Wherein Drowning Makes You Happy

Hello, yeah, it's been a while

Not much, how 'bout you?

Bonus points if you can finish the song. I don't really want to see you tonight, though, unless you're Tyler. I'm pretty sure the only place I ever want to be is in my bed with some chocolate, Tyler reading an article on his ipad, both of us watching Top Chef. This all starts at eight PM sharp, so just let me go.

Look at it. It's so beautiful.
I haven't blogged because our warrantied computer has been waiting for a warrantied part on back order. Lenovo was in no big hurry to appease a customer who already paid their money. Don't worry, capitalism, I still love you.

My point is, our computer is finally working again and still I have been slow to get back on the blogging horse. After you don't say stuff for a while, you wonder if there's anything to say. I know, it makes so much sense.

I've been living my life. Turning 42. Putting some much needed distance between me and winter. I'm pretty sure that watching my kids play in our backyard is as good as it gets.

I said something at a party on Friday. I said that "we were conned" into parenthood. It got a laugh, which was why I said it. But I've been feeling like a traitor all weekend.

The LDS church is all about families, and we hear about that from the time we're small. I totally bought it, hook, line, and sinker. Then I had four kids in under six years, and felt like I was drowning. There were (are) times that I was (am) like, "WHY DIDN'T ANYONE TELL ME."

Conning someone implies deceit, however, and no one has ever deceived me. When I say "we were conned," what I really mean is that we were so clueless. Someone warning me, what would that have done? An apostle getting up in general conference, rolling his eyes and saying "buckle up, this is going to suuuuuuuck...." I don't know. I don't think that's the answer.

Maybe someone warning me would have scared me off. The thought of that is inconceivable to to me. The thought of not having these people, these children in my life - not knowing each of these little individuals. There really aren't words.

Social media has brought that home - every day there's someone on Facebook or Twitter talking real talk about fighting or throw-up or lost shoes or how much they miss their sleep. I love it. I am one of those people. It feels good to commiserate. But I always assume that people know how much I love and want my children.

When I tell someone to have a family, it is not because they are in for angelic, sunlit moments. Some of it is those moments, but just as essential to the experience is the throw-up, the lost sleep, the confusion, the screwing up and ensuing guilt, the noise, the relentless need. All of it. All of it.

The hardest truth is that the pinnacle of happiness is to grow as a person. And growing as a person does not happen without pain. This has been my hardest lesson in life, one I will be learning until the day I die.

When I say we were conned, I don't mean we were conned about the result of parenthood - joy and happiness. I mean we were clueless about the ways it would get us there.

Yesterday in my ward a young lady, who had just returned from an LDS mission in Brazil, spoke to our congregation. And God bless her, she said this about her year-and-a-half experience.

"It hurt. But I grew."

The end.