Mother's Day Poem

Once the kids were old enough and had money of their own to buy me gifts for Mother's Day, I told Paul not to buy me anything because "I am not your mother." So, Sunday morning he presented me with a little package, and I was thinking to myself "I am not your mother." I opened the card first and read the poem that he had written all by himself...with nobody helping him:

I know you're not my Mother.

(I'm glad of that, My Dear).

I've watched you be the best Mom yet

year-after-year-after-year.

Now all our kids have departed,

And left us alone in this house.

Even though you're not My Mother

I'm so thankful that you are...

My Spouse.

How sweet is that?!

Mother's Day

(First of all, I'm sorry that Jim and Joe were not around when these pictures were taken.)

It's been Mother's Day all day long, and there is just something different about it when all the kids are gone from the nest. Paul did offer to make breakfast, of course, but I was in the thick of making cinnamon rolls, so didn't take him up on it. That was probably wrong of me, now that I think about it. I remember when the kids were little and would each do part of the meal preparation with breakfast in bed and dinners. They have a great dad who taught them the importance of service on Mother's Day and to respect me always. And now I get to watch them in their motherhood roles. It's been said that I don't know which is more fun...to watch the grand kids or to watch their mothers interact with them.

I'm missing my own mom today and wishing I could call her and have a nice, long visit. I would love to get some advice from her. I would love to brag about my children and grandchildren to her. I would love to reminisce with her. I would love to thank her for all she did for me and what she means to me today.

I hope she already knows what I would say to her.

You know, on Mother's Day you just can't help but think about all the things you have done with your kids over the years, the things they have done and the funny things they have said. You miss those early years. Sometimes you would like to have those days back. And then the precious grandchildren come along. What a blessing to be a mother and a grandmother! Wouldn't trade it for anything!

This is Ricky Barrett

Katy told me that I should blog this story, so here goes:

In 1982 I taught the Valiant A2 class in Primary. The nine-year-olds. The only reason I know the year is because the presidency made a little memory book and put all the class pictures inside with each teacher doing a little write-up about his or her class. I still have that little booklet. I will copy, in part, what I wrote because it is the background for this post:

"It has been a special privilege for me to teach this class for the full year of 1982. Our class is small...only three boys and three girls: Ricky Barrett, Henry Dennison, Jeff Holmes, Kristi Borchert, Joan Wilsey, and my daughter, Jane. Because of our small class it's always been very nice when it's been our turn to do opening exercises or the sharing time presentation because we've all been able to participate. I have sincerely thrilled at the way the children have taken the responsibility to memorize their parts and really do their best. I remember the day Ricky had a speaking part during the presentation. I whispered a few words at a time to him, and he repeated them. This may not seem like much to a visitor, but it was the first time Ricky had ever been before a group with a speaking part. And that first time always means so much." (I'm remembering back now and wondering why it seemed like everyone just assumed he couldn't participate...because he was autistic.) "But because he was, it meant even more. That's why I was not the only one with tears in my eyes. Two of my children, Joan and Henry, have been extra good to help with Ricky. They sit by him and rub his back and talk to him to help him be quiet. This they have done on their own and shows me how compassionate even a child can be. It has been a good experience for all of us to have Ricky in our class."

The story continues...several years ago, prior to 1998 by a bit, I received a letter from Ricky saying he had found me on the Internet. He said he remembered me from Primary and that I had told him, "Toys do not belong in church." He had remembered that little piece of information from the time he was nine until he was around 25 years old. Wow, that is some kind of memory. And the funny part is that I can just hear myself saying that; I'm sure I did.

Over the years he sent more letters. When he was on vacation he would send postcards. Then he would email me. Now he mostly just calls. He's calling every month or so now. Because of his autism he will say things that are pretty funny, for example, if he leaves a message on the answering machine he will always begin by saying, "This is Ricky Barrett calling around 7:28 p.m., make that 7:29, Southern Texas time. I was calling to see if you're home, Nancy, at whatever time it is out there." About two months ago he let me know that he was coming to Tucson with his mom in May and wanted to see me while he was here. He was only going to be here Saturday and Sunday...last weekend, so I told him it would be nice if he could meet me at church and maybe there would be some others who remembered him when he was a little boy or who he would remember. The stake had been divided since then and there were only three of us from that original Primary board when he was in my Valiant A2 class. So he was able to visit with them. I think it pleased him. His family is not active in the church, so his mother did not come in, but Ricky stayed for the whole time, even though it is not something he would have done at home. He's visited a couple of times before so I guess there are more visits in our future. Sweet. It's interesting how the heart and mind work.