And just like that, they are back to school!

We had a pretty good summer.  Actually, all things considered, we had a great summer.

A few of the things we did:
go on a vacation
go to california
go on a hike
walk around silver lake
attend a rodeo
take swimming lessons
take tennis lessons
swim at great grandpa's
play in soccer tournaments
light fireworks
go to a REAL soccer game
movies in the theater
grandma camp
hang out with uncle willie
go to the zoo
watch a total eclipse
lunch at waffle love

See, not such a bad list.

The boys school is starting on a traditional schedule this year which meant we got 7 uninterrupted weeks of summer vacation.  The first four were great, the last three we struggled now and again.  I have however made a mental note that next year, we've got to have something to get us up and going every week (lessons, activities, etc.) because some of the dog days of August drug on pretty long.

But, the boys got along so well with each other.  I was just really happy.  There is such nostalgia in my mind for summer vacations - I really hope that when my kids are older, they cherish their summers like I did mine.

That being said, today was the first day of school.  Elliott started 5th grade, Wyatt 3rd grade and Quinn his third and final year of preschool.  It's nice to be sitting in a totally quiet house, but I already miss my 3 amigos.  Maybe that's a movie they are old enough to watch?  Ha!

The boys have each grown up so much, both literally taller and more mature since the beginning of the last school year.  It's hard for me to watch Elliott grow up, because he's the first and that kid and I just click these days.  I always hope that he is my buddy and my friend and my helper.  Wyatt?  I will worry about Wyatt until the day I die, and then worry in heaven some more.  But, like his dad says, Wyatt is a smooth kid, he's lucky and charismatic and makes good decisions.  Even if he has a life threatening allergy to peanuts.  And Quinn, he turns FIVE next week.  He has informed me that he is no longer my "little squish" and that he will commence growing up.

Where is Peter Pan, Never land and the lost boys when I need them in real life?  I need to freeze time a little bit.  Things are so fast-paced for us these days.  So many places to go and things to do, no wonder we all sleep so well at night.  Ross and I have talked at length about how, right now, we are in a sweet spot with our family and oh, is it sweet.  We have our disagreements and occasional tantrums (parents included), but life is good and we are happy.

I love these boys so much. I wish they'd slow down a bit, but they won't and I'd better just learn to keep up.

We went to California, Part 1

Everything our little family does is done quickly and our vacations are no exception.  In the spring, Ross found out about a soccer game between Manchester City and Real Madrid being played in Los Angeles in the Summer and a trip was born.

We had three days, book ended by half days of travel, to get as much sight-seeing and fun in as we could.  Now, nearly a week later, I'm still tired.

We left on a Tuesday afternoon and I realized that we always leave for vacations, at least when we are flying, and it's really stressful so in the future, we need to leave in the morning or at least mid day, not 4 pm.

We arrived at the Long Beach airport.  We found the house we were renting and I had a mini panic attack that it was too hot and too musty and it wasn't going to work.  After dinner at Wahoo's I calmed down a bit.  It was a cute but very old house with bad wifi, no TV (even though it was promised and yes we complained), and one bathroom.  But, we survived.

Day two had us up bright and early in the morning to head along the Pacific Coast Highway to Crystal Cove State Park Beach.  It's my new favorite.  We had the beach to ourselves for a very long time and the boys had so much fun playing in the water, hunting for crabs and urchins in the tide pools and getting covered in sand.  We wrapped up the morning with a walk up a hundred or so stairs to Ruby's Diner Shake Shack and it wad delicious.  The beach is just so calming and great.












After that, we headed back to the house, got cleaned up and drove into Los Angeles to go to the LaBrea Tar Pits.  Pretty cool.  Smelled like asphalt.  Boys had fun.





We ate a quick snack at the Farmer's Market food place at the Grove shopping center, found a MUJI for me to buy notebooks to my hearts contentment and then headed to the soccer game at the LA Colosseum.

The Colosseum is incredibly old, outdated, unsafe, and gross.  The seats were rusty and had holes and were covered in spider webs.  Quinn wouldn't even sit in his and spent the first half of the game on my lap.  There were also no railings anywhere in the stadium.  When the stairs are THAT steep, and everyone is THAT drunk, you'd figure some railings would come in handy (get it, handy!) .   We however, persevered and watched the game.







We were directly across the aisle from a huge contingency of Man City fans, which made Ross pretty happy.  They were fairly calm the first half and we only endured a little rowdy behavoir.  That was however made up for in the second half.  People without seats in the section were filling the stairs (fire hazard), the 32 oz beers in souvenir cups were flowing and the borderline appropriate songs were being sung.  Once Man City was up 3-0, I convinced Ross that we could leave.  It was a pretty interesting experience and when I left to use the restroom in the middle of the second half, I ratted out all those crazy fans as a fire hazard to the first security person I could find.

Rule follower I am.

The great thing about going to a soccer match that doesn't start at 8:30 pm, when your kids brains thing it's 9:30 pm is that everyone falls asleep on the way back to the rental and minus the fact that the house was pretty warm, slept like babies for the whole night.

Day 1 was a victory!

An update on Grandpa

My grandpa has seen better days.  Today, he is an outpatient at the Riverton Hospital, getting a blood transfusion.  The last two weeks he has been residing at the Legacy Village Rehabilitation Center because of a hospital stay, and a feeding tube (he never passes the swallow tests).  The two weeks (or maybe just 10 days) before that, he was in the hospital.  He had a bad infection, stemming from a UTI because of a catheter and had two heart attacks and got a pace maker.

Phew.

The months prior to the last several weeks haven't been so great either.

But, there he is, plugging along, unwilling to give in or give up.  He keeps fighting, to stay with us for another day.

I'm not the best grand-daughter - it's really hard for me to visit.  It's hard for me to see people sick and weak - I want my memories of them to always be strong and healthy.  Knowing that my grandpa isn't doing well is also hard because when he decides it's finally time to leave us (hopefully not too soon), then that's it for me in the grandparent department.  I realize that I'm pretty lucky that at 39 years old, I've still got a grandparent alive to learn from and love.  But, it's touchy for me none the less.

