On Laundry

Over the Christmas break, I was talking to my sister-in-law about household duties and habits. During the course of the conversation, we got on the subject of laundry, and she mentioned she only did laundry once a week. And she has two kids.

That blew my mind because after Aidan was born, he was wetting and blowing out through his clothes so often that I began doing laundry multiple times throughout the week, and it became a habit.

A habit of never-ending laundry. 

There was always a clean load in the dryer needing to be folded and put away, clothes scattered in both bathrooms, clothes on our bedroom floor (whether clean or not), and dirty clothes in the hampers by our bed. I didn't mind it too much because even though there was a never-ending supply of dirty clothes everywhere, there was also a never-ending supply of clean clothes, towels, cloths, bibs, and blankets ready to be used at a moment's notice. The constant clutter was frustrating, but I thought it was how it was going to be for the rest of our lives because that's just what happens when you have kids, right?

So I shrugged off the idea of doing laundry only once a week. After all, homemaking advice isn't created equal, and I thought I had MY system down.

Buuuuuuuut....I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. I also couldn't get out of my mind that I wasn't in love with the mess, and I kept getting little nudges that MY system needed to change. A humility check, if you will.

When Christmas break was over the motivation that comes with every new year to establish to new habits came, I decided to try the new system. Why not, I thought. See if it works out better, and I actually end up being less stressed with the daily, demanding grind of never-ending laundry.

I let Jayze in on my new goal. I told him, "I decided I'm only going to do laundry once a week, unless something extreme comes up. Don't feel too stressed if you need something washed not on 'laundry day,' but plan on this new normal."

He shrugged, said okay, and that was that.

Okay, I'm telling you right here and now, it's awesome. Doing laundry once a week really, truly is awesome. I do a few loads in one day, get everything folded and put away, and it's done for the rest of the week. No more scattered clothes, no more living out of the dryer, and no more never-ending process. My life is so much easier, and I have more time to do other things around the house.

Seeing how amazing changing a little habit in my household was caused me to think of Alma from The Book of Mormon. He really was right when he said:

"by small and simple things are great things brought to pass" (Alma 37:6).

Changing a small habit has made a huge difference. Being a good homemaker and looking for ways to improve is something I have been praying for, and I feel like the conversation with my sister-in-law was an answer to my prayer.

This homemaking advice might not be for everyone (or might be obvious to more people than not), but I know that when we ask "What Lack I Yet?" there really is specific advice the Lord is willing to give.

Plus, I think this cutest little helper ever is liking this whole laundry-once-a-week thing, too.

Small and simple working its course. 

I'm definitely not perfect at this new habit. My house is not always spit-spot clean. Sometimes there's still laundry strewn across the floor. BUT, it's better. And that's what I'm striving for - better.

Berry Smoothies

 This is what berry smoothies look like in our house. 

Trying it out.

Play time.

Mmmm, it's pretty good.

Pure joy.

It's pretty much the best.

Plus, I can sneak in some spinach and other veggies when he's not looking.

Stamp: Mom-approved. :)

A Trigger

I woke up this morning to snow, snow, snow. Lots of fresh, beautiful, glittery, cold snow. Snow that Aidan wanted to touch, and when he looked up as I held him, he laughed at all the fat snowflakes falling on his face.

We actually braved the snow today because I had another pregnancy appointment. I'm always nervous for when they come up and part of me wants to avoid them, but at the same time I was excited to see the baby on the ultrasound screen. It's also good to have reassurance that everything is going well. And if not, then I know I'm in good hands with whatever happens.

Thankfully I was able to line up a babysitter (thank you my sweet visiting teacher!). Aidan just cries and screams if I bring him with me, so it was nice leaving him with my friend and her son, where he would most likely be happier. Aidan caught sight of the toys and didn't look back. Glad he's okay I made him stay in my arms long enough for a kiss and a hug before I left. I have to take advantage of it while I can.

At the beginning of the appointment, the wait time wasn't bad. Within five minutes, I was with the ultrasound tech looking at my cute baby boy. After taking down all the stats, the ultrasound tech printed off a profile picture for me and sent me back to the waiting room to uh...wait some more. Again, within five minutes, I was called back, did the routine weight check and whatnot, and was led back to a room to wait for the nurse practitioner.

As I followed the clinician aide, we walked down a hallway I wasn't familiar with. I told her, "I don't think I've been in this room before."

She glanced back and said, "Yeah, a lot of women get concerned because it says 'Procedure' on the outside, but we don't always use it for procedures."

I was a little curious, but once she led me into the room I realized that I had been there before. And I wanted to back right out again.

The clinician aide said a few more things and then walked out, leaving me to sit down on the little bed and experience a flashback from a little over two years ago. It was the same room Jayze and I were led to after we found out Alma had died. I hadn't been in it since that day, and I didn't want to be in it today.

Memories came flooding back. Memories I wasn't prepared to remember in that moment. Blurs and mumbles and instructions coming from the doctor and nurse practitioner, being handed tissues, holding Jayze's hand, calling family and work to let them know what happened, trying to grasp onto this new reality, realizing the baby wasn't going to move again...

I remembered last year when I was pregnant with Aidan having a trigger at the clinic and how the nurse practitioner came back in sooner than expected. I didn't want the same thing to happen. I wanted to be strong. I didn't want to explain why I was having a breakdown at 11:00 in the morning. But then I thought, "I don't have to be strong all the time." And I cried.

This time, the waiting period was longer and I took my time trying to gain control of my emotions again. Trying to distract myself by looking out the window at the long, thick icicles hanging outside. I didn't want to be there anymore...it reminded me too much of that day, of the hospital, of details I hadn't let myself think about for awhile.

I hugged myself, trying to get some warmth back into myself - loosen up the tight feeling I had in my chest. It was then, in that moment, I was reminded that I can do hard things. I have done hard things in the past, I do hard things now, and I can do hard things in the future.

Sometimes it seems like progress just isn't happening. Day-to-day happenings aren't always spectacular. Sometimes it seems like I'm just waiting for another day to be over so that hopefully the next one will be better. And life is like that at times, which is okay. But what's empowering is actually looking back. The small stuff that doesn't seem like much really does add up. Looking back, I've come so far. Through all the times I didn't think I would get through, I'm still here. Me, a stronger me, hopefully a better me.

There are still hard days, grieving days. Hard moments, grieving moments. And that's okay. Even though the memories that came flooding back today were hard, they were also special and sacred because they are of my Alma and the events leading up to meeting him and knowing I'm his mom forever and always. What an honor.

I'm also grateful I don't have to do hard things alone. The Savior has never left me alone in this trial. I may have pushed him away a few times, but every time I come back, He's there to welcome me with open arms. The love I have felt from Him is overwhelming and sustaining. He has walked with me every step of the way. Looking back, I can see His hand leading me and guiding me in moments I may not have noticed him there. But He was! And He is there for each of us as long as we are willing to reach out and grasp His always outstretched hand. How thankful I am for that.