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My Grandma didn't smile!

2011-09-04T20:49:00.000-07:00

I gingerly approached my grandmother’s casket, not wanting to see her so old and frail, not at all the strong woman that I remembered from my youth. Her snow white hair was styled just as she liked it, the loving work of a cousin that had done so for many years of Gram’s life. The hands were clearly hers, gnarled as they clutched a crisp cotton handkerchief. Those hands had prepared man wondrous meals for her family, quilted countless blankets, both played and taught the piano to unknown numbers of students, but would be most remembered (at least by me) for her obsession with picking every speck of lint off of the carpet.

The similarities ended there – the eyes closed in repose were sunken and hollow, the skin around them smoothed and softened. Gram’s eyes had always been framed with soft folds and deep set wrinkles, the lids tucking into themselves around her bright eyes. I remember her eyes as a steel grey color, although to be honest, I’m not sure what color they actually were. Those eyes were both piercing and gentle, depending what you had done to earn her gaze.

This woman, the one that they had placed in my grandmother’s casket, had high cheekbones and hollow cheeks with a wide smile. I knew that it couldn’t be Gram, because my grandma didn’t smile!

Oh, she did. In her own way, but certainly not like this. Gram had thin lips that I had always felt sympathy for, lipstick addict that I am. Her smile was short and tight lipped, with full cheeks even when she had lost the girth of her middle age and shriveled to an elderly woman.

I understand the ravages of time. The vibrant young woman pictured at the guest table as we entered the funeral home was gone long before I was born. Her eyes smoldered, her smooth skin milky and radiant. Gone, too, was the young mother who sat regally in family photos, coifed and made up, surrounded by her 7 children, ranging in age from young adults to mere babies.

My Gram, the one that existed when I was young, had a healthy midsection. Years of her own delicious meals had contributed heavily, as had her demand that nothing to go waste – even if she had to eat it herself. She wore lipstick, on those thin little lips, and perhaps mascara and some “rouge”. Groomed, but not overly so, her one indulgence was the regular visit to our cousin that kept her hair up for her. She regularly wore dresses, long after it was the expectation to do so.

Through the years, I saw the damage that time and gravity can inflect on a body. Her high cheeks became more jowly, and her skin thinned out and began to develop lines around the eyes and along her hairline. Her hair faded and thinned, eventually becoming cottony floss. Her body thinned out as well, as her appetite shrank and she no longer cooked for a family. As I grew taller, she seemed to shrink, her bones succumbing to the pressure of living on planet earth.

This, I understood, and yet, I was aghast at how she appeared in death. Unable to accept this representation of my Gram, I left without saying goodbye.

In later discussion with the family, I learned of the mortician’s signature style of presentation – preparing the body for burial with a peaceful smile. To me, it was reminiscent of the old adage, “never speak ill of the dead.” He was painting a lovely picture of the departed, without regard to the life that they had lived.

My grandmother was a saint, but she was not saintly. She was valiant in her faith and almost fanatic in her desire to follow the commandments. Her strict adherence to rules made her sometimes harsh with her family and occasionally judgmental with others. Not in the least shy, the nickname “Marge in Charge” didn’t begin to describe the way that she managed those around her.

Lest you think that I am being disrespectful, these are the facts of her life, at least as I saw them. She was also a wonderful cook that welcomed anyone into her home and fed them well when they were there. She lovingly cared for a son with muscular dystrophy, giving him every opportunity to live life to the fullest, even before t hose with disabilities were invited to do so.

It is all of these things that I want to remember. Good and bad, joy and tears. To gloss over the imperfections is to lose sight of the full dimensional being that she was. The angelic looking woman broadly smiling from the casket with smooth skin in no way resembled the woman that I had come to honor.

It wasn’t until they had closed the casket and we had arrived at her burial place that I felt the desire to approach and tell her goodbye. The dedication was given and the funeral director had invited the family to a luncheon back at the church. The crowd was thinning; young children bouncing down the hill, dodging headstones, the elderly being lead gingerly by friends and family.

The pink casket glimmering in the sun, adorned with a lovely spray of rosy flowers interspersed with brilliant white blooms was, for the first time, alone. A few feet away, the ground opened up, ready to envelope her. Her headstone, shared with my grandfather, had been engraved years before with her name and birth date. She had been anxious to join her sweetheart of 60+ years. Now, his vault was clearly visible in the rectangular hole. Hers would be beside his, and obscured from our view in a matter of minutes.

“Goodbye, my grandma,” I whispered, my hand placed lightly next to the flowers, my head as near the lid as I could lean.

A tiny hand touched me, my five year old standing beside me. “What are you doing?” He asked, no doubt aware of the tears that had finally come. I knelt beside him to explain that we were saying our farewells to Gigi. Giving him a moment to do the same, I gave Gram a final pat and made my way down the hall to follow the rest of the family.

I left with reticence, wanting to go back to the funeral director to assure myself that he would stay with her until she was properly buried. I knew that this was procedure, but I wanted to be sure that my sweet little grandma wasn’t alone there while the family partook of the feast of salads and goodies prepared by the ward Relief Society. It seemed cruel to leave her behind alone.

My baby must have been thinking the same thing, as he paused after walking just a few feet. Running back to her side, he blinked a few times, and then burst into tears. His little heart was filled with sorrow that spilled out in great heaving sobs as he stood near the casket, suddenly understanding that Gigi was gone and that he hadn’t even said goodbye.

This was his first experience with death. He knew that there were times that people left us and went back to Jesus. But he’d never seen a body before, and I wanted to be sure that he wasn’t freaked when he saw her.

I explained about her body and her spirit and how she would leave one behind, while the other would go on. “She might look like she is sleeping,” I explained, “But it’s really only her body. Her spirit, the part of her that makes her who she is – that part moved on.”

He seemed to understand that. But it’s hard not to think of her in terms of the physical body that she wore here on earth. He found a display room of caskets at the funeral home and had asked if he could lie in the ‘beds’. After all, Gigi was sleeping in one!

It makes me wonder if we’ll even recognize one another in the hereafter. Are we going to look much the same as we did here – mother’s eyes and dad’s short legs? What does ME perfected look like? The physical is what we ponder, often wondering if a celestial body will have brown hair, or if society’s idea of perfect will be instituted. Wand which society? Wouldn’t we all, then, look alike?

No, my grandmother didn’t smile. Her teeth were crooked and her lips too thin. But she was MY grandma. And that’s how I’ll remember her, with gratitude for the small things that make us unique. The things that make us…unforgettable.

So spare me the angelic smile, save your smooth skin and perfect posture. Let me remember my Gram in all her glory, perfectly imperfect as she was. That is enough for me!

Is it over yet?

2011-03-07T23:18:00.000-08:00

Is it over yet? Can I open my eyes?

So swells the song by Kelly Clarkson, “Cry”.

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

A few years ago, I attended the State Wrestling Tournament. The championship matches are intense, as they have come so far, and they are not going to give up now. Some are seniors, their last chance at achieving greatness. Some have had an undeafeated season, and don’t want their last and most important match to be the first that they lose. The emotion is compelling, and it’s almost as entertaining to watch what happens off of the mat as it is to watch what happens on the mat.

Upsets are usually accompanied by jumps, flips, and sometimes even whooping. Coaches slap one another on the back and wrestlers jump into their arms. It’s enough to make your heart swell. But remember, there are two competitors. The losers show equal amounts of grief, anguish, and despair. There are a few that behave like gentlemen and congratulate their opponent heartily, but not that many. A few are downright angry and behave like children, hardly shaking hands with each other or the coaches. Then, there is Starfish Man.

Starfish man was a tiny little guy, probably about a 125 pounder. He finished his match, and with tears streaming down his face, he shook hands and walked off the mat with dignity. And then he crumbled. I mean, literally fell into a heap on the tarmac, just off of the mat. He lay prostrate on the ground, pulling at the hair on both sides of his head. His coaches bent to speak to him, but he didn’t move. They patted him on the back, but he didn’t move. They looked at one another and tried to lift him up, but he was dead weight. They shrugged and just stood there by him until he composed himself and stood up. It took quite some time for him to come to this point.

I can identify with that. In my depressed state of mind, I’ve always felt like I wanted to be a starfish, laying on a rock somewhere. The water can wash over you, but it can’t move you. You become one with your surroundings, so much so that you become…invisible. I could just BE and let everything wash over and past me and I don’t even have to react to it.

I imagine that Starfish man felt the same way. He was in a crowded stadium with no less than 20,000 people in it, but in that moment, he was all alone. Face down, eyes squeezed shut, he could imagine that no one could see him, no one could touch him. He could let the hurt and anger and frustration just wash over him.

Being depressed becomes such a great deal of work. You fight to keep your head above water, you fight to maintain your dignity, you fight to keep the demons from closing in on you. Your enemy is your own mind, and you cannot escape it. I’ve envied starfish for so long.

Is it over yet?

Can I open my eyes?

Is this as hard as it gets?

Is this what it feels like to really cry?

The first time that I heard this song, I stopped dead in my tracks. That’s exactly how I feel when I think that I can’t go on anymore! When I’ve been battered by the waves for so long, and there’s no end in sight. If I knew that daylight were just around the corner…if I knew that this was the worst of it…then I might be able to bear the unbearable.

This past couple of days have been rough in our household. We’ve had some standard family drama, with a bit of door slamming, raised voices, and emotional outbursts. We’ve not had a great deal of this with the boys growing up, thankfully, but now that they are nearly grown, we’ve added girls to the mix. Enough said?

Things were said that I’m sure that we don’t mean, not really. In the heat of the moment, it is blurted out and then there’s no taking it back. You can apologize, but the damage is done. That kind of hurt takes a while to wash away. The really difficult part is that in loving my children, in wanting the best for them, I fail. It is the desire to make their lives perfect that exacerbates the situation and frustrates me. Their inability to understand these actions and more importantly, their motives, often puts me in an adversarial position.

One of my children has turned his back on me, and my heart is broken. It might be for a day, for a week, or for years, I have no way of knowing. Is it over yet? Can I open my eyes?

I feel like I’m waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. The fear creeps in. The doubt. The self-evaluation. I should have, I could have. I haven’t done enough. I’ve done too much. I begin to see so many other things that I have failed at. My failure as a child to my parents. My failure as a mother. My failure as a wife, as a disciple of Christ, as a worker, as a friend, as a sister, a cousin, a . They are all so connected, and when one thing falls, it brings the whole lot with it.

I’ll give myself a few days to feel sorry, to worry, to feel helpless. I might even lay down on the floor and pull my own hair. Is this as hard as it gets?

And then…it will be time to get up off of the mat and leave the stadium. You can’t be a starfish forever, and you can’t let the depression and cognitive dysfunction sweep you away. What’s left? Where do you go from there?

I’m not sure yet. I have no idea what the future holds for me and my child. I guess that is up to him. It has definitely pointed out that we have some things to work on as a family. Right now, it feels like everything is my fault, and everyone is placing the blame entirely on my shoulders. Thanks to a great therapist, I know that is not true, and there are more personalities involved that need to share in the responsibility. I know where I need to get to, I just don’t know how to get there.

I have to let go with my little suckers, leave the rock, and just keep swimming.

Being a Wrestler's Mom means...

2011-01-10T20:21:00.000-08:00

…that you have actually told your child on more than one occasion – “You probably shouldn’t eat tonight!”

…that it doesn’t surprise you to see your child running in 4 layers of clothing the night before a match. Likewise, you don’t even have to ask why they are sucking on lemons and spitting in a bottle.

…that you had better have your Christmas preparations done before December when tournaments start, or it’s not getting done.

…that you can recite the concessions offerings of nearly every school that you wrestle at.

…that you go to sleep at night with “Half! Half!” ringing in your ears.

…that you will learn to recognize your child’s name being read over the speakers, no matter how bad the announcer massacres it.

…that you know the names – and weights – of every other wrestler on the team.

…that you will sacrifice every Saturday for three months to sitting on bleachers, eating popcorn and nachos for three meals, and getting home late because the heavyweights always seem to make it into the finals.

…that you have to lose the notion of personal space. Wrestling is a close contact sport, and so are the bleachers. Don’t be offended if a wrestler suddenly reaches under your butt to pull out the bag that you happened to sit over the top of.

…that you will catch beautiful shots of your child on the bottom, but somehow, the ones of them winning are always less technically perfect. (When Tux won his first match, I jumped in the air screaming, nearly wet my pants, and took a photo of my feet and the edge of the mat.)

…that you will forever be frustrated by the fact that wrestlers are always more concerned about taking off the leg bands than posing for a good victory picture. I think that it should go something like this…Referee says, “Winner kid, your mom a photographer? Where is she? Okay, turn that direction. Everyone look that way. Keep your arm up here...did it flash? Nope, hold on, let me suck in my gut and let her get another one...okay, she’s smiling. You can go now."

…that you have albums full of pictures of referee butts because they step in front of you just as you snap. You also have a fair amount of shots of wrestler’s groin areas, which you delete before anyone thinks that you took that shot on purpose.

...that when March rolls around, you will be too busy missing the team and the fun you had to realize that you have Saturdays back to yourself again.

…that you know that wrestling is not for the faint of heart. Your child will be squashed, smacked, beaten, contorted, thrown, and wrenched.

…that you have to be there to help your child stand up at least one more time than they are knocked down.

…that when the match is over, someone will have won. Someone will have lost. There’s no one else to share the blame, and there’s no one else to share the glory. It’s all on your child, and you have to be aware of the pressure that places on them.

…that you have to remember that your child has a coach. You are the mom. Love them no matter what.

…that it’s heartbreaking to see someone else’s arm raised at the end of the match.

…that you’ve tried to find a way to pray that your child will win…without praying that another child will lose.

…that you know that whether they win or lose, your child will develop skills that will last them a lifetime. Not just take downs and reversals, but self-reliance, confidence, self-control, discipline, assertiveness, dedication, strength, attitude, and perseverance.

…that once you have watched your kid wrestle, everything else in life is easy.

A couple of other articles that I thought were great regarding parents of wrestlers:

Spoutin' Out
7 Rules for a wrestler's mom

My Christmas Wish

2010-12-24T14:34:00.000-08:00

I spent this afternoon writing...something that makes me VERY happy! Merry Christmas!

My extended family has always been close (remember, we’re the bestest family EVER, as I told you in Web of Family). These days, we keep in touch via myfamily.com or Facebook, with streaming video and digital pictures…but in the ‘old days’, we sent newsletters to family members each month. It was a monumental task to gather the letters written by each family member, copy them many times, and then bind them together. We would stuff envelopes and send them from Washington to Florida and even overseas in some cases.

We also included a feature story each month. We spotlighted the experiences of returned missionaries throughout the years, told the birth stories of each family member, recanted the “how we met” stories of each couple, and talked about the multiple sets of twins that we have in the family. It was a labor of love for my mother and I to work on together.

My indulgence was to write a Christmas story each year. There’s something so magical about the season, when miracles can happen and anything is possible. One year, I wrote of forgiveness, another, belief. My favorites were the stories in which I tried to mention each family member by name.

My first attempt was about a small girl at her Grandma’s, admiring the Christmas ornaments. Each one represented a member of the family, and was tied to some trait or story that Grandma could share about them.

I wrote a story about the family performing a play about the birth of Christ. Each member had a part in the production, from costume and set design, to music, to acting, to hosting the event. This was particularly sweet to write, as I studied the stories of His birth in the Gospels to be sure that I was writing it correctly.

Another year, I wrote “I’ll be home for Christmas”, and talked of how we would be returning to the family homestead to celebrate with the entire extended family. The things that we would do, the places that we would go…and ended with “yes, I’ll be home for Christmas…if only in my dreams.” (My grandmother began reading the story and went into a panic, thinking that I was really coming and she hadn’t cleaned the house properly!)

It’s been many years since I had the time…TOOK the time…to write one of these stories. They rattle in my brain, but always get shoved aside by the bill paying, clothes washing, and other day to day concerns that really waste the creative time that we have!

The story most wanting to get out at this time is my ideal Christmas.

Much as my “I’ll be home for Christmas” story, it involves the ENTIRE family! (I’d throw in the friends and family members from the other side of the family, but for the sake of tradition to our newsletter, I include only Mom’s side of the family)

The family that began with just two people who fell in love has now blossomed into 109 individuals. 7 of these have left this earthly sphere, but live on in our hearts. It is no longer possible to cram the entourage into the family homestead. There would barely be room to move.

Instead, I picture us traveling to a reasonably remote lodge in Colorado, where snow abounds. I suppose that it would be nice to stay someplace in Utah, so that we can visit Temple Square and the Christmas lights, but there’s something about driving far out into the mountains that’s just so romantic! (None of the men in my house understand the concept of romance as it pertains to anything but kissing)

I’m talking a rustic lodge, with rough hewn timbers and your most basic décor. Boughs of greenery are lashed to the railings with raffia and red grosgrain ribbon. A massive wreath adorns the oversize fireplace, roaring with a crackling fire. Poinsettias are dotted throughout the lobby, festooned with shiny green paper wraps. Christmas music plays softly in the background, harps and piano.

The front desk clerk wears a bulky cableknit sweater in winter white with snow boots and comfortable jeans. Her smile lights up the room as she greets us, registrations completed and room keys ready. Larger families will be staying in cabins across the snow covered courtyard, while rooms inside the lodge will accommodate couples and small families.

The berber carpet along the hallway bears representations of pines and sisal twine, entertwined along the edges. Each door boasts it’s own wreath, wrapped around the name of the suite that serves as a room number. Eagle’s Nest, Winterhaven, and Snowy Peak are first along the hallway.
The rooms are spacious, with wide windows opening to the vista of snow covered mountains in the distance. A soft window seat allows occupants to simply gaze at winter’s elegance, enjoying a cup of hot chocolate made at the small bar. Beds are canopy, with logs burnished to glossy smoothness as headboard and poles. Natural woven fabrics drape from end to end, and a fluffy down comforter covers the thick mattresses.

In the bath, a claw footed tub with shower sits atop heated tiles of granite. Fluffy towels await on a stand nearby. Warming yourself after a bath is easy, with a fireplace both in the main room and a smaller version in the bathroom.

There is plenty to do at the lodge, whether you want to stay indoors or enjoy the cold outside. Sledding, skating, and skiing are all available nearby, while a wide yard affords the youngsters a place to recreate Frosty the snowman.

Inside, there are video games for the teens and large screens that play the classics and recent favorites for all. On the playlist are my favorites: Christmas Vacation, Scrooged, the Home Alone series, and for my mom…A Miracle on 34th Street. Snacks are available at any time, and the lodge encourages guests to utilize their large sized kitchen for baking holiday treats. Everyone has prepared their specialties, and the lobby is filled with candies, cakes, cookies, and the like.

On Christmas Eve, we would gather around the fireplace to read the Christmas story and sing carols, everyone dressed in their brand new pajamas, opened just before the gathering. Sleepy children would be carried to bed, dreaming of sugar plums and toys.

Christmas morning would be chaos, with wrapping paper and bows scattered everywhere. Squeals of delight and laughter ring across the tall ceilings. Breakfast awaits in the dining room, where tables as long as the room are laden with steaming plates of food.

Ah, such a lovely dream. But as an adult, I know the logistics would be nearly impossible. To gather 105 people (to include fiancé’s) from 10 states in one location? Getting vacation time from 43 jobs, and traveling a collective 27,965 miles? We would need 28 vehicles, including 9 rental cars. We would have purchased 36 airline tickets. We would be carrying approximately 150 pieces of luggage, not including the 35 laptop computers that would come along.

The oversized tree in the lobby would be dwarfed by the 652 gifts placed under it, and stockings would need to be hung from the mantle in each individual room. It would take nearly 18 dozen eggs to make breakfast, and another 12 dozen to create 210 pieces of French toast. It would take 89 lbs of turkey to feed us dinner. That’s 8 turkeys of a decent size!

But adult worries aside, wouldn’t it be wonderful? Someday. But for today, I’ll dream!

Merry Hoppity!

2010-12-23T22:01:00.000-08:00

With the holiday only hours away, I'm finding myself waxing nostalgic for days gone by...stories told, adventures experienced, dreams unrealized. I'm wishing that I had been more prepared for the holidays, and able to relax and enjoy them. Document them.

But alas. I'm not even done shopping, and the handmade gifts that I had hoped for may end up being valentines.

For now, I'll settle for sharing a holiday memory with you.

A few years back, my mom, two friends and I decided to go to a grand bazaar in our area. It is Victorian themed, with carolers, folks dressed in Victorian attire, shows, and buildings full of booths, offering wares of every type imaginable. Many were handmade, and not only provided excellent gifts, but inspiration. It was always a day to bask in the glow of the holiday.

We began the day by hitting some major retailers along the way. Two of us had tween aged children, and rarely had time to shop. We would rush into Wal-Mart or Target, list in hand, and fill a cart in no time. We would fill the trunk, then rush off to indulge in a day of perusing the aisles of trinkets at the fairgrounds.

The two ladies were already at the car as Mom and I left Target. I could barely push my laden cart. I had filled my childrens' wish lists and found a few goodies for myself, too. I was quite pleased and jubilant to be so organized.

And then I spied the bell ringer.

"Oh, no," I lamented. "My purse is buried under all of my stuff. How will I dig out change to add to the bucket?"

"It won't matter. I have given all month to every bucket that I've passed. I've given to local food banks, and bought gifts for the angel tree. I don't need to give this time."

"But HE doesn't know that. He's going to see my cart loaded with Christmas and think that I'm a selfish snob!"

"No, I can't dig out my purse. I'll just push past him in a hurry and he won't notice."

"But he's a man 'of color'. He'll think that I'm discriminating against him! He'll think that I'm being racist!"

"It's okay. I'll flash him my warmest smile and wish him a hearty Merry Christmas, and he'll know that I'm a good person and that I've given elsewhere, that I respect him as a person and am not just ignoring him."

I put on my best smile and gazed into his deep brown eyes.

"Oh, no! What if he is offended by Merry Christmas! Maybe I should say Happy Holidays like they tell us to at work! Be politically correct!"

By this time, I'm staring at him and need to speak soon before he thinks that I'm a stalker or something.

"But he's wearing a Santa hat. He MUST be Christian, and I can say Merry Christmas. SPEAK, Jaycie, speak! Just say something!"

What came out was: "Merry Hoppity!", a rather awkward and mangled version of Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays thrown together.

But I said it with conviction, and it was too late to try to recover at this point. I held my head high and pushed my cart swiftly past him as if this was my standard greeting. I was barely holding it together when Mom caught up with me about 15 feet later.

"What did you just say to him???" She asked incredulously.

I began giggling so hard that I could hardly push my cart. Tears streamed out of my eyes as I tried to explain without attracting more undue attention. I was afraid to look back.

By the time that we reached the car, neither of us could speak, and we barely caught our breath between attempts to explain our condition to our friends.

It's a story that we love to tell for many reasons, the first being that the mind is a scary place to venture into alone. One should not overanalyze the Salvation Army buckets out front. One should not contemplate the thoughts that occur as we bicker with ourselves in our own minds. And we should never speak until we are sure that we are going to do so in our native tongue. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of. It is also a festive memory of friends, laughter, and the spirit of the season, and nearly always ends with a good belly laugh. No matter how many times I tell it.

Merry Hoppity to all!

How I found myself Back to the Future

2010-08-01T21:13:00.000-07:00

I finally got a couple of well deserved days off this week…and I was so incredibly tired! I didn’t even care that it was Saturday, which has always been chore day. I didn’t even care that the kitchen floor was a mess –and filthy floors are something that I hate.

So we ended up at Mom and Dad’s, being lazy on the couch. Sick of watching endless hours of Spongebob and icarly, we finally wrested the remote from Toddy. It’s comical trying to find a TV show that everyone in the room could agree on! We finally landed on a “Back to the Future” marathon.

Tux immediately launched in to seventeen reasons why time travel is impossible or screwed up, and specifically why “Back to the Future” doesn’t work. At first, we laughingly disputed his reasoning (most of which came from a cracked.com article on time travel), but eventually gave up. Time travel is highly unlikely simply based on the fact that no one can define the rules. That’s my take on it.

It got us discussing how Michael J. Fox was concerned about BTFII because they would be overlaying footage of him at nearly 30 with footage of him at merely 25. Poor guy! Tux mentioned that the 47 year old Marty McFly bore NO resemblance to the now 49 year old Fox, and thankfully so! McFly was a loser, and of course bore the wear and tear of such a life. Fox has not had such a life (he has led an amazingly good life, thanks to his attitude and choices), and looks pretty darn good, I’d say.

It was during the scene in which Marty’s 40-something mother is stumbling around the suite in her sequined gown and humongous chest that it dawned on me. I am her age.

When the BTF movies came out, I was at THAT age. I thought that Marty McFly was hot. I was young and wild and loved the movies because they made you look to the future and where you might be and what you might be doing, how your current choices and activities may determine that future.

Somehow, I suddenly find myself on the other end of the time-space continuum! I was sitting there with my late-teenager son. I was no longer Marty’s potential girlfriend, but his mother. It cast a decidedly different light on the movies!

I’ve had the hardest time with this last birthday. I’m not sure what it is…but I’m realizing that I’m on the downhill slide. I am finally feeling like an adult – but it’s only been a couple of years since I’ve felt that way. And now I’m running headlong into old age!

It didn’t help that I ran into an old boyfriend at the grocery store recently. He was quite a bit younger than I was, and my parents where aghast that I would chase such a young one. He was always charmingly good looking, and had a boyish charm that I found attractive.

Flash forward some 25 years, and here we are, talking about our grandchildren and the late in life babies that we had each had. All that I could think of was that he was lined and distinguished looking with his sandy grey hair. OH MY GOSH. What happened???

How is it that one day, you feel young and vital, and the next, you have one foot in the grave?? My dad just turned 64 – and it seems that every year, I get closer and closer to his age. One day, I might catch up. How does that happen?

When I was hired for my current job, they conducted panel interviews for the applicants. One lady looked at my resume and asked if I had attended the local high school. “Oh,” I said excitedly, “Did you have kids that went there?” Silly me. She said slowly, “No…but I did.” I then had to backpedal quickly and honestly tell her that I forget that I’m as old as I am! I see someone my age and think that they are so much older…

My boss seemed to have so much more experience and I assumed that he was years older than me. We acted on this premise for nearly a month before I got into a discussion with him and discovered that he was less than a month older than me. One of the girls that I work with reminds me frequently that I am old enough to be her mother.

And you know what really rankles me? I thought that at this age, I’d be a lot smarter. I imagined that I’d be wise and graceful and…distinguished. But no, I’m still hanging on by a thread, figuring it all out.

If I could go back, what would I tell myself at 18? What would I warn me about, and what would I leave myself blissfully unaware of?