Since January, I've been writing my grandpa letters.  I have written a letter every single week, not missing one.  He is my pen pal, only, a pen pal that doesn't write back.  It's a little one sided I suppose, but I sort of like it that way.  I know he likes to read, and I it's a good way for me to talk to him, because I've struggled with that my whole life, too.

My grandpa is stoic.  He is strong and brave.  He is faithful and courageous.  During my life, he has shared opinions, wisdom and stories of his life with me...mostly through my grandma but on a good day, he can tell some tales.

On Monday, we were driving home from swimming lessons and I had the following conversation with Quinn.  It's a little morbid, but he's four and a half and like all almost 5 year olds, he only speaks the truth.

Q: Mom, is Great Grandpa at home or still in the place?
M:  He is still in the place, but he is doing okay.  Should we go and visit him?
Q:  Yes, we should visit him.
M:  Should we draw him some pictures to decorate his room at the place?
Q:  Yes, I want to make him a card.  How do you spell, "I'm glad you're not dead!"

(Elliott and Wyatt laughing hysterically)
M:  Well, maybe we should say, "I'm glad you are still alive, instead?"
Q:  No, mom.  I'm glad he is not dead.

Well, Quinner.  So am I.

So.  Am. I.

The passing of Aunt LeeAnn

On May 11, my Aunt LeeAnn passed away.  She had fought a tough battle against a terminal cancer called multiple myeloma.  It is a bone marrow cancer that was super aggressive and after 18 months, multiple different forms of chemotherapy, and a stem cell transplant, she passed away on May 11th.

The few weeks before her death and the week after were really sad and exhausting, and I'm not even her immediate family.  She seemed to get really sick, really quickly and her death was sudden.  Lots of tears have been shed over the last couple of weeks.

Her funeral however, was a very touching and beautiful service.  Two of her children (Matt and Jodi) and my Aunt Karen spoke and Melanie played a piano piece.  Matt, her youngest son, gave the most eloquent and emotional tribute to his mom.  His words were inspired and I was so moved and touched by the beautiful things he said about his mom, and the testimony he bore at the end of his talk.  I've been thinking about his words quite a bit since the funeral, and I hope that if my sons' were ever tasked with speaking at my funeral, they would give half as kind of a tribute.

Ross and I talk a lot about aging, we are at the point where it really is "weddings and funerals" that bring people together.  It's sad to think about, so I try not to think about it too much, but I am so grateful for my faith and belief that I will see family members again, and will get to participate in the most beautiful heavenly reunions one day.

Travel, Griswold style

No trip in our family is complete without a few hiccups along the way.  Usually, those hiccups are caused by me, and relate directly to me, but sometimes other things happen that make us laugh, or panic, or both.

Here is a run down of the Arizona trip "highlights".

Leaving dinner on Friday night Quinn fell off of a very tall curb and skinned his knee up pretty bad.  He cried so hard that once Ross got him in the car, he was so worn out he fell asleep in about 30 seconds.  It was a pretty bad crash.

On Saturday morning, it was raining pretty hard.  We'd planned to go to the zoo, but the rain made us second guess ourselves and we decided to go to a small aquarium in the mall.  It opened at 10 am, we stood in a long line and once we got to the front, realized that the line was for people who had passes or who had already purchased tickets.  Doh!  Of course, there were no signs indicating differences in the lines, and, once we got to the back of the "need tickets" line we decided to give up and just go to the zoo in the rain.



Lucky for us, the 2 hours we were at the zoo, it didn't rain.  I still spent $12 on ponchos for the kids, but no rain.  We did however have a couple of adventures at the zoo.  Adventure 1: we were chased by a very fast, very vocal, very crazy road runner.  It was roaming free in it's enclosure and it gave us a run for our money, and plenty of giggles.  Adventure 2:  My blood sugar started to drop pretty rapidly when we were about finished - joy of diabetes - and just as I put a glucose table in my mouth, Wyatt came around the corner, excited to tell me there was a whole cage of Scarlet Ibis - my favorite bird.  Well, in my attempt to be excited about the birds, I inhaled my chalky tropical fruit glucose tablet and it got stuck in my throat.  I could not breath.  I was chocking.  For a good 30 seconds, I thought that I might suffocate and die.  Once I could breathe again, my throat was on fire and hurt for the rest of the day.





Saturday night we had tickets for the Arizona Coyotes NHL hockey game against the San Jose Sharks.  The game was supposed to start at 6 pm, but the first 10,000 people were going to get a FREE bobble head of a former player because the team was celebrating it's 20th anniversary.  We arrived one hour early, to get our FREE bobble heads and then had to sit there, with the five other people who came early for an hour before the game was going to start.  The big boys really liked the hockey game, but Quinn?  We were there so early that he fell asleep right after the National Anthem and slept almost through the first halftime.  By the way, hockey games take forever.  Ross said they were fast, they are not fast.  20 minutes of play, 20 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play, 18 minutes of half time, 20 minutes of play.  We didn't make it for the last 20 minutes because, hello!  We arrived so early.  But, it was still fun.

On Sunday, we drove up north to the towns of Cottonwood and Prescott Valley.  Driving to Ross' parents house in PV, we were following a route outlined by google maps.  Well, that route came to a dirt road.  We paused momentarily to see if Google was serious.  She was. (can google be a girl?)  I told Ross that I thought it was a bad idea to drive on a very wet and very muddy dirt road.  He, being the man, told me we would be fine.  We maybe drove a quarter of a mile before it got really wet.  I began to plead for us to turn around.  We continued a bit more until - yes, you guessed it -we were halfway in a muddy ditch.  Yeah!  I felt justified in my "I told you so moment" but that didn't change the fact that we were stuck in the mud.

Ross got out of the rented mini van.  I climbed over to the driver's seat.  He pushed.  I floored it.  After a few intense minutes, and let's face it, many silent prayers on my part, we got out of the ditch.  But then, because I was driving, I had to do a u turn, on the slippery muddy road and drive us off that road.  Where was Ross you ask?  Well, his head, arms, and torso were inside the van.  His butt, legs and lower half were hanging out the window.  He was a wee bit muddy once we got back to the road and switched seats.  Sometimes, Google leads you astray.

