My first child was..creatively, excessively mischievous. I call this pucktastic from Puck in Midsummer Night’s Dream. I should have known this from the beginning. She spent a week in the NICU. At first she was in an incubator. She had tubes and wires and suchlike. Our first diaper change involved arms through gloves in the side holes of this incubator. The wires and tubes all went through a hole at the end of the incubator. As I was changing her diaper she managed to explosively poop out of that one tiny hole…all down the wall of the pristine and previously bacteria free NICU.

child getting paint on faceAs she grew, she diversified her skill set to include stealing lipstick, cutting her hair and her sister’s curls, dumping out all manner of food and putting the stool on the microwave to try to get the knives from the top of the fridge…exciting. With such a pucktastic child, I developed coping skills. I learned how to clean all sorts of different messes, how to run while nursing to keep her safe, and how to cut the time between the daily hardships and humor.

My sister, an avid scrapbooker, encouraged me to take pictures of those crazy moments. Taking a picture, when I can, reminds me that at some point in the future, I will want to remember this. It helps me to focus on what really is, instead of constantly wishing it just were not so. I will also possibly bargain with this child relating to the release of these pictures to the world in exchange for favors from said exciting child. Now, not all of these moments can be photographed. Sometimes the immediate safety of the child or the mess potential involved in getting the camera isn’t worth it. I’m glad I learned another coping skill.

As a young mother, I met regularly with a group of women at a park behind some small apartments. We called it the secret garden. We shared advice on nursing, and cooking, and marriage, and books and life. I wish every woman had such a group! We were all very different. It was a place to celebrate successes, and commiserate over craziness and support each other. Our commiseration sometimes took the form of tears and hugs and other times took the form of laughter frequently mixed with groans. All of those reactions were healing. Near the beginning of every month we’d meet and share our “worst day of the month”. Whoever won was given a plate of cookies or brownies or some other treat by the last “winner.”

Early in the middle of a bad day it would occur to me: I’m going to win! I have a great story here! Suddenly, I could imagine sitting around with these fabulous ladies and groaning and laughing with them. I could see the potential humor in the present. The fact that my home teachers insisted on coming to visit even when my daughter was throwing up all over…so they got to witness her uniquely sensitive stomach and her record breaking repetitive throwing up abilities…becomes a winning story! I’ve long since moved away from these wonderful women, but on terrible, horrible, very bad days, I can see us all sitting together with their hugs and smiles and love.

Why does sharing a story work? When I label it what it is…the worst day of the month…I am reminded that this day bugs me because the rest of my life is pretty darn good! This day stands out or I wouldn’t notice it, would I? I remember that this is the kind of problem that laundry and time and a whole lot of bleach, or new sheetrock will mostly solve. The worst camping trips make the best stories! I don’t talk much about my average everyday dinner, but when I burn the sauce so badly that we find ourselves throwing away the pot and googling how to get the smell out of the carpet…that’s a story. I like to be the best or the worst or the most amazing. Sure l hoped my fifteen minutes of fame would not be related to the fact that before I could get them out of the tub, my daughter and my sister’s twins had all three pooped in the tub. But hey? That’s gotta be a record somewhere right?

When I am in the middle of any annoyance I tend to listen to some pernicious lies. First,   I sometimes believe that it’s not fair that anything bad should ever happen to me. That second lie doesn’t even make sense, but I still find myself distracted by it. Life does not work that way. Life does not work without sunshine and rain, and to think that if rain is necessary, at least it should never fall on us, is just crazy. We need rain to live. Opposition is life. When I remind myself that daily hardships are a normal part of life, it helps me to accept my reality. Second, I start to believe that my life is, always was, and always will be filled with this one annoying thing. I tend to lose sight of hope. The past joys fade and any potential future is tainted. When I take a picture, or imagine telling this story, I pull myself out of that lie. I regain hope and that motivates me do what I can to change my situation.

Learning at Home

Learning at Home
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The last lie I tell myself when I am in the midst of any hardship is that I am alone and no one understands. When I take a picture or plan to tell the story, I remind myself that at some point I won’t be knee deep in laundry from the fifth family member to fall for the stomach bug; this will pass. I will, at some future point, be looking at these pictures or sharing this story, and my life is so good that I have someone to share those stories and pictures with. I have someone to laugh with me, cry with me, and groan with me. And even in that moment, when I think I am all alone, I am not. God is with me. God is with you. At some point it may be easier to think we are alone. After all, if He’s there, why doesn’t He hold that baby, do that laundry or prevent that tragedy? We forget that the very power He has that we want him to use our way – His omnipotence – is inseparably connected with His omniscience. The creator of the universe does know more than me. He does know better. He may not fix everything and make everything better right now, but He is always there to listen to us and love us.

If I can refute those lies in the moment, I can cut the distance between hardship and humor, and cut out the misery those lies heap upon what is already a frustrating or hard experience. Instead of separating me from people, the experience can unite us as we share the story together. We can recognize we are not alone, this will pass, and our lives are going to make one amazing story!

About Britt Kelly
Britt grew up in a family of six brothers and one sister and gained a bonus sister later. She camped in the High Sierras, canoed down the Colorado, and played volleyball at Brigham Young University. She then served a mission to South Africa. With all of her time in the gym and the mountains and South Africa, she was totally prepared to become the mother of 2 sons and soon to be 9 daughters. By totally prepared she means willing to love them and muddle through everything else in a partially sleepless state. She is mostly successful at figuring out how to keep the baby clothed, or at least diapered, though her current toddler is challenging this skill. She feels children naturally love to learn and didn’t want to disrupt childhood curiosity with worksheets and school bells. She loves to play in the dirt, read books, go on adventures, watch her children discover new things, and mentor her children. Her oldest child is currently at a community college and her oldest son is going to high school at a public school. She loves to follow her children in their unique paths and interests. She loves to write because, unlike the laundry and the dishes, writing stays done. Whenever someone asks her how she does it all she wonders what in the world they think she’s doing.

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