I know. I’d sell myself a line of bull and say that at 40-something, I know the meaning of life. I know how to do anything. I know the answers to everything. And I’d remind me that I’m old enough to be her mother. When she asked how to get from there to here, I’d smirk as I got back into the DeLorean.

Let her figure it out for herself!

Save Your Freaks

2010-06-27T21:49:00.000-07:00

This is a skill that I learned when I was rushed to the hospital at 32 weeks pregnant, unsure of whether or not my baby would be born prematurely, scared to death that he would be in the hospital forever and have complications. I knew that things could go from bad to worse in a matter of hours…or minutes…and I also knew that once the tears started, it was not likely that I’d get them to stop.

So here was my theory…if I freaked out right from the beginning, something really bad might happen, and I wouldn’t have any ‘freak tokens’ left. I would already be over the edge, and have nowhere to escalate to. I told myself that if I stayed calm, then I would have plenty of ‘reserve’ freaking that I could do later if necessary.

What happened is that I was calm, cool, and collected. Okay, reasonably so. I felt the Spirit with me each day, and I was able to handle things fairly well. I liked knowing that I had reserved the right to freak … later.

I tried to teach this to my nieces, CJ and Allie last summer. Having a house full of boys, the drama is somewhat limited. Not so with two tweenish girls!  Everything is a big deal, and I know that for Bro and Sis, it’s bound to get worse. I was a teenage girl once. I know how it works.

One of them was upset about something, and started to stomp off and pout. I laughed and called her back, explaining the ‘save your freaks’ option of life. They thought that I was a funny, but I hope that in some way, I caught their attention.

Teens would do well to follow my advice, since everything is a tragedy. Problem is, after your parents (or friends, or boyfriends, or teachers…) have dealt with so many freaks, they lose interest. It’s like the boy who cried wolf. They no longer see your crisis as a crisis. It’s just another dramatic episode. Saving those really big freaks for a later date gives you that leverage to get their attention.

For me, it means keeping my emotions in check. I’m not bottling anything. I deal with the emotions in a much less stressful way. I force myself to think things out and decide if it’s really worth a nervous breakdown, or if I can save that for another day.

So far, no straight jacket, so I’m thinking that it must be working!

That I’m not a quivering mass of jelly is a real testament to my therapist….

2010-06-24T07:30:00.000-07:00

Things change.
Stuff happens.
And it used to really throw me for a loop.
I worried.
I wondered.
I obsessed.
I panicked.
“What will happen to me? I like things the way that they are! Things could get so much worse! I don’t know what I’m doing! I’m not in control!”

Ah, there’s the rub. I’m not in control.

She taught me that sometimes, we hold on to something so tightly that our arms are not open to receive the next good thing. She taught me that SAME is not equal to PERFECT. She taught me that I’m better than the things that life throws at me.

Work is crazy right now. Things are changing. More responsibility is falling on me. That means, potentially, more criticism. More mistakes.

BUT! It could also be more praise. More success.

I’m taking things in stride. Things may change, but I don’t have to worry about it. It will either get worse or get better, with no intervention on my part. I’ll figure it out when I get there. We are just getting through today, and then we’ll worry about tomorrow.

I’m good at what I do. I have confidence in that, now. I have skills and talents that have been given to me by my Heavenly Father to do good in this life. Some of those skills also earn me a good living. They contribute to the success of a great number of people, who also earn a good living.

When I began this job, there were doubts. It’s a high-turnover property in a fast paced industry. I knew that my days may be numbered. I was warned that it might be too much stress; that my boss was known for cycling through employees faster than you could get your desk organized. He was demanding and difficult sometimes. Even my therapist talked about the inherent lack of longevity.

I walked in with both eyes open. I decided that if it didn’t work out, at least I tried. I’d been unemployed before, and I could do it again. I decided that I would just do the best that I could, and leave the car running, so to speak.

I also made the decision that I would not live to please men. (speaking figuratively, as in MANKIND, not the male gender!) At the end of the day, if I had pleased my God, then I had succeeded. It didn’t matter if I had failed to please my boss, or the big bosses, or even the board. As long as I had done a good, honest day’s work in all fairness to my employer, and I had been good to people along the way, then it was a good day.

I loved it right from the start. It’s stressful, it’s hectic, it is sometimes downright frustrating. There have been moments when I wondered if I wanted to go back. But I always do, and I look forward to it! It’s challenging and fulfilling in a way that I have not experienced in a long, long time.

Yes, my boss was difficult and demanding sometimes. There were days when I just let him rant, while I sat quietly. He expressed gratitude for those days that I let him “be himself” and vent a little. I didn’t take it personally, and I didn’t let it get to me. I know that he is not my final judge; my salvation does not depend on whether or not he is pleased with my work. I could let him blow up, because it didn’t concern me.

By the time he left to work in another state, we had a system. We worked well together, and others commented that I had lasted a lot longer than they expected. He and I had an understanding, and I came to love and respect him. I think that he kinda liked me, too.

Now, we are waiting for another Director to be hired. He/she might be easier to work with. They might not. It’s all the same to me.

I’m dealing with things as they come, and juggling all of the balls that I can in the interim. I no longer feel the need to control everything to make sure that it happens the way that I want, because I know that my Heavenly Father knows better than I do what I need – or even want – and I can trust Him.

So, back to the title… my brief time in therapy not only brought me back to myself, but taught me some valuable tools to use every day. These tools allow me to step back, for a moment, and allow myself to see things as they are, and not as the depression would paint them.

I make mistakes without wallowing in them. I can leave work nearly in tears, but that by the time I reach my car, I have talked myself down. I’ve reasoned with myself and realized that in the grand scheme of things…it is not such a big deal. I can listen to songs with emotional intensity and be entertained and moved by them…and not feel them to the point of falling into the abyss. And thankfully, I can remember that not so long ago, I couldn’t do those things by myself.

My therapist probably has no idea that she saved my life. I had no idea, prior to my time with her, that depression was something that could be conquered. Until then, I thought that it was manageable. She needs to know that she succeeded on so many levels with me.

I think of her often, as I go about my day. As I confidently approach tasks that are new to me. As I direct others in their tasks. As I deal with confrontation. But especially, as I walk with my head held high and without looking back.

Next chapter: Tux is planning to move out. Hyperventilation ahead!!!

Indeterminate Bereftivity

2010-06-21T22:34:00.000-07:00

You know what I mean…when you feel like you’ve lost something, but can’t remember what it is? Like it was wiped from your memory, but you still miss it.

That feeling that something is not right, but you are not sure what it is that is wrong? Or maybe it’s not wrong, but it’s definitely not right? Either way, it’s unsettling, but you have no idea where to go to fix it or fill the hole that it left behind, because you can’t even find the hole.

That’s today.

One of those days that you have to just fill the space with something good, something that edges out that empty feeling.

First step: giving it a name. Check.

Now, on to the good stuff!

What do you know for sure?

2010-05-30T21:28:00.001-07:00

I posted this as a question on a family website, mostly as a conversation starter, but one of my amazing cousins took it and really ran with the idea! She wrote a fantastic list that inspired me to do the same. I gave myself about 15 minutes, and just let the ideas come as they would. Give it a try! I'd love to hear what YOU know for sure!

What I know for sure…(in no particular order, not all inclusive, subject to change)

…that my Heavenly Father knows ME, loves ME, and guides ME.
…that my Heavenly Father has a sense of humor, because he often answers my prayers with a bit of a chuckle.
…that hard work is a beautiful thing.
…that no one is successful without the love and support of others.
…that the most important job that I will ever have is that of being a mother.
…that the skills and gifts that I have are given to me to use in the service of my fellow man.
…that I don’t deserve the wonderful family that I have.
…that my children are more important to me than anything.
…that I depend on my parents – both Earthly and Heavenly – and would be lost without them.
…that licorice snaps are the greatest candy ever. Not only are they yummy, but they bring back wonderful memories of Utah.
…that I would give up much to spend one more day with my Grandpa Powell.
…that I have been given the disease of depression as a trial in this life, and that it is not a failure on my part. I have only failed if I refuse to use the tools that have been given to me to defeat it.
…that I have been blessed beyond measure, and don’t even recognize many of the blessings that I receive.
…that I like being a redhead.
…that creativity heals us in ways that nothing else can.
…that being good to others feels better than any worldly success.
…that letting go is difficult, but often necessary.
…that Sundays are a day of rest for many very good reasons.
…that no matter how far I roam, Utah Valley will always be home.
…that a good writer can paint pictures with their words, and move mountains with their pen.
…that I could not live without the internet!
…that I cannot take away the pain that my children experience, no matter how much I want to.
…that I resent anyone who assumes that I will do things wrong.
…that there are lessons to be learned every day.
…that you cannot drag anyone into the Celestial Kingdom against their will.
…that the more difficult the weather, the longer it will take to open the rear entrance at work.
…that no matter how awful my day has been, my dog will be happy to see me.
…that I do not see myself in quite the same way that mirrors and cameras do. Thank heavens for that.
…that I will cry every time I watch the movie Armegeddon. I have the first 28 times, anyway.

What would you like on your headstone?

2010-05-13T22:01:00.000-07:00

What an odd conversation to have with business associates, but just the other day, we were doing just that.

My supervisor, who is a character and a half, said that he believes that credit should be given where credit is due – especially if that credit is due himself. He wants his headstone to read, “I WANT CREDIT!”

A beautiful, stately woman that we work with chimed in. Now, mind you, she is absolutely lovely, inside and out. She is poised and gracious and would give you the shirt off her back and be grateful to do it. She said that she would want hers to read, “She thought she was funny.”

Her husband agreed, laughing. Apparently, it’s a bit of an inside joke, as she tries to be the comedian, but often falls short of the laughter that she is hoping for.

How funny that this accomplished man wishes only to receive credit for his ideas – when his entire career is one big testament to his creativity and foresight! I have some theories on why this is, but we’ll save that for my next discussion of LOST. (intrigued?) And how ironic that this successful, socially gifted woman would wish to be funny.

I thought for a moment, then commented that I would want mine to read, “What I lack in real talent, I make up for in enthusiasm!” I vacillate between this and “You are not a winner, please try again.”

I guess both of mine speak to the idea that I’ll never be the smartest, the cutest, the most beautiful, the first in line. I won’t get credit, and I’m not as funny as I think that I am. But darn it, I’m trying. That’s gotta count for something.

And it’s a lot less pressure than hoping for your headstone to read, “Beloved wife and mother”, of which I am neither tonight. I have teenagers; I’m not sure that they even approve of me breathing, to be honest.

Quick, one line – what would yours be?

Happy Mother's Day, Gram!

2010-05-12T21:33:00.000-07:00

I dreamt of my Grandma for Mother’s Day. It’s not really unusual, I often dream about being “home” at my grandparents’ house, mixing with my cousins and wanting to stay longer. I’m always just about to leave, and sad that I have to go. I never get to stay there long enough.

But this wasn’t your happy, flowery kind of dream, but one in which I was wandering in her home, watching my aunts move things around and pack things up. They were all distracted and talking amongst themselves, but not really to me. I was becoming frustrated that no one seemed to notice that Gram was not there.

“Where is my grandma?” I asked repeatedly, finally becoming tearful and angry. “Where is my grandmother?”

A reply was absently tossed at me.

“But that’s not far from here!” I cried. “I want to see my grandmother before I leave!” I was indignant, and yet, they went right back to what they were doing. I awoke with that choked up, something is not right in my world feeling. I was weepy through most of the morning.

I was a little worried. You see, some years ago when I was young, I dreamed of my Uncle Bruce. In the dream, I walked up the stairs and found his twin sister sitting in his wheelchair in his room. She was crying. “This is all that is left of him,” she said. Two weeks later, he passed away after battling Muscular Dystrophy for 19 years. I thought that I had caused his death.

So at first, I worried that this might be the same for my Gram. I tried to remind myself that it was Mother’s Day, and I was likely thinking of the women in my life. I know that my mother and her siblings are meeting soon to discuss the future. I recently taught a lesson in church on Joseph and his interpretation of dreams. It all added up.

I was also feeling guilty because I haven’t called my Gram in ages. She’s in an assisted living home, and even though her body checked in, her mind did not. It’s a stranger living in my Gram’s body. She doesn’t know who I am when I call, and doesn’t remember afterwards that I have called. My sweet cousin V visits faithfully every week, and Gram doesn’t even remember her.

Another beautiful cousin lost her grandfather a few years ago, and I expressed my condolences. “Oh, it’s okay,” she said sweetly. “He’s been gone for years.” I understand that now.

Is there any part of her that knows that we are there? Will she remember when the veil is lifted? Be upset that we didn’t spend more time calling or visiting? Or will she understand that it was hard to communicate with her from so far away?

Is it abandonment if she abandoned us first?

I wished that I could call her, could tell her all that I needed to say. I wanted her to be my Gram – ornery and all – so that I could talk to her.

My dearest Gram,

Happy Mother’s Day! I hope that your day is filled with joy and laughter!

I love you, Gram. I miss you.

I want to laugh with you about our memories – how you told me when I was a teenager, “Don’t be yourself! Just be nice!” How I winked at you to tease you. How worried you were when I allowed a man – GASP – my grandfather – into my bedroom at Heritage Halls. About the time that you lost track of me at age two and I tried to go to school with the big kids.

I want you to remember them, too.

I want to share my successes with you. I want you to know how proud of Tux I am, for making the President’s Honor Roll in college. Even taking Japanese! I want you to know that he’s becoming himself again. That Addy has lost so much weight and is finding himself to be a handsome young man. That Toddy is finally pottie trained. That one of my graphic designs is being displayed prominently in the resort that I work for.

I want to tell you how exciting it was to see Tux graduate from Seminary. How proud of Todd I am because he says prayers in Primary. I want to talk about the things that I read in the scriptures, and how it applies to my life. I want to share these things because you devoted your life to teaching your family about the Gospel. I know that you would want to know that we got it.

I want to show you that despite all of your worries and concerns about our morality and poor decision making, we turned out okay. I want you to know that we understand why you were so adamant and sometimes…okay, often…critical. We know now because we are mothers. Grandmothers.

We are a family of strong women. We fight for the things that matter. We raise our children with equal amounts of discipline and love. We are good wives. We are a good family. We love each other. We support each other. We are there for each other. You’d be proud of us, if you knew who we were.

Yes, I’m a coward. And I’m ashamed of that. I’m afraid that if I call to talk to you, it will break my heart.

I'm sorry that I'm so weak. I'm sorry that you can't be with Grandpa like you desire. I'm sorry that your time here on earth is dragging on without you really being in it. I'm sorry that I didn't talk to you more often when I could.

Happy Mother’s Day, Gram. I love you. I miss you. And I’m hoping that in the world that you live in, you are happy. That when it’s all over, you won’t remember the time that you spent trapped in a stranger’s mind. And more importantly, you won’t remember that I was such a wimp.

Someday, we’ll look back on this and laugh. That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

Love,

Jaycie

Undecorating the Tree

2010-01-04T00:17:00.000-08:00

Taking down the tree for me this year has been a strange experience.

I’m the type of Christmas decorator that loves to break out the boxes of ornaments and doodads on Thanksgiving weekend, filling my house with more than enough festivity. I love everything Christmas, everything sparkly…and it can be dollar store or from Macy’s, it makes no difference to me. I leave it all up, including a clock that plays carols every hour, until New Year’s. Then I begrudgingly take it down, glad to have the house clean and uncluttered, but sad to see it all go.

Not so this year.

It was a crazy year for the holidays. Not only had I started a new job, but it was one that required a great deal of time and energy through the holidays to prepare for big events on the job. Two weeks before wrestling season began, Addy the Musician decided to wrestle after all. (Mothers of wrestlers – and daughters of coaches – know that you MUST be prepared for the holidays before Thanksgiving in order to survive, as you spend most of December, January, and February at Tournaments and matches!)

It was more than that, though, as this year was so much harder than even last year in terms of the economy. Even though I am back to work, I have added expenses that have rendered my income LESS than what I was making last year on unemployment. More importantly, I see the signs everywhere that folks are struggling. Business has been sparse and sporadic, and no one knows what will happen next. It is impossible to predict business in any industry, as this is uncharted territory. As such, hours have been cut, budgets slashed in an effort to stay alive through the recession. Many businesses have failed in our area, and others are barely holding on.

It is changing life as we know it. This may seem simple, but I can illustrate my point with scrapbooking magazines. I’ve always subscribed to all of the different magazines, from Creating Keepsakes to Memory Makers and Simple Scrapbooks, Scrapbooks, etc. and anything else that hit the shelves. I love the ideas and inspiration, as well as the creative process. In the last year, most of these magazines have folded. Only the major ones remain, and who knows how long that will last? I have never seen so many cars for sale alongside the road. Even if you had money to spend on Christmas, the stores had bare shelves and limited stock on what they did have. The list goes on and on.

My own family is changing, too. With Tux turning 19 and attending community college, Addy in High School, and Todd in private preschool at his daycare, we are all going different directions. They are all growing up so fast, it’s hard to believe, and I’m not ready for my babies to be all growed up. Tux is straining at the apron strings. I’m not ready to untie him yet. Addy is thinking that he, too, can exert his independence in many ways…some of which are not age appropriate. Todd is the usual toddler, and having been raised with teenage brothers, he can hold his own in an argument – and usually does.

This changing landscape at home was more difficult during the holidays, as they no longer delight in all that is Christmas. Oh, sure, they want the gifts, and everyone sucked up to Santa throughout the month to ensure said gifts. But they didn’t enjoy the décor, or the joy of the holiday. I heard them complain constantly about my clock…which usually brings me joy. This year, I’m not sure if I left it up just hoping that it would spark that spirit in my heart, or if I just wanted to prove that I was still in control by leaving it up.  They refused to watch Christmas movies or specials, and I didn’t even try to fill the house with the usual carols.

We have had a longstanding tradition of driving to see the Christmas lights, and bellowing, “HO HO HO!” at the most beautifully decorated houses. Ones that are trying, but not quite there get a “HO HO”, and those that are pitiful receive something along the lines of “Ha ha ho” or simply an unenthusiastic “Ho”. Tux has endured it since he was six, but this year, he simply refused. Addy was too busy. It was nice that Todd got into it, however, so we did get a couple of good nights.

The tree, the lights, the ornaments, the Santa figures, the nativities…all wasted on the boys. They could have cared less.

Perhaps this is normal, particularly in an all male household. I tried to tell myself that as I decorated, but three weeks later when it was time to take it down, I wondered why I had bothered. It wasn’t as if I had a great deal of time to devote to it, but I had because I felt that I needed to be ‘that kind of mother’.

I imagine myself as the defender of our traditions. The keeper of our memories and joys. Each ornament has a story, a special place in our history. The “windows on the World” ornaments that began with “Feliz Navidad”, because I was taking Spanish in high school that year. The god’s eye that I made in first grade. The scratched up bulbs that were on my parent’s first Christmas tree some 45 years ago.

Each ornament has it’s own storage box, labeled with a description so that each is returned to it’s own place. I provide years and givers if they were gifts. I look forward to the night that we decorate each year…a Christmas movie playing on the TV (Usually “Christmas Vacation”), drinking egg nog, and talking about each ornament and favorite memories associated with it. I decorated alone this year.

I took it down tonight by myself. The family did come out to watch “National Treasure”, which I put in. That was a nice surprise, as they are usually so busy with their own activities. But I was the only one to admire the stunning ornaments like the Christopher Radko Mickey Mouse, the hand painted baby Jesus on a golden ball. The only one to reminisce about the candy cane that Tux made at his very first cub scout activity, or the gingerbread man that is dressed like Elvis that Addy made at school. To recall the time that Hubby whisked me off for a surprise visit to Las Vegas the beginning of December, and the Excalibur ornament that I bought to commemorate it. To ponder the true meaning of the season looking at the kneeling Santa before the manger.

And yet, some of those memories were painful, too. I found ornaments that were made during times of my life when I thought that I had good friends - nearly family - only to find out that I meant nothing to them when the bumps came along. I found myself trying to decide if I should keep them, or if they were just too much to hold on to. I've moved on, and I have a new life, one that does not include these toxic people in it, and I'm happy now. Did I want to keep those reminders of those that had hurt me so deeply? I eventually decided to keep them - one more year. To allow myself to really heal and evaluate them a bit more objectively. They didn't make the cut to the tree this year, but I wasn't quite ready to throw out so many years of my life forever, either.

I’d always thought that these things would be cherished as I cherish them. Not just the ornaments, but the memories. I thought that it would be something that I lovingly passed down to my sons and their families as they grew up. That they would look forward to sharing this each year. That even when I was old and grey, I would still decorate the tree with my grandchildren, and share these special times.

My mom didn’t even put one ornament on her tree this year. We usually do Christmas morning at my house, and dinner at hers. This year, we would be eating dinner at the Fire Station, where my dad was on duty. She just didn’t see the point. She put up half of the ten foot tree – which left it a bit misshapen and short – with simple strings of lights and called it good. No Christmas village. Just the sad tree.

She may not have missed putting up her decorations, but I did. Her ornaments are as special to me as my own, as I see my past hanging on the branches. I see my history, my memories, my childhood. Will I give up, too, when I get to that stage of my life?

It was especially poignant to me, as the older boys are balking at some of the other things that I have tried to teach them throughout the years. Not only our faith, but matters of family and personal growth. I am seeing that I am not going to accomplish all that I had planned as a mother. Yes, yes, I realize that they have their own free agency, and NO child is going to live up to the ideal that we set for our goal. (heaven knows, I have disappointed my parents plenty!) Faced with raising another child, I am torn between providing the same level of parenting that I did the first time around for Todd…or should I simply relax and not try so hard to be the perfect mother? Will it hurt less if he doesn’t become the man that I was hoping to raise, if I don’t put that much into it? Will my children even look back once they have left the nest? I know that every mother worries about these things…at least, I believe that they do.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be normal. I’ve had a depressed mind for most of my life, as near as I can tell, and I wonder if I am the only one that pines for such sentimental things as I do. Am I the only one that mourns the end of an era? That notices when the details are being lost in the shuffle, and the effort is no longer there?

Right now, I’m chalking it up to fatigue (work has really been draining this last two weeks), and the usual blues that come after the holidays. I’m blaming it on the weather. I’m throwing it out with the last year, ready to go into 2010 with a brighter outlook. But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t bid a more heavy hearted farewell to each ornament, wondering if I would want to bring them all out again next year.

I think that I’ll finish cleaning up and allow myself those moments of melancholy…just for tonight. Tomorrow is a new day, and I’ll rejoice in the fact that the clock is silent and so are the complaints, the family room is now 9 sq feet bigger, and my shelves and tables have all been cleaned and shined before returning their regular décor.

I will no longer have to check the nativities to make sure that the animals are not wandering off (thanks to the teenage boys) or that the Santas are standing up and not dead after Todd shooting them with a Nerf gun. And if nothing else, it gave me a good excuse to write for a minute… something that I’ve missed terribly and enjoy very much.

It’s all in perspective.

Here’s to 2010!

Making sure that life doesn't run you over...

2009-11-04T22:09:00.000-08:00

Life happens, and it happens fast. If you aren't prepared for what's ahead, it will surely run you over.

I'm feeling a little broadsided at the moment, unable to get my bearings because the days are flying by in hyperspeed. Instead of facing the day armed with my best intentions, I'm scraping through, and making it...but not getting nearly the enjoyment or satisfaction that I would have if I'd been paying attention.

That reminds me of a friend that divorced some time ago. Always a bit of an optimist, she still found something to laugh about when her husband of many years abruptly left her.

"If I'd known that was going to be the last time that I'd have sex," she remembered, "I would have paid more attention!"

Ah, the life lessons there.

I don't want the days to scream by. I want to savor them, live the moments that are so important. This lifetime is so short, and the time that we have with our children is so much shorter. I have seen two children grow up before I was ready, and now I see Todd doing the same. He is so tall lately, and so intelligent, and it seems like only yesterday, he was so tiny that we were scared to touch him.

From a logistical standpoint, I need to get ahead of the ball. I need to be proactive instead of reactive, prepared for the day ahead. I need to get to bed earlier, having clothes and necessaries for the day to follow laid out and ready to roll. I need to rise early and get things organized so that I can get to work without rushing.

I need to be organized at work, so that I can participate in all that the job has to offer. I can help others to achieve their potential. I can take on additional projects.

I need to have my housework and familial duties organized so that I'm doing them before they are due, before clothes overrun the hamper and begin to attack, before the dust on the furniture grows thicker than the dog hair on the floor.

I need to be more prayerful, more focused as I face my days. When I am centered in this respect, the rest seems to fall into place. So quickly we forget, however, and so quickly we rush to take care of things ourselves.

I need to have time to be creative. I need to scrapbook, write, and allow myself to ponder. I need time for the Spirit to tell me the things that I need to know to truly enjoy my life.

I have a good life. I have a good family, beautiful children, and a good husband. I love my job and all of it's challenges and craziness. I feel, for the first time in a very long time, that I deserve all that I have.

That's why I'm writing tonight. To remind myself that despite the minor setbacks, the frustrations that I face, it's all worth it. I am handling it all with relative ease, and even see that I can reap even more benefits if I just get a little more centered.

I cherish this quiet time after everyone is in bed. It's the only part of the day that is not hurried or stressed, time just for me. And while some could argue that I should be in bed, or finishing the kitchen, or paying bills...I disagree. I think the best use of this time is to collect my thoughts and prepare my heart and soul to tackle another day. To conquer my fears. To remember that I am a Child of God that can accomplish anything with His help. That He loves me and that what I am doing is enough.

Creating a road map, if you will, that allows me to chart my path for the greatest success. The shortcuts, the areas to avoid because they will slow me down, the routes with the most liklihood of accidents. Like Mapquest for life. It helps me to see the oncoming traffic, and not be the "deer in the headlights".

Or roadkill.

Ya gotta love not being roadkill!

Lessons in the everyday

2009-10-15T22:57:00.000-07:00

Every writer has their “thing”…a certain style that they use repeatedly throughout their works. I’ve struggled with this, because I’d love to be truly in the minds of my characters like Stephen King, or perceptive like Jodi Picoult. I’ve come to realize that my particular style is more suited to the mundane. I’ll never be a bestselling author, having my writings read by millions. I’ve also realized that sometimes, a large audience does not necessarily mean success, and we can accomplish great things in small ways.

My writings are almost always about the lessons in the everyday. I am always looking for ways to explain life lessons by using everyday objects or situations that will be easy for my audience to understand. In doing so, I hope that they will gain an appreciation for the more difficult topics, and come to understand these, as well.

For instance, I explain the stock market using a can of tuna as a visual. If you buy a can of tuna for $1, and then there is a huge tuna shortage and it’s in high demand, selling for $5 a can, have you gained anything really? No, because you have not sold your can of tuna. If you find someone to sell it to for $5, then you gain $4. If the price of tuna drops significantly for some odd reason, have you lost money? Not unless you actually sell your can of tuna. You get the idea.