The biggest screw up however was on my part.  Sunday night, while eating dinner with Ross' parents, I realized that I'd left ALL MY INSULIN in the fridge in our airbnb apartment in Phoenix.  Swear words!  I had 60 units left in my pump, enough to get me until the morning and I was panicking.  Everyone was calling or texting people who could either write me an emergency prescription or help me solve the problem.  Finally, Ross was able to talk to the small town PV Walgreens pharmacist and he was sure that they could get my prescription transferred in the morning so I could get enough insulin to get home.

It was.

I did.

The end.

The end of 2016

It's the last day of the current year.

I wrote a letter to send out with my Christmas cards this year, but never finished editing it, and never got copies made.  I did send out Christmas cards though and and Ross' Great Aunt Pat made sure to send a note in her holiday card telling me she missed the letter.  She also called me "Amy".

It's all good in the hood. 

So, being as it's the end of the year and I never sent the letter, it will serve as the final blog post of 2016, along with my accompanying end of year slide show.

The boys and I discussed it the other day and decided that our song of the year was "Hand clap" by Fitz and the Tantrums.

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas 2016

As I sit down at my computer and try to figure out the best way to sum up the past year, I sort of draw a blank.  It feels like the last year has been a whirlwind of activities, vacations, carpools, practises and games for all the kids sports.  But, of course, I’ll give it a try, and I’ve got my instagram feed to remind me of all the highlights.

This year we took a great trip to Seattle in June to watch Argentina (Leo Messi specifically) play Bolivia in the Copa America soccer tournament.  We hit all the Seattle sites, drove up to Anacortes to go on a whale watching excursion and ate great food!  We went to Disneyland with Annie’s extended family in October to celebrate her parents 40th wedding anniversary and the safe return of Willie (Annie’s brother) from a LDS mission in Lithuania.  Ross’ parents also returned from a mission in South Africa and spent the Thanksgiving holiday in our home.  We took a couple road trips to and through Las Vegas just so we could eat hamburgers and french fries at Shake Shack.  And, the biggest project of the year, we finished our basement over the summer.  It was a long 9 weeks, but we are so happy to have the project completed and no, we didn’t do it ourselves.  

Ross started a new job in April of this year with a company called Solera.  He is just as busy, doing just as many projects as before, all of them technical and finance related, but luckily is working  closer to home.  He coaches Elliott and Wyatt in basketball, Quinn in soccer, and is a great dugout manager for any of the boys baseball games we are attending.  This fall, Ross was released after 5 years as scoutmaster as his church calling and was given a new calling as executive secretary to the bishop, keeping him very busy on Sunday’s in meetings.  Oh, and lest we forget, he spends what little free time he has (about five minutes) playing fantasy football and obsessively checking the ESPN and WOOT apps on his phone.

Annie is continuing to be a stay-at-home-mom with the boys and staying busy being their tutor, coach, short order cook, nurse, classroom volunteer and everything else that comes along with keeping three growing boys from starving every day.  Some days, she drives back and forth from the elementary school 6 or 8 times.   She continues to make and sell tote bags and lots of other stuff at local boutiques and seems to always have one too many projects going on to keep her sane.  This spring, Annie switched over to an insulin pump for her Type 1 diabetes and it’s made all the difference in the world.  Like Ross, Annie  also got a new church calling in the fall switching from a three years tenure teaching primary to a position as the secretary to the young women’s organization working with 12-18 year old girls.

Elliott will be turning 10 in January and is in the 4th grade, in his 4th year of Spanish dual immersion.  He is nearly fluent in Spanish speaking and is above grade level in reading and writing en Espanol.  He’s growing like a weed, and by next year at this time, may be taller than Ross’ mom.  He is turning into a really great kid and a  pretty responsible one, too.  He’s pretty goofy, but takes his school work, mine craft, ipod, fit bit and Pokemon very seriously.   He plays competitive soccer in the Spring and the Fall and basketball in the Winter; regularly helps cook dinner; has become an obsessive reader; plays the trombone in the school band; and mows the lawn.

Wyatt is 7.5 years old and will be turning 8 in May.  He is looking forward to getting baptized in the Spring.  Wyatt plays soccer, basketball and baseball.  He is a really good baseball player.  He is fast and smart and has a great time.  At the end of this past season, he was chosen to be the “all-star” representing his team   Wyatt is in the 2nd grade and also in the Spanish dual immersion program.  He is a very talented artist patiently coloring complicated designs and paint by numbers; he loves to listen to music and identify all the instruments being played; he sings and dances, plays nice with his brothers, and is a perfect, straight A student.  In fact, his Spanish teacher, Senora Gonzales told us at the most recent parent teacher conference that she LOVES him.

Quinn is 4 years old and the crazy sparkle of our family.  He loves Pokemon and dinosaurs and his favorite movie is Jurassic World.  He sings and dances and talks all day long.  He loves to draw and color and practice writing his letters and numbers.  Quinn goes to preschool three days a week, just finished his first season of soccer, where, surprisingly, he was exceptionally aggressive and scored a dozen or so goals.  Quinn makes us laugh all day long, is pretty sarcastic for a 4 year old, and would live out on the trampoline, no matter the weather, if we’d let him.  Or at Target.  The kids loves to go to Target.  I can’t complain about that one.

shock and awe

I have a wonderful family and amazing parents.  These 11 individuals are my world.  I value their time and their love, our dedication to each other.  As a 38 year old, I still want my parents to be proud of me and value their opinion.  I love my sister (and her family) and my brother fiercely and would do anything for them.  My husband and children mean more than the world to me and I will protect them forever, as best as I can, from all the nasty in the world.

I was raised to be thoughtful and kind.  To treat others with respect no matter who they are, what they look like, or how dumb I might really think they could be.  To work hard to get what I want.  To be on time.  To treat others as I'd like to be treated.  I'm doing my best to teach my children these same things.  We have conversations about race and gender.  Every single day when they get out of the car to go to school I tell them, "Be kind to everyone!" and hope that they heed my advice.

