Today was Mother’s Day. It was also my wife’s 50th birthday. Happy Birthday, Nicole!
I tried to do something nice for her. We went out with friends last night and left our sons with Grandma. She’s great about letting them hang out with her every once in a while. I picked them up afterward, and then we went to the store. It’s the big FIVE-O. You need to do something special.
I’m not a big party person. I didn’t realize until this week that she would have liked a video with all her friends and family sharing memories of her. Honestly, I was surprised she even asked for that, considering she usually has such an anti-social personality. And she didn’t tell me until Friday. It wasn’t going to happen. The request was too late.
So, I decided to put big “5” and “0” balloons in the front yard and involve the boys. They would love to be part of something like that. I know it’s cheesy, but she’s never surprised by anything, and I wanted to surprise her. We bought the balloons along with a small helium tank. Note: These would be blown up and placed in the yard first thing Sunday morning, so all the neighbors could see them on their way to church. That was the plan.
How did it play out?
I started blowing up the “5” first. The method required for inflating it wasn’t compatible with my helium tank. I tried to jimmy-rig it. It inflated a little, then a lot, then too much—and then POP! Ugh. That was my only number 5, and it was Sunday morning. Honestly, I was devastated. I almost went to Walmart to get another one, but it was Sunday, and I knew my wife was already awake. I also didn’t want to shop on the Sabbath. So I didn’t.
Instead, I blew up four small balloons and lined them up along the sidewalk in our front yard. I also placed a sign that said, “Happy Birthday Nicole 🎁 50 🎈.” The balloons looked small once filled. The presentation was weak—I could see that. But hey, that’s what I had. Once my pathetic birthday display was up, I went inside.
A short while later, Nicole got up and walked by the entryway. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted one of the balloons. She said, “What is that weak, miserable-looking little balloon doing in the front yard? Is that a sign with it?” I knew it was weak. But what other options did I have? I said, “It’s your birthday. I put a sign and balloons out for you.”
I then explained the popped number 5. She laughed and expressed that she would rather the weak balloon display rather than the big Five-O.
To say it was a pathetically weak display was the honest truth. Within an hour two of the balloons had popped. By church, three had popped. By the end of church, the last one had deflated to the size of a baseball.
Then came the hard part.
My son with autism bailed on church. He created a big commotion at home until he was allowed to stay behind. The commotion continued even after church. We went to my in-laws’ for dinner. He wanted to play a game of Yu-Gi-Oh with me, but it was too close to dinner. Later, after dinner was cleaned up, I told him we could play, but then Grandpa needed help cleaning up some malware on his computer. Then I needed to use the bathroom. I was planning to prioritize playing with him after that. But I had delayed playing the game with him too many times.
Next thing I knew, my wife was banging on the bathroom door yelling, “We have a crisis!”
I rushed out to find my son walking down the street. I followed him on foot, giving him space but staying nearby. As I trailed him from a distance, I listened to a Hello Saints YouTube video about the Book of Moses. It was good. (I’ll have comments on that in a different post.)
After a while, I realized we weren’t going in a circle. We were headed across town.
I was exhausted. I’d been tired and weak all day, falling asleep in church, at my in-laws’, every time I sat down. I called Nicole and told her we needed to be picked up. When I told her where we were, she was shocked: we’d walked from the center of American Fork to Costco in Lehi.
Then we discovered I had the car keys with me. I had parked in front of the garage, and they weren’t sure they could get the in-laws’ car out. With some careful maneuvering, they managed. They came to pick us up while we were walking along the railroad tracks into Lehi. My son had settled down a bit. After returning to my in-laws, we visited my mother, then headed home.
Back at home, my autistic son was still agitated. (I’m trying not to use my kid’s names.) He wanted to watch a show, but my other son had started something, and he was determined to watch his own program. We suggested watching something downstairs. He said it smelled like poop down there. I checked—no poop, no smell. We have a dog, and anything is possible.
He came upstairs again and started raging. Then he announced, “I’m running away.”
We sat with him on the driveway—me, my wife, and him—encouraging him to come back inside. We didn’t want to call the police. If he left at 10 PM, where would he go? When would he return? Would he return? He didn’t have a phone. We just didn’t feel it was safe.
Eventually, he came inside but warned us that he planned to flee once I fell asleep. So now I’m up writing this, delaying sleep and keeping watch.
My wife feels her day was ruined. There aren’t many times when Mother’s Day and her birthday fall on the same day. I feel bad. My weak, pathetic balloons didn’t help. It was like buying her a gift at the second-hand store. In some ways, the day was memorable. In other ways, a disaster.
We did get to chat with our missionary today. That was special. She is so amazing.
Moments of Faith
As I followed my son, I began to pray. My back hurt. My feet hurt. I was exhausted. I’ve been coughing for two months. I worry I might have walking pneumonia. Two months ago, when he ran away in a snowstorm, I was sick with the same cough. I wonder if it’s contributing to my fatigue.
Anyway, I prayed vocally. I asked God for the strength to keep going. To walk at my son’s pace. To stay with him through the pain and fatigue. And I did. I stayed with him the whole time. When my wife caught up to him miles from home, I was only a few railroad ties behind.
Later, when we were on the phone with our missionary, we pulled over on the side of the road and asked if we could say a prayer with her. Everyone—even my autistic son, who doesn’t want to go to church again—said, “Sure. Let’s pray with Madilynn.” And we did, right there on the side of the road in Orem, Utah.
In church today, we were talking about our relationship with God. I said I can tell how close I am to God by whether or not I’ve felt the Holy Ghost recently. The instructor sidestepped the comment, but someone else spoke up and said it was a very important point. It didn’t matter if others liked it—it’s true for me. (By the way, that instructor is one of the best. He’s my neighbor, and whether he knows it or not, he’s a gifted teacher.)
While sitting in church, I wrote my weekly letter to our missionary. I was expressing how deep a mother’s love is. In that moment, it felt easy to feel it—I told her about some of the deeply emotional experiences we had as a young family. Those experiences shape who we are. They were designed by God for our learning and growth. And they’ve drawn us closer to Him.
Final Thoughts
Yes, this was all just one day. But a lot happened today.