Magic.

Today was Christmas. It was a wonderful, relaxing day that even included a nap. Naps didn't come easy when my children were younger. 

This Christmas, we were able to get wonderful gifts for each other and our children, without gut-wrenching worry over each dime spent. But today I was also remembering a Christmas of years past, when money was extremely tight. 

The flooring industry had taken a hit with 9/11, and our fledging software company had absorbed that downturn, with very few sales and not enough maintenance fees to hold us over. Things were very, very tight. We had not had much of a paycheck for months. And at the time, I was working doing marketing for our company but not getting paid. (In that it was counterintuitive to building a financially stable business if we both took paychecks at that time.) So I couldn't supplement our income.

As December approached, I was really worried about presents for my children. I had a pit in my stomach all month long. While they were not particularly greedy nor materialistic, they were at an age when they believed in "the magic of Christmas", and in the power of Santa to bring them whatever toy they asked for. And while I understood that money and presents do not buy happiness, I felt weighed down by stress and worry. 

If I remember correctly, this was our first winter of Chad serving as bishop. He and I have wondered, in retrospect, if this experience was to give him an extra measure of compassion and empathy for ward members going through difficult financial trials. 

And despite the anxiety, small but significant blessings came. Annie's sweet preschool teacher Mrs. Goose offered to let her continue to attend, and told us not to worry about her tuition until we got a paycheck.  We had enough food. We somehow could pay our house payment. Everyone was relatively healthy. But we were basically living off our credit card, which was terrifying and risky.

But it ended up being such a beautiful, memorable Christmas. 

We were blessed with many sweet acts of service that year. There were so many tender mercies. But one I remember in particular was that someone (or a group of someones, most likely) did a Twelve Days of Christmas for us. Each night, we would receive a gift at our doorstep. Thoughtful, funny, and creative little gifts or treats, that warmed our hearts each night. My kids absolutely loved it, and were so excited each night to find the gifts. 

At the end of the 12 days, we were given an envelope filled with cash. I can't remember how much it was, but I do remember it was a significant amount of money. And I remember that both Chad and I just cried. 

I'd worried about missing the magic of Christmas, with our stringent budget. But have realized since that THIS was the magic of Christmas. Feeling God's love through the kind acts of others. Sharing love with one another. Strengthening the feeble knees. Serving and giving without recognition. Pulling others to their feet and putting an arm around them, to rejoice in the birth of our Savior, together. 

Christmas angels appeared amidst our heavy, dark night that year. They helped us feel seen, supported, and loved. It was extremely humbling.   

And it was truly magical. 

Learning Humility By Force (also known as Parenting)

Before I was a parent, I thought I was a patient person. I was wrong.

For me, motherhood has been the most amazing, most rewarding, greatest generator of joy in my life (besides Jesus Christ, of course), and 10/10 the most humbling thing I have ever experienced. I so often felt (feel?) like a large lump of a rock, that God was chiseling, bit by bit, to try to uncover the daughter He knew was in there and the parent He knew I could be. News flash -- this did not feel pleasant nor comfortable.  

Luckily, I have been blessed with absolutely incredible kids who were resilient despite a mother who made all sorts of mistakes. 

I have an embarrassing confession to make. When I was something like 3 weeks pregnant with my first child, and thus an Expert on all things related to motherhood, I smugly said to my husband, "I don't think I will get morning sickness. Because I'm a healthy person, and not one of those drama queens who have to 'take to their bed' with a migraine every few weeks."  Well, God heard that, and decided I needed a bit of a lesson in empathy and judging others. I had terrible morning sickness throughout my pregnancies. And, just in case I hadn't learned my lesson, later in life He allowed me to experience debilitating migraines, just for good measure.

That pattern has repeated itself throughout my entire parenting career.

I was NEVER going to talk baby talk. And that lasted until Aerin, my first, was about 15 seconds old. 

I was NEVER going to be overprotective. But then I quickly spiraled into a complete meltdown when my three day old baby was exposed to chicken pox. I called the doctor, after hours, sobbing. ME: "My neighbor came over with her 2 year old toddler. Her daughter had her hands all over my baby. And I just found out the next day she broke out with chicken pox! And I know that the day before is when they are the most contagious!" DR: "Does your baby have a fever?" ME: "No." "DR: Has she broken out in spots?" ME: "No. Not yet. But the toddler was contagious! And she was touching her!" DR: "Is your baby showing any signs of sickness?" ME: "I don't know! She's only a few days old!" DR: "But there are immunities. She'll probably be just fine." ME: (wailing) BUT I"M NOT BREAST FEEDING!!!" (Dissolving into sobs.)

I'm sure I made the "Honey, you'll never guess what happened today at work," conversation that night between the doctor and his wife.

I also was NEVER going to be overly controlling. When I was younger, I interpreted that as not doing my kids' science fair tri-folds for them. I thought it meant letting my children access their storybooks at all times, do art projects involving glitter, and get both the legos AND the pokemon cards out at the same time. But then I became a mother of teenagers. I became wracked with anxiety over the fact that I could not protect them from the hell of junior high. The heavy realization that I could not prevent them from choosing horrible friends or damaging boyfriends, nor could I keep them from potentially making dreadful choices that could harmfully impact the rest of their lives, was incredibly troubling. And at that point, I realized... I have Control Issues. 

My kids actually were all really great teenagers. But I didn't know if any of us would survive their toddler years. All three of my kids landed in the Completely Crazy and Out of Control Toddler category. Still not sure if it was genetic, parenting fails, or a combination of the two. But each one of my toddlers was incredibly busy.  

People would often comment on it, thinly disguising their criticism by saying things such as, "My goodness, your daughter/son is very.... active... isn't he/she?" or "Wow, you are a very patient mother." Which was usually code for, "If that were my child, I would not put up with that."

A few years ago, my friend Rebekka, who was always very direct, said to me, "I need to apologize to you." When I asked her why, she said, "We always sat behind you at church. And I would watch your kids climb all over you and I would tell Gary, "If those were my kids, they'd be slapped silly. Why doesn't she do something about her kids?" But your kids turned out really well. So I guess I was wrong." 

I mumbled, "Thank you?"

And then about 6 or 7 years ago, a friend from my old neighborhood and ward said to me. "We were just talking about you the other day. Y'know (neighbor)? Her kids are really really hard right now. I told her, "Do you remember Christy Ogden? Her kids were TERRIBLE, and yet they all turned out really great." 

I'm not sure if I should be grateful I'm a source of hope for beleaguered mothers, or embarrassed that I am the litmus test of crazy toddlers? 

Either way, I'm grateful that we all survived somewhat intact and that no one became an axe murderer. 

But never say never. 

Because that's how Parenting goes.