The outcome of the 2016 presidential election, and my current morning after are hitting me harder than I thought.  I've found myself fighting back tears and my stomach hurts.  How silly, right?  My country, my state, members of my religion elected a bully to be president.   Chose someone who has said out loud, so many hateful and horrible things about so many different people...said things I fight every day to keep my children from feeling and thinking.

I voted for Hillary Clinton.  Not because of her history or her controversies, or even so much her politics.  And not as a protest to Trump.  I voted for her, because she was a HER.  Because I felt so empowered as a woman in a country run by men that, the mere possibility that a woman could be in charge - could be the commander in chief gave me goosebumps.  She was no more corrupt than anyone else, no more scandalous.  But I truly felt that I could believe that a woman, a mother, a grandmother, could bring something to this office, this country, that we had never had before.  I was so hopeful that my sons could see a woman in power, for all the girls of America to see that yes, the really could do it.  A girl could finally win!

The femminist in me doesn't believe in giving up, that there will be another chance, maybe even in my lifetime, for a woman to reach the highest office in the land.  The realist in me however, is questioning so many things this morning, that I don't even know where to start.

This was an historical election, and I am historically bummed.

#blacklivesmatter

Never wanting too get political in any aspect of my life, I cannot help but feel like the events of this week should be documented.  That, in some way, I can help by writing my thoughts about what is happening to people.

Monday was the 4th of July.  Tuesday, a black man in Louisiana, named Alton Sterling, was killed at point blank range outside of a convenience store in Baton Rough by two police officers.  The shooting was captured on cell phone video. It was horrible to watch, and I'm shocked that I did watch the video.  My heart just ached for this man who so quickly was judged and killed.

Wednesday, another black man, Philando Castile, was also shot and killed while sitting in his car, after being pulled over for a traffic violation.  I read a little bit about him.  He ran  (or just worked in, I cannot remember) the cafeteria's for elementary schools in Minneapolis.  His girlfriend and her daughter were in the car with him, and his girlfriend filmed part of the incident on her cell phone as she watched her loved one die. This video, I couldn't watch.

 

I woke up this morning to the news that multiple police officers, and a few bystanders, were killed and injured in Dallas, Texas by sniper fire, apparent retaliation for the violence earlier in the week, during a peaceful protest march.  There was video of this scene, too.  I watched a little bit, of a sniper killing a police officer, standing just a mere foot or two behind him.  To say it was unsettling, is an understatement.

What is going on?

Every day when I drop my children off at school, I tell them to be good.  To be kind and nice to everyone.  We've had a few discussions, nothing too serious, about race and skin color in the past, but I've never felt the need to really dig deep into it with them.  I instead feel the need to focus on the importance of being good and helpful.   We talk a lot about bullies, and what to do if you see another child being bullied at school.  I think we need to talk more about race.  And their non-white friends.  And how to always be aware of situations involving those friends.  And how to be brave enough to do the right thing, because the right thing is to protect someone who is being treated poorly because of their skin color.

I've been thinking about the fact, and I'm pretty sure that it's a fact, that if my husband were to get pulled over for speeding today, he wouldn't have to worry about his safety.  He could probably joke with the officer and talk his way into a lesser fine.  He's safe, for the most part.  I cannot even imagine what a black man, or other minority male would feel in the same position.  No matter how safe or comfortable you feel where you live, that fear must always be looming on the surface.

I've been thinking about a conversation I had with an angry student, in a classroom full of kids, years ago when I was teaching high school - we were talking about a current event where, the government decided to pay war reparations to the descendants of Japanese Americans who had been interred during WWII.  He got mad and demanded to know why the government didn't pay reparations to the descendants of slaves.  Looking back this week, my argument was so...white!  I defended the US government (gross) saying that there was no way to pay back the families of slaves because they were undocumented, we don't know how many descendants there are, it would have been/would be an impossible undertaking.  I said these things in a classroom where one of my favorite students, Tim, a black kid sat looking at me, probably more interested in the fact that his buddy had managed to get me all fired up, than what I was actually saying.  But, I'm pretty sure I didn't say the right things.

The 1950's and 60's have been my favorite decades of history to study.  I've often thought, and said out loud a few times that I was born in the wrong era.  That if I had been a youth at the time of my parents, I would have been so outraged that I would have protested, been a freedom rider, stood up for those that needed some defending.  I hope that my perception of myself is right.  And that I still have that spark in me because it seems, that historic period of time that I longed to be a part of for a reason I cannot really understand, is staring me in the face.

People matter!  Lives matter!  Black lives matter!  All of the men killed this week have families who love them and are mouring their tragic and violent loss.  I know that my life is good.  That I am relatively safe.  That my children are set up to be successful in life.  I know that the color of my skin gives me something, affords me opportunities, that other people don't have.

I read a quote the other day that said no matter what a person says with regards to the issue of race, someone, somewhere will call her a racist.  Call me whatever you want, but the time is now to figure out how to stand up and participate.  To make a difference.  

February blahs

We are at the end of our first week off-track.  The boys sort of get screwed out of vacation time with year round school, but no more so than their November and February breaks.  For both, the weather is rotten, the air not safe for breathing, and we're pretty much trapped indoors with our screens.  Add to that, regularly scheduled stress induced freak out sessions by the mom, and it makes for a challenging break.

Lately, my brain is crammed with too many things to think about and that could be the reasons that I've had a migraine for 11 days.

I worry about my friends.  My best friend since 7th grade had surgery this week to remove breast cancer.  I'm so worried about her.  My aunt has cancer with a cloudy prognosis.  I worry about her, too.  I have a million and one things wrong with me that no doctor can figure out.  I worry about that daily, as well.  It's difficult going to doctors with legitimate complaints and having said doctors look at you like you escaped from the loony bin.  I exercise and eat right and cannot lose weight.  My diabetes control hasn't been the best lately.  Then there are the swollen legs and the acute pain in my left foot.  Ug!  And the headaches!  Screw those completely.

I worry about my children.  What they watch, what they do, what they don't eat, how they interact with each other and their friends.  I worry that they have to spend too much time with me, but then I worry that I get in their way and just need to let them be.  I worry that I'm not doing it right, that I buy them too much crap (giving them too high of expectations), and that we are too easy on them.  But then again, they do need to help with jobs around the house, or how else with they ever learn anything.

