It is a terrible inconvenience to Eli to have his diaper changed. Even if his latest bowel movement is chafing his tender behind. Today he approached me with a question, I answered and he withdrew. Trailing behind him was an odor indicating a diaper change was needed. I picked him up, cautiously, and the following conversation ensued.

Me: Eli are you stinky?
Eli: No.
(Since that is a matter of opinion and he therefore had not yet lied to me, I decided to ask a more fact based question.)
Me: Eli is there poop in your diaper?
Eli: I don’t want my diaper changed!
(Still he maintains honesty by dodging the question. He has had many a lecture from his father about lying.)
Me: Eli is there poop in your diaper?
Eli: I don’t want to talk about it.

It is definitely time for potty training. Someone inpire me with the motivation to go forward. I hate potty training. It was what I was least prepared for as a parent when I did it with Cameron. And I still have scars.

Cameron has an issue with giving.  I already mentioned his problem with leaving the cookies for Santa that he wanted to save for himself.  Last month he went to a birthday party for a friend.  He was terribly troubled at the idea of giving the gift I had bought to his friend.  The only way I could ensure that he would hand over the present willingly at the party was to tell him that maybe he would get that same thing for his birthday in April. 

Today at his preschool they are having a Valentine’s party.  I bought some little sticker books for him to give to his friends. Yesterday he discovered the stickers and his world came crashing down when I told him they were to give away.  All through lunch he whined and pouted.  I told him that his friends would bring him valentines too, but he could not be consoled because I could not say for sure that they would give him stickers.  Not wanting the focus to be on what he received I tried to reason with him about the joy of giving. 

“Cameron, instead of thinking about what your friends are going to give you, think about how much your friends will like the stickers you give to them.  You shouldn’t be selfish and think about yourself, you should think about others.”

He responded “Mom. It’s hard… it’s just hard… I just…. it is hard for my heart to think about others.”

At Richard’s office Christmas party in 2008 he was given the nickname of the “Travel Warrior”. He was the most traveled employee in the Boise office. How he got to that point is a long, and probably boring story. But it had been a rough year, many weeks in Lewiston and Spokane. 2009 was much better but he still accumulated a fair amount of frequent flyer miles.

I don’t like to complain about his travel for three reasons.

#1. He has never had to travel out of the country to a war zone. Many married men do.
#2. We are still married. Many couples are not.
#3. He is still living. Some women’s husbands are not.

But I’m going to speak freely for a moment.

February 17th is my birthday and Richard will return home that night from his last scheduled trip to Spokane after completing his last busy season on the out-of-town client. There is a good chance that he will have to make a trip back to Spokane here or there, but as of right now he is only scheduled to travel one week for a training in the fall. I could not dream of a better birthday gift. It is an occasion we have been praying for for years.

Only women who have husbands who travel know how hard it is to have a husband who travels. We have always managed fine and been blessed to have good family and friends to help. I sort of settle into a routine and adjust. But as soon as he returns I am reminded of how much better life is with him around.

Last night we loaded the kids in the van and drove him to the airport. We drove the lonely drive home and when I pulled into the driveway I sat still for a minute. The kids were all unusually quiet and somber and I felt a weight settle on me. Another week of single parenting.

But it is only one more full week. It is the last mile of the marathon before the final sprint to the finish that will be the first few days of next week.

I feel so blessed.

I am so happy.

You know how it goes.  You start to slip into a bad habit, a negative behavior or a foul mood little by little.  Then something dramatic happens that jolts you back to your senses and you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and vow to wipe your slate clean and start afresh back where you used to be before you started to slip or maybe even better than you ever were before.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Sisters, don’t judge. I will reform.

On my way to the fabric store yesterday I caught the end of an interview with a woman named Eva Kor.  She was a Holocaust survivor and I was instantly drawn to her story.  When I arrived at the store I sat in my car, quiet and still until she finished her tale. 

She and her twin sister Miriam (what a great name!) were spared the gas chambers where their family perished because a Nazi doctor wanted to do experiments on them.  For years after her time at Auschwitz Eva was angry.  Then in 1993 she had the opportunity to meet a man she referred to as a “reluctant Nazi” doctor who was also at Auschwitz.  After he helped her with something she knew was difficult for him she decided to thank him with a simple letter of forgiveness.  He had lived with guilt and horror all his life and she knew what it would mean for him.  Writing that letter and going through the process of forgiveness was so liberating for Eva that she decided to forgive the doctor who had performed atrocious experiments on her and her sister. 

I was inspired by this woman.  I thought of all the wrongs anyone has ever done to me.  All my hurt feelings over petty offenses.  She says that happiness and freedom are found in forgiveness and I believe her.  I feel changed.

Stories this uplifting make appearances in my life here and there.  Sadly, I can’t recall many and I fear that the story of Eva will eventually be forgotten.  I worry that my own desire to change will not even endure as long as Eva’s memory.  But I am comforted by these words, introduced to me by a family member at Christmas. 

“I no more remember the books I have read than the meals I have eaten, but they have made me.”
Ralph Waldo Emerson

This quote is a great consolation to me because I have felt affected by many books I have read, but looking back can not remember them.  But I believe that those moments when our hearts our touched by books, people or music we are change permanently, even if our conscious memory of them grows dim.