April Showers

A few days ago I had my annual April cry.
Nothing serious, mind you. Just your average tears of adjustment.
April brings a lot of stress + change to our world.
Lots of work to do. Lots of friends moving away. Different routines to adopt.

During a brief moment at home in the midst of Saturday's check-out craziness, I watched Lucy quietly cutting paper on the floor. When she noticed me, she said in her most grown up voice, "I am quite very busy, Mom."

I smiled. And sighed. Wonder where she's heard those words before?

The busyness is manageable. I feel grateful for what six years of this seasonal stress has taught me: Embrace the chaos. Remember that even after weeks of preparation, check-outs are never as systematic and orderly as you want them to be. And remember that some people honestly don't know how to get down on their hands and knees and scrub a floor.

There was no major drama on Saturday. Just a lot of rain. At about 1pm, I sent Wes to cart in my last round of DI items (after several days of cabin fever with the kiddies, he seemed grateful for a non-mothering assignment) while Lucy, Spencer and I celebrated the down-pour.
And the empty parking lot.

And the new neighbors.
And when the work week was finally finished and I turned my phone to silent, we four went to dinner and a movie.
Have you seen it? We loved it. Even Spencer was wide eyed in front of the beautiful images. But I'm refusing to admit that the shark (the shark ?!) was Lucy's favorite part. Me: "That's nice dear, and didn't you love the furry polar bears? And the funny monkeys? And the flying baby ducks? Weren't those your favorites?" She held firm: "I liked the shark. And the whales." To each her own, I suppose. The ocean footage was pretty spectacular.

And our Sunday was spectacular, too. In a different, deeper kind of way. Wes and Lucy had both been assigned to speak in church. Wes's talk was beautiful. Perfect. When Sacrament Meeting was over we all went to Primary. Lucy sat in her place beside "the podium" (which she'd been talking about all week as we anticipated and practiced her talk). When it was her turn, she made it up the first step. But no further. I lifted her onto the second, highest step, where she stood...and stood. After a few minutes of unproductive prodding, I gave the "Lucy-would-like-you-to-know..." version of her perfectly memorized little talk, and then we sat down. No big deal. I had anticipated such a scenario. After a few minutes, however, it was clear that Lucy was ruffled. I had to take her out of the room. We secluded ourselves in a bathroom stall. I tried to praise her for the reverent way she had been sitting before her talk and for the brave way she stood up in front of everyone. After several minutes of staring at (listening to?) me, she finally opened her mouth. "I didn't say anything," she said, a flood of indistinguishable emotion shining in her eyes. We hugged. We cried. I told her it was ok. I told her it takes practice. I told her I loved her. Inside my own heart was a flood of indistinguishable emotion. Outside, the rains came down.

Ah, life.

When we got home, Lucy was ready to repeat her talk again. So I'll share with you what our Primary friends didn't get to hear.



But I don't really care about the talk. I mostly care about the little girl. I mostly love her big heart. I mostly feel privileged to be present, day by day, year by year, as she finds her own beautiful voice.

Because I know there's a lot she wants to say.