I worry about my husband.  His job stresses him out, in turn stressing me out.  Between work, and church commitments, and spending time with his kids, and all the things that I do every week, we never see each other, or talk to each other.  There isn't a baby sitter to ditch the boys with every week for a "date" and so it's just us, trying to squeak out time with each other as we fall asleep every night, or trying to have a conversation in the front of the car with the eaves droppers in the back.  Ug!  Being married is hard work.

I worry about my small little business.  How do I grow it just a bit bigger? How do I take better advantage of ETSY?  How do I find more shows to sell my items?  How to I manage my time and my money and the mess I make in the house without a dedicated "Annie's junk room".

And then, the future?  Cars, vacations, basements, messes, family time....there is just too much to even try to list.  Well, actually, I have a list but my list is, I learned this week, very different than my husband's list.

Go figure.

All of this is enough to drive any one crazy.  And I have a pretty good life with really good kids and a husband who tries hard.  It's just exhausting, isn't it?  Trying to keep everyone a float with out drowning.  Keeping everyone happy, without losing yourself.

Or maybe, it's just February.

February might be the worst.

Something Unexpected

On Wednesday afternoon, in a parked car with a sleeping three year old, waiting for my big boys to come bounding out of school, I got a text from a neighbor.

"Did you hear about Kerry?"

I replied, "No.  What?"

My neighbor and I quickly exchanged texts, her telling me that one of our great neighbors, the organist in our church, and one of the happiest and most amazingly talented women I've ever known, had died.  She had been hiking, alone, her 60th hike of the summer, and though no details were known, she fell off a landing about 300 feet.  She had been missing all night, and her body was recovered around Noon in a deep and treacherous ravine.

I was in shock.  This was not only a woman whom I admired, but we had moved into the neighborhood at the same time.  In fact, she and her family had plans to buy our house, but we bought it first, and they purchased another home in the neighborhood.  I was her visiting teacher for a year and a half, and just on Sunday, she led the music for the primary children.

My heart was broken.  The news was just starting to pour in, the neighborhood just starting to mobilize, and my heart was broken for her and her family.  She was only 43.  She has a son on a mission and two adoring daughters, not to mention a devout husband whom I know loved her more than anything.

The sadness I felt caught me a little off guard and I was full of questions.  Why her?  Why now?  What happened?  Was she in pain and scared?  How can I help?  What can I do?

Muddled and distracted, I made it through the rest of my day and evening, waiting for the opportunity to talk to Ross about it before we went to sleep that night.  Then, I lost it a little.  Kerry wasn't that much older than me, just a few years.  She was such an experienced and prepared hiker - we had had many talks about all the hiking adventures she'd been on over the years.  I just sobbed with pain in my heart for her and her family.

In fact, I said to Ross that I believe, before we are born, that we agree to trials and tribulations.  Now, I doubt we pull them out of a hat, but I really feel that in our communication with God, we say, "Yes.  I will take on diabetes.  I will fight cancer.  I will lose a loved one. I will die."  I wonder if, when Kerry got to heaven, she said, "What a minute!  Seriously!  I said I'd do this?  What about my family!"

But then again, maybe she didn't.  Maybe she knew.  The news reports say that, as she was ascending her final climb, the investigators believe that she lost her footing, hit her head and tumbled down to where her body was discovered.  The rescue crew also told her family, it was reported, that she had a look of calm and peace on her face.  She did die doing something that was her everything.  I know that she hiked several times a week, when the weather and seasons allowed, and she passed away on the final hike of a summer of hiking.  It was her 60th hike, and her hardest.  She accomplished the goal she had set, and that goal took her life.

There is a sad sense of peace that comes from such a thing.

Through such sadness though, there is always hope.  As sad as I've been, this week, I know where she is.  I know she's okay.  I know that she was greeted with open arms by loved ones and that they comforted her.  I know that she did, on earth, what she was meant to do and even though it's tragic, it was her plan.  I know that her family, though they are going to have to wait, will see her and be with her again.

I haven't been a part (and let's face it, I'm not really a part of anything, just a person who had a significant enough connection to a woman that my feelings are justified) of such a tragedy before.  It's given me the opportunity to reflect this week on my life, my children, my husband.  I'm a lucky girl, living a lucky life.  There is so  much out there to be grateful for, to appreciate, to live for.  We don't know when our time is coming, but I sure hope that I use my time, however long it may be, wisely and in the right ways, serving the right people.

I also hope, that when my time has come, that I maybe, ever so slightly, touched the life of someone, even briefly, as my friend Kerry touched mine.

no time to make time

we don't have a song.  We've entered our 13th year of marriage and we don't have a song.  It's really been bothering me lately, which I realize is dumb because it doesn't really matter.  One Sunday night, driving home from my parents after dinner I brought it up in conversation...the fact that we don't have a song.  Ross of course doesn't think it matters at all, but I told him that it does.  I also told him that I was pretty sure my parents had a song.

He said that he would guess that they didn't.

I called my mom.

She and my dad have a song.

I'm probably not supposed to say what it is (cough - stairway to heaven - cough) but they have a song.

I had no idea.

The next day, I texted my sister to ask her if she and her husband have a song.  She said no.  I asked her if she knew that my parents had a song.  She said yes, that it is (cough - stairway to heaven - cough).

I had no idea.

My husband is at scout camp.  He is supposed to be relieved and come home today.  Well, sometime late tonight is probably more like it.  We haven't had a real conversation with each other for days and days and days.  We haven't been on a "date" since, I think January.  We haven't even managed to tell each other good night because either one of us is already asleep or we're just too tired.

I read a blog post today, of a writer who I like, and she said that she and her husband are always doing things to "keep the romance alive" and one night after their kids were asleep they jumped into their hot tub in a rain storm with a big umbrella and that they just hung out listening to the rain and talking to each other and it was "so romantic".  I thought that sounded super strange, but I liked the idea of the talking part.

Keeping our lives afloat these days feels extra challenging and that there just isn't any time to spend together.  Do other people sometimes feel like their spouse is their roomate, or is that just me?  It's hard to figure out how to keep things interesting and engaging and not just be annoying, and a nag.