I walk the dog early in the morning, which is getting darker and darker every day. I am always on the lookout during these walkabouts for a photo opportunity in the neighborhood. I am always watching for that one shot that will be different and exciting. It fascinates me how light is such a part of everything that we do and see, and how it falls is particularly interesting.

I’ve noticed, for instance, that our driveway is flat and boring in the daylight. It is paved, with about six feet of gravel between the paving and the actual road. It looks like rocks. But in the darkness, with only house lights to shine on it, you begin to see striations.

This morning, it was also flooded with rainwater, filling the gaps with water that reflected the light. I saw for the first time that there are actually horizontal grooves in the rocks. I stood and pondered it for a few minutes, wondering what would have caused such wear on the rocks. We drive in vertically, of course, tires rolling forward in a straight path – nothing that would cause these long crosswise troughs. The driveway was not smoothed by the graders, which may have left these grooves. I’m really not sure how it has happened.

Of course, I saw life lessons here.

First, I marveled at how we can see something that is so common as to escape our interest, suddenly turned into a topic of great wondering. Simply by the light that is shed upon it. It is like this with any great truth. We see it a hundred times, never noticing the detail. And then one day, it is illuminated from another angle, and there it is. It is suddenly very clear to you, even though when you look back a few minutes later, it might not be so. You have to capture that picture, commit it to memory.

It also made me think of politics, and how differently we can see things, one from another. Something that is so inherently RIGHT to us may seem darn near evil to someone else, depending on how they are looking at it. I have this wonderful, beautiful, sensitive cousin that stands on the “other side” of the political fence from me. I love to talk with her, because she always sheds new perspective on any issue. It’s not that I’m right and she’s wrong – or even the other way around. It’s merely a matter of seeing things from a different point of view. Like the driveway, an issue that has always been a smooth, easy path may suddenly appear to have missing pieces, or deep grooves that need to be explained.

Because I have lived with a depressed mind for all of my life, I also had to smile at how it mimics our lives. Day to day, we don’t see the things that make up the big picture. We see the individual rocks, layers of tiny pebbles piled upon one another. Worn smooth by time, friction, and laid low by the slow, steady crushing afforded by the wheels of the cars that travel along our path. Then, one day, we look behind us and see that the path is not as smooth and uneventful as we imagine. There are patterns of behavior that emerge over time, leaving indelible designs on our lives.

I know that I have quirks and personality traits that have been hewn by the stressors that I have been dealt. Some of these are merely a mention in the story of my life, as they do not affect my eternal salvation one way or another. Some, however, can cause ruts that trip me up from time to time. Overcoming these unnatural grooves is the key to a fulfilling life, despite the ravages of this earthly life.

That is where the rainwater comes in, filling in the channels. Smoothing out the rough edges. I have to guess that this is what the Atonement is all about. It’s up to us to identify our flaws and seek to make them as smooth as possible. Christ will then flood us with His love to fill in the gaps.

It’s a lovely thought, considering my disdain for water. But that’s a story for another time.

What lessons have you learned in your everyday today?

I can say "Balls to the Wall" if I want to!

2009-09-27T21:57:00.001-07:00

Really. And I’m not even being crass! It’s not what you think.

In my old job, we had days that were considered ‘balls to the wall’. (For the benefit of my more delicate readers, I’m going to refer to it in the future as BttW!) If you are unfamiliar with the term, it refers to a pace that is full speed ahead; no holding back. And as I said, I had days that would fit that description. Other days were less urgent, and many others were busy, but not so intense.

My new job, on the other hand, is absolutely BttW every single day. From the moment that I set foot in the office until I leave for the day…which is often later than I had planned…it is crazy- nuts, beyond busy. There are deadlines and demands and disasters. No matter what your list looks like for the day, it always turns in to a marathon.

I arrive around 9AM, and the first time that I get to catch a breath is about 11. Before I know it, it is 1:00 or 2:00, and I need to take a moment to eat. It seems that I’m barely back from lunch and it’s the end of the day. There is not a moment of quiet.

I absolutely LOVE it.

It is exciting work, and I really feel like I’m accomplishing something. We interact with nearly every other department in the company, and have a pivotal role in most projects. It’s a lot of stress, but if you don’t mind that part, the payoff is incredible.

There are moments, to be sure. More than once, I’ve asked myself if this is really what I want to do. But a few minutes later, the issue has resolved itself and I am back to thinking, “Wow. This is COOL!” It’s a great feeling. Although the days are long, I love what I am doing, who I am working with, and the feeling of satisfaction that I get when we have completed a difficult task.

There is no other way to describe it than 24/7, all day, every day, BttW.

My first week there was amazingly crazy, as one of the key players in our office was off on surgical leave. It was a very busy time for the department, and my boss had just finished a monumental project for the company that had taken him away from his usual duties. On top of all of that, they had remodeled the office to accommodate the addition of my desk, and a work space for outside sales reps. Everyone had changed areas, and everything was in disarray.

Other employees would ask me how I was doing, and if I liked it. I would always respond, “This week is nuts, but I think that once it calms down…” at which point, said employee would burst into laughter.

Six weeks in, I can tell you why. It never – NEVER – calms down. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’m reluctant to say that, however, as it sounds so…icky! I’ve always thought that it was a rather nasty way to say it. I would tell only my dearest friends that it was (in whispers) “BttW!”

I’ve known the term for years, but never quite understood how it had originated. I couldn’t imagine any situation in which balls would be against the wall and it would make sense, much less indicate a stressful, full-on press.

Thank heavens for the internet. I decided to look it up, just for my own curiosity. There are actually a couple of explanations as to where it came from…and I am pleased to announce that NEITHER of them have anything to do with testicles! (You thought that, too, didn’t you???!)

Urban Dictionary offers two explanations, in varying degrees of detail. The first is that it is a term used by fighter pilots, whose controls are topped by a ball. When they are going full-throttle, the balls are all of the way up against the front wall of the airplane, hence the term “balls to the wall”. The second is from the days of steam engines. Just as the fighter jets, their instruments contained balls, which, when the engine was going full throttle, were pushed up against the wall.

I can’t say if either or both of them are true, but I was quite relieved to find out that a) it made sense, and b) it didn’t refer to private bodily part. I was so thrilled, in fact, that I shared my newfound knowledge with my entire office and my family. When I mentioned that I intended to write about it here, my mother nearly died. She was mortified to think that I would say it on my blog! Even after I explained it’s origins, there was a furrow in her brow. I don’t think that she found it very ladylike to share such a term.

Old habits die hard. I’ll probably still whisper it when I tell the story, but at least now I know!

I get a lot done because I'm lazy!

2009-09-19T21:59:00.000-07:00

SH. It’s a secret. Sometimes not so well kept, but a secret nonetheless.

I come from a family that is industrious and overachieving. If you are not carrying your own weight and half of everyone else’s…you’re lazy. It’s not something that is valued in that side of the family.

We’re nice enough about it. We don’t point fingers or anything. We don’t have a list of lazy offenders. It’s just …I don’t know…KNOWN.

My grandpa paid me the greatest compliment when I was about 20. I was worried that I would raise lazy kids, which seemed to be the norm at the time.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If your kids are half as ambitious as you are, they’ll be just fine.” Coming from him, that was the best thing that he could have ever said to me. I relive that moment often, when I am feeling like I haven’t done anything of note lately.

I hope that he never finds out my secret. That deep down inside, I’m lazy. I’d rather take the short cut and leave things half done. There’s this dark side of me that considers it every time I am working on a task. That ugly little voice that tries to tell me that no one will know, that I can leave it undone – or half done – and it will be all right.

“No, it won’t!” argues that saner side of me. “YOU will know! You will know that you were LAZY!”

It’s a chance that I’m usually not willing to take. I buck up and do it the way that I should. So that I can live with myself, knowing that I didn’t take the easy way out.

There are days that I wish that I could just lay around and do nothing. (although, when I was on bed rest for days and couldn’t do anything, I hated it. I guess that we are never happy!) Nearly every day, I think about doing nothing…or as little as I can…but I can’t do it. I just can’t accept that lazy side of me, and so I keep running.

I try to do as much as I can in every day. It’s not always work; I also try to fit in some leisure activities. Everything, however, is written on that mental list, so that I can check it off. Instead of counting sheep at night, I can count the tasks that I have accomplished and I sleep like a baby. It makes me feel good to know that if my Grandpa were here, he would be happy with what I had done that day.

My grandparents were busy, busy people. Even at 80 years old, my grandpa ran all day long. He was involved in everything. If anyone needed anything, he was there to help them. He had a better social life than I did, in my 20’s! He left some mighty big shoes to fill…shoes that my father put on with ease. Shoes that I need to fit into.

So don’t tell anyone, but I’m lazy at heart. The great thing is that because of this inner lazy child, I am able to talk myself into accomplishing more in a day than I think is possible. Just by doing it a little bit better than I want to, a little bit more efficiently. That laziness keeps me from being mediocre in my attempts to better myself. It keeps me running faster, to avoid that natural tendency.

I am pleased with the things that I get done. My boss is thrilled with the things that I get done. And it’s all becoming second nature to strive so hard. I hardly hear that little voice anymore. I think that my Grandpa would be proud, too!

Diamonds in the Dark

2009-09-13T22:11:00.001-07:00

“You know, Rob Thomas has either suffered from depression, or knows someone who has,” Hubby mused.

“hmmm” I agree, loading the dishwasher.

I think of the song “Unwell”, that I can identify with, but that makes me laugh. That song bothers Hubby and makes him feel down. I’ve listened to the voices that it talks about, and I’ve wondered a thousand times if I’ve lost my mind. In the wee hours of the morning, I’ve even typed it in at ask.com. Am I crazy? The answer was not definitive.

“3 AM” is another one that I cling to, knowing what it feels like to only sleep when it’s raining. I’ve screamed, and my voice is strained. I can’t help but be scared of it all sometimes.

“Have you heard that new Rob Thomas?” He asks another day. “Her Diamonds?”

“Only on the radio…” I answered.

“Oh. It’s a good song.” He leaves it at that.

And on yet another day, “I put the new Rob Thomas on your hard drive.”

I was looking forward to listening to it, but being back at work full time has taken a lot of my time and most of my energy. At night, I try to spend as much time with Todd as I can, and then do my fair share of housework. I’m not really doing a very good job at that; I feel like Hubby is doing most of it right now.

“Here.” He puts his new MP3 player in my hands and stuffs the earphones in my ears. “It’s got great sound for a little tiny thing.” He starts Rob Thomas playing and wanders off to take the dog outside.

I’m unloading the dryer and I catch a bit of the lyrics, understanding what Hubby meant about Rob’s familiarity with depression.

“And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
But if she feels bad then I do, too
So I let her be”

He passes by the doorway. “Hey,” I yell after him. “I see what you mean.”

He nods.

The song is nearing the end, and I am just getting the feel for it. I start it over again and sit down to really listen:

Oh what the hell she said
I just can't win for losing
And she lays back down
Man there's so many times
I don't know what I'm doing
Like I don't know now

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Says it's funny how the night
Can make you blind
I can just imagine
And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
But if she feels bad then i do too
So I let her be

And she says oh
I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cause I can't help her now
She's down in it
She tried her best but now she can't win it
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

She sits down and stares into the distance
And it takes all night
And i know i could break her concentration
But it don't feel right

By the light of the moon
She rubs her eyes
Sits down on the bed and starts to cry
And there's something less about her
And I don't know what I'm supposed to do
So I sit down and I cry too
And don't let her see

And she says oh
I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cause I can't help her now
She's down in it
She tried her best but now she can't win it
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

She shuts out the night
Tries to close her eyes
If she can find daylight
She'll be alright
She'll be alright
Just not tonight

And she says oh
I can't take no more
Her tears like diamonds on the floor
And her diamonds bring me down
Cause I can't help her now
She's down in it
She tried her best but now she can't win it
Hard to see them on the ground
Her diamonds falling down

I start to cry. I remember what it’s like to be in that dark place. You have no idea how dark and lonely it is, if you have never been there yourself. You forget, even if you have been there. You tell yourself that it wasn’t as bad as you remember. You convince yourself that it can’t possibly be that dark, that deep, that terrifying.

This song captures it perfectly. He KNOWS. He cannot possibly write this without having experienced it in some way. Depression is not something that you can describe from the outside.

You stare…you concentrate on staying alive, because it feels like any minute you could shatter. It’s all you can do to just keep breathing, knowing that it might just be easier to succumb to the darkness.

Somewhere, you understand that it can’t be easy for those who love you. You know that you need to pretend, if only for their sake. You just don’t have enough energy to do that, and feeling bad that you are ignoring their needs only pulls you farther into the pain.

By now, I’m sobbing. I’m feeling such grief for the me that lived there. I’m grateful to be in the sunshine again. (at least for now? You always wonder if the darkness will return) I’m feeling vulnerable, as if Rob has been watching. This song could be me.

Hubby walks by again.

“How many times did you listen to it before you didn’t cry?” I ask. I’m still wiping big crocodile tears from my eyes.

“Told you.” He seems relieved. “Now you know what it was like to be me.”

And the song could be Hubby. He tried, he really tried to reach me. I’m just not sure that it’s possible to reach that far. All he could do was watch and hope. My parents, too, stood by and tried to help. I am blessed with a good support system, and yet…the depression was so much stronger.

I notice that the song is not dark, though. It’s upbeat and catchy, which is why I never really paid much attention to the lyrics on the radio. It’s hopeful in a strange sort of way.

And then I cry because the song talks about her tears being diamonds. Diamonds! Beautiful, sparkling diamonds. Not ugly. Not the way that I see them.

Is it possible to love someone when they are depressed? It’s not easy to live with them, to be sure. It’s not easy to watch. It’s not pretty, and yet, Rob said it. Diamonds.

I remember a picture that I took the same morning that I took the dandelion photo for Wish, Wonder, Believe. There was something about the dew on the grass that fascinated me. The light sparkling through this field of droplets…tiny little diamonds surrounding a fallen leaf. A dead leaf.

Could it be that through it all, I could be loved? That I could not only be forgiven for not being perfect, but that someone could see beauty there?

That would have been impossible to believe, back then. There was little to support the theory. Losing my job was nothing compared to learning that the friends that I had cherished had turned their backs on me when I needed them the most. They knew that I was suffering beyond anything that I had ever suffered before…and they purposely stayed away. I could only believe that what I was was so ugly that it was beyond making an effort.

I know better now. They have their flaws, and I have mine. I can almost feel pity for them, listening to this song. My tears are diamonds, and they have lost a friendship that was true and honest, simply because they couldn’t ride out the bumps in the road. They abandoned me, leaving me to believe that I wasn’t worth the time. They didn’t love me enough to see the diamonds.

Hubby takes the MP3 player back. “I knew that you hadn’t really listened to it,” he says. “Because you hadn’t said anything.”

I dry my eyes one last time and remind myself that not all Hubbies would cry with their wives. Not every family hangs in there while you find the daylight. And neither do friends. But some do, and those of you who have been beside me throughout this and previous depressive episodes, I will cherish always. I know that the love that I feel for you is returned.

If you know someone who is depressed, don’t give up on them. They can’t find their way sometimes, but they need you. They need to know that someone will be there when they do step into the sunlight. They need to know that they are worth loving, worth saving.

If you are the one that is depressed, take heart. You aren’t as lost as you think you are. Someone has been there before, along that sinister path, and lived to tell the tale. You will, too. Then turn back and see what you can do to lead others out of the gloom.

Thanks, Rob.

And more than that, thanks, Hubby! You did know what to do after all.

Hear "Her Diamonds" and view the video!

Where were YOU?

2009-09-11T23:30:00.000-07:00

Every generation has one – a day in history that was so powerful that they remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when the news broke…whether it be good news or bad, it makes such an indelible impression that the question “Where were YOU?” can bring up vivid memories and incite the same emotions that surfaced at that moment.

For my generation, it was September 11. You don’t even have to say the year, because for us, it was a before and after situation. Before September 11, and after September 11. It was a division of time between the world in which you felt safe and secure, and one in which you knew that evil had a face…and that face may be as benign as the nice young man next door.

I was driving to a job site, leaving behind my two boys until it was time for school. My favorite morning radio show was somber as I tuned in, and Jackie was saying, “A second plane has hit the World Trade Centers.” To say the very least, I was confused. A SECOND plane? I spent the rest of the ten minute drive listening intently to find out why in the world a plane had hit the WTC, much less TWO planes. It must be a mistake!?

I came inside the building and asked if anyone knew what was going on. Not having television at the site, they were as much in the dark as I was. They were hanging on the words of customers that were coming in, giving bits and pieces of the story. We scrounged up a radio and picked up the only station that it would find in our remote area. We would relay the information to other employees in the building.

The world seemed surreal. There was only interest at this time, as it was so completely out of left field that I don’t think that we truly believed it. And then a third plane hit the Pentagon.

My brother being in the Air Force was suddenly my only concern. We had no idea at that time if there were more planes poised to take out American buildings. We had no idea how long it would last, who was attacking us, or how to defend ourselves. I envisioned planes being scrambled and into the air to combat the phantom enemy, of months of war. I needed to speak to him before it became difficult to do so.

I got the answering machine. I left a strange, rambling message that ended in tears. At his end, they didn’t even know that there was a problem. CJ had been watching cartoons, and kids’ channels were the only ones that hadn’t broken in with live coverage. He got out of the shower and heard my message, calling out to Sis…”Turn on the TV! There’s something going on!”

I was talking to him when the first tower crumbled. He was incoherent as he told me that the tower had fallen. Incredulous, I simply could not wrap my mind around it. “How man floors fell?” I asked.

“All of them!” he replied. “All of them. The whole top of the building is gone!” I simply could not believe it.

When it was time to get the boys up for school, I hurried home and turned on the television. This was the first that I had seen of the damage. I arrived just in time to watch the second tower collapse in on itself. I remember thinking that it had to have been a planned job. I could not even imagine that the building could come down. Surely, it had to have been wired to explode.

I dropped off the kids in a trance, not wanting to leave them there…but wanting things to be as normal as possible. Until we knew more, it seemed the wisest thing to keep them in the dark somewhat.

The day became a blur from that point, with snatches of news coming in. I was doing the books, and could barely concentrate. A task that should have taken two hours took me the entire day…and I spent the next week correcting mistakes that I had made.

Addy came out of the school that afternoon proudly carrying a grasshopper impaled on a stick.

Impaled. I freaked.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?!? You have TORTURED and MURDERED that grasshopper!” I was barely contained and probably being looked at sideways by the other parents. I was crying and made him take it back out to the playground and find a nice burial place for it. He returned with tears in his eyes, as he had seen the blood when he took the grasshopper off of the stick. I’ve always taught the boys that killing something for the sake of killing it was wrong, regardless of whether it was a bug or a bird or a person. I think that lesson really hit home that day.

It was that day that tore our world apart, and it’s never been the same since. It will never be the same. It simply can’t, now that we know.

You know how things are supposed to work. We watch movies that chronicle doomsday in any number of ways. I could never have imagined THIS. To think that the President was aboard Air Force One for safety, flying about the country so as to remain a moving target. The Vice President was in a bunker. And I know that they felt isolated and wanted to be where they could be the most help, not hiding away.

As with any disaster, I was glued to the television. What impressed me most was that Rudy Guiliani was on television all day…into the night, as I stayed up until the wee hours…and then when I arose with the sun, he was still on television. To have taken his responsibilities that seriously, to have been available around the clock, showed what a caring and dedicated man he is.

In the days that followed, I was proud of the response of the American people. On September 12, we were ONE. We cared, we reached out to one another. We stood proud and strong and tall. In spite of it all, the thing that I took from that day was the sense of pride in our country.

I felt such overwhelming gratitude to be where I was. I had recently returned from a business trip that took me across the country. Planes that fateful day were set down wherever they were when the FAA decided to shut down the skies. Travelers were left stranded in airports that they had not even intended to go to. That could have been me, left in Cincinnati or Detroit or Hoboken, without hope of reaching my family.

I was touched by the heroism that coursed through the veins of nearly every American. Those who sacrificed to be at Ground Zero helping in any way that they could. Those who gave their lives in doing so. Those who brought down a plane in a field instead of allowing it to be used as a weapon of war.

Make no mistake, this was an act of war. I think that this has been forgotten in the rhetoric of politics. This was an attack on our own soil. The enemy may not wear the uniform of any formal army, but it was an army nonetheless. To expect them to pay the price for this attack is reasonable, even if it means hunting them to the ends of the earth, across borders. I do not delight in war, nor do I condone violence in any situation. But you cannot stand by and watch as evil triumphs. You have to draw the line when it comes to what will be tolerated, and what will not. I think that in many ways, it is our “as long as it doesn’t affect me” attitude is what made us most vulnerable to this attack. We have to say NO once in awhile.

To protect our homes, our families, and our liberty.

The Book of Mormon is very clear on the acceptable reasons for war. It is not entered into lightly, and it is not to gain power or possession. It is allowable and acceptable when it is necessary to protect our homes, our families, and our liberty, that we might continue to worship God.

Regardless of what side of the aisle you fall on, I think that President Bush was a remarkable man in the days following this horrific event. He brought the nation together in an unprecedented way, declaring war on the powers that support acts of terrorism. He said NO. He praised those characteristics and behaviors that we look to in our heroes. He recognized those that were contributing to the healing process.

More importantly, he brought the nation to it’s feet…and encouraged us to our knees. Never before had we needed the guidance and comfort of our Maker as we did at that time. He openly and freely invited worship and prayer. He didn’t tell us how, or whom to pray to. He simply asked that we do it.

The images that will stay with me forever…of course, the firemen raising the American Flag…President Bush on Air Force One, talking on the phone as he gazed into the clouds…John McCain pausing on the steps to pray with the American people…a young couple stranded in an airport, holding their infant close to them as they awaited word on when they might return home…astronauts watching the World Trade Center burn from space…planes lined up at the airport…candlelight vigils.

I woke this morning and turned on the television to share in the remembrances of this day, only to find that the day was all but forgotten. A mention here, a comment there. No one was wearing their red, white, and blue. No one even seemed to notice that this was the day that ripped our lives into BEFORE and AFTER.

A mere eight years after the event, we have politicized, polarized, and then obliterated the heaven that came out of that day. I am saddened that we have so easily set aside our anger towards the terrorists, and turned it on one another. Our country could not be more divided today…when it was but a few short years ago that we couldn’t have been more united.

How did we get to here?

I wore my red, white and blue today. I put on my flag pin and I remembered the day even if no one else cared. I said a prayer for the brave souls that CONTINUE to protect us even though there are so many who criticize them for doing so. I remembered those that we lost that day…in body, or in spirit. The lives that were lost, and the lives that were damaged beyond repair.

My favorite radio morning show was on again, and just as they did 8 years ago, they covered September 11 with the personal, heartfelt style that I have come to know and love. They may be raucous and crazy on any other day, but they helped me to cope with all that we were forced to endure at that time, and today, they honored that memory. Way to go, Kiss FM! It’s good to know that at least one media outlet has set aside their politics for this day.

There’s still tomorrow. Let’s celebrate September 12 as we did eight years ago. Let’s band together as Americans, young and old, republican and democrat, rich and poor. Let’s champion the indomitable spirit of the scrappy American. Let’s just say no to the evil that surrounds us. Let’s love one another the way that we did AFTER. Let’s try to go back to a time when it wasn’t about the individual, but rather about the collective.

Back to the way that it should be. Come on. I dare ya!

When words are not enough....

2009-09-01T22:21:00.001-07:00

There’s a hurt from which I’m not sure that you can recover…I think that it cuts so deep that you will always feel the pain. It might be dull, it might be manageable, but it is always always there. Like the spot on my stomach that is tender to the touch, even 16 years after giving birth to Addy the Musician. I asked my doctor why it hurt so much, and he figures that there are stitches there from where he sewed the fat pad back in place. (the fact that I had a fat pad is almost as disturbing to me as the knowledge that he had it essentially off and then sewed it back on!) To this day, I can tell you where that spot is, because if I touch it just right, the scar is still there.

Of course, I’m talking about losing a child.

I cannot imagine losing a child and getting out of bed the next morning. A friend once pointed out that I would get out of bed because I still have other children, but I disagree. I would want to bring them all into my bed with me and protect them from the world.

I even dread my children leaving home. I know that it must happen, and that I cannot stop the hands of time. I just hope that when that day comes, I will be strong enough to survive. I love having my children in our home, and I think that I would love to have them and their families in a great big compound so that we can be together always.

This deep and abiding love was born the moment that I learned that Tux was going to be coming to our family. I was about 6 weeks along, and not yet feeling any morning sickness or discomfort. I began to feel some discomfort, and freaked out . I cried, I prayed, and I hoped. My doctor told me that it was merely my uterus growing rapidly that caused the discomfort, but I still worried.

I was anxious throughout my entire pregnancy with Addy. I don’t know why, but I had the idea that I was not going to get to keep this baby, and so I was worried to get too attached. Even driving to the hospital, I felt concern that I would not be bringing him home.

My worst fears came true when I found out that I was pregnant with Todd. I began to spot, then bleed, and then outright hemorrhage. I was on bedrest for two weeks as we waited to see if I would miscarry. It turned out that I had placenta previa, and it was the placenta attaching near my cervix that was causing the bleeding, but it was a nerve wracking two weeks.

I would sob every time I saw the bleeding that meant that I might be losing my baby. I begged my Heavenly Father to let me keep him. I had a priesthood blessing that said that this ‘surprise would bring great joy to my family.’ It didn’t promise a baby, but it was encouraging.

Hubby would tell me that it was okay, that I was probably worried about nothing. Well meaning people would tell me that it would be okay. But NO, it would not be okay. It would never be okay if I lost my baby. I talked with a cousin that had endured early pregnancy bleeding, and she, too, felt that no amount of encouragement could lift her spirits. Nothing that anyone said could take away the fear and pain.

This pregnancy was difficult all of the way through. I was on restrictions for most of the pregnancy, on bedrest at the end. Todd was ultimately premature. The fear never ended.

I have someone that I love very much who is struggling with this fear right now. I know that fear, I know that ache. I know that nothing that I can say will make it better, and that is heartbreaking. There is nothing to say, nothing to offer, other than the support that someone who has been through this can offer.

What I do know is that my children were my children from the moment that I learned that they existed. I don’t care how many cells they were, or how perfectly or rudimentally formed they were at the time. I got to see Todd in an ultrasound when he still had an egg sac, and he was still my baby. I could see his tiny heart beat, and he was a person to me. I would have grieved their loss the same whether I was barely pregnant or had raised them. The hurt would be the same.

Another cousin recently lost a baby at 19 weeks gestation. The hospital that she gave birth at was incredibly loving and allowed the parents time with their baby, giving him little clothing and blankets and letting them say goodbye. What compassion they showed to a family that had lost a member, when often, it is considered merely a miscarriage, and not a lost life.

