I can’t remember where I first heard it, but I once heard teenagers described as assassins of happiness. I think toddlers are assassins of stability. You are constantly on edge about what chaotic thing is about to happen when around toddlers.
Chaos Personified
I’m convinced this anarchic nature of toddlers is not by coincidence.
Beth and I have followed the expeditious family planning path thus far. Ivy and Sage are separated by exactly 21 months.
I love toddlers. Ivy is so much fun. She is also so unstable. This, I think, is the part that is no coincidence. Infants are more predictable. They eat, they cry, they poop, they sleep. That’s about it. You can pretty much rely on those 4 activities from an infant.
Fun
Ivy’s standard response to any question is “no, yes! No! Yes, No! No, yes!”
A normal interaction with Ivy:
“Ivy, do you want some blueberries?”
“NO! YES!”
As I walk to the kitchen to get her blueberries –
“No, no, no, no, no.”
I turn around.
“You don’t want blueberries?”
Ivy – “Yes!”
“You do want blueberries?”
Ivy – “No!”
I walk away from kitchen, giving up on the blueberry mission.
Sage’s standard response to any question is to stare at me blankly. This infant response defines stability.
Stability
I love Ivy, but when I need a break from the hectic instability of a toddler, I go to Sage for some reliability. They are equally loved if only for the sake of my sanity.
I wrote this our first Sunday at church with Sage.
I don’t know what I wanted out of life as a teenager. I wasn’t someone who pictured certain things. I don’t remember picturing what my ideal life would be.
Today we sat in church for the first time with Sage. She is 8 days old. She was next to me in her car seat, sound asleep. Ivy was on the other side of me and Beth was next to her.
Then it hit me. This is everything I could want out of life.
I grew up in an LDS household. My family went to church. I have lots of siblings. I don’t know if back then I realized how much I would want this. There were large portions of my life where I convinced myself that wasn’t what I wanted. But it was always there, inside me, whether I acknowledged it or not. A deep desire to have a family.
I realize now, I always wanted a family. Right now, with my two daughters and my wife, being at church, there is nothing more I could ask for in life. This is joy.
I work with the 11-15 year old boys in our church. After that thought came to me in sacrament meeting, I got to share it with them.
I don’t know what those boys want out of life. I didn’t know at that age. I was able to bear my testimony to them that there is no greater joy in this life than having children, and I wished it for each of them. I told them they need to figure out what they want out of life. I told them I hoped they could find the joy I’ve been able to find.
It was a long journey for me to get here. In that same class with the boys we had a lesson on Isaiah and the iron rod was brought up as a symbol of something greater. One of the boys asked the question: how does the iron rod, which represents the word of God, help us get to the tree of life, which represents Heaven? I told him, it is so easy to get lost. And without the word of God and His commandments, getting lost is almost inevitable. I told this boy I hoped he never had to get lost.
I got lost. There were many times I didn’t know if I’d ever make it back.
I often wonder why I deserve so much that God has given me. The answer must be that I don’t deserve anything. He just loves us so much, He’s willing to give us what our hearts truly desire. Whether that be in this life or the next, God has given us everything and will continue to do so. It took me a long time to realize what my heart truly desired. God let me take the long winding road here probably so I could truly appreciate it.
I do appreciate it.
I am grateful for the family God has given me. I am grateful for His Church. I am grateful that I’m no longer lost. I couldn’t ask for anything more.
I listened to a self-love, guided meditation this morning. I was guided to picture myself as a young boy. The prompt was to say comforting words to that young boy. May I be happy. May I be safe. May I be healthy. May I live with ease. Each of these was followed with the guidance to remember a time I felt those things. “Remember a time you felt safe.”
As I pictured that young boy in my mind, using old pictures and old family home videos to conjure up what I looked like, a deep emotion came over me. I started to cry.
As I picture that young boy, and as I picture myself today, I see my father, my dad. What pressures did he feel raising 6 kids, working, going to school, and trying to keep it all together?
I worry. I fear. I doubt. I pray daily that I can have patience and comfort in God’s plan. I am so blessed. Being blessed doesn’t always make this life easy. This life is challenging. It’s meant to be.
I don’t think we talk often enough about the pressures of fatherhood. There are now two lives that completely depend on me for everything: Food, water, home, toys. (Of course, Beth is here too and I in no way mean to take away from motherhood).
I have a family that relies on me to provide. There is a level of pressure that comes along with this that isn’t discussed often enough.
I love this video:
It perfectly captures fatherhood.
I feel happy, safe, healthy, and loved because of what a Father (God) has always provided for me, and for much of my life a father has provided for me.