Maybe, we just really need to sit down and figure out our song.  That might be the solution to everything.

In a nutshell....

Last week was busy.  The busy was compounded by the fact that Ross and I have been sick.  Him for 11 days and me for 17, but whose counting.  Oh wait, I am!  We seem to have some sort of allergy driven cold/flu/bronchitis type thing.  Life is really hard with three kids when both parents are sick.  And exhausted.  But, we managed to pull another week out of our Mary Poppins carpet bag in spite of it all.




Wyatt had the week off of school for "kindergarten testing".  That's a rant of a post on it's own, but I'll just avoid it for now.  I had big plans to keep him busy, but being a sick parent with a lazy couch potato has it's advantages.  Staying home and watching tv is one of them.

Haley and the kids came over to jump on the trampoline, watch bugs and eat lunch.

We waited for the floor guy to come and fix a bad spot on the floor.  He never showed.  We waited for the oven repair man to come back for the 4th time to finally figure out why our oven doesn't work.  The igniter burned a hole through the base.  We could have blown ourselves up.  Good times.

I made two pioneer trek skirts and a trek apron for a neighbor's daughter.  I made three fanny packs and a purse for my sister.  I let my house become a total disaster.  I still haven't put my living and dining rooms back together because the baseboards need to be caulked and painted.

The boys had four baseball games: Elliott on Tuesday and Thursday and Wyatt on Wednesday and Friday.  Both boys played well.  Both boys went 2-0.  Both boys finished their regular season with error free games.  Both boys teams are in the playoffs starting this week.

We attended cousin Luke's baptism.  While at the church, Jack and Quinn were wearing the same outfits and Quinn saw a picture of Jesus holding a lamb on his lap.  He turned to us and said, "Look at Jesus holding that cute puppy."  It was pretty funny.



Ross finally got around to taking Wyatt shopping for his birthday present, a new bike, a month late.  He's got to learn to ride it without training wheels, and after a few attempts on Saturday afternoon, he may be 12 before he can figure it out.



We ended Saturday with our first trip to the splash pad.  My boys seem, at times, incapable of just "playing" and they spent all their splash pad time lying on the concrete instead of actually playing in the water.  Oh well.  And Quinn fell asleep.  7:00 pm naps are where it's at...only if the kid wakes up long enough to get his pajamas on and go back to bed.  Those are pretty sweet nights.



Here's to another LONG week of baseball and school and hopefully not being too sick anymore.  I'm getting tired of blowing bright pink brain matter out of my nose, while feeling like a small elephant is sitting on my chest.

Coming Home from Vacation

wood arrives for new hardwood floors.

we wait.

hardwood is installed.....s l o w l y...

installer runs out of wood and leaves.

new wood arrives.

no one comes to install.

Oven breaks.

 

The day we needed to leave on our vacation:

Annie has an early AM blood draw

Annie goes to her cousin Emily's temple sealing

Ross home with boys, mowing the lawn.

The floor guy comes to finish installing and start sanding

The oven guy comes.  He finds the problem, but doesn't have the part.

The house is chaos.

I arrive home, we hurry and pack up and leave so the floor guy can finish.

Commence vacation.

Arrive home with new, beautiful floors.  New rugs.  Kitchen in the family room.

Spend 45 minutes upon arrival trying to set up the new kitchen rug under the table.

Baseboards haven't been put back on.

Guy comes to fix the oven.  Under diagnosed the problem, need more parts.  Starting week 4 with no oven.

No baseboards.  Call Steve the floor guy repeatedly to find out why.  He doesn't know.

Baseball rain out

No baseboards another day.  Call Steve.  He tells us that we aren't supposed to put rugs or big furniture on the floor for 30 days.  Oops.  Thirty days is a LONG time.  We decide that the rug doesn't work under the kitchen table anyway, and pull it out.

Annie gets sick. (and is still sick 10 days later)

Baseball game.

We got to the zoo for our last off track activity.

Ross is supposed to go to scout camp.

Boys have 5 baseball games in less than 24 hour period (One on Friday and 4 on Saturday all at the same times); Ross decides not to go to scout camp.

Guy comes to nail baseboards back on.  doesn't caulk or cover nail holes.  We thought he should.  He says he doesn't and leaves.

All the furniture is still in the garage.

The fridge breaks on Saturday night.

Sunday morning, we take everything that can be saved and put it in the fridge in the garage.

Monday morning the boys go back to school.  The fridge also gets fixed.

Tuesday the oven gets fixed, finally, at 7:30 in the morning.  We should have baked cookies, but we didn't.

The week home from a vacation is always a little rough, isn't it.

Bingham Baseball

Baseball for the big boys has been in full swing for well over a month now.  We've got over a month to go.  Baseball season is exhausting.  Elliott plays, mostly, Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays.  Wyatt plays a lot of Tuesdays, Thursdays, and some Fridays.  On our busier weeks, each boy has had two or three games.  On the days Elliott doesn't have a game, he generally has practice either at a local park, empty field, or a close by batting cage.

It's hard to keep the calendars straight.  All the games have been color coded.  We've had a lot of rain outs, make-up games, but so far, only one night where both boys had games on the same night, with a little bit of overlap.

Elliott was drafted onto a kid pitch "competition" team and his coaches are intense.  So much practice this kid has, and long ones at that.  As a mom, I really struggle with the idea of my kid playing a sport, and the amount of time a coach thinks an 8 year old needs to practice.  But, Elliott seems to be having fun.  He plays a lot of center field and first base.  He's had some great plays on first base, a few really good hits (it's hard for a lefty to get a hit in a kid pitch league) and has been hit in the back once with a pitch, that left a welt for a day or so.  He's having fun, and is doing well, but he's already told both Ross and me, that next year, he thinks he wants to play spring soccer instead of baseball.

Baseball is really tough for a kid like Elliott because it just isn't fast paced.  He needs to be running and moving and strategizing constantly, and I'm not sure he's at a level where that can happen, and I'm not sure he is willing to stick it out a couple more years to get to that point.  It's okay though.