For this reason, I could never choose to terminate a pregnancy for any reason. Nor could I participate in IVF, where multiple eggs are fertilized and frozen. I would have to carry each of them, like Octomom, or allow them to be adopted. I could not destroy even that early stage of life.

When I was carrying the older boys, I wondered when their little spirits entered their body. Tux was insanely active in utero. He bounced off of the walls the entire time. We fought over my ribs, he teased. He rarely slept or rested.

This is exactly Tux’s personality, even now.

Along came Addy, who was more laid back. Once a day, he would slowly roll over in my stomach, barely making a ripple. No fights over vital organs and who should or should not be stepping on them. No stretches that made me want to gasp as my bones were pushed apart with great force. And true to this, Addy is my more laid back child. He sleeps more, is less wild and active, and generally acts exactly as he did before his birth.

Todd is much like Tux, wild and crazy and active. Both in, and out. You cannot convince me that their spirits are not with them right from the beginning.

To anyone who has ever lost a child, whether that child was full grown, or barely bigger than a dot, my heart goes out to you. To even breathe after such a loss is commendable. I wish that there were something that I could say to make the hurt go away, to ease it even slightly. All I can offer is my love and support, and that is not enough, I know.

We always wonder where the lesson is in each life trial. For some, we may never know. We just have to have faith and continue to trust in our Heavenly Father. He will keep us and comfort us, and use each experience for our own good. We can’t let it shake our faith or keep us from loving again.

To my sweet loved one that is suffering, I wish that I could take some of the burden. My arms are around you always. I wish that I had more to offer.

I’ve always believed in the power of words, but at this time, they seem all but powerless.

Back to munching on elephants

2009-08-30T21:13:00.000-07:00

With my return to the work force, there have been some changes in our household. I can’t stay up all night, playing on the computer, because I can’t sleep in the next day. I can’t put things off like I did when I was home all of the time, because tomorrow might be even more stressed. I can’t do all of the housework anymore, because I just don’t have the time.

Funny thing is, I still get a lot done. Even though I am working 40+ hours a week, and then some. (My day job is 40+, and I still have a couple of clients that I’m working for on freelance projects) Even though I have to commute.

Now that’s funny. Because I have worked from home for so long even before I was unemployed, I got used to a short commute. Across the house, to be exact! I didn’t even have to get dressed or brush my teeth, just roll out of bed and down the hall to the office. Now, I have to drive some 12-15 minutes to work, across our small town. There’s even traffic – although nothing like a big city. Here, it counts as traffic if you cannot go at exactly the moment that you want to, or if you have to wait for another car to pass before you pull out. And we’ve had road construction, as our four way stop is soon to become a free for all. (DOT calls it a roundabout, but I disagree) It’s been arduous travelling so far! I’ve found that I have to keep myself amused on the drive. Good music, talk radio, saying my morning prayers, or talking on the phone. (always hands free, of course! Since I don’t have Bluetooth, I put my phone on speaker phone and tuck it into my seatbelt. A white trash hands free, if you will, but it works!)

So anyway. Back to the original point, which is this: we will never have time to accomplish all that we want to, but we have to do the best that we can. How, you ask? When there not enough minutes in the day? No great blocks of time to do anything but try to keep your head above water? Well, how do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.

I’ve always lived by this adage, as I have never had time to do everything that I want to. Except for my one period of unemployment, I’ve always worked full time, gone to school full time, or BOTH. Except for my period of unemployment, I’ve always had to budget my time. Except for my period of unemployment, I’ve never had a clean refrigerator all at one time.

I may notice that a shelf is gucky. It would be easy to say that I didn’t have time to clean the refrigerator and just let it get so gross that I finally have to clean it. Being slightly OCD, however, that won’t work. So instead, I settle for taking out the worst shelf and cleaning it up. I may or may not have time to do more, but at least that shelf is clean. The next day or so, I try to hit another shelf. Usually, the one that I cleaned first is getting dirty by the time I get to the last, but at least it never gets overwhelming.

It’s amazing what you can do in five minutes! Time yourself the next time you do a task, and I think that you will be surprised at how little time you actually spend doing it. We all tend to waste a lot of time ‘gearing up’ and whining to ourselves that we have to do it, and the task itself is not so daunting.

The other thing that changes is that I become much more schedule driven. Sheets are changed on Saturdays. A load of laundry is done every morning. I can’t just wing it, because things will get lost in the shuffle.

And it is imperative that I am ahead of the ball. Clothes have to be laid out before the week begins. We need a calendar to keep track of everyone’s commitments. Dinners are planned and posted, so that I can piggy back cooking, make sure that things are out of the freezer, and still have reasonable meals and not just canned chili every night. (apparently, that’s my go-to dinner, the one that I make when I have nothing planned or laid out) Planning ahead means that when the inevitable surprise comes up, I’m still organized enough to get by.

It also means that some things have to be pared out of the schedule. I had to put my Farm Town in hibernation, for instance. Not that I didn’t have time (I had it laid out so that my crops matured at different times!), but because my family kept giving me a bad time about being on the computer harvesting. (odd, since they are usually behind a computer themselves!) I avoid Facebook, which can waste HOURS of time. I can’t blog as often as I’d like to.

It doesn’t mean that things like scrapbooking, blogging, family history, or other good activities have to be shelved. It just means that I have less time to do them, and I have to be efficient. I have to use every minute for some good use, so that I don’t waste the time that I have.

Things change, situations necessitate adjustments. I just keep nibbling at that elephant, and one day..he’ll be gone. I’m sure that by then, they’ll be another elephant to tackle, but no worries. It gives me more to blog about!

I haven't given up on blogging...

2009-08-27T22:48:00.000-07:00

I miss writing so frequently, but due to an overwhelming amount of success in my life professionally, I am not able to sit down every night and ruminate! I've always said, be careful what you wish for...but rest assured that I have a gazillion things left to say, and will find the time soon to share it all with you!

Just a thought about tweeting...

2009-08-18T00:06:00.000-07:00

So, ya'll know that I don't tweet...this post will probably be the closest thing to it, since I've had a LOOOOOOOONNNG day today and I'm too pooped to write! But I'm always thinking about tweeting, because I can't, I guess.

Anyway, I see others' tweets, and I think that they are fascinating. So if I really enjoy a tweet and want to share it with others, and I copy it...does it become a "twote"?? (get it? Like quote, only from a tweet...I guess it's not as funny in print as it was in my head.)

THIS is why I stick to full essays.

Come what may and LOVE it.

2009-08-16T21:06:00.000-07:00

In October of 2008, I heard a talk at the General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints that made me laugh and touched my soul at the same time. At the time, we had no idea that it would be the last Conference address given by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin. He was a frail old man, hardly even able to speak, and he gave his talk from a sitting position. His body was frail, but his words were powerful.

His theme was “Come what may, and love it”. The concept is easy enough to understand…when life hands us lemons, we must make lemonade. We must learn to love the things that are thrown at us, and not let adversity destroy us. It’s an excellent talk, and one that I recommend that everyone read, regardless of your faith or denomination.

At the time, it was easy to see the message implied. I had recently been unemployed, and life was looking pretty bleak. We had lost half of our income, my self-esteem, and many of my friends in the process. I understood and tried to apply his advice, I really did. That path was longer and more winding than I had hoped, but I finally got to the point where I loved the situation that I was in.

Now we are on the other side. But you know what? His advice still applies! He said come what may…and that means in adversity, but also in our successes. Change in our lives is inevitable, and even if it is a good change, it’s a change that causes stress for us.

I have been so busy lately that I can hardly keep up. I have two clients that I work with that are requiring a great deal of time right now. They were freelance projects that I was working on during the time that I was looking for work, and for businesses and business owners that I respect very much.

I also had the chance to take engagement pictures for a friend’s son. Not only was it something that I wanted to do for my friend, but it was a fantastic opportunity to build my photography portfolio and I couldn’t pass it up. They were both photogenic and easy to work with, and I had a great time getting to know them. This meant an hour or so taking the pictures, and then a few hours editing and perfecting the photos. I suppose if I were a better photographer, I could have sped that process up, but I wanted them to be nice and so I spent a bit of time on them.

As all of these incredible opportunities presented themselves just as I received a job offer. Again, it was something that I just couldn’t pass up, a job that I had been waiting for. I started last Thursday, and hit the ground running. I am working 40+ hours a week and running all of those. It requires a bit of brain power, as well as some physical running (it’s a large office), both of which I’ve not had to do for months. I have worked from home for years, and was always able to adjust my schedule to fit my life. Not so with this new job, which requires regular office hours onsite. That’s not a bad thing at all, merely a big change for me.

And I still have the side jobs that need my attention and deserve it. I will not let them down just because ‘something better came along.’

Crazy times.

I’m also feeling sad that I am leaving Todd. We have been together now for over three years. He’s been my buddy, my sidekick, my every minute. He is my last child, and we have had an amazing three years together as homebodies. It would be easy to be bummed over the whole thing.

I’m not bummed. I am grateful for these blessings, even if the Lord has chosen to pour them all upon me at once. He waited until I had healed, until I was ready to handle the stress. I thank Him for that great mercy.

I will follow Elder Wirthlin’s advice. When I am stressed and have no time to myself for a few weeks, I’ll be glad that I have good work and an income to help my family. When I am away from my children and missing them, I will make the most of my time away. I won’t bemoan our separation; I will rejoice in the adult time that it gives me, and the self-esteem that it is restoring. I will learn everything that I can, I will accomplish all that I can, I will make my employer as successful as I can.

At the end of the day, I will go home and love my babies.

We don’t know what the next day might bring. It may bring unemployment again…with the economy as it is, there are no guarantees. Now I know that is not the worst thing that can happen, though, and I know that I can not only survive, I can THRIVE.

In my current work state, I am busy and sometimes need five minutes just to do what I want to do. (Which is usually working my farm in Farm Town) But I can not only survive this wild time, I can THRIVE.

That’s what Elder Wirthlin was referring to. Not just “endure to the end”, which is good advice…but come what may and LOVE it. Embrace it. Don’t just survive. And never, ever wish away the time that is now.

My Sister's Keeper Review

2009-08-11T22:56:00.000-07:00

I’ve been meaning to write about this book since the moment that I saw the movie trailer…but I’m glad that I didn’t . After seeing the movie, I am filled with thoughts and emotions that I didn’t have with the book, or were renewed. It was a very well done movie and although it deviates from the book in one key point, I felt that point was actually an improvement on the story. I’ll discuss that at the end so that you can avoid it if you haven’t seen the movie or read the book!

The book, by Jodi Picoult, is what I consider her second best work, Nineteen Minutes being the absolute most amazing thing that she has ever written. My mother urged me to read Nineteen Minutes so that she could talk about it, and I was a Jodi Picoult fan from the very start. She is an intelligent, intuitive, and well educated woman, and this shows in her books. They are insightful and always based on a storyline that makes you question your beliefs and values.

My Sister’s Keeper is centered on an 11 year old girl that has been a virtual spare parts replacement for her sister, who suffers from a rare form of Leukemia. She was genetically engineered to be the perfect match for Kate, and conceived solely to save her. Despite their best efforts, the cord blood is not enough to spare Kate, and so, a lifetime of donations begins. Blood, bone marrow, and finally, they are asking for a kidney. At this point, Anna seeks medical emancipation from her parents, suing for the right to determine what will be done to her own body.

Although they were unable to fully represent all of the complexities offered in the book, the movie did a good job of showing the strain that this places on the entire family. Kate has suffered the agony and indignity of cancer, but the rest of the family has suffered equally as much.

Anna, of course, has been the child who was born to save her sister, something that is proving to be more difficult than they originally thought. She is never asked if she would like to do this, and in fact, they hold her down when she is a small child. Does she have the right to decide for herself whether or not she will help her sister? Is she beholden to do so? Or are her parents in a position to decide this?

Sara, the mother, has devoted her entire life to keeping Kate alive at any cost. Any. I guess that you can see what I think of her.

Brian, the father, has tried to keep his family on an even keel all of these years, watching Sara fight the dragons that beset their daughter. It is intimated that he has lost his ‘first love’, as the marriage is strained. Understandably so.

There is an older brother, also. He is troubled and rebellious, testing the limits at all times. Jesse has always been the sibling that couldn’t help his sister. He gets lost in the shuffle, and even when he is ‘bad’, he is ignored. Deep down, he’s a good kid, though, and loves his family.

I think that the only thing that this family has going for it is love, which is almost unbelieveable in the circumstances presented. It speaks to the deep relationships that they must have had before the chaos began.

The things that I questioned as I read the book and watched the movie were what I would do in this situation. God forbid I ever have to find out! No one should have to see their child struggle as Kate does. I would like to think, however, that I would have asked Anna for her help, and that I would not have forgotten my son.

When I was on bedrest three hours from home when Todd was born, that was the most difficult part. I had two other children who needed me, who needed attention. I was stuck in a hospital bed, so far away, and seldom got to see them. I tried to keep in contact via phone and IM, and stayed interested and involved in what they were doing. It became more difficult after Todd’s birth and subsequent NICU stay, as I spent 12 hours a day at the hospital with him. I reminded myself that it was only for a short time. But I still made time for the other boys, or at least I tried. It may have been short bursts of time, such as when we went to dinner when they were visiting, but I tried to make it focused attention. It’s not easy, I can assure you. But I’d like to believe that I would be able to do this even with the long term illness of a child.

The second question that I had to ask myself is how far I would go to save a child. Again, my children are everything to me, and I feel that I would move heaven and earth to do so. But could I sacrifice one for the other? Could I expect one to give up their own life to potentially save the life of another…when that is not even guaranteed? What is the big picture?

The character that I felt the most sorrow for was Jesse. Although Anna endured medical procedures and physical pain to help her sister, she received attention because she was the one who could help Kate. (not a good reason to be valued, but at least she was valued) Jesse had nothing. He could not do a thing to help Kate. He was simply forgotten.

I was impressed with the actors. Cameron Diaz as Sarah was a stretch in my mind, prior to seeing the movie. She carried it off well, however, and I finally felt like I could take her seriously as an actress. (personal political statements aside) The same could be said of Joan Cusack, who was beautiful as the judge who hears the case. It was the first time that I’d seen her in any serious and substantial role, and she was fantastic. It was hard to see both of these women, who are approximately my age, in roles as mothers and middle aged women. (when did that sneak up on me??) The final blow as Jason Patric (of the sexy vampire movie of the 80’s, The Lost Boys) as Brian. He was very good, and we are old. Let’s just face it.

Abigail Breslin was fine as Anna, although the movie did not showcase her. Jesse was played by Evan Ellingson, a new face to me. He did a good job of showing the love that he had the for the family, as well as his troubled thought process.

The real star of the show was unequivocably Sofia Vassilieva as Kate. She was appropriately in pain, in anguish, and yet hopeful all at once. She shaved her head for the role, and was seen looking devastatingly unpretty. (kudos to the makeup folks, as well, who transformed her into a pathetic, scarred creature!) At an age when beauty is tantamount to personal image, she allowed herself to be seen in the most hideous of circumstances. I cannot say enough about her performance! She was brilliant, and reminded me much of Molly RIngwald. I’d have thought her to be a relative, as she had facial expressions and mannerisms that reinforced the physical similarities.

My vote is for Sofia to win something major for her role. Anybody listening??

Now I’m going to mention the plot point that changed from written word to screen. So if you do not want to know…stop reading now!

SPOILER ALERT

The ending of the book gave Anna her emancipation, placing her medical decisions in the hands of her attorney. Traveling home after the trial, they are in a car accident that kills Anna. The attorney then donates her kidney to Kate, who is miraculously healed by this kidney.

I hated this ending for many reasons. First of all, it was unexpected and I was devastated. Secondly, it seemed unbelieveable that after all that had been done to save Kate…and the knowledge that she was both too weak for the kidney surgery and not likely to be healed by it, anyway…that she is saved by this donation. I was upset that after all that she had done to save her sister, all that she had gone through to give her sister what she wanted…Anna still sacrificed everything.

Mostly, though, I was angry because in the end, Sarah got what she wanted. Kate lived, and Anna was merely spare parts. I felt that Sarah had never truly connected with Anna, and that if she had to choose one child to live over another, it was a done deal.

The movie ends differently, but no less sadly. In the movie, Kate is allowed to express her desire to be DONE, and then she dies peacefully. Anna is granted emancipation…not that it matters now, anyway…but it has accomplished what Kate had asked for. Life goes on. They are sad. They miss Kate. They look for answers, and there aren’t any.

It was REAL. (Sorry, Jodi)

Tears flowed freely throughout the movie, which had an excellent score. I left feeling sorrowful, and yet, uplifted. Odd. Definitely a ‘thinker’ movie…the best kind.

Well, what would YOU do?

Slipping Away

2009-08-06T21:14:00.000-07:00

My grandmother is not the woman that she used to be. In fact, it could be said that she is someone entirely new and different. The new grandma is but a wisp of the old; for the old one has been slipping away from us, one memory at a time. At first, she was just forgetful. Then she was confused. We’ve moved beyond that to {most of the time} almost blank.

I think that she has bamboozled us for years. I think that this has been going on, and she has just been playing along, pretending to remember things. I can see it in the way that she says, ‘Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten.” When you remind her of things. Little things, like how many children she has.

She seems to think that losing one’s memory is akin to losing one’s mind…and therefore, the result of some character flaw or cardinal sin. She adamantly defends herself, trying to prove that she is still of very sound mind.

She has always cooked on a gas stove, as long as I can remember. She used to feed us well…three square meals and then some. She was a good cook. Now, she can’t remember how to turn on the stove…and more importantly, she has forgotten that she has to turn it OFF. She was bemoaning the fact that she had been banned from using the stove, insisting that she could handle it.

“If they would just teach me how to use it,” She told me vehemently, “Then I would be fine.”

“You would forget how to use it and then you might put yourself in danger.” I pointed out.

“Pish posh! I am perfectly capable of using the stove!”

I winked at her and asked, “Gram, what’s MY name?”

She was perplexed. She thought really hard, her little brows knit in thought. Then she guessed, “Jack.”

I patted her hand. “No, Gram, and that is why you cannot use the stove.”

The decision was agonizingly made to put her in an assisted living facility where she would be looked after and less prone to dangers of any kind. She didn’t like the idea, but agreed so that her eldest daughter could be free to go on a mission for our church with her husband.

I think that she thought that it would be a very short term solution. She kept telling folks that she had another home, and that she was going back there soon. She didn’t see any reason to remain in this apartment when she had a perfectly good home somewhere else.

She’s funny, because she kept trying to convince us that someone needed to move in with her and take care of her. We actually had tried that, as my cousin and his wife had lived with her briefly last summer. It was very difficult for them, as she wanted them to be there…but not be in her way. To live there, but not disrupt her house or move in their own things. Moving in with someone else was not an option, either, because she didn’t want to leave her home. (but it was okay for someone else to give up their home and live but not live with her)

The facility that she is in is BEAUTIFUL. It’s a southern inspired brand new building that has the most amazing program. They have activities every day, from piano players to book readings, walks, scenic drives, trips to Wal-Mart to church services and an onsite hairdresser. The food is good, the décor is gorgeous, and they have the kindest staff. It makes me feel so much better to know that she is being well taken care of, and that she is not alone all of the time.

Just after she moved in, I asked her if she had met anyone yet.

“Oh, sure…I’ve met lots of people,” she said absently. “But they are all OLD.”

I hate to break it to ya, Gram…but so are you! She thinks that it’s terrible that they sit around and sleep all day. But if you ask what she does…she gets up to eat, then takes a nap. Eats lunch, then takes a nap. Let’s face it…that’s what happens when our bodies are winding down!

I’ve tried to explain to her that this is the time for her to relax, to enjoy herself, and to endure the indignity of old age. We all have to do it; it’s a fact of life. You can choose to do it gracefully, or you can go down kicking and screaming…but either way…you are going to get old.

I also wanted her to understand that everyone experiences a loss of some of their physical attributes during their later years. Some folks can’t walk, others lose the ability to talk, see, or hear. Still others suffer from a debilitating loss of memory. It’s all physical, it’s all related to our mortal bodies, and is not a failure of our spirit. It’s not a sin to forget because your brain is no longer at it’s prime.

She continues to kick and scream.

We have found it to be humorous. What other choice do you have? She’s funny, if you try not to get too worked up about what she says or does. She insisted that no one was coming to visit her, so my aunt started a calendar on which you wrote your name on the day that you had visited. Then Gram scoffed at it and said, “You are just writing their names down to make me think that they have been here!”

Then she started to complain that her husband hadn’t come to visit her. “I just can’t understand it,” she said. “I would think that he would come up here to see me! Why hasn’t he come?”

My aunt handled it with sarcasm and wit. “Because he’s DEAD?” She offered.

Gram was indignant. “Well, why didn’t anyone tell me???”

You have to laugh. Otherwise, you would be heartbroken.

I have to say, I kinda like this new Grandma. She doesn’t remember much, so she can’t berate you for not having called or visited…she doesn’t really know who you are, so she doesn’t lecture you on your past sins…and you can tell her the same story over and over again and each time, she is amused. That is, when she can hear it. Her hearing is not so good either.

I used to call Gram whenever I was homesick for the family homestead, but I’ve not called very often lately. She can’t hear me very well, she certainly doesn’t understand anything that I am talking about, and I’m not ever sure if she even knows who I am. (We’ve established that she can’t remember my name!) Instead, I try to send her things regularly…pictures, short letters, that sort of thing. Just enough so that she knows that I am thinking of her always, but not so much that it overwhelms her to look at them or read them.

She keeps telling me that she is not long for this world, and I know that she wants to believe that. She misses my Grandpa and wants to follow him into the next world, where her mind and body will be whole again. While I don’t wish that for the rest of us, I hope for her sake that it is so. She seems so miserable in her current state, and maybe she’ll be happy in the next.

I can’t wait for the day that we can sit down and tell the stories of the days when Grandma’s mind was not so good, and laugh at the funny things that she has said and done. When she can join us at the table and know who we are, the history that we share with her. When she can appreciate the fact that we still love her even though she is not our grandmother, at least not the way that we have come to know her. I hope that she can enjoy the stories with us, and not be embarrassed that she forgot her children’s names, and thought that she had somehow missed the death of her husband.

The latest story about Gram is that she had complained that ‘they’ had moved a man into her apartment. Come to find out, she was going to the elevator and standing for a few moments…forgetting that she had not gotten on the elevator, much less went upstairs on it…and headed down the hall to her room. Which, of course, was one floor above her, and NOT her apartment. The man was indignant that she just barged in to his room. A few days later, they said, he did the same thing, this time, barging into her room.

They make a good pair! Maybe we’ll just mingle their stuff together, and no matter what floor they are on…they’ll be home. Sounds like a good plan to me!

The only way that I'll ever have a green thumb...

2009-08-05T21:25:00.000-07:00

I’ve developed a love of the land. Planting a seed, and watching it grow and produce fruit. I look forward to walking my farm, finding the crops that are ready to harvest. Tending to the flourishing plants so that they will be the most productive. By the sweat of my brow…tilling the earth with my bare hands. Okay, not my bare hands…but my mouse hand, anyway!

I’ve discovered Farm Town on Facebook. You know, it’s one of those silly little apps that you can send gifts to your friends? I kept getting gifts from folks, and I was just ignoring them. I’d had a Lil Green Patch, which was supposed to save the rainforests (although for the life of me, I have no idea how playing a game on FB was going to save the world). I never did get the hang of it. It irritated me because the plants were willy nilly in my Lil Green Patch. I spent an hour reorganizing them one day…only to log on and find out that it didn’t save correctly. I abandoned my Patch. So apparently, Global Warming is all my fault.

So one night at Bro’s, I was up late unable to sleep. I’d turned off my computer, but his was still on, so I jumped on and started surfing aimlessly. I checked my email. I looked at MyFamily.com. I took a peek to see what was on sale at Woot.com. I moseyed over to Facebook, but no one was up and posting. I decided to see what this Farm Town thing was all about.

That was my first mistake. I was given a block of land with six plots of tilled earth, and soon, I was growing potatoes. They know how to hook me! Potatoes are my favorite! I plowed some more land, won some coins in the Farm Town daily lottery, and planted some more.

I think that I planned to abandon it after that, but the next morning, I looked at my crops. I won some more coins, and planted some grape seeds. They would mature in only 4 hours, and I could see the fruits of my labors!

They didn’t tell me that the darn grapes would rot on the vine if I didn’t get back to them! When I logged on that evening, my grapes had gone to waste. It says that, in bold letters. Gone to waste. I was so frustrated! I had wasted all of that plowing and planting and the coinage to accomplish that. I vowed to never let that happen again. That’s when I knew that I’d made the fatal mistake.

Since then, I have become very methodical in my planting, and I make sure that I will be available when my crops mature, so that I can get them in before they go to waste. I make sure that I harvest them in a timely manner and then get those fields plowed and replanted.

By the time I had left Bro’s house, I was getting pretty good at Farm Town. The girls would sit by me and help me decide what crops to plant, estimate when they would be ready to harvest, and organize my growing orchard. All of the gifts that had been sent by other Farm Town friends were piling up, and I had to move them into the application.

At first, I planted them in a row along the edges of my farm. When it began to bug me that they were haphazard, I found that you could move them. Woohoo! I lined them up nicely. The next day, I rearranged them, to make them prettier and easier to see. Then it bothered me that they were all mixed up. I put Plum Trees in a row, Orange Trees in another. Still later, I had to organize them by maturity, so that they were easier to harvest. That was an undertaking, I tell you! You had to examine each tree, note it’s maturity percentage, then line them up from least to most mature. Now, all of the trees that need to be harvested at the same time are grouped together. It’s very cool.

Then there is the issue of the animals. I’d received them as gifts, but couldn’t figure out how to contain them. Turns out, you have to BUY fences! Well, I didn’t have the capital to increase my crop production and buy fences, too, so for a long time, my animals ran amok on my farm. It wasn’t until my farm was well established that I felt that I could afford fences, and at first, only a small pen for all of them. Poor things stood side by side, cows, pigs, chickens, and horses alike. Crammed into a tiny pen.

One day, I actually DID THE MATH, and found out which crops are the most lucrative. Really! You have to factor in the length of time that it takes to mature, cost of the seeds, and the cost of plowing the field. I found that of the crops that I could buy at the time, Rice, Corn, and Sunflowers would net the largest gain. I planted sunflowers like they were going out of style.

Soon, I had enough of a cushion to build real pens for my animals. I made one for the pigs, one for the cows, another for the sheep. I’m not sure about the programming, though, because one errant cow kept wandering out into the orchards. After returning him to his pen many times, he has finally stayed put. Then there was the sheep that kept wandering back to the cows. I think that the programmers are writing these things and laughing at us poor farmers, trying to contain our cyber livestock!