I know we should be able to talk about it, the pressures, but dads don’t. We walk around with a burden and a pressure. It sometimes feels like the weight of the world is on our shoulders. Little lives depend on us. We work, trying to provide a life for our children. We come home and we continue to work. We are horses, we are friends, we are disciplinarians, we are a lot.
If you have a father in your life that seems like he has it all together, if you see a father around you that seems stressed, if you interact with a father that seems angry, if you have a father in your life that seems frustrated, if you see a father that seems like he’s carrying a heavy burden that he can’t share with anyone: he probably is. Hug that man. Fathers need more hugs. Not hugs of pity but hugs of sympathy, hugs of appreciation, hugs of understanding. Understanding that this world is stressful. This life is hard. This life can be scary. And sometimes, as a father, you feel you’re the one battling back those realizations and experiences for your kids for as many moments as you possibly can. That is a difficult task. Because one day your children will learn what you have learned. That life can be hard and scary. You protect them from it as long as you can, but one day they will know.
As a father, knowing that day will one day come for your little, precious gifts can pull your heart, stretch it in a nearly painful way. And you can realize how your (Heavenly) Father feels, watching us grow in sometimes painful ways.
I know that fatherhood is important. I know that it’s hard. I know that it’s rewarding.
I know I have a Father that allows me these experiences so I can grow. I know I have a father here that did so much for me while I grew to my own realization that life is hard. I was sheltered for so long. And I owe that to loving parents here, and there.
I don’t think anything makes me feel closer to God than staring into the eyes of my babies. I’ve written about it before HERE. I don’t remember this specifically with Ivy, though I’m sure it happened. But with Sage I’ve stared into her eyes and it’s the most outstanding, humbling feeling.
What did I do to deserve this gift?
As I hold Sage and she begins to drift off into sleep, while comfortably in my arms, I wonder what I did to deserve so much trust. She is so comfortable in my arms, so content, so peaceful, so trusting. Why does she trust me? What did I do to earn that trust?
Nothing.
Or maybe everything.
I don’t know how Sage, Ivy, and I interacted before coming here. Before coming to earth were we best friends, running around, shooting hoops, reading books, taking walks? Maybe I did earn that trust.
What did I do to earn the trust of God, to send His daughters to me?
As I stare into Sage’s eyes, I see the eyes of God.
She is His daughter. She is of His lineage. She is a princess, not of me, but of Him. And as I stare into her eyes, I think that’s the overwhelming, outstanding, humbling feeling I get, that I described above. It’s looking into the eyes of God.
I hope parents learn from their toddlers. I learn from Ivy all the time. Here is a simple example.
Today we were all sitting on the couch. Sage was cradled in my left arm. Beth was sitting to my right with Ivy in her lap. Bengie, our aging dog, was between us.
Ivy was doing peaceful mother-daughter stuff with Beth. Seemed boring to me. Plus, I was getting bored with what I was doing on my computer. So I reached over and poked Ivy. It was intended to be a tickle, normally Ivy’s favorite. But in that moment of peace, she did NOT like it. She scowled at me and turned away.
I apologized for an improper time to play. Ivy and Beth continued to peacefully interact.
A few minutes later, Ivy reached out and smacked Bengie. He understandably got annoyed by this intrusion on his peace and snapped back. This upset Ivy. Wanting to utilize a learning opportunity, I said to Ivy, “Ivy, don’t smack Bengie if you don’t want him to do that. He’s just laying there and you bothered him.” I continued, “How would you feel if I did that to you?…”
Oh.
I realized what I was saying. I had just done that to her. It was just moments later that she did the same thing to Bengie. I was close to missing that simple and obvious realization.
I put my hand on Ivy’s head and said, “That’s probably why you did that to Bengie, huh?”
A learning experience.
I’m not sure how much Ivy learned from it, but I did. I was reminded that Ivy is watching, replicating, repeating, and behaving in the ways she sees me act. When she disrupts Bengie’s peace, well, I’d just disrupted her peace. When she loses her temper, she’s seen me lose my temper. When she gets upset, she’s seen me get upset.
Obviously, Ivy is her own person and has her own emotions and actions. But it’s amazing to see how much she copies me. If she does something I’m disappointed in, it’s beneficial for me as a parent to stop and wonder, “is this something she learned from me?”
I fear sometimes that parents don’t take enough responsibility for how we mold our children. Again, toddlers get angry and frustrated and do completely irrational things that they aren’t copying from us. But sometimes, a lot of the time, their behavior can be traced directly to something they saw us do.
When we realize this, our every movement, word, and reaction around our children becomes something important.
No Coincidences 