, whichever is more applicable. And sometimes it’s just life and the craziness of it all. (I hope lame comments aren’t grating…sorry.)
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 6:52 am
Comments are NEVER grating.
(Well, except I did get a random comment from “green trampolines” over the weekend on an old post, which begged me to reconsider the ramifications of letting Grandpa buy a trampoline from my kids. Apparently trampoline workers work in terrible conditions and trampolines are killing the earth, or something. THAT was grating. 
)
My man bore his testimony today. It was my first time hearing him formally. I wondered if he would slip in an “I’m so glad that I’ve met this woman” or something else cheesy but true that I’ve heard him say in other settings. Nope. Pure testimony. Sigh. No gratings today for me.
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 6:54 am
Um,”my man” is a little grating, don’t you think? A little missing-a-tooth/frontierish? What’s wrong with “fiance”?
(And I am glad to hear that he knows how to bear a testimony. I do approve of him more and more every time I see him — especially when I see how he deals with your kids. He is a treasure.
)
Jane, I felt very much the same way yesterday. I don’t even have kids to blame. Everyone was just so annoying! Aksing me the same questions all day, saying the same trite phrases. Gosh, makes me want to go back on vacation. Maybe today will be better cause I can hibernate at home doing whatever I want. Good luck feeling better.
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 6:55 am
As I said, I think having kids is a more legitimate reason for not feeling the Spirit as much as one would like, although on the other hand, having a new baby that is easily soothed with breastfeeding, etc (knock on wood, I better get another baby like that this time), is a pretty easy way to think about how much Heavenly Father must love us as His children.
I’m guilty of doing that in my testimony yesterday. Sorry.
Jane Reply:
May 3rd, 2010 at 7:52 am
Aack. Not *you*. I actually thought yours was a great way to end the day. How you said you didn’t want to let your husband get away, and you wanted to put him in your pocket. It was very sweet. Made me remember how determined I was to land my husband 12 years ago!
Girl, you are not alone. But, are you sure you don’t have depression? Because for me, irritability is how mine manifests itself quite often. I’m betting it is just hormones and the weather. Snow in May? Yeah.
I do think a big part of it is opening yourself up to feeling the spirit. I am so ready and need it so much that even when Winnie runs singing to the front of the chapel when we get there 10 minutes late, and then runs on the podium in the middle of testimonies, and then up the street after ditching his nursery teachers barefooted….I really still did have a lovely Sunday, spiritually fortified for this week. For me, as soon as I sit down, I say a little prayer that I will feel the spirit. Because otherwise I just don’t see much point in going.
Jane,
I can relate, all but the part where you exclude nuclear family members. As you well know, that was not my experience, sadly, when I was your age. Is irritabillity hereditary?
The fact that you are not annoyed by those closest, surely is part of the hand of God. At least I think so, as I see your fam from the outside.
Love you!
Uh, all I can say is amen. A.M.E.N. What’s my excuse? Oh, and by the way, it’s not my kids or my husband either. Oh, and my very awesomest, bestest friend down the street.
Can we rant together? And maybe pray or something for things to be less annoyingly perceived?
Perhaps God has messages for you at other times?
(Or am I completely misunderstanding your church, coming from my Anglo-Catholic background??)
I’m sure we hear them at the right moments, even if they were perhaps delivered when we were distracted.
I must admit that the number of sacrament meetings that truly inspire me versus the number that I just endure is about a 10 to 1 ratio. If you don’t have kids to distract you, it’s the cliches from the talks that become distracting. Many people have reminded me that the purpose of sacrament is one of service and renewal, not listening to engaging talks, so I know I have a lot to learn about preparation and focus and so forth. At least next Sunday I’ll be there with you.
I was just thinking about how much I hate church oft times, and wondering how it can be so when I have an unalterable conviction that the principles taught there are true, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and that the Book of Mormon is true. And yet, I’d rather stab my eyes out than go. That in three months of bedrest I never missed church, rather, I missed my family when they went to church. I liked your post, girl.