I’ve become enamored with the pigs, that sleep on command. You tell them to sleep and they suddenly go stiff, fall on their sides, then close their eyes and snooze sweetly. After a moment, they get up, seemingly refreshed. They are bright eyed and adorable! I have to play with my pigs a bit each day, making each one take a nap. Other than that, the animals serve no purpose in Farm Town. Very strange, indeed!

My farm is truly a visual interpretation of my personality. It is relatively no nonsense, maximized to increase it’s potential for success. I have planted on nearly every square inch, and I keep my fields growing at all times. I’ve purchased more land three times now, and I am finally letting myself buy some decorative items. No buildings yet – oh, no, that would be far to extravagant! But my animals are in pens, and I bought a nice bench to place in the flower garden so that I could enjoy it in the evenings. (As if! I mean, I send my little avatar there, but is she really enjoying it???)

I’ve decided that I will now start to build my home…a farm house, yard, etc. A modest one, so that I can keep producing at the rate that I’ve become accustomed to. You just can’t waste good farmland, you know.

This is supposed to be a social networking game, and so it is less expensive to hire someone to plow and harvest your crops than to do it yourself. It makes no sense, and I’ve become somewhat rebellious about it. I refuse to hire anyone. I don’t care if it costs more to plow and my crops are not as plentiful. It’s just wrong to hire someone to do something that you can do yourself.

I actually ran into someone when I was helping at their farm. You can go to friends’ farms and weed or water or rake and you get coins for doing so. One day, I saw my cousin planting seeds. His little avatar would move around and then little seeds would appear, it was fascinating to watch.

It disturbs me that little digital people come and stand in my fields. These are not my friends working , but it’s odd little avatars that just stand there and stare. I have no idea who they are, and they are just standing there. I feel like marching up to them and demanding to know how they got there, but then they might talk to me. I’m not here to socialize, folks, I have farm work to do!! One day, a cheeky gal stood right in the middle of a field that I was trying to harvest, plow, and plant, and it kept me from plowing that square. The gall!

I know, I have a problem. I need to lay off the farming. Hubby thinks that I’m obsessed, but we’re not really asking his opinion, are we? I figure that one day, my farm will be maximum size and I’ll run out of exciting things to do on it. Until then, keep the seeds coming!

So, check it out. See you in Farm Town! Just don’t stand in my fields. It’s rude and makes your avatar look like a ‘tard.

I will remember you...

2009-08-02T21:28:00.001-07:00

I was a huge Amy Grant fan for years. I guess I could say that I’m no longer a rabid fan, although I still appreciate her…I was judgemental about her divorce and remarriage, and I’ve not gotten past that. My bad, I know, and I need to do so. I don’t know what really happened and I have no right to pass judgement, anyway.

So when Hubby put on one of her albums the other day, I realized that it had been quite some time since I listened to her albums. One of my favorites was “Behind the Eyes”, which happened about the time of the divorce, but was timely in my life, as well. The first song that was played on our random-play was “I will be your friend.” It’s interesting how a song can take you back, make you think…it sent me down a path that relived old memories and reevaluated my standing in the world as I washed the dishes and cooked dinner.

Here are some of the lyrics:

When every moment gets too hard
End of the road can feel so far
No matter how much time were apart
I’m always near you

Ill be the shelter in your rain
Help you find your smile again
Ill make you laugh at a broken heart
Wherever you are

cause I’m never gonna walk away
If the wall comes down someday
All alone and you feel afraid
Be there when you call my name
You can always depend on me
I believe until forever ends
I will be your friend

So many people come and go
But nothing can change the you I know
You’ll never be just a face in the crowd
And time will show
Through the seasons and years
I will always hold you dear
Never you fear

It did remind me of friends that I have had…good friends that I thought would never, ever be less than my bestest buddies. That we would stand by one another through thick and thin, side by side.

Life isn’t really like that, you know.

It also made me think of a boyfriend that I had once, who was reluctant to tell me that he loved me. He would infer it, but avoided the words for quite some time. He came from a broken home, and didn’t want to say something that he couldn’t guarantee forever. I assured him that no one expected it to be forever, but you should share your feelings when they emerged.

That was many years ago, and there was a time that we ceased to love each other in that way. We both changed and grew apart. I’m very happily married to someone else, and yet, I don’t hold any grudges against the boy who loved me once. I do remember the time that we had together, and there are good things to take from it, even though we parted at some point.

I realized as I listened to the song that he was probably right. We can’t guarantee that we will love someone forever. (children and spouses excluded, whose love we work to keep alive every day) We meet friends, we learn from them and grow with them…and sometimes away from them. Situations change in our lives, and we may not have the time or the accessibility to them, we may not have the same things in common.

I have friends that I miss because they live too far away…ones that I would continue to seek out, ones that I admire greatly…but the proximity complicates things. Thank heaven for Facebook, email, and such that allow us to remain in contact, even if it is not as close as we would like. I hope that they know how much they continue to mean to me. I’ll have to be more dedicated to expressing that. Everyone needs to know when they are valued!

There are some that I was close to at one time, but circumstances have changed. In some cases, our parting was not pleasant, or we had issues that came between us. It comes back to that email that you have all read, I’m sure, about people coming into our lives for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. They were there for a season, and no longer serve a purpose in my life. That sounds somewhat callous, but the truth is that we don’t have time or energy for all of the people that we would like to include in our daily lives.

Even if I had the energy, there are some that I would have parted from anyway. I learn and refine myself every day, and I’ve found that there are some folks that simply are not headed the way that I am going. I don’t have the resources to maintain that kind of friendship when they cannot influence me for the betterment of myself and my family. They may be fine people, but travelling with them would mean deviating from where I want to be, and that is not productive for either one of us.

My therapist talked to me about this, as I was working through my issues with lost friends. She illustrated it by saying that perhaps you have room in your life for 10 friends…so when one or two move out of our lives, we can replace them with one or two more. Adding three more would be too much, and leave us less time for the things that we already have to accomplish. Not adding any new friends would leave a hole. It’s important to know what our “number” is, so that we can adjust our lives accordingly and include the RIGHT people in them.

A more appropriate song would be another Amy Grant, from the album “Heart in Motion”:

I will be walking one day
Down a street far away
And see a face in the crowd and smile
Knowing how you made me laugh
Hearing sweet echoes of you from the past
I will remember you.

Look in my eyes while you’re near
Tell me what’s happening here
See that I don’t want to say good-bye
Our love is frozen in time
Ill be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember
I will remember you.

Later on
When this fire is an ember
Later on
When the nights not so tender
Given time
Though its hard to remember darlin’
I will be holding
I’ll still be holding to you
I will remember you.

So many years come and gone
And yet the memory is strong
One word we never could learn
Good-bye
True love is frozen in time
Ill be your champion and you’ll be mine
I will remember you
So please remember
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you
I will remember you

I have some great memories with many different friends that have come and go in my life. I remember the boy who once loved me, the friends who promised that they would be with me forever. Rather than mourning the loss of these relationships, I can choose to REMEMBER that good, and be happy that we once had something very special. I can stop trying to hold on to everything at once, and allow myself to savor the memories while embracing the current situation of my life.

I can realize that moving forward sometimes means leaving someone behind, and that is not necessarily a tragedy. I can remember. Some folks come for a reason, some come for a season, others will be there for a lifetime…or an eternity. But it’s all good.

I'd like to think that they will remember me, too. That I won't be tossed in the pile of discarded memories that get swept out with the trash. I can think of no greater compliment than to be remembered.

Even Amy. I may not be a rabid fan, but I still cherish her music and remember the comfort and joy that it has brought to me through the years. So, Amy, I will remember you, too!

That's why we have MOUTHS!

2009-08-01T12:11:00.001-07:00

Todd talks constantly. I mean…constantly. Take that literally, folks, because this child can talk the ear off of the best of them. I feel sorry for him, he must have my brain. It never shuts up, and if you didn’t talk (or write), your head would explode. So I let him babble, all day long, all of the time. One day, Hubby was hanging with us, and asked, “Does he ever shut up?” Nope. Never.

Tux tried to get him to be quiet the other day when they were playing a video game. “NO!” Toddy resisted. “That’s why we have mouf-es, Tux! So we can talk!” He’s got a point.

Before you get all up in arms about my not teaching the child to control himself, I do teach him that there are times and places that we must be quiet. He’s still working on it. But in general, what’s the trouble? He can talk to me all day if he wants. For one thing, it’s a natural thing to talk. It encourages him to express, explore, and ask questions. And for another thing…he’s interesting! I’m always amazed by what he talks about, and frankly, he’s pretty darn intelligent. I mean, how many three year olds do you know that extol the virtues of having a mouth???

He and his cousin, JJ, kept me in stitches during the week that we were visiting them. To hear them discuss life in their own language was a real treat. JJ was amazed that Todd still wore diapers, and Todd thought it was funny that JJ pooped in the toilet. They had many talks about that, explaining why to each other.

We went to see “Ice Age 3: Dawn of the Dinosaurs”, and JJ had a hard time sitting still. It was making Todd crazy, and he began to micromanage him. When JJ repeated the line, “Pop goes the weasel!” and laughed, Todd was indignant.

“That’s NOT funny! Stop laughing!” He insisted.

JJ’s eyes sparkled with the idea that he could irritate Todd. He repeated the phrase again and then laughed and laughed.

“It’s not a funny movie!” Todd yelled. (At this point, I reminded him that this was one of those places that we needed to be a bit quieter)

So they whispered, JJ taunted Todd with his laughter and “pop” comments, Todd getting more and more agitated that JJ thought that this was funny. They finally turned to me to end the argument: was this movie funny, or not?

Goodness.

We went to lunch at Taco Bell, and Todd and I were sharing a soda, while Sis and her three children shared another. Somehow, Todd got their cup and began to suck down as much soda as he could. (He is a soda freak…except that he calls it “Swee”)

JJ, who doesn’t get to drink as much soda as Todd does, was heartbroken when he finally got the cup back. He let out a wail that I’m sure struck two tables and shattered them asunder. “WE NEED A REFILL!” He howled. “HE did it!” He pointed at the offensive cousin.

While Sis was getting the cup refilled, JJ continued to berate Todd for his behavior, reminding him that this was a Parker cup, and Todd was clearly not a Parker. Sis gently reminded him that Todd was indeed a Parker, even if his last name was Cowell…because he had Parker blood in him.

Todd had a retort of his own. “It’s in my belly and YOU can’t get it!”

We’re not sure if he meant the Parker blood or the Swee, but either way, it was gone to JJ forever.

He comes by it naturally. I was –and continue to be – a talker. I can’t help myself. I guess that’s why it doesn’t bother me that he talks so much. I know the feeling.

When I was his age, my dad would offer to give me a quarter if I would be quiet for 5 minutes. It was quite a struggle, I must say. Especially when 4.5 minutes in, he would ask me a question. That’s just cheating, no matter how you look at it.

When I was just a little older than he is now, Mom took me on a bus ride to visit her parents during the summer. There was a young man who boarded the bus and sat next to a pretty young girl who was going off to college. She was politely listening to the arrogant young man, despite the fact that she obviously wished that she were anywhere else besides next to him. As the night wore on, Mom said that he continued to flirt and try to impress this poor girl, talking loudly even though everyone was now trying to sleep.

I took matters into my own hands.

“Hey, mister…” I offered. “I’ll give ya a quarter if you’ll be quiet for five minutes!”

My mother nearly died. She was sinking into her chair as the bus broke out into applause.

The young man was much quieter for the rest of the trip. Poor guy. All that mouth and no way to use it.

Wish. Wonder. Believe.

2009-07-30T22:42:00.000-07:00

This is probably one of my all time favorite pics that I’ve taken! It was a beautiful, sunny morning, and I was out walking the dog. The sun was hitting the neighbor’s yard in just such a way as to light up the dew, like tiny little diamonds sprinkled across the lawn. When I moved closer to snap a picture, I realized that this single dandelion, gone to seed, stood tall and proud.

As I focused on the dandelion, I pondered on what this might mean. I saw some significance to the ‘gone to seed’ part of the photo, as I was feeling pretty seedy at that time, myself! But I was also on the verge of coming out of the dark, and I loved the sparkling points of light that blurred behind the central figure. I imagined that the lights were the cheering crowd, urging the dandelion on to it’s next life. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

I posted the picture to our family website, and asked them to give it a title. One cousin suggested “Wish”. I hadn’t even thought of the childhood ritual of blowing on these puffs, making a wish as the precious seeds full of promise wafted away on the wind! It was such a poignant title, and hereafter, I thought of this photo as such.

Wish. Yes! Wish for peace in my soul. Wish to be where the Lord wants me to be. Wish to accept change as it comes. Wish to be what I am supposed to be. Wish to be whole again.

Just like the flower that had been both beautiful and bright, I had evolved. I had gone to seed. And it was time to let myself go, sailing in the breeze without care for where I would land, knowing that wherever it was, I would bring more beauty and life into the world. I would trust that the current of air would take me where I needed to be.

Since my return from Bro’s house, I’ve been busier than ever. Opportunities are presenting themselves like I would never have dreamed possible. The world is opening up, and I’m oddly at ease with all of this. I feel myself softly coming to rest on a variety of fields, tentatively catching hold of the fertile soil. Seeds are being sown before me.

Some will develop into beautiful, hearty plants. Some will cling to rocky places, struggling to maintain their hold. Some will blow away, perhaps coming to rest in another place. Still others will wither and die before they can even begin to grow.

And I’m all right with that.

I wished for peace, and I have found that. I know that no matter how hard the wind blows, I have anchors to hold me…and if not, I can trust in the Lord to take me where I need to be. He will guide me, sustain me, and comfort me.

I wished to be whole, and found that being whole is something entirely different than I had dreamed. Sometimes, to be whole, one has to be ready to unfold, and leave yourself open.

I’ve also learned that it helps to be standing tall like that little dandelion. You are able to scatter further and further from yourself, finding new and greener pastures. Had that little flower been lying on the ground, broken, the seeds would never have travelled on the wind.

Wish. See the wonder. And then believe!

You just might get it all.

4 the Record

2009-07-30T01:21:00.000-07:00

I was reading Becky Higgin's blog today, and read that she had done a personal history project with the Young Women at Girl's Camp in her area. She has posted a beautiful starting point for your own story on her website. It got me all excited about writing my own!

I am all about keeping a history. I've found that the things that make me the happiest, and the things that make me feel the most fulfilled are all related to record keeping.

A couple of years ago, I was asked to develop a class on personal and family histories for our church. Mom and I brainstormed ideas, and had so many that we couldn't include them all in the class schedule! We called the class "This is your Life" (I was really into the Switchfoot song at the time!), and our teaser was, "Bring your history to life, and Life to your history!"

Each month, we met as a class and talked about some aspect of journaling or histories. Each month, we had an in class exercise, and then if we were willing, we shared these writings. It was so wonderful to hear the things that others wrote about their lives! We got to know one another better, learned things that we would never have heard in other situations, and inspired one another to get writing! I also issued a monthly challenge to be completed prior to the following month's class.

While the classes were not always huge...normal for our area, as we are a small branch and not a full sized ward, and our area covers a great deal of mileage...we always had a good time and left feeling good about our stories.

I'll include some of the information here over the next few weeks. I'd love to hear about your experiences, if you try some of the techniques!

4 the Record - Month One

"Every person should keep a journal and every person can keep a journal."Everyone has a story to tell, so why don’t we rush to tell it? Are we caught up in the rules and ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ that we don’t even start? Is it intimidating...or do we just think it will be boring?Let’s change all of that today!>Why keep a journal or write your life story? Well, for starters, it’s theraputic! It allows you to record your life for posterity. It can help others by offering a view of how we handled the trials and joys along the way. There are many reasons, but the main one being : it’s a commandment! We have been counseled by many latter day prophets to keep our records.

And there are so many ways to keep your personal records that surely you will be able to find a way that suits your style and time frame!

Here are some ideas:

· Your Standards: Journals, diaries, and notebooks are the age-old standard for journal keeping and history writing. Feel free to DOODLE a bit, or add embellishments, ephemera (Ephemera is transitory written and printed matter, not intended to be retained or preserved, such as receipts, brochures, letters, tickets, etc), or whatever strikes your mood. Make it FUN!

· The Technology Savvy — If you are good with a computer, you might want to try computer journaling. You can use a word processing program, or a program specifically written for journal keeping. See www.splinterware.com\products\idailydiary.htm, www.alpharealms.com/journal/ or www.davidrm.com/for examples The advantages here are that they take up little room (burn them on CD!) and can be searched electronically, as well as copied, easily read, and edited as you wish.

· The Shortcuts — Use your day to day correspondence! Save letters, emails, or online posts to tell your story. You are already writing it anyway! Just be sure to write often.

· Be Scrappy — If you are creative and like visuals, scrapbooking may be for you. Try your hand at scrapbooking your memories - -with or without your photos!

· A/V Cool — The very technologically gifted might opt for a video or audio journal. How exciting for future generations to hear your story directly FROM YOU!

· Specialty Journals — Use separate books for special memories, such as spiritual experiences, gratitude, happiness stories, etc.

— at the very least, everyone can take a minute at the end of the day to jot down important events, feelings, etc on a calendar, date book, or desk planner. Quick, easy, but effective!

· Blog It — The new craze is “Blogging”! (A blog — a portmanteau of web log — is a website where entries are written in chronological order and displayed in reverse chronological order. ) See www.blogger.com, www.blogspot.com, or other sites that will host your blog for free. The advantage is that you could develop an audience, which would encourage your daily entries! Friends and family can keep up on your daily comings and goings. This is especially effective if you are dealing with something that will help others, such as an illness or condition.

· Fill in the Blank — Find a book or questions that allow you to just fill in the blanks to record your life. See any bookseller online, and search for “memoirs” or “personal memoirs”.

Now, let’s get started! The challenge for the month of July is to find a way that works for YOU...something that is exciting, easy, efficient, and will inspire you to write often! In future months, we will be talking more about what to put into our personal history and journals, but here are a few ‘ground rules’.

1 There are no rules!

2 There’s no journal police.

3 You don’t have to have perfect grammar.

4 You don’t have to have lovely handwriting

5 It doesn’t have to be fancy

6 It doesn’t have to be in story form

7 It helps if you use archivally safe materials, but something is better than nothing!

8 It doesn’t have to be a travelogue. Write from your heart, not your schedule.

That being said, here are some things that you should do:

1 If you miss a few days...or a month...or years...just start again! Don’t beat yourself up about it, but get back on that horse!

2 Write it now, while it’s fresh!

3 Be true to yourself. Don’t paint a rosy picture, hoping that your posterity will believe your tall tale. Let them get to know the real you. They’ll be much more pleased!

4 Be complete. Include full names, dates, places, and any other pertinent information that the reader might not know inherently.

President Kimball said, "People often use the excuse that their lives are uneventful and nobody would be interested in what they have done. But I promise you that if you will keep your journals and records, they will indeed be a source of great inspiration to your families, to your children, your grandchildren, and others, on through the generations. Each of us is important to those who are near and dear to us—and as our posterity read of our life's experiences, they, too, will come to know and love us. And in that glorious day when our families are together in the eternities, we will already be acquainted."

Next month: “It’s the little things...”

Blasting off to Space Camp

2009-07-28T23:33:00.000-07:00

I had the incredible honor of going to Space Camp a few years ago, not once, but four times! I was chaperoning a group of scholarship winners from our area, and was able to see the program up close, take pictures of the kids as they participated, and get to know some of the kids who attended. They were all AMAZING, and Space Camp is undeniably one of the greatest experiences ever!

I'm going to share a press release from those Space Camp days....

It’s not your average summer camp….in fact, there are no silly crafts, no camp songs, and the closest thing to a campfire is the glow of a computer console as you blast into space with a shuttle mission simulation. This is serious science and technology, in a format that inspires and teaches young minds.

In the sultry southern humidity of Huntsville, AL, I chaperoned a group of scholarship winners attending Space Camp. When most kids were fanning themselves in the summer heat or splashing in water, these kids were learning about astronauts, space travel, history, crew systems, and much more.

The program is fast paced, with activities ranging from briefings and presentations to hands on simulations and training. The day also includes time for team building and fun activities such as climbing the rock wall at the Mars Mining Simulation. It is a successful mix of information with kinetic activity, real life exhibits of objects from space history, and realistically designed experiences with space training that not only keeps their 9-12 year old minds occupied, but fills them with wonder and excitement about the world around them and the space beyond.

Two Shuttle missions allow the Trainees, as Space Campers are most commonly called, to become a member of NASA and learn firsthand what it is like to blast into space or to manage the proceedings from Mission Control. Trainees are assigned a job and instructed in their particular position. When mission time comes, it’s the real thing….astronauts enter the Shuttle Intrepid through a side hatch, climb onto the flight deck via a ladder, and take their headsets to begin countdown to liftoff. Each Trainee has tasks for the mission, and the switches and led displays are real and responsive. Monitors alternate between real-time shots of the Trainees in the Shuttle and dubbed in footage of actual missions to create a convincing environment for this exercise.

Each team, consisting of 12-14 Trainees, is evaluated during their missions for professionalism and cooperation. During training time, it is not uncommon to find the Trainees mugging for the closed circuit cameras or giggling on the headsets. Once the mission begins, however, play time is over. Trainees are required to behave as their NASA counterparts, and teams are docked for any antics with the equipment. They learn to use microphones without speaking too loud or causing unnecessary noise, and courtesy when a teammate struggles with a task. They are taught to encourage one another, work together, and pay attention to detail. Mishaps can occur, and the Flight Director has the means to talk the Shuttle astronauts through the problem and return them safely to Earth. And systems actually record the input of each Trainee. One team returned to Earth with their Payload Bay Doors wide open….a mistake that could have cost the lives of everyone aboard. It’s an effective lesson in taking your responsibilities seriously.

But then again, it’s more than that. While Space Camp greets each Trainee with a sign above the door that reads, “Through these doors walk America’s future Astronauts, Scientists, and Engineers”, we can assume that not all of these aspiring young minds will enter the Aerospace industry. What will the others take from the curriculum?

Team building and self-confidence, according to chaperone, Jaycie.
“I was constantly amazed at the lessons learned during these missions,” Jaycie reflected. “I would watch them exit the simulators, and listened to their comments. These were lessons that they learned on their own, without the adults guiding them to their conclusions.”

One Trainee who served as the Shuttle Commander, a high profile and glamorous position on the Shuttle crew, lamented that she had hoped to do the EVA (Extra-vehicular activity, or moonwalk) as well. With a shrug, she noted that they each had their moment to shine, and she couldn’t do everything.

Another Shuttle Commander exited the simulation shaking his head. “I couldn’t remember a thing!” he noted. “I’ll never do that again!”

Discovering that we each have our own limitations and comfort zones is all a part of realizing that the team consists of many individuals, all of whom are important and contribute to the mission in their own unique way…a way that they alone may be suited to. Trainees who are uncomfortable speaking and reading aloud shied away from the job of PAO, or Public Affairs Officer. This position requires the Trainee to report to the public what is happening, and explaining technical terms in a way that the general populous would understand.

It was not just about discerning your level of involvement, but asserting your expertise, as well. Trainees found out that you sometimes had to remind your teammates that things were not going as planned. Without adult intervention, the Trainees were overheard to say things such as, “We need to work faster…we’re running out of time. Can I help?” and “You’ve done most of the work. Let me do this part.”

“The children were virtually immersed in the Space Program, learning with their peers in a stimulating environment. Not only do they increase their knowledge, expand their horizons, and consider careers perhaps not even thought of, but they develop a confidence and self-sufficiency from spending the week away from home and in a challenging setting.” added Jaycie.

An additional exercise in which the Trainees traveled to Mars was a favorite amongst the campers. Climbing aboard a small space vehicle, they experienced a ride to Mars, stopping by the ISS (International Space Station). Arriving at the red planet, they enter a lab set up to establish a Mars base. Trainees exited through a pressurized passage to the surface to perform tasks related to this such as soil samples, depth testing, checking for radiation, and finding a suitable spot to build the station. Inside the lab, they work to record and analyze the data of the surface team, as well as to build a model of their proposed Mars base.

During the five-day program, Trainees experience what a real astronaut might during training. A favorite of all is the Space Shot, which simulates a rocket launch, including a 2.5 second liftoff to 140 feet. They then experience 2-3 seconds of weightlessness as they fall back to Earth. Other simulators included the G-Force Accelerator, in which Trainees can feel the effects of 3-G’s pushing on their bodies. Chairs actually slide up the walls as the speed of the simulator increases.

Exclusive to the Space Camp curriculum are the Five Degrees of Freedom Training Chair, Multi Axis Trainer, Manned Maneuvering Unit, and 1/6 Gravity Chair. Trainees enjoyed the Multi Axis Trainer, which mimics the spins that an astronaut might experience upon re-entry into the atmosphere. Bouncing in the 1/6 Gravity Chair gave them the feeling of walking on the Moon, with it’s diminished effect on weight. The Manned Maneuvering Unit and Five Degrees of Freedom Chair actually gave the kids the chance to pretend to be astronauts, working in an environment of reduced mobility in the vacuum of space.

2003 Scholarship Trainees were honored to hear from a real astronaut in a special briefing. Colonel Richard Searfoss flew into space three times, his final mission as a commander of the STS-90 mission. STS-90 was the most complex science and research mission ever flown, in which the astronauts themselves were part of the testing for how the brain and nervous system adjust to weightlessness. He spoke to the children about his experiences not only in space, but as a member of a team. As Shuttle Commander, he had the responsibility and privilege of bringing the team together to accomplish their common goals.

Tux and Musician were greatly blessed to be able to attend with me that year, and got to hear Colonel Searfoss speak. It was a real highlight of our time there. He spoke of his faith, and the things that came into focus for him while in space…the things that were most important to him and why. We later learned that he is a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, which explains why he seemed so comfortable and familiar to us!

It was interesting to note that while both of my boys enjoyed Space Camp immensely, they had very different favorite activities. Musician loved doing an EVA, even though his helmet fan broke and he was a great sweatball by the time he emerged from his space suit. He was uncomfortable in Mission Control, talking on the microphones. Tux, on the other hand, was unimpressed with the EVA. His shining moment was as the Flight Director, a stressful position in Mission Control.

The week ends with a dramatic graduation ceremony, which takes place beneath the only full size Shuttle Stack displayed in the world. It’s imposing figure shades the Trainees, their team leaders, and parents from the blazing Alabama sun as they are awarded their Space Camp wings, and then set free…to fly.

The Indignity of being a WOMAN

2009-07-27T23:44:00.000-07:00

On most days, I am proud to be a woman. On most days, I will extol the virtues of our gentle nature, our mothering instincts, and our sweet dispositions. (most of the time) But there is one day a year that I find it somewhat humiliating to be a woman.

Do you know what day that I mean? Yup, that’s the one. The day that we visit our ob/gyn.