Wyatt is playing his first year of machine pitch.  He has a really kind and positive coach, some good dad helpers, his included, and seems to be having a great time.  Unlike his brother, Wyatt likes a little bit slower paced activity where he can "River dance" in the field, pick a little grass, and chant funny cheers in the dugout with his team.  He's struggled to hit so far this season, he's on a team where he is one of only two kindergartners, everyone else is in first grade, but on Monday night, he cranked a double, got two RBI's and his team treat was a twinkie.  Winner winner chicken dinner!  Wyatt is still really learning the game, but he has fun.  He loves the uniform and has a great hit.

Last week, he got to be the catcher for the first time this season.  He did really well until the last pitch of the game hit him on the leg, in the only spot the armour wasn't protecting him.  He screamed his "broken arm scream" and was frozen, unable to move.  The inning was over, and his coach carried him off the field, to me waiting patiently in the dugout.  Ross was out of town so it was my job to talk him of a ledge (threaten him to stop crying), mostly because regardless of how bad it hurt, he was second in the order up to bat.

It's fun to watch my boys.  I like to watch them be involved and have fun.  As the parent, it is completely and totally exhausting to get two boys everywhere they need to be, often at the same time.  I know that Ross and I both feel like we are stretched a bit too thin from March through June, but giving our kids the experience of being on a team, listening to a coach, and being outside of their family in a more real world/competitive experience that will help to shape their life, I suppose outweighs the stresses.

why is it such a challenge?

I'm in a rut.  I'm sure most of you know the kind of rut I'm talking about.  The kind where, no matter what clothes you put on in the morning, even though it's your regular "uniform", you feel like you look like Captain Stupid.  The rut where even though you are wearing make-up, there is no covering up those dark circles under your eyes.  That rut where, even though you look at yourself every day and observe, where all your regular clothes fit just like they always have, the number on the scale keeps changing...in the wrong direction.  Sometimes jumping three pounds overnight.  How do I gain three pounds overnight?!

And then, even though he insists it's a compliment, your husband calls you curvy.

I'm sure it was, in his head, a compliment.

But.

It doesn't work that way.

Here's the part I cannot reconcile, and it's driving me completely mad.  I know that I am good at a lot of things.  I have talents, that are put to use regularly.  The entire dual immersion second grade things I'm the coolest PE mom in the world.  I can sew up a storm every day.  I never let the laundry pile up.  I am smart, educated, kind, thoughtful, considerate, funny, musically challenged and like most people, I just really wish that I was a good dancer.  I take really good care of my kids and am so proud that they are smart and kind and funny and special good kids.  I think that I am a good wife.  I know I'm a terrible housekeeper, but I'm okay with that and I am a really good cook to compensate for the messy bathrooms.

But.

Why can't I seem to make any of that matter?  Why instead, do I get in these ruts where, I feel like my self-worth and identity should be determined by my weight, how my clothes fit, whether my hair looks perfectly symmetrical and how much I exercise every day. Which, by the way, is almost never (but we don't need to talk about that).  Why do I become consumed with self-doubt, hesitation and reservation about all the things that I'm good at to the point that I don't think I'm good at them anymore...all because I weigh as much as an offensive linebacker.

Is it hard for you to get dressed for church on Sunday?  Sunday's are my most stressful and uptight days of the week.  I go through outfit after outfit trying to get ready for church.  My bedroom looks like a dressing room threw up.  Never, do I make it to church on the first outfit I try, it's usually the third or fourth outfit that I settle with and head out the door in a huff.

Why do I do that?

It really makes no sense, at all.  Does it?

It's Christmas. I'm writing a blog post and it's Christmas!

This Christmas, we had one of the more mellow holidays than we've had in along time.  But, it did start very early.  Our early morning though, was for a very good cause....Uncle Elder Willie.

Willie's phone call was scheduled for 7:00 am so Ross and I got up at 5:00 to get ready.  We woke the boys up at 6:00 am, let them glance at their Santa gifts for 15 minutes, and then got them dressed and headed out the door.  We arrived at my mom's with minutes to spare and then got to talk to our best big iggy for about an hour.



He was so happy!  I don't know if I've ever seen him so happy.  He was smiling, and laughing, and being funny, which is just as we had hoped he would be.  Hopefully, talking to us was as rewarding for him. 





After we signed off (Until Mother's Day) we fixed a delicious breakfast.  We decided to buy waffle dough from Waffle Love and had Liege waffles with all the fixin's, hash browns, bacon and a couple people ate eggs.



Then it was time.  Time for presents.  My mom said she was "cutting back" this year, but from the dozens and dozens of wrapped boxes, her version of cutting back is my Grandma Huber's version of cutting back, which really isn't cutting back at all.  We opened a whirlwind of presents and then, as the exhaustion of the early morning set in all the kids settled down, the adults started to fall asleep, and the cokes were poured.









Once we all felt ready, we headed out to my grandpa's house to visit with him, wish him a happy Christmas, and set up the food for the rest of the day.  All 10 of us (willie wasn't there and James was working) stormed into my grandpas house like a Christmas tornado and I think he was happy to have us there.  I've never been FIRST to his house on Christmas in my whole life, so it was fun to be there with him, watch him laugh at all our craziness, and get to hang out before the rush of people.









When it was time to head home, we did.  Some people fell asleep in the car.  Some people fell asleep at home.  Some people never fell asleep but played video games and sat in the mess of all their holiday loot.

In the evening, my parents came over and we had shredded beef tacos and nachos and tamales made for us by a nice neighbor.  We went to bed Christmas night with full hearts and full bellies.  It was one of the better Christmases I've ever celebrated.

The Spirit of Service

Every year, the youth of our neighborhood, do some sort of service project, in two events.  They hold a neighborhood bonfire where people bring donations for some charity and then they do a Christmas program at a local Alzheimer facility.  This year, Ross was in charge of the combined "service" activity and he followed that old mantra, "Go big or go home!"

Go big he (we) did.  Ross did some research and found the Family Support Center of Midvale.  This organization provides a lot of services to people around the valley, mostly transitional housing, day care and counseling for families down on their luck or women and children leaving abusive situations.  After talking to Kellie, on of the awesome people who help run the facility, it was decided that they would be our charity for the year.

