Tick Talk

Today was Mother’s Day. I try and take it in stride. I know you’re supposed to feel all warm and fuzzy all day with all the appreciation wafting your way. Don’t get me wrong, I do feel warm and fuzzy as I remember why I do what I do, and the wonders of my children and the privilege of being a mother—and I do appreciate the kind gestures. But, to some degree, celebrating Mother’s Day just serves as a reminder of the other 364 days in the year a mother likely feels overworked and under appreciated. Not to mention the fact that I cannot remember a Mother’s day wherein I didn’t change a diaper, do at least a little housework, prepare at least one meal, or respond to someone else’s needs. Perhaps this is what Mother’s Day is really about—going about being a mother, yet being more aware.

This Mother’s Day was a bit more eventful than most. You see, yesterday, we were a three-hour drive away at the temple. My husband and I had helped arrange a nice temple day for our branch. The Primary would meet outside the temple hear from the Assistant Matron, the parents could do a session if desired and the youth could perform baptisms—a lovely spiritual experience for all. I was elated to hear that 15 children planned to attend! In our little branch, Sunday attendance of 10 is outstanding, so getting 15 children 3 hours away to the temple would be a miracle! I was warned by the Young Women’s President, and should have realized, considering the habits we’ve come to expect in this area, not to count our children until they arrive. I brought my two sons, and the Primary President shuttled three children whose mother was in the hospital. The remaining families planned to meet us there. The children we brought with us were the only ones there. We had 5 of our expected fifteen. It was indeed a lovely day. I’m thrilled my children came and experienced the spirit and beauty of the temple. I’m saddened that more couldn’t have come—I’m disheartened by the cavalier attitude that abounds.

This takes me to Mother’s Day. Most churches have a surge of attendance on holidays. Around here, Christmas, Easter, and apparently Mother’s Day tend to be excuses for staying away from church. This was probably for the best, as I was scheduled to speak, and given that I had been arranging the temple excursion all week, I hadn’t prepared until late last night, and wasn’t sure my thoughts were coherent.

We sat in the chapel and the excitement began. I hadn’t touched base with the chorister to see if he expected the Primary to sing. I had somewhat had them prepare—in case. Sure enough, 2 minutes before the meeting began, I was informed we would be singing—right after my talk. I hoped enough children would wander in by then.

As we sang the sacrament hymn, I noticed something on my 2-year-old’s scalp. I pointed it out to my husband who confirmed it was a tick—likely picked up in the wooded picnic area near the temple. So, we rushed out mid-hymn to dispose of the tick—reverence out the window I suppose. We made it back in time for my talk. Elliot began screaming as I went up to the podium and had to be carried out again. I finished, called the Primary up to sing. All six of them came up and did their darndest. My husband spoke (by the way, prior to our arrival in this branch, my track record for speaking was one talk approximately every four years—my husband and I have now each spoken four times in the last year and a half). I then cajoled my husband into a diaper change (considering his talk admonished men to do more dishes and change more diapers . . .

Then we moved on to the second hour of the block. I had arranged a substitute nursery leader since the regular would be out of town. A traveling teacher, bless her heart, arranged her own substitute. Neither substitute showed. So, I taught an impromptu lesson to the Valiant class with the nursery on my lap (granted, my son was the only nursery child). Then, during the third hour, I led the music as I do every week.

Once again, I arrived home exhausted. I can’t seem to figure out why I’m so exhausted and feel spiritually underfed each week. I do realize that there is a season and a reason for everything. This is the season in which I give much and get little from church. The reasons I do it are manifold—not the least of which is to provide my children with an example of service.

Once home, I tried to lay down, but just couldn’t seem to tune out the children yelling for me, so I got up and helped my husband select a recipe to cook us for dinner, then called my mother while I folded laundry. I laid back down only to be called to the kitchen to assist with the dinner. Later, we struggled again with getting the boys to sleep, then finished folding the laundry and I finished up the dishes my husband had started.

I’m not really complaining—I’m just logging my exhaustion into the roll book, so that perhaps some day, I might feel justified in taking a break.

Happy Mother’s Day