The whole visit starts off badly. Is it absolutely necessary to say, “Hello, Mrs. Jaycie! How are you these days? Would you like to step on this scale and be completely embarrassed by how long it takes me to balance the little doohickey at your tremendous weight?”

No matter how cheerful that nurse sounds, she always follows her greeting with an invitation to step up on the plate. No sweet smile can offset that.

They then whisk you off to a room where you are asked a series of questions like:

“How old are you?” For heaven’s sake, you have my chart in front of you, and it clearly states the year that I was born. Can you not do the math??? Must you make me say it out loud, when I am clearly in denial over the whole thing?

“Three children?” You thought that perhaps I was crazy enough to have MORE? Or did you think that three was far too many mini-me’s to have let loose upon the world???

“Date of your last known period?” Okay, this one is tricky. I’m sure that I had one last month, but I may have had one in the meanwhile that just slipped by me without me knowing.

When this is over, she invites you to go into the lavatory and leave a sample for her. At least this is easier in my normal state than it was nine months pregnant, when they want you to do this for them weekly. Truly, do they expect you to get a clean sample in that little cup when you cannot even see your own FEET, much less the nether regions of your body? Really, a joy to do today, when you think of it in that perspective.

Next is the doctor’s turn. I enjoy this part, as my doctor and I go back to the birth of Tux. It made me laugh today when he asked the ages of my children, sighing when I told him that Tux was now 18 years old. We’ve been together for a long time, my doctor and me.

He always asks me if my parents are alive and how old they are. I take great pleasure in reminding him that my father is HIS age, and my mother a year younger. I know this because once during a pre-natal visit, he and my mother got talking and realized that they lived in the same valley and had once attended many of the same record hops that a local radio station sponsored. (the wild kids attended these record hops, just to let you in on a little secret!)

He asks his own set of uncomfortable questions, and follows up with, “Hmmm…your weight is up a little.” Really? I hadn’t noticed! And thank you so much for bringing it to my attention, because my day wasn’t nearly bad enough already.

Then things get really interesting. He gives me the lovely little paper drapes and tells me that he will be right back. I stack my clothing neatly on the chair, so as not to look like a slob…tucking any unmentionables into the folds of my jeans so that there is nothing embarrassing hanging out. Then I don my special ‘clothing’, and try to sit nonchalantly on the table.

There is absolutely no way to look casual sitting on an exam table wearing paper clothing that covers only one hemisphere of your girth. Let’s just get that out in the open. So I am trying out positions in which I can pose to look the least awkward when he comes back in. Despite repeated efforts, I never find one that feels carefree.

He knocks on the door. What do you answer??

“Come in!” (always delivered in a singsong voice like you are hosting a Tupperware party in there)

“I’m ready.” (said somewhat provocatively? Or perhaps with doom and gloom dripping from each word?)

“It’s okay!” (which technically means that he is not going to catch my lily white bum as I dash to the table, trying to cover myself before he gets fully into the room, but in my mind, means that I approve of this situation, of which I do not!)

“I’m NAKED!” (which seems the most natural, and what comes to mind first!)

Or the more direct, “I’m as covered as I’m gonna get and you are going to see it all in a minute, anyway!”

{Sigh}

At this point, I get to explain to him why my three year old still thinks that he needs to nurse at night, at which the doctor gets a case of the giggles and spends the rest of my time laughing about needing a little nip before nap time. He apparently enjoys this joke, as it keeps him amused throughout the exam.

I add to the conversation that Todd announced to me in Sacrament Meeting at church the other day, (quite loudly) “Don’t wake up my brudder and don’t get your nipples out!” Now, clearly, his brother needed to be awake during church, but the nipples thing? I mean, really, I usually pop them out during our meetings, don’t I? This is after he had loudly thanked his brother for passing him the Sacrament, and then both kissed and licked the little girl sitting behind us.

As we get to the heart of the exam, our favorite part…where usually you look at the ceiling in silence and hope that no one notices that you are there…I decided to defy tradition and looked up over my drape to tell my doctor that SOMEONE needed to invent instruments that were a bit more comfortable.

I think that he was as glad to see me leave as I was. Thank heaven it only happens once a year.

Now I just have to do the follow-up mammogram. Not a bad test, really, for all of the bad press that it gets. It’s been years since I had one, although I’m supposed to go regularly, as my mother had breast cancer a few years ago.

Last time I went, Musician was about nine. He wanted to know where I was going, and I told him that I was going to have pictures taken of my breasts, so that the doctors could make sure that I didn’t have any cancer like grandma. He only caught the first part, and looked a little worried.

“They are going to take pictures of your breasts?” He asked for clarification. “Why? So the doctors can go…” he raised his eyebrows repeatedly and then got a big grin. “Woo hoo?”

I’ve had three children and nursed for a total of 81 months. Trust me. There’s not gonna be any woohooing for THOSE pictures.

When life gives you lemons....

2009-07-26T21:15:00.000-07:00

She planned the party carefully. It had to be perfect…she was hosting the event of the year. Celebrating her newfound freedom, she wanted to make sure that it was both festive and fun, as well as fruitful for attendees and hostess alike.

She pressed her dress, laid it out on the bed the night before. The morning would come too soon, and she wanted to be ready. Her guests would be arriving promptly at 10AM, and she would need to be on the top of her game. The lemonade was chilling in the refrigerator already.

When morning came, she loaded box after box into the front yard, arranging them just so. When the finishing touches were done, she took the invitations…signs, as it were…and drove to the nearest intersections to post them.

“New-Husband-Ditched-Me Garage Sale”, they boasted. She had to admit, they were brightly colored and would surely generate attention. If not for the cheery colors, they might intrigue passers by with the honesty of her signs.

Then, returning home, she donned the wedding dress, carefully pinning a “for sale” tag on the lapel. With a grin and a deep breath, she was ready.

The day was a huge success, as she greeted her patrons and guests with ice cold lemonade…an homage to the old adage that when life gives you lemons…you make lemonade. Her wedding dress, now a mockery of the short marriage, was almost fun to wear in this instance. It certainly gave her plenty to talk about! Her wares were fascinating, especially when the guests noticed that HIS things were for sale across the yard – far, far away from the things that she was selling. She would reap the rewards of the things that he left behind, but they would not be allowed to mingle with her things.

Hubby attended her sale, and laughed as he recounted her careful preparations and forethought. Surely, the most memorable garage sale that he had ever attended.

Think of our little bride next time life gives YOU lemons. Don’t just make lemonade…throw a party. Laugh about your situation. Sell the stuff that offends you.

Living well is the best revenge, don’t you think?!

Luna Lovegood is my hero!

2009-07-25T12:38:00.000-07:00

I love Luna Lovegood. From the moment that her character joined Harry Potter’s little band of misfits, I knew that she was going to be my favorite. A little offbeat…okay, a LOT offbeat…but she is wise and open to the universe, allowing her to see beyond the obvious to the truth.

The following conversation has been on my mind this last week:
Harry Potter: How come you're not at the feast?
Luna Lovegood: I've lost all my possessions. Apparently people have been hiding them.
Harry Potter: That's awful!
Luna Lovegood: Oh, it's all good fun. But as this is the last night, I really do need them back.
Harry Potter: Do you want any help finding them?
Luna Lovegood: I'm sorry about your godfather, Harry.
[clasps his hand comfortingly]
Harry Potter: Are you sure you don't want any help looking?
Luna Lovegood: That's all right. Anyway, my mum always said things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end.
[they look up and see a pair of her shoes hanging from the ceiling arch]
Luna Lovegood: If not always in the way we expect.

I was watching “Order of the Phoenix” with Allie and CJ, getting ready for the premiere of “Half Blood Prince”, and I had been lamenting the loss of some jewelry that got lost in the trip from home to their house. It wasn’t anything costly, but each piece was something special to me for sentimental reasons, and I wasn’t very happy about losing the case that they were in.

I’d looked through my suitcases and bags…at least four times…to no avail. I’d asked my family back home to see if maybe I left it there and never packed it at all, but they didn’t see it anywhere. I heard this in the movie and was cheered. Perhaps my jewelry would find it’s way back to me, eventually. I returned home and searched the house myself, still with no luck. I was getting increasingly discouraged, but Luna’s words kept echoing in my head.

Today, she was vindicated! Sis called to tell me that Allie had found my jewelry in their house, stacked in a pile of clothing that I had brought for the girls. I can’t even tell you the relief that I felt! I am so happy to know that I would see it again, soon. The fact that they were found where I NEVER expected them to be was amusing, right along the lines of Luna’s “if not always in the way we expect”.

I think that the most appealing thing about Luna is that she is centered, focused on all of the most important things in life, and not caught up in the politics of every day. Sure, she has some odd ideas like nargles and wrackspurts (which I’m not entirely convinced do not exist, based on personally experience with losing things and fuzzy thoughts…), but she is a spiritual character that is what I would consider a “clear spirit”, one unhindered by worldly bias. She is a treasured friend to Harry, who actually considers her advice and observations.

Luna Lovegood: [about her father] We believe you, by the way. That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back, and you fought him, and the Ministry and the Prophet are conspiring against you and Dumbledore.
Harry Potter: Thanks. Seems you're about the only ones that do.
Luna Lovegood: I don't think that's true. But I suppose that's how he wants you to feel.
Harry Potter: What do you mean?
Luna Lovegood: Well if I were You-Know-Who, I'd want you to feel cut off from everyone else. Because if it's just you alone you're not as much of a threat.

Again, applicable in our lives, as well! Doesn’t Satan want us to believe that we are alone? Aren’t we less intimidating to him if we feel like we are cut off from the world? We become easy prey for him. If we are surrounded by those that we love and that love us, however, he has very little leverage with which to turn us from truth.

She just makes you feel good when you see/read her! Definitely the kind of friend that I would want to have around. Luna doesn’t care much about what others think, and is only mildly concerned that she is considered “loony”. She just continues to do what she feels is the right thing to do, even if no one else believes her or appreciates her.

I totally wish that she and Harry Potter had ended up together, instead of Ginny. The chemistry was better…they are both “different”, and she understands him so much more deeply than Ginny could. I think that he was the most relaxed around her, the most himself. I am not sure why Ginny was chosen, except that Harry spent so much time with the family, but it didn’t really work for me. He and Luna were meant to be together.

Luna Lovegood: I've never been to this part of the castle. Well, not awake. I sleepwalk, you see. That's why I wear shoes to bed.

Practical, that girl. I love it.

Just when you think that you have it all together...

2009-07-23T17:09:00.000-07:00

I wasn’t going to write today. I’ve been out of town and missed so many days anyway, it seemed like the right thing to do. Especially since I woke up feeling physically not well…and mentally even worse.

Of course, I’m feeling a little lonesome for the family that I had to leave, even though it’s wonderful to be back with my own family. I just see Bro’s family so seldom that it’s hard to say goodbye.

I know that I am suffering from “jet lag”, that post-vacation syndrome in which all of the running and not sleeping that you did on vacation comes back to haunt you. I’d also suffered from allergies or some sort of cold, and that was wearing on me. And of course, coming back from vacation, you are always overwhelmed by the realities of life that come back all at once, like bills and responsibilities.

Before I left, I put some spare jewelry in a Ziploc baggy…everything gets packed in Ziploc bags…but it never made it to my destination. I’m really not sure that I actually packed it, as it was one of the last things to be packed, and I was debating as to where it should be stowed for safekeeping. There wasn’t anything of great value – monetarily speaking, anyway – but they were things that meant a lot to me and I cannot find them anywhere.

I’m frustrated by a world that places such a value on dishonesty, and rewards this heavily. I always fall short because I can’t seem to get it through my thick skull that honesty may be the best policy, but it means that you will never catch a lucky break.

When I get into this sort of mood, it’s easy to see the cracks in the sidewalk, so to speak. To see that the state of the economy is scary and getting scarier. The news is never good. A ten year old girl that disappeared in our area before I left has not been found. Iranian guards are raping young girls to make their executions legal.

I turn to my “happy things”…a technique that I’ve employed with my depression for many years. I go to the things that make me happy, like scrapbooking, reading, and so on. I’ve not had a lot of time to do these things, as I’m unpacking and have other things that NEED to be done. Or at least, I have myself convinced that they should be. What I need to do is stop with the things that are making me crazy today and just do what I want to do, what will make me whole again for my family.

Here are some techniques that my therapist recommended, and I highly recommend to everyone:

1) Recognize that you are sinking. You need to catch it before it drags you into the depths and you are unable to pull yourself out.

2) Do something that makes you feel good! You should have a list of things that you enjoy doing, things that make you happy. Activities, sounds, sights, anything that you can bring to mind to ease your troubled soul. Take the time today to do three things that are on your list, especially when you are recognizing a downward trend.

3) When all else fails, let today be your down day. Cry if you need to, feel sorry for yourself, and wallow a bit. But promise yourself that you will not allow this tomorrow. Tomorrow is a new day, and you can overcome these feelings of hopelessness then.

I think that I’ll take some Tylenol, let the tears flow, and pull out some pictures to scrapbook. I’ll hang with my family and ignore the dog hair that has accumulated in the corners, the suitcases that need to be unpacked, and the bills that have yet to be paid. I may plant some crops on FarmTown and read a little Harry Potter.

Tomorrow, we’ll face the world again.

Knocking around in someone else's house...

2009-07-15T11:22:00.000-07:00

Staying in someone else’s house is fascinating. (Especially when they are not home!)

The girls are here to help me find things, although I’m sure I’d figure it out because Sis is pretty darn organized. Her pots and pans are all stacked in neat piles (unlike the jumble of dishes that I have in my cupboard. In my defense, a) none of my dishes are from the same set, which happens after 20+ years of marriage, and b) I have teenagers who help in the kitchen and have no regard for neat piles!). Her drawers are not a mod podge of items, there are definite categories. In her linen closet, the towels are all the same size and folded identically, then stacked. Toiletries and odds and ends are sorted and stored in sweet little lined baskets.

She has air fresheners everywhere, which makes me remember that I have a stinky dog at home, and perhaps I should invest in more of these. Speaking of the dog, it’s quite nice to have a vacation from the constant vacuuming that we do at home. Here, once or twice a week is gonna do it. At home, it’s once or twice a day!

Cooking is interesting, as they have different ingredients on hand than we do. For instance, I was looking for sour cream, a staple at our house. In fact, so much a staple that we have sent Tux to the store as often as twice a week because we have run out. But they didn’t have any, and looked surprised that one might need such a thing. They don’t have powdered sugar. They do have Fish Sauce, jasmine rice, and other ingredients that at my house would be considered exotic!

I think that I’ve finally won over the cat, who first viewed me with much disdain and only a touch of amusement. Sis says that she is a funny cat, not very sociable. For that reason, Sis doesn’t often feed her wet food, which she loves. She feels that the cat should be lovey and THEN get wet food.

The first couple of nights that I was in charge, I made sure that Muffin saw ME with the can of wet food, placing it on the mat for her enjoyment. I would go find her in her hiding places and show her the can, then coax her out to the kitchen to eat. I wanted to her to know which side of the bread her butter was on! She now seeks me out in the evenings, snuggling a bit to see if perhaps, wet food is in store for her.

Aunt Jaycie never promised that she wouldn’t spoil the kids – or the cat – while they were away!

The dishwasher, however, is another story. The thing is possessed, I’m sure of it. It turns itself on without regard to the fact that it’s EMPTY, or has only one or two dishes. It doesn’t even seem to care if it has soap or not! I’ll come into the kitchen and discover that it has 32 minutes left (of a 2 hour and 14 minute cycle!). It’s electronic and has extremely sensitive buttons. Apparently, a passing child or merely a breeze can set it off. We had a real serious discussion yesterday, however, and I’ve kept it from washing air for nearly 24 hours. I am victorious!

It is also fun to learn to navigate in a strange city, which is even strange to the family. They moved here three weeks ago, only to leave again. They took me on a tour before they left, of the major places that I would need to go…McDonald’s, church, and Wal-Mart. What more do you need??? I am pleased to announce, though, that not only can I go to those places, I can take the back roads and not the main roads. I can find alternate routes home. I found the post office! (okay, mapquest gave me a little help) But even Sis has not been there. I am a great explorer.

I guess, when you look at it, it’s given me plenty of chances to feel like I’m successful. Maybe I should stay here a little longer!

A Moment to Myself

2009-07-14T10:28:00.000-07:00

I am living the life of a single parent.

Oh, no, there’s nothing wrong with me and Hubby! I’m staying at Bro’s house, taking care of his three children while he and Sis attend a conference out of town. The girls, CJ and Allie, are 10 and 8, and JJ is 4. I also brought along Todd, who adores his cousins and is a wild man playing with them.

But that presents some logistical problems. We’ve had a lot of fun playing, doing crafts, and hanging around the house, but we can’t stay cooped up forever. They need to get out and about some, and that means taking all four of them in the van…to someplace PUBLIC. LOL Not really a problem, as the girls are really cute with JJ and Todd, and mother them so that I can just direct the crowd where I need them to be.

The problem comes in when you have to go out for just one thing. Yesterday, we ventured to Hobby Lobby and Wal-Mart to stock up on craft supplies, goodies, and necessities. We got some hot dogs for dinner and headed to the bakery section to get some buns. Everyone was getting crazy by then, and when I saw the batteries that we needed, I dropped them in the cart and headed for the exit. It wasn’t until I got home that I realized that we still needed buns!

So…do I serve them hot dogs on bread and hope that they are okay with that? Do I drag the whole group back to Wal-Mart? Is there a mini-mart somewhere that I could dash in to? Leave them in the car? NO. That would make me crazy. Have the girls run in and get it? NO. They are living in a brand new area that none of us knows well yet and I couldn’t feel good about that.

We ended up eating leftovers and we’ll get hot dog buns next time we end up at Wal-Mart. It’s a different situation for me, as I usually have hubby at home, so I can leave Todd with him, or better yet – send Tux to the store to get what I need.

Most of the time, things go really well. They all jump on the trampoline, play quietly in their rooms (or not so quietly, but still happily), or watch TV. We walk to the park to play, or some other group activity. It gets crazy when one or more members of the group want to do something different, or definitely DON’T want to do what the others are doing.

And then there is the matter of quiet time. The kids are missing their parents (including Todd, who cries on the phone with Daddy and his brothers), and that means that they need some extra special attention. I also have to make sure that they eat somewhat nutritious meals (Aunt Jaycie did NOT promise that she wouldn’t feed them a lot of junk food during the week!), get enough sleep, and that the house is not completely and totally trashed. I spend the bulk of the day entertaining, comforting, cleaning…and then when it’s time for me to put everyone to bed and have some ME time…they are needing some lovin’. I’m happy to give it to them, but after a few days, I’m missing my blog, my Facebook time, and our family website! Not to mention the daily sojourn with Digifree, where I stock up on fun digital scrapbooking supplies.

And because my brother is military and we are surrounded by others in similar situations, it truly makes me appreciate military wives all the more! I know that Sis is often alone, when Bro is TDY for long periods of time. She does this for months on end sometimes, never having a reprieve or another parent to leave the kids with (or send the kids away with) for a moment’s peace.

Add to this the pressure of adjusting to a new area every couple of years, which means new routines, new friends, new surroundings. In this move, they even crossed the country, which means a different culture and different weather.

Before they left, I noticed that she sneaks out occasionally to weed the yard. That’s her thing here, they said. It’s therapeutic and allows her that down time, time to think. Time to regroup in her own head. She’s been lucky so far, as Bro is close to home, but the day will come.

It makes it all the more important to have a network of good friends that can help out. Trade babysitting, run errands, just to have adult conversation with!

Of the many things that I admire about military wives and Sis specifically, I have to point out one that you might not even consider. I have lived in my home for about 8 years. I still do not have all of the décor on the walls! Some rooms are decent, others a little bare. I just can’t decide what I want to do or can’t commit to anything.

Sis has lived in this house for three weeks. It is perfectly decorated with all of their things. It looks very much like the home that they had when CJ was born, and with the furniture being the same, it almost feels like that home, but without the humidity!!!

I have the luxury of taking time to make my home HOME. Military families move so often, and need the continuity of their home…and it makes it incredibly important to make it home immediately, especially for the children. I can see where it would make even the parents feel better about their new digs, too!

So today, I say hats off to military families everywhere! We appreciate their sacrifices, both great and small, on our behalf. And to all of you single moms, my heart goes out to you! Whatever brought you to this place, you are a saint to take on the task of raising a family alone.

Now, I must go, for the little boys are quiet…and that is never a good sign!!!

Bye Bye Birdy

2009-07-07T21:41:00.000-07:00

Isn’t there a movie where the bird appears and it’s a bad omen?

Yesterday, I was driving down a hill and saw a crow in the middle of the road, facing the side of the road but staring straight at me. Crows are stupid, they wait until the absolute last second before soaring off.

(on a side note, a nasty know-it-all boss that my hubby worked for used to insist that crows were incredibly smart. Which always made me question the fact that you always see dead ones on the side of the road – were those the only stupid ones?? I decided that the know it all was the stupid one, and hence, every time I see a crow, I think “That man was an idiot!” In the defense of my compassion, this was not his only attempt at proving his intellectual prowess and failure thereof, while at the same time belittling everyone around him)

Back to my crow. He stared straight at my car coming at him…and didn’t move! I was so upset! He would have been upset, had he not been bouncing alternately off the road and the bottom of my car. I am squeamish when it comes to the loss of life – any life – and it bothered me all day. (Gives a whole new meaning to "I can't Tweet", doesn't it??) I tried to put it out of my mind, but still kept thinking about it.

This morning, I was driving Musician into the orthodontist, and completely and totally minding my own business when another bird flew along the highway, flitting about flirtily…only to bounce off of my windshield. I didn’t see him tumble behind me, so I’m hoping that it was a glancing blow.

But now, I’m spooked. I mean, really! Who has two such close calls with birds in the span of 24 hours? To top it all off, I am about to get on a plane and fly across the country. OH MY GOSH! Dare I, with my birdy troubles of late? I watch the news, I know what birds do to airplanes!

They’re watching me, I’m sure of it. Beady little eyes staring me down for offing one of their own. I’m telling you, I can’t take the pressure.

Tomorrow, I’m gonna scatter bread crumbs across the lawn. A peace offering. Show them that I’m not the monster that I appear to be. He was looking STRAIGHT AT ME! He should have moved!

Then I’ll get on that plane with my head held high…and hope that no feathers fly.

Keep your fingers crossed for me! :)

Gambling that is GOOD for you!

2009-07-01T23:24:00.000-07:00

I was fascinated by psychology in college…I was originally a psychology major…and although I pursued a career in the most opposite of fields, I am still mesmerized by the human mind. I learned so much in the few classes that I did get in, things that I have used in everyday life, raising children, and most certainly – dealing with others in the world!

One of the most interesting subjects that we covered is the reward systems that shape our behavior. It is so important to provide motivation for folks to behave in a manner that will be most beneficial for the society in the long run. Through poorly thought out plans, well meaning folks have set in place a variety of systems and programs that provide incentive for exactly the opposite. I could go on all day on THAT subject!

But let’s talk about gambling. Gambling is incredibly addictive simply because there is the hint of a reward for your efforts. It is not a guaranteed reward…rewarding every effort…because that would eventually grow old. The subject would tire of the reward, and the behavior would cease or taper off. (AND it would put any gambling establishments in serious danger of financial failure!) It is not a reward spaced at regular intervals, which again becomes repetitive and the activity loses it’s excitement.

It offers a reward that may or may not happen on the next roll…or the next turn of the wheel. Okay, if not THIS one, then the next, or the one after that. It is the randomness that makes it all the more exciting and addictive. We imagine that just ONE MORE will net us the prize. Or maybe two more…and before you know it, you have used all of your resources and the payoff is still not in sight.

(Then, just after you quit, some old lady with a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other stumbles up to your machine, plops in a quarter, and wins YOUR prize!)

It’s called Random Reinforcement, and it is the most powerful of all reward systems. It creates a behavior that is nearly impossible to extinguish.

I am not a gambler. I am cheap, I am conservative, and I just can’t give up my money that easily! But I have my own gambling issues.

I have found an activity that has the same reward system…and is equally addictive. I contribute a block of time, and every so often, I am pleased to be blessed with a great treasure. The rush is incredible! And then no matter how long it took me to achieve that payoff, I am ready to invest that much more time to feel that again.

I’m talking about Family History research. I have dabbled a bit, and just when you think that the river of information has stilled and nearly become stagnant…something pops up out of the depths and you find yourself paddling to the next set of rapids.

I’ve had a great amount of success, all things considered. I have some incredible stories of how I have found information, and how the pieces all fit together so perfectly. I can tell you of the angel hands that I believe have been involved. That is the ultimate goal, to unite with family who have left this earth without completing their lifes’s work. To give them a place in our family tree and remember them. For them, my gambling addiction can be a beautiful thing.

My most recent obsession (should we call it that?) is the Washington Cemetery, the old graveyard that we visited with Hubby’s geocaching group. I am still haunted by the names that I saw there, and wanting to know their stories. I can’t imagine how they came to be so alone and neglected! I want someone to claim them, to share their ambitions and dreams.

My thought is that I could make a website for the graveyard, with a list of names. There are lists out there, but they are not complete! I checked my pictures against the list, and I found at least 27 names that were not on the original list. Maybe someone is looking for them! My hope is to spend some time there, and with the unofficial curator, a neighbor that has fallen in love with the graveyard and tries to take care of it. Maybe we can even flesh out some of the names with their stories.

I’ve started a spreadsheet with the pertinent data…I can cross reference it with any hits that I get on familysearch.org or ancestry.com…usgenweb, anywhere that I can find any data. I can post the information that my cousin, N, has given me. Screenshots of census data, obituaries, photos. I can hope that anyone who might be looking for these names will stumble across it. Maybe even give us more information.

Did I mention that I’m somewhat of an overachiever, too? I have big plans. I have grand ideas. We’ll see if I can find the time to “gamble” on making a connection. Wow. What a payoff that would be!!! N suggests that you spend 10 minutes a day on Family History, and see how much you can accomplish in that small amount of time. I think that I could do that.

Or…maybe stay up all night researching and organizing the data.

See what I mean? It’s compelling!

How is YOUR Family History coming along? What can you do in 10 minutes a day? Can you actually resist that urge to spend the time and maybe stumble across some big find????

It’s gambling that is good for you…and even better for your relatives!

(gravesite of Mary "Mollie" Hanley, and the photo of her parents (William Jackson Hanley and Mary Campbell Hanley that N found)

Asking Yourself the Hard Questions

2009-06-29T21:45:00.001-07:00

I believe that in order to truly be whole, we need to know ourselves. Of course, we know what our favorite color is, what we like to do…all of the usual things. But do you know WHY? Have you asked yourself the hard questions, and heard the answer clearly?

It’s so easy to lie to yourself. We do it all of the time, to justify our actions, or to eliminate pain. It’s a great defense against the barrage of messages that bombard us every day, chipping away at our psyche, making us question our beliefs.

But is it healthy? I’m going to say no, as a general rule.

Even our most mundane tendencies can usually be explained, and the explanation might just be as mundane as the idea itself. But what of the times that it is not? When the tendency is something that hurts us, or hurts our loved ones around us? That is when it becomes necessary to question our motives and discover what makes us tick, so to speak.

It sounds easy, doesn’t it? But don’t kid yourself, we are very good liars, especially when it is to ourselves! We WANT to believe the inaccuracies that protect us from making changes that may be painful to address.

Here’s a simple example: Seat belts. There are laws to ensure that we wear our seat belts, whether we like them or not. This practice may or may not save lives, depending on whom you ask, but our responses are more important. Do you readily agree to this, because it is a law? Or do you chafe against the idea that someone is telling you what to do? Do you avoid wearing your seat belt just to prove that you CAN? Even though you believe that it will save your life?

It gets more complicated.

I have a real pet peeve about people falling asleep on the couch, watching TV. It used to make me crazy! I would get so irritated at people, and I had quite a few friends who made a regular habit of it.

But why did it irk me so?

It came down to the fact that I am a schedule girl, a deliberate girl, and one that sees everything as a procedure. I simply cannot “fall asleep”, because there are things that must be done before one goes to sleep. Put on pajamas, brush your teeth, turn off the lights…that sort of thing. To simply drift off in front of the TV set implies that you have no regard for these duties. Or that you are too lazy to do so.

Is that true? Of course not! Everyone has different priorities and ways of doing things, and that does not mean that one is right and another wrong. Once I came to terms with this, I am much more tolerant of drifters. Which is the way that it should be, of course.

I had a real eye opener once when I was talking with a cousin that is much more laid back in her approach to parenting. At the time, I was a stickler for bath, teeth brushed, pajamas, put the babies to bed routine. I would pack to go visit my family, and it took many suitcases just for me and the two boys. She, on the other hand, arrived at home with a couple of suitcases and six children in tow. I was amazed that she could travel so lightly, so we were discussing how she did it.

She never carried her own hair appliances, as she would borrow her sisters’ when she arrived. And she only packed a few changes of clothes for each of her children. What it came down to is that she would allow her children to wear the same clothes, both day and night, for a couple of days. I was shocked. That was just….WRONG! Children need clean pajamas! Children need clean clothes! There was impropriety here! She simply shrugged it off, laughing that it really didn’t matter to her.

I thought about it for a few days after our talk. I simply could not bring myself to allow my children to sleep in their clothing…even if I planned to bathe them and put on clean clothes in the morning! (Dirty clothes in bed??? OH MY GOSH!)

She emailed me a few days later, laughing. She had pondered this thought, also, and as hard as she tried….she simply could not force herself to worry about her kids wearing clean clothes at every moment.

Part of this is simply our personality types. I am a germophobe, she doesn’t believe that they exist. I am a neat freak; she is more concerned about activities than whether or not her house could pass a white glove test. We could not change our basic “spots” if we tried.

But I’ve also learned that sometimes, her way works. Tuxedo Boy was my GQ kid. He insisted on changing his clothes if they got the least bit wet or dirty, and now I’m not sure if I trained him that way, or he trained me. Musician changed all of that. Musician was a dirt magnet. I could not keep that child clean to save my soul. I eventually gave up, and allowed him to wear dirty clothes…not just for more than half an hour, but sometimes even to BED! (I heard that collective gasp out there!)

And then you begin to dig deeper. I once lit into a friend of mine for getting new glasses that I hated. I even told him that! I hate your new glasses! Can you believe it?? It wasn’t until later that night that I really asked myself what the deal was, and I was disappointed in myself.

It wasn’t the glasses that I disliked. I’d had a bad day, and it seemed like everything was changing. I was trying to deal with new policies at work, new challenges, and new concerns with my family. The changing glasses were simply one more drop in that bucket that I simply could not take. I felt like things would never be comfortable – the SAME – again.

I apologized first thing the next morning, admitting my very immature and RUDE behavior.

Thankfully, however, I was able to find out exactly why it bothered me so much, and address it like an adult. (too bad I wasn’t adult enough to act appropriately from the start!)

I’ve since learned to ask myself quickly…and respond just as quickly. It solves problems much more easily, when you know what the problem really is, as opposed to the smoke screens that we throw up in front of ourselves as protection.

I’m happy to say that when I went to lunch recently and discovered that my favorite restaurant had changed the Friday special, I was able to recover. Even though it made me feel insecure and out of control, I talked myself out of it, and ordered the next best thing.

There are great advantages to having a deep and ongoing conversation with yourself! Someday, I hope to understand why I have such an aversion to butterfly graphics…

Hmmm. We’ll save that for another day.

Learning waits for Maturation

2009-06-28T20:32:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, I had a psychology professor that made a real impact on me. I remember almost every word that he said in class, I still quote him frequently. Interesting how someone can make such an impression on you. His name was Dr. Alvin Price, and he was smart, funny, and very well grounded. He wrote the book “101 Alternatives to Spanking”, and is a great inspiration to my own parenting methods.

I LOVED his class.

One of the first things that we did was to take a survey so that he could get a feel for who was in the class. There were many questions, but I only remember one. I really deliberated on this one. I wanted to make sure that I gave exactly what I meant, just in case I was ever held to my answer.

If there were only one food in heaven, what would you want it to be?

I choose potatoes. Maybe an odd choice, but I love potatoes! You can cook them in so many different ways, and they are nutritious and delicious. I’d say, the perfect food to eat forever. I had a roommate at the time that made killer hashbrowns from scratch, and that was probably on my mind, also.

So when he gets all of the surveys and goes through them, he notes that of the class of 250, the number one answer to this question was….potatoes! There were about 32 of us that answered Potatoes, and all but one of us was from Idaho. Um. That would be me.

He also talked about keeping his father’s mind working in his old age. Dr. Price had subscribed to a controversial magazine…anonymously…for his father. Then he would show up to visit on the day the magazine arrived, and he would argue with his dad. He was sure that this was what kept his father sentient.

He thought that it was sinful to laugh in the car. Something that he learned from his father, who did not allow giggling when they traveled.

He told a hilarious story about his daughters and coming of age. One of the younger ones noticed that her sister was growing hair in unusual places, and commented on it when they were bathing one day. The older sister immediately decided that they were too old to be showering together! The little one would torment her by singing, “Hairy, hairy!”

A family council was called, and the fuzzy sister insisted that they make it a family rule that no one could sing “Hairy hairy”.

The next week, the little sister would hum the tune without saying the words.

A family council was called. Fuzzy suggested that perhaps it be enacted that no one could even HUM “Hairy hairy”.

Little sister was not deterred. She would simply make the facial expressions and raise her eyebrows as if she were singing…or humming…”Hairy hairy”.

What came next? Of course, a family council was called! It then became illegal to even PRETEND to HUM “Hairy hairy”.

My boys love this story, which has been repeated throughout the years. Even my mother will hum “Hairy hairy” once in awhile and giggle.

I also learned a great deal about psychology, of course. The most notable thing that Dr. Price taught was that psychology could be used to explain away religion, if you really wanted to. And then he proceeded to show us how psychology was an extension of religion, and how to keep your faith while studying the subject. He was amazing.

But what I’ve been thinking about recently is that he taught us that learning waits for maturation. For instance, a child will not learn to read, to be pottie trained, etc, until they are mature enough physically to do so. You can try to push it, teach them around the clock…but they will not learn until it is time.

(incidentally, he said that a child is mature enough to read when they can reach over their head and grab the top of the opposite ear. Tux learned to read at 3.5, which I was not expecting. I forgot to test the arm theory! Musician refused to try to learn to read…he’s hilarious…and again, I forgot. My one last chance is Todd, and he gets his arm stretched over his head frequently!)

The reason that this is bouncing around my head is that all of a sudden, things are falling into place for me. So fast, in fact, that it makes me nervous. Or it would make me nervous, if I didn’t have that still small voice that is telling me, “I just had to wait until you were ready.”

I have worked towards my goals for some time now, and made such very little progress. Enough to keep me alive, keeping me working towards them, but that is it. It is only when I made a breakthrough inside that the outside world began to take notice.

I’m enjoying every minute of the now. I love how I feel, and the doors that are opening for me. I want to slow down the world so that I can savor every second. I know that the euphoria won’t last, but I’m hoping that the confidence will remain.

It makes me wonder if all of this would have happened sooner, if I had healed sooner? Did I hold myself back? And then I realize that the timing was perfect. Everything went as it was supposed to. You cannot rush these things, they take time.

You have to be ready for the learning!

The View from Here

2009-06-27T17:49:00.000-07:00

I’ll tell you what is wrong with the geography in our area. It’s flat. You cannot see anything from here, except…HERE.

I’m a mountain girl at heart, even though I’ve literally grown up at the beach. There is something about being able to see something above you, to gauge your progress by comparing it to something that is bigger…higher… than yourself. I pine for a good valley, to be able to see the mountains all around me, and know that they will be there tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

Here, I see trees. Above that, nothing. Even the mountains that we can see from here are so far away that they are merely adornments to the distant horizon. You can travel, and yet, see no change in the scenery. The same can be said of many locations. Southern Idaho comes to mind, where you seem to stand still for hundreds of miles.

That’s what I’m talking about. Standing still, making no progress. The actual view is symbolic of the culture of a small town. It’s comfortable. It’s home. And in many respects, idyllic. However, it limits the view somewhat. Our young people see here…and only here. They do not have a vision of the world outside, because they seldom see it from here.

I was honored to have chaperoned a number of groups of small town children to Space Camp a few years ago. What an incredible experience for them, and for me! The one thing that struck me about the program is that it opened so many avenues for our children. They were able to see and learn about so many varied occupations, as NASA has a vast array of needs. Even if they were not particularly interested in space, itself, they saw a larger world out there.

It’s critical to their development to know that they can do anything. They need to see beyond the local economy, and into the realm of possibility. I believe that a good education in a large university is imperative, but it’s difficult to accomplish that in today’s economy. They need to have that vision long before they submit their college applications, so that they will have a strong enough drive to achieve that they can escape the gravitational pull of their own small town.
It was difficult, when I left to go to school. Living in a small town is wonderful. You know everyone, and they know you. You become comfortable with those around you, and a little anxious about new situations. You just rarely have to experience them! But I’m grateful for that experience.

I think that the key lies in the ability to give them wings, while providing deep, sturdy roots. To push them out of the nest, so to speak. To provide that inspiration to fly. If they do, and then return, they’ll be wiser, stronger, and in a position to CHOOSE to stay in the small town. They will not be there simply by default.

Don’t get me wrong, the vistas from our shores are exquisite. The cool sea breeze, the soft sand between your toes. There are plenty of folks who yearn for this, and yet, I take it for granted.

I think that it’s easy to get caught with this manner of thinking as an adult, too. We see only the day to day aspects of our lives, and we forget that there is a big wide world out there. There are things to see, things to do, and most of all…things to LEARN. We have to go to find it, because it won’t come to us. And we can’t see it from here.

I have a theory as to why I am so enamored of the mountains, but in this instance, it is vision and aspiration that I see in them. They tower above us, regal, unmoving. They urge us to scale them, to reach upward and arrive at some peak in triumph. They give us hope that someday, we can be higher – better than we are today.

And I want to climb!

Hubby Rocks!

2009-06-25T21:32:00.000-07:00

I bet that y’all thought that I’d forgotten about Father’s Day. Not so! I was just thinking about what I want to say, so it was awhile in coming.

First of all, I have to say that the moment that I found my husband the sexiest was when we watched the video of Tux’s birth. Seeing him getting dressed up to enter the surgical room, with that glow on his face – priceless! As we watched him exiting the room, carrying Tux…he said to me, “Now watch me float down the hall!” He did. He was so proud of his son! Then came a clip that I hadn’t seen before. We were home, and I had fallen asleep on the couch. Bedraggled, still puffy, and with no makeup, I was out like a light. He filmed me sleeping, then, on the tape, whispered, “Love you, baby.” Be still my heart.

He still gives me goosebumps when he is good to our children. I still remember him whispering into Musician’s cradle, “I know that I don’t spend as much time with you as I do your brother, but we will. I love you!”

And when he watches Todd dancing about and says, “I love that baby so much.”

They say that the best thing that a father can do for his children is to love their mother, but I would counter that the one thing that he could do to please his wife is to adore their children. It’s all connected.

I love the picture above, taken on Fourth of July a year or two ago. Seeing the silhouettes of Tux and his dad laughing together warms my heart. I absolutely love to see them spending time together, enjoying one another, and laughing together. (As long as it’s not at me!)

He is one of the new breed of fathers, who are completely involved with their children. I love that! Today’s Dads change diapers, tote the kids around, play with them, and never “babysit”, because they don’t consider spending time with their own children a chore. Hubby was an equal caregiver when Tux was tiny, because I worked days and he worked nights. (Great for Tux, not so good for us!) By the time Musician came along, he worked days with me, but still contributed to the care of both children.

When Musician was born, we knew that I was going to have a C-Section, so Hubby just planned to cook for a few weeks. When it turned out that Musician was a bona fide mama’s boy, those weeks stretched out to nine months! It was so much easier for him to cook, he said, than to try to comfort the baby while I cooked.

After I started cooking again, I would prepare dinner on four nights a week, and Hubby would cover the other three. The one cooking also cleaned, so that on the nights that you were off kitchen duty, you were free and clear to do your own thing. It was a beautiful arrangement, and one that many friends were jealous of. (Get your own Hubby!)

There have also been many times that I was travelling for work and Hubby was left with the kids. Which is not so bad, except that he kept having odd situations arise in my absence. Our animals died. The cat went into heat and the kids wanted to know what was going on…they asked strange questions of him at the dinner table…(Musician asked him one night what an “O” was…he explained it plainly and smartly, but then called me and told me to GET HOME!)…and he handled it all with ease.

So much ease, in fact, that when I ran into complications with Todd, he was ready and able to handle the load. The weekend that I was transferred to the University Hospital three hours away, he had one of the busiest weekends of the year at work. The next five weeks, he would spend his week working and making sure that Tux and Musician had all that they needed in their lives, and then spend the weekend with me and Todd at the hospital. The driving back and forth was brutal, and left him little time for himself.

All during this, he was trying to make things easier on me. He would take care of little details that I just couldn’t bear to deal with…just managing health care for the baby and I was all that I could handle. There were so many times that he would ask me what we needed to do about something and I would give him that blank stare, completely overwhelmed by the information that I was being bombarded with. He would just take care of things, and I was so relieved. I couldn’t have done it without him.

In addition to the stress and strain of maintaining a home and family, tending to a recovering new mother and premature baby, his grandmother was gravely ill. He tried to stop and visit on his way back and forth from the Hospital, which added to his load. I have no idea how he survived all of that. His grandmother died the day that we got to bring Todd home. A bittersweet day for him.

We learned at that time that we were a team. We could handle anything, as long as we handled it together. We try to pick up where the other one lets off, and make up the difference. After 21 ½ years of marriage, we are more solid than ever. I adore him, and I love the life that we have together. I couldn‘t be more pleased with the children that he has given me, and how we have raised them. We have weathered so many storms together that I cannot even think of facing another without him.

It has been so with our latest struggle: my unemployment. Not only has it been hard to deal with my depression, the financial struggles, and the adjustment to being the sole breadwinner…but he has also had to deal with health issues of his own that he has bravely battled without complaint.

After all of these months, he has never expressed anger or disappointment in me. We have not taken it out on each other when things got tough. I think that is pretty darn remarkable.

And HE is pretty darn remarkable. Definitely a keeper!

Happy Father’s Day, my sweet!

Stop Worrying about the Sequins!

2009-06-24T19:31:00.000-07:00

Some years back, Mom and I were working on costumes for our local Junior Miss Program. Budgets were tight, but we wanted to make a splash, so it always required some creative costuming, and this year was one of our better ones. The girls would be wearing black leggings and black t-shirts, over which different layers were added to make two very different costumes for the production number and then for Fitness.

The production number was to Debbie Gibson’s “Electric Youth”, and it was going to be stunning! To really make it glitzy, we went for sequin-embellished tops. In order to accommodate our budget we did this by gluing sequins on to mesh netting, which would be worn over their black t-shirts. A good swath…or rather, starburst…of glue was laid down, and then we used tweezers to lay out fuchsia sequins. It was tedious, but we only had about 10 of them to do, and we could laugh and visit while we made them.

Mom, however, was getting frustrated. She would lay out her sequins, and then when they dried, she would find some that fell off. She’d lay it out again, put on more glue, and put down the sequins. And of course, more would fall off when she picked it up the next time. I was finishing three to her one.

I kept trying to explain to her that individual sequins didn’t matter, it was the overall effect that we were going for. Having been in charge of costumes for years, I had learned that you didn’t have to make it picture perfect up close, so long as the end product was pleasing on stage. (Honestly, I used Saran Wrap as big wide bow belts one year!)

Still, she muttered and puttered until I finally got irritated.

“Stop worrying about the sequins, woman!” I reminded her. “Do you really think that the audience is going to notice a few dropped sequins from off of the stage?”

In truth, you couldn’t even tell that there were any sequins missing if you stood back a foot or two. You could be missing 25 or 30 sequins, for that matter, but the effect was still the same as if we had spent days sewing on each tiny little glittery speck. There was an acceptable level of loss, given the circumstances. It was a costume. It was meant to last five minutes on stage, and it didn’t have to be perfect.

She was not convinced, at first, but agreed to stop focusing on each sequin. We finally completed the tops and were ready for the big night.

Some days later, we were talking about another issue that had come up in our lives, and she had an epiphany. The ‘sequin rule’ applied in that instance, too! She had been worrying so much about a singular subject that she neglected to step back and look at the big picture. In the grand scheme of things, the problem was minor – a few dropped sequins. It didn’t ruin the pattern of her life, however, and therefore…she needed to just stop worrying about the small stuff.

From that day forth, she catches herself as she gets caught in one of those situations, and she’ll laugh and say, “I’m worrying about the sequins again, aren’t I?”

How many times have we focused on one little sequin, while losing sight of the glorious masterpiece that we are creating in our lives? Have we spent too much time on little details that will be lost in the long run? Kept ourselves from progressing because we were trying to put back every little thing that fell out of place, when it really didn’t affect our eternal salvation? What more could we achieve if we could look at our work, be satisfied with what we have accomplished, and then move on to bigger and better things? Do we really need to control everything so tightly that we cannot lift our heads to enjoy the complete work?

Tonight, I was talking with a friend about the injustices that some endure here on earth. She was trying to understand WHY. The only thing that I could say was that sometimes, we have to go through trials to learn something, or to grow in some way. But I also believe that sometimes, we suffer in order to help another to learn something. When you look at it that way, it makes these things easier to bear. If, in the end, we have helped another along the path, then our own tiny bit of suffering – for that is what it is in the eternal scheme of things – is worth it. We will have lost a single sequin, for the sake of a grand production.

Our costumes were dazzling, by the way, and the production was perfect. The tops were cast aside, never to be worn again, and not a single person commented on any missing sequins. Life is good.

We are the weirdest herd I've ever seen

2009-06-24T10:13:00.000-07:00

Sid from “Ice Age”: 'I don’t know about you guys, but we are the weirdest herd I have ever seen.'

We have, undoubtedly, the weirdest herd on our block. While our neighbors go out walking their cute little shih tzu puppies, we walk our big galoot of a dog. Followed by Todd, who ambles after her, followed by the cats.

No kidding. The cats think that they are part of the parade, although they try to be aloof. They keep a safe distance away, lest anyone think that they are trying to be ‘with’ us.

Cars slow down when they approach our little procession, unsure of how to drive through. One cat will sit in the middle of the road and stare, while the other one takes a dive to the side of the road that the dog, baby, and I are NOT on…all I can do is shrug and smile!

Sparta, the youngest cat, will even follow us when we take a walk around the big block. He always keeps his distance, with this “Oh! Are you taking a walk right now, too? What a coincidence!” look on his face.

When the family is in the back yard, the animals are never far away. We throw the ball for Lady, and Sparta has to run alongside her, batting at her as she runs. When she tires and goes to lay in the shade, he lies in wait for Boo, the older cat. (Who, incidentally, is not amused by his kittenish behavior!) It will be peaceful and relaxing, suddenly shattered by the sound of a catfight breaking out as Sparta attacks Boo.

I used to work from home, and it was me, Toddy as a baby, and the ‘herd’. While Todd slept in his carseat, I worked at the computer…with Lady at my feet and the cats sleeping across the desk or looking out the window. If I went to the bathroom, everyone had to come with me…which can be a bit disconcerting if you are working on something important in there! More than once, I told them, “In some cultures, this is considered a PRIVATE room!”

I can’t cook in the kitchen without supervision, and Lady’s favorite spot to lay is on the rug in front of the sink. Not really convenient for me! She claims it so often that Todd calls it “Lady’s bed”.

When they are not following us around, the cats are often found at either side of the driveway, just waiting for someone to come home, like fluffy gargoyles amid the shrubs. One day, I pulled in and was listening to a discussion on the radio. I sat in the car to hear the end of the conversation, and apparently, this was unacceptable to Boo. She perched herself on the windshield and stared in at me, trying to figure out why in the world I was not getting out of the car. Sparta just climbs in as soon as the door is opened, to inspect the interior of the car. We suspect that someday, we’ll get a call from someone who inadvertently took him home!

We have our little routines. I usually get up about 7AM, in time to see the big boys off to school. The animals know that is when they get their daily ration of wet food – a major event in our house. If I’m not up by 7:30 or so, they lay outside my bedroom door and listen for signs of life. If they hear me move around…or an alarm go off…there is whining, meowing, scratching, and then a THUMP as Lady tries to head-butt the door open.

If they don’t hear me in a reasonable period of time, Lady bumps open Todd’s door (which has a hair-trigger latch), and they invade his room. Lady makes enough noise opening the door, followed by Sparta kneading Todd with his claws – and the subsequent screaming by Todd – that wakes me up as I hear it over the baby monitor. And I get up. Mission accomplished!

They have us trained well, I must say. The cats demand food at irregular intervals, which leaves Tux screaming, “But I JUST fed you!” When I remind him for the hundredth time today that his cats are hungry. Lady loves this, because she’s a glutton and hovers over the cats, encouraging them to eat sparingly so that there is something left for her to eat. (Not that she doesn’t get her own food, she’s well fed, I assure you!) If you don’t feed Sparta at his insistence, he will simply tear into a bag of cat food and feed himself. And the dog, who follows behind him and stuffs her head into the bag.

We actually got Sparta for Todd, when he was a baby. Boo is not a cuddly kitty, especially with children. She very rarely graces Tux or me with her lovin’, but we are not to love her unless she initiates it. So Hubby decided that we needed a sweet kitty for Toddy to grow up with.

He didn’t take into account the fact that Sparta is a wild cat mix, with ocelot in his blood. He was the sweetest little face, fluffy ball of fur that you ever saw. And then he would scratch you.

We worried about Lady or Todd hurting him, he was so tiny. We were always yelling, “Lady, no kitty!” Until we realized that he was actively seeking her out and tearing into her nose. Then we started to yell, “Sparta! No doggy!” Toddy would grab two handfuls of kitty, mindless of what parts he was grabbing. We needn’t have worried; Sparta inflicted at least as much injury on Todd as Todd did to him.

Two years later, they are best of buds. One of their games at Christmas time involved Sparta crawling up the Christmas tree and peeking out from among the branches. He would bat at Todd (or anyone else) who ventured near the tree.

“Mom!” Sparta is in the tree laughing at me!” Toddy told me.

“How do you know that he’s laughing at you?” I asked.

Todd looked at me like I was stupid. “His mouf is open!”

All clear the way when the herd goes by—for your own protection and sanity!

Angels or Demons?

2009-06-22T23:58:00.000-07:00

I got to see “Angels and Demons” tonight at the theater, something that I’ve been looking forward to. Dan Brown’s novels have always intrigued me for many reasons…not the least of which is the historical context in which he has placed the Robert Langdon stories. I love to hear the rich history that he weaves in and about his fictional characters and their stories. It’s just important to note that there are additions of fiction, and you need to wade through what is actual fact and what is Dan’s imagination.

Some have had a difficult time discerning between the two, and found the books offensive. I do a little research and educate myself on which is which, and then I can completely enjoy the novel without worrying about whether or not he ‘got it right’.

Many things came to mind as I watched the movie, which is beautiful and set in Rome and Vatican City. (although I understand that they had to build a scale model of St Peter’s Square, as they were not allowed to film there) Since I’m unlikely to visit there any time soon, it allowed me to see this area and learn some of it’s rich historical significance. I am a complete sucker for anything OLD, and particularly if there are good stories to accompany said old. Add incredible architecture and breathtaking art, and I’m hooked.

I loved reading the books, which of course go into much more detail. It then sends me to the internet to research the places and things that he describes. It is always hard for me to believe there are so many places and people that seem to exist without my having any knowledge of them. Is that egocentric, or what?!

I also realized, both reading the book and watching the movie, that there are people in this world whose intelligence is awe-inspiring…symbologists, historians, hadron collider scientists…and I am not one of those people! Whenever you feel yourself getting a bit big in your britches, lay your knowledge end to end with one of these geniuses, and it will bring you right back down to earth!

The overall theme of the movie is science versus religion, which I always find an interesting discussion. It is a recurring theme in many novels, including John Case’s The Genesis Code, another book that I have read more than once. (I guess I think that if I keep reading them, eventually, some of that knowledge will sink into my puny head!)

The argument goes something like this: Does science explain away God, or does God override science? To me, the answer is clear. God IS science, and science is God! There’s a line in the movie that is something to the effect that there are things that science cannot explain, and that is where faith comes in. I believe that the two go hand in hand, and that someday, we’ll understand how they coexist.

With Evolution versus Creationism, for instance, each has evidence to support their theory, which suggests to me that science is just too new to truly understand the big picture. We keep trying, but we don’t have it all figured out yet. For me, it is enough to know that we are created in the image of God…that He somehow made us and put us here on this earth…and that is all that I need to know. The specifics will come later.

When I was in college, I had a psychology professor that pointed out that you could explain away religion with psychology. I believe that the reason that religion so perfectly uses psychology is because God himself is ‘familiar’ with how our minds work. Don’t you think?

There are ethical concerns, to be sure, when science challenges religion. This is addressed in passing during the movie. Stem cell research, cloning, and anti-matter are good examples. How far can man go to challenge the powers that God has, and can we recreate what He has done? Are we ethically bound by any moral obligations, or should we forge ahead in any technology?

I also loved the concept put forth by one of the cardinals, who says, “Religion is flawed because man is flawed.” It is of the utmost importance that we understand that religion is often PEOPLE, not God. People make mistakes, and they have their own agendas to support. We can’t confuse the people with the Gospel, which is perfect. We cannot let someone’s behaviors, beliefs, or propaganda to deter us from the things that we know to be true…and the only way to know those things is to study and pray about what you are learning. Only then will we be able to discern what is human flaw, and what is God. Our relationship to Him is very, very personal!

The book has a piece in which the Camerlengo suddenly has an epiphany, seeming to be from God. The onlookers are amazed that perhaps God does still speak to His children. I was utterly fascinated by the concept. I have answers to my prayers nearly every day…I cannot imagine not knowing that He can still speak to us! I thought of how sad it is that many feel that He is now silent.

And finally, once you have seen the movie or read the book, you have to ask yourself…who are the angels, and who are the demons? There are injustices on all sides, and there are atrocities committed for good reasons. When does something good become evil because of our motives, and when does something evil become good because of our motives? Hmmm…ponder that one!

What I know for myself is that if I am right with God, then I am right. As long as I align my will to His, and follow the paths that He wants me to follow, then nothing else matters. In the end, it will all be for good, because He will not lead me astray.

My one good poem

2009-06-21T23:48:00.000-07:00

Things are crazy right now, and I haven't had a moment to write this weekend! So I'll leave you with a poem that I wrote when I was a teenager. Prophetic, of sorts, as it describes my life as a adult, and the process of losing your humanity when others disappoint and abandon you.

"A Paper Heart of Deepest Red
Fell upon the floor...
...and bled

It's sides were ragged, ripped and torn
It's center sagging, sad and worn
And then that little paper heart
began to shred and fall apart
No one saw it's final show
No one saw it's lifeline go...

...it laid upon the cold, stone floor
for hours, days, or maybe more
'til someone came and swept it away.

That's why I have no heart today"

The reason that I recite it now is that I'm no longer that little paper heart. I'm not even shredded or ragged. I've found that you can actually CHOOSE to let go, and to move on. I have a heart...and though there are those in my past that will never be allowed to touch it again, I am open to new relationships. I'm not even angry anymore, because it just doesn't matter. I don't have to be the product of what has been dealt to me, and I don't have to take it out on the people that I meet, just because I've been hurt before.

Sure, my heart was swept up and thrown away, but I've found a new one!

What Photoshop means to me...

2009-06-20T22:54:00.000-07:00

I was born a photographer, you could say, as my mother was always snapping pics and passed that on to me. I’ve always had a camera, usually had it near, and made many attempts to create something that was stunning. My cameras were all low end until I started taking pictures of my children and was disappointed with the quality. I invested in a ‘decent’ Olympus, which gave way to a digital version when they were still fairly new.

My cousin E exposed me to a whole new world of photography about five years ago.

I had mentioned that I wanted to buy a decent camera, and he helped me pick one out. I ended up with a Canon Powershot S1 IS. It was a definite upgrade from my Olympus, which was an early point and shoot digital that had very limited functions.

I was thrilled with the Canon, which fell into their “prosumer” line, meaning that it was a step above P&S, but not quite an SLR. It did so much more than the little Olympus, and took some excellent pictures. In fact, I loved it so much that when it died after 4 years and nearly 11,000 pictures, I replaced it with a newer version of the same camera…an S5.

E also introduced me to Photoshop Elements, and I think that it has had a bigger impact on my life than even the camera! I had photo editing software before…something that came with another piece of software, most likely. It did some fun things like transform my photo into a cartoon, but it was very poor quality once I saved it. PSE changed all of that. I could resize a picture, crop it, make any other change…and come out with a BETTER picture than I had started with. I was amazed!

I once told E that PSE could save a bad photo. Well, he had never taken a bad photo, so he shook his head and told me that PSE could make a good photo great. I stand by my original assessment, but I do concur with his, also!

He taught me how to crop an image, adjust the levels, and sharpen. For months, that’s all that I did. Then started playing with filters, layers, dodge, burn…it was like a playground for mommies! It could take a photo that missed the mark and make it liveable…a good thing for any scrapbooker.

When I lost my job, I wanted to make sure that I was using my time for good things. I worked on my photo editing, and found that there is a big wide world out there with tutorials just for the asking! I learned some amazing things. I’ll try to share what I’ve learned as we go along.

When my first Canon died at Christmas, I knew that I could not afford to replace it with an SLR. The one that I was eyeing was about $1500, and that was out of our price range. I told myself that I’d never know how to use it, anyway, as I was still learning about photography. I knew that it would be another couple of years before I was ready for a bigger, better camera.

Sadly, I have had a long period of unemployment, and lots of time to practice my skills! I’m feeling really comfortable with my camera and I’m finding things that I WISH that I could do, things that I can’t do with my Canon. So that schedule has been accelerated, but in the opposite direction as our income! I’m just gonna have to make do!

So I’ve had a lot of fun learning more about Photoshop and practicing various techniques, and I couldn’t live without it! I have the program open at least once a day, usually much more.

Photoshop means…

…that I can fix out of focus photos by using creative filters…a must know for any mother of a toddler

…that I can adjust overexposed or underexposed pictures, bad lighting , and too much lighting, which is a godsend for those of us who are photographing moving bodies.

…I can crop my photos to show just the view that I want, even if I don’t get it perfectly through the viewfinder.

…I can make posters or large size prints, knowing that the quality will not be compromised.

…I can make collages and digi scrap.

…I can remove distracting elements that may be in the frame.

…I can adjust the background to place more focus on my subject

…I can add in a pretty sky where there was a cloud cover – absolutely a miracle for our area!

…I can add creative and artistic touches, from coloring effects to filters

…I can remove the background altogher, and put my subjects someplace else! The Musician was so happy to be 13 that he announced, “I’m a teenager! The world revolves around ME!” I took a photo of him and put him in the center of the universe. It was the coolest 13 year old portrait ever!

Because I am a mother who wants to chronicle her children’s lives, Photoshop also means that I can take pictures without worrying about…

…Toddy’s beautiful blue eyes no longer shining red…I can fix that

…Chocolate on his face, I can fix that, too!

…boogers (although I still try)

With the older boys, I don’t have to be so picky about what they are wearing, which makes photo shoots and candid shots a breeze! I don’t have to worry about…

…Wearing a t-shirt with a logo that doesn’t fit my theme -- just remove it!

…Wearing the wrong colors. I once took a pic of the three boys in various colored t’s, then changed the colors to fit my Christmas Cards.

…rumpled hair

…funny faces in a group shot. I just take lots of shots, then cut and paste the best face of each person onto one composite photo. Brilliant!

And because I am not 20, and my face shows both the ravages of time and three bouts with Bell’s Palsy, I can edit photos of myself to soften wrinkles, even up my smile, even straighten my teeth, if necessary. If all else fails, I can just remove myself from the picture completely.

Photoshop means that even a schlep like me can present some pretty decent pictures!

Losing a Child

2009-06-17T23:27:00.000-07:00

My thoughts keep turning back to the Borovec twins, the headstone that we found at the graveyard cleanup project, and discussed in "When Pigs Fly". My sweet cousin found their death records, and we discovered that they died of “gastroenteritis”, a digestive issue of some sort.

How sad to think that they were unable to help them; this is something that with today’s technology and knowledge, they could certainly manage in any hospital. In 1917, it was another story. I know from my readings about the Flu Epidemic that doctors were not very well trained at that time, and had very limited resources anyway. Not much was really known about the body and it’s systems, and those who knew were generally not doctors. Did you know that back then, you didn’t have to graduate from any medical school, or even prove your competence? Truly a scary time to be sick!

It is apparent that it was either environmental or contagious, as both twins were affected. Was it something that they ate that caused gastric distress? Food practices also being suspect at the time, it may be that they ate something that they simply could not deal with as tiny boys, only three years old. (The age of TODDler!) Their parents may have eaten the same thing, and not been affected at all. Or was it a bug?

I of course think of their mother, who likely cared for them and watched them go, five days apart. To lose first one, and then, still grieving that loss, to lose the second. I cannot even imagine her pain.

Being a mother is the most important thing in my life, and I am dreading the day that my children move out…I can’t stand the thought of losing them in any other way. When I found out that we would be having Todd, it was a total surprise. An unplanned pregnancy. (considered as an ‘unwanted pregnancy’ by government agencies who track this sort of thing, but I assure you that unwanted and unplanned are two entirely different things!)

At 7.5 weeks, I began to hemorrhage. This carried on for days, and my doctor had no explanation. He told me that if I was miscarrying, there was nothing that he could do to save my baby. I remember sitting in his office, sobbing to his nurse. I was already committed to and loved this child more than anything. I couldn’t imagine losing him, even though he was something that we had not planned for.

Thankfully, it turned out to be a case of Placenta Previa, easily overcome and everything was fine. When he was delivered at 33.5 weeks, we worried again about losing him, but were spared any further concern, as he was healthy and hearty.

Being in NICU made you realize how very blessed you were. Babies all around us were struggling, having heart issues, breathing issues, and there was always the threat of losing one of them. I saw a note on the cart that they use to take baby photos with, indicating that if the staff was taking ‘bereavement photos’, to be sure to get the parent’s permission, signed. It reminded me that not all of the babies that I saw each day would go home. Even with today’s medicine, we still lose babies. Life is fragile.

My cousin lost a little baby, born too soon. He was so early that there was really nothing that they could do to help him. In years past, they called it a miscarriage, and treated it as such. At 17 weeks gestation, however, he was fully formed and beautiful. They were fortunate to have delivered in a hospital that allowed them to hold him, to love him, and to celebrate his very, very short life. They buried him in a ceremony sponsored by the hospital, and he has a tiny grave and everything. He lived. He deserves to be remembered. My cousin still misses him, even though she knows that she will see him again. She keeps his memory alive with her remaining children, and looks forward to the day that she will hold him forever.

It really doesn’t matter at what point you lose your child…you just shouldn’t have to deal with that.

I had an ancestor that delivered some 15 children, and only about 5 of them lived beyond the age of 10. Times were much harder, and accidents were frequent with the type of lives that they lead. To bury one child would devastate me. I suppose you would have to become somewhat hardened against the loss, having buried 10.

When Tux was a little boy, I had to take him to the oral surgeon to have some teeth removed. They allowed me to hold him as they gave him the sedative, as he was highly agitated. Whatever they gave him began to work almost immediately, as his little eyes glazed over and began to twitch a bit. Then he just relaxed in my arms and closed his eyes.

I burst into tears.

Not only was this hard for me to see, but a young boy in our ward had recently died, and I know his mother well. She had stayed with his body until they came to remove the organs that he would be donating, then held him as they took him off of life support and let him return home to his Heavenly Father.

All of this came back to me as I held Tux, knowing that in a short period of time, he would awaken and I would have him to hold. This Sister had to hold her son, knowing that he was leaving her. Through my tears, I tried to explain this to the surgeon, who was rethinking the wisdom of allowing a mother to see her child sedated.

We just don’t know how lucky we are, to have healthy children. It’s something to remind ourselves of every day, so that we don’t take our time with them for granted. Tonight, I am giving my boys an extra hug and kiss. Maybe two, one for each of the Borovec twins.

Don't get your panties in a wad...

2009-06-17T22:49:00.000-07:00

When I was a teenager, one of my cousins wrote back to me about not having written sooner…”Don’t get your panties in a wad, I’m working on it!” It cracked me up.

Tonight, I heard one better. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot; It solves nothing and makes you walk funny.”

Of course, as a teenager, I was just tickled that a Mormon relative of mine was talking about panties, to begin with, and that was enough to make me giggle all day. I could picture it, quite literally, and the idea of my panties in a wad made me right uncomfortable, I must say.

I have a broader perspective now, as time, experience and AGE seem to do to us. I know that not only is it uncomfortable to have bunchy panties, but that no one seems to know your suffering except for you. I mean, truly, think of the last time that you wore bad underwear. Drove you crazy all day long, and no one noticed, right? Except for the little dances that you did to try to get it to lay correctly, and the sidesteps into private places so that you could pull it where it needed to be?

The term “panties in a wad” or “knickers in a knot” refers to being upset or mad about something…and it’s the same scenario. Often, we feel the discomfort of being upset, but everyone else is oblivious. So who are we hurting, besides ourselves? NO ONE.

Too many times, we let ourselves get worked up over things that really don’t matter in the big picture, or are so far out of our control that we need to just accept it and move on. Today’s example is the video of President Obama swatting a fly. I cannot believe all of the airtime that it has gotten, with folks who are amazed at his cat-like reflexes, or the ones who are all up in arms because he killed a fly. It was a FLY, folks, and people swat them all of the time. Nothing amazing happened here, nothing tragic happened here. Let’s save our outrage for something really important.

I once had a friend that was upset with her father for remarrying. She didn’t like the new stepmother, and even if she had, she simply did not want to accept the situation. I kept telling her that she needed to let it go, and just learn to get along. Not for the stepmother’s sake, who really couldn’t care less about what my friend thought. But because in the long run, the only one that it hurt was my friend. She was alienated from her father, and disappointed all of the time with their relationship.

I know this first hand, as well. I apparently don’t practice what I preach! I was walking around, carrying anger and resentment as if it belonged to me. The folks that deserved it didn’t even KNOW…and wouldn’t care even if they did…so it was only making me miserable. The day that I decided that I just didn’t care anymore was like buying brand new undergarments. They were no longer constrictive or ill fitting, and I was able to walk upright for the first time in months. I feel so much better, having thrown out those nasty panties.

Which leads to another great saying, “Put on your big girl panties and deal with it.” Also some great advice.

BTW, Toddler decided that he was a comedian tonight, so he tells me, “Mom, do you want me to tell you a joke?”

When I said yes, he says, “Okay, I’ll say ‘broarkejbasdfahjkhpatriotadjjhblkjtrz’ and then you laugh.” He gets into a stand up comedian kind of pose, and then says, “broarkejbasdfahjkhpatriotadjjhblkjtrz” and stares at me.

Kid needs a laugh track.

Giggle like a School Girl

2009-06-17T09:33:00.000-07:00

Last night, we were watching a TV show while the baby (who is now three, so has become a TODDler!) was playing games on PBS kids. I have no idea what he found so funny, but he was belly laughing…I love that uninhibited belly laugh that little children are so free with! It’s such a beautiful melodic sound, something that I could listen to all day!

The first time that Tux giggled like that was when he was about four months old. We were at my parents’ house, and Mom was playing with him while I rolled around the floor in agony from a migraine. All of a sudden, there is this beautiful laugh! It went a long ways towards healing that headache.

There is nothing better than a good giggle. Every day, I find things that are terribly funny – apparently only to me – that make me giggle to myself. The other day, I was commenting on Tux’s brand new diploma, and how beautiful it is. At the same time, I realized that 26 years after graduation (yes, it’s been THAT long), I don’t even remember where my diploma is! Or what it looks like. It sent me into a fit of giggles that left the rest of the family staring at me with fear in their eyes, as if whatever ailment I had contracted might possibly be contagious.

Then there’s the dreaming. I dream constantly, all night, every night. The merciful nights are ones where the dreams are so vague that I don’t even try to recall them, but most times, I am constantly trying to piece together bits and pieces that float around in my head. I am afraid to really analyze them, as they seem to come out of left field sometimes and may indicate a deeper mental illness than previously thought! The night before last, I dreamed about a baby named Boing. That was good for giggles throughout the day, every time I thought of it.

And while I shouldn’t admit it, I had a dream a few years ago that still makes me laugh. It was just after I read the book “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix”, and it left me feeling a great sorrow for Harry, who endured such torment at the hands of Delores Umbridge and the rest of the wizarding world. So in my dream, I showed him my … well… my bare chest.

Admit it, you are laughing!

I still snicker about it, although I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment or humor. Upon awakening, I felt the need to share this information with others…for what reason, I am still unclear. I even posted it on our family website for everyone else to enjoy. I guess my thought was that if I shared it, it was not a shameful thing?! But who, in their right mind, shows such a thing to an underage wizard, for heaven’s sake??! (I did find out later that this probably was a manifestation of my concern for the boy, as that body part is also indicative of mothering, nurturing. Goodness, was I relieved to hear THAT!)

One of the best giggles that I have ever had was at the hand of Lori’s butt, so to speak, as discussed in my “Happy Trees” post. I laughed so hard that I couldn’t speak for quite some time, and in fact, had trouble walking. I literally laughed so hard that I could spare no extra energy for my legs, and I’d fall down laughing every time someone asked me what had happened. It took a good 20 minutes before I was able to tell the story with any degree of intelligibility.

I am particularly giggly when I am around my brother, with whom I share a great love of laughing. We see each other so seldom that when we do, it’s a mandatory all night giggle fest. We stay up into the wee hours (yes, leaving our children to our spouses, as we cannot possibly break in the conversation long enough to put them to bed properly), talking over old stories and sharing new ones. All for the sake of that belly laugh, tears in your eyes experience.

One of the funniest things that I have ever seen was Bro imitating his daughter, who was a bit of a drama queen at the time. Watching him squeal and spasm on the floor, throwing a fit about a popcicle, was the highlight of the trip. And it’s even funnier when you realize that in this, she takes after her father. What a fit thrower he was in his day! And now it drives him crazy…isn’t that hilarious!?

We laughed for days at his wife, who could not get the hang of the local vernacular in regards to the term “town”. When we go to the center of our little down, we call it “UPTOWN”. When we go to the nearest larger city, we call it “IN TOWN”. She kept trying to convince us that we had it all wrong, and it should be the opposite, but we could only giggle.

Then there was the time that we were playing Christmas Trivia, and Bro was staging the question, “What little tramp died on Christmas Eve in blah blah blah…” I knew this one! I used to love/hate the story of the Little Matchbook Girl, who died outside the window of a lovely home on Christmas Eve. I screamed out the answer, and was surprised to see the look of incredulity on my brother’s face.

His face turned four shades of purple, and he burst out laughing. “Are you saying that the little matchbook girl was a prostitute??” he countered.

Who knew that Charlie Chaplin was called the Little Tramp and died on Christmas Eve?! Or that a tramp is not just someone who lives in boxes outside, but rather, one who shares oneself freely with others?

There is nothing in this world that can cure what ails you like a good laugh. Not only do we love a good laugh, but humor is a defense mechanism, a stress reliever, a tension breaker, and a cure all. I couldn’t live without laughing…although there have been times in my life when I’ve found it hard to find humor in life. Thank heavens that those days have passed. Let’s hear it for a good old fashioned hysterical laughing fit!

The following pictures were taken during the photo shoot to scrapbook my SIL’s lack of discernment regarding UP and IN town, and are the best cure for a doldrum day that I’ve found. I dare ya…stare into his ‘giggling like a school girl’ eyes and tell me that you don’t laugh!

Sometimes, the answer is NO

2009-06-15T11:02:00.000-07:00

This picture breaks my heart…it was taken at the exact moment that Tux realized that he would never compete at the state level in wrestling. He had wrestled throughout junior high and high school, worked hard, pushed himself…but it was not to be. It was something that I knew that he wanted very much, and at this moment, it had become out of the question.

It wasn’t for lack of trying. He knew more about wrestling than many of his contemporaries, as my dad has been a wrestling coach for nearly 30 years and often works with the boys. It was all there, and yet, success seemed to be elusive for him.

His freshman year was particularly difficult, as he had a coach that only believed in winning. He pushed the kids until they nearly broke, lavishing praise on the ones that won, and ignoring those that did not. I thought that he might give it up at one point, and I was devastated to think that a coach could make it so hard on them.

He got all of the bad breaks…state champion competing in his weight class, difficult brackets, it just seemed that he could never catch a break. Year after year, we prayed that he would find his niche and excel.

He didn’t go without success, as he placed in many tournaments, as high as second place. That was an incredible tournament! He had struggled all that year (his junior year), and was frustrated and down on himself. He was upset that we were even attending this tournament, which was for much larger schools and a tough tournament for a small school like ours. He kicked some butt, though, and when he won the match that put him in the finals, I nearly deafened everyone in the building. No one was near me, so I just screamed. I was so happy for him!

He finished out that year with more medals, although he didn’t get past the regional level. We thought that perhaps his senior year would be the one.

We were wrong. His senior year was as difficult as ever, as he faced opponents that were just that much better than him, or caught the lucky breaks. He wrestled against kids that wrestle year round in Freestyle Tournaments. It was never an easy path for him, but he kept going.

We learned valuable lessons along the way. Sometimes, the answer is no...no matter how much we want something, no matter how much we pray, no matter how hard we work...we are unable to achieve the thing that we are striving for. It hurts, it’s confusing, and it both discourages and frustrates us beyond comprehension.

If it were up to me, he would have been State Champion. I felt that he deserved it! He had worked SOOOO hard, and he wanted it so much.

We kept telling him that there were plenty of other wrestlers that were having the same issues. Not everyone competes at State…not everyone realizes their dreams along the way. But even though we can tell ourselves that we have it better than some...how can it make us hurt less to know that someone else hurts more???

We think that we know what we need. We feel like it is something that we simply cannot live without. But we can...and we will. The Lord has a much larger view, and He knows what is best for us now, and what is best for us in the long run. That is why sometimes, He says NO.

I’m sure that it hurts Him as much as it hurts us, especially when it is something like this. I know that it hurts me as much as it hurt Tux, because I am his mother and I love him and want everything for him. I know how hard he had tried and how much he sacrificed, and I would move heaven and earth to give him a State Medal. UNLESS...I knew that this would not be the best for him in the long run...and so, I have to trust that Heavenly Father is taking care of things, and that He has our best interests at heart. I can trust Him in this. But I still would like to understand WHY some day!

I am incredibly proud of him for all that he accomplished. In wrestling, as well as in life. He persevered even when it wasn’t easy; a most admirable trait in anyone. He didn’t quit, He didn’t turn on his teammates or coaches, he never wavered in your dedication to wrestling.
THIS is what he will take away – not the accolades or medals. In the long run, this is much more valuable.

As heartbreaking as this moment was, it was also a victory of sorts. He proved that no matter what happened, He was the man. He wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t back down from the challenge, and he proved that he was stronger than anything that was thrown at him.

He’ll always be a hero in my eyes!

What's so great about blogging?

2009-06-14T23:10:00.000-07:00

So, it’s all the rage and everyone is doing it. But what’s so great about blogging?

That all depends on the reason for your blog, I suppose. I have friends and family members who blog as an ongoing family letter, akin to the Christmas Letter. These are fabulous for sharing with those that you don’t get to see often, and in today’s mobile society – a must to keep up with families that are strewn across the country. And even better, they have pictures and video, and allow the reader to respond quickly and join in discussions of posts. The added benefit is that it is a family history online, viewable by many. Some sites even allow you to have your blog printed and bound at the end of the year, which creates an archival quality memoir. All around win, I say.

There are also bloggers who wish to spread a message – political bloggers, for instance. They hope to capture an audience that will be influenced by their words. They generally have a specific topic or topics that they cover.

Some bloggers do so for their customers. One of my favorites is a photographer that did family pictures for my cousin and her family on Oahu. I checked out her blog to see their pictures, and LOVED it. Of course, she blogs about her photo shoots, which are always fascinating to me as a wanna-be photographer. But she also makes personal comments about things, and is very likeable. You can see her at Natalie Norton Photo

I see the application of this as I watch another cousin begin her landscaping business. She is always noting little things about certain flowers or plants for us…interesting little tidbits that just make me smile. For instance, did you know that pansies are a hearty flower? Then why do we call weak people pansies? It makes no sense! I love her little observations and her photography, and I think that a blog would serve her well to show off what she knows, her personality, and some of her jobs for potential customers. I’m considering my own business, and I’m still trying to figure out a fun blog for this purpose. It is a way of sharing your area of expertise and interesting others.

Probably the most influential blog that I have read is one by Rozanne Paxman of Scrap Girls. I originally began receiving the Scrap Girls newsletter because they always have digital scrapbooking freebies, and I’m cheap. I love the freebies to beef up my digital stash. I became addicted to the newsletter, however, because of the “muses” that Ro writes. She is a writer that has something to say on a variety of subjects, and usually with some sort of life lesson. Of course, this ties in with her business of selling digital scrapbooking supplies, as it inspires us to scrapbook things that we might not have thought of. Her blog is a continuation of that, in which she not only inspires, but offers solutions to organization and a variety of other topics.

It is this format that I chose for my blog. I want to write. I need to write. I love to write, and years of raising children and writing only technical manuals has taken it’s toll on my ability. I believe that we are given gifts to use for the good of the many, and if we do not use them, we lose them. I love to be able to write to touch others, and help them to ‘think outside the box’, if you will.

I try to pick a subject every day and write an essay. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but it makes me think all of the time. I am constantly trying on new subjects for size, running them through the old meat grinder to see if they look good. I compose sentences and paragraphs in my mind all day, selecting those that seem to strike a chord, rejecting ones that fall flat.

What is really remarkable is that it forces me to think differently. I see the big picture in everything. How does this really affect my life? What is the lesson here? How can I use this to reach out to others? My greatest goal would be for RESONANCE. I would be thrilled to know that something that I said or observed made you stop and think…perhaps even reevaluate your views, your goals, your place in life. To see the big picture and not obsess about details, but embrace the glory that this life has to offer.

Ultimately, I would like to say something profound. It hasn’t happened yet, but if I write enough…I’m bound to hit something!

On a professional level, it retrains my mind to write. Because I have one day to conceive, compose, and post my thoughts, I don’t have time to produce endless drafts. I have to think on the fly. I have to pull it all together-- introduction, explanation, and wrap up—in a brief amount of time. Every day, it gets easier.

On a personal level, it reminds me that I DO have something to offer. You’ve read that I was recently paralyzed by my lack of self-esteem. I began the blog anonymously, quietly, so that I could see if it would work for me. As I’ve opened up and invited other readers to my blog, I have gotten some excellent feedback that has been so good for me! I have a ‘readership’ of sorts, as I see that each day, I get about 20 readers. Some days more, some less, but it’s somewhat steady. That means that some of you are coming BACK again, after reading my blog. You have no idea how much that means to me. It restores my faith in the fact that each of us has something to offer, and that I am not a complete failure and social pariah as I thought.

I know, I know, that’s dramatic. Unfortunately, that was my shattered mind. I cannot believe how far I have come…how far I had fallen. I am in constant gratitude for my return to health.

And as I noted when I began this blog, my hope is that my experience might touch someone else. I scoured the internet when my premature baby was born, looking for stories of others who had experienced this. I devoured every word, learning as I read. It helped me to understand my own feelings and struggles, and to realize that there was light at the end of the tunnel.

I welcome your comments and love to hear your thoughts on any subject that I discuss. I invite you to share your own stories…whether you do so on my blog or in your own journals. If just one of you is inspired to write, to try something new, or gains perspective, then I have been successful.

And I gotta tell you, success is a beautiful thing!