Ross agreed to provide Christmas gifts for 7 families, as well as use the traditional neighborhood bonfire to collect donations for general center operations.  Then, he pretty much handed the project over to me.  I organized all the people (I think it was 28), and we made ornaments with gifts listed, three ornaments per person.  I also put together gift bags for each of the moms, added items like socks and underwear (I was taught well by my grandma) to each child's list, and then we placed all the ornaments on two trees in the lobby of our church.

Then, we just waited for the gifts, as well as donations of boxes, wrapping paper, and so much more to arrive at our house.  By last Saturday, my front living room and dining room looked like the salvation army of new gifts.  Each person had a minimum of 6 items, and most people in our neighborhood bought more than was on each tag.  I figured that we had around 150 presents donated, even some big items like bedding, long boards, and play station games.

As items started to roll in, I felt Santa's pressure to make my list and check it twice.  The more organized I could be, the better things would turn out.



Last Saturday four women in my neighborhood came over to help me check, double check, and box all the presents in preparation for the youth wrapping them on Tuesday night.  It took us a little over 2 hours to go through all 7 families and in the end, I was only missing three items: underwear, a Lego set, and a stroller.  The generosity was amazing and I was so proud to be able to help with such a project.

Last night was our wrapping night and it was amazing.  Kellie, from the center came to help out and we had about 50 kids and adults show up to wrap all the presents and stuff almost 30 stockings with wonderful prizes for any kids who will be entering the center on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.





I grew up in a family where service has always been a priority.  I've watched my grandparents and parents serve so many others, that even though it's challenging at times, it really is second nature to me.  And, my obsessive need to plan and organize fits right in to a project like this.  It just made my heart so happy to be part of such a project and I hope, that next year, we can do the same thing all over again.

This is what Christmas (well, really all the year) is about and it was just an awesome thing.

Let It Be

Once, as an American History teacher, I shared a current event about how the US government had decided to offer reparations to the surviving families of Japanese Americans who had been interned in camps across the Western United States during World War II.  As an apology, the survivors, which in the most part were grandchildren and great grandchildren, were given $20,000 - $40,000 to compensate for the loss of income and livelihood during that volatile time.

After sharing this current event, one student in particular, a student who I disliked very much, but was also very good friends with the only African American student I had in class, a student whom I loved dearly, asked me a question.  He wanted to know why the government didn't pay reparations to the ancestors of slaves - why their families didn't get $20-40,000 to make up for the loss of livelihood for generations.  At first, I tried to logically explain American history and the questions involved with such a process.  How do you begin to pay back possibly a million or more families?  How do you trace the records of people who were never accounted for?  Where would you even start?

These questions and my attempt at an answer weren't enough for this student, who was quickly becoming my enemy.  He was Hispanic, and had felt prejudice and racism in his short life, and he saw it in the story of the government and history I was trying to paint.  He started to yell at me, raising his voice in anger and frustration at the injustice he felt I was justifying.  In turn, as I sat in my desk at the front of the room, papers in hand, I yelled back.  I raised my voice, but probably surprised him with my response.

I don't remember everything I said that day, but I remember I maybe had never been so adamant and vocal and emotional in my whole life as a teacher.  I do remember that I shouted back.  I shouted quotes from Malcolm X and Martin Luther King about injustice and inequality.  I argued that slaves never stood a chance because of the system that existed and finally, though the details are hazy, I shouted, "Isaac, it's because they were black!" and as I calmed myself down I said, "The government would never do such a thing because it would be impossible and because slaves were black!"

That pivotal moment in my classroom was a life changer.  I remember looking at Tim, my black student, and having him smile his beautiful smile at me.  Maybe he was mocking me because once again I had let Isaac rile me up.  Or maybe he was proud that I'd vocalized and figured out something that he'd known for all of his 16 years.

Either way, this story came to mind today as I was pouring over postings on Instagram about the decision by the Grand Jury in Ferguson, Missouri yesterday.  As the details continue to evolve and unfold,  I don't know what to think.  I don't know what side to be on.  I feel horribly for all the mothers who have ever had to witness something tragic happen to their children, and then feel like no justice was served.  I am sickened that something like this happened because of race, if that's the real motive.  I am nervous that police officers are so quick to fire their weapons and "shoot to kill".  I am disturbed to no end that robbing and looting and committing additional acts of crime feels like a just response, that it feels like the only response.  Why is it when, whether our "team" wins or looses in any capacity of life, as a culture we feel it's okay to take from the innocent and uninvolved.

I've read statistics on crime rates.  I've seen the numbers of how many black men have been murdered in the last few months.  I've once again, read those same Malcolm X and Martin Luther King quotes that I've read so many times before.  But, I've added some Maya Angelou, some Toni Morrison, and some Cornell West into the bunch as well.

It's so sad to me that all of this still exists in the world.  That we don't see people for people and crime for crime.  That it feels like we're going backwards as a nation.  Baton Rouge re-segregates schools, injustice because of race is okay, and there are people of every creed, color, and race oppressed in the nation that is supposed to be the answer to "the dream".

My boys and I, every once in a while, have talks about skin color and how some people look different than others.  We talk about how it doesn't matter, that you are friends with everyone and stick up for everyone.  Every day, as we wait in line to be dropped of for school I tell the boys, "Be good.  Be smart.  Be kind to everyone."

I surely hope they are hearing me.

Also in our house - though it may seem a little unrelated, we talk about the fact that in this life, you are either a Beatle or a Rolling Stone.  I am a Beatle through and through.  And, as I've been thinking about all of this today, a song game to mind, sung and performed in a movie that is so reflective of what is happening today, but identifying with a time decades ago.




These are pivotal times in a volatile world.  It's a little scary.  But I will do my best to stand up for what's right, and make sure my kids do the same.

The Morning After...

Anyone who has read this blog long enough knows that I (and my husband for the most part) am a general holiday scrooge.  There are parts of holidays that I enjoy, but for the most part, I really don't get it all.  And, probably at the top of my list is Halloween.  It just feels like such a waste of time and money and energy and I just don't understand why I have to give candy to people I don't know, who don't live in my neighborhood, just because they show up on my front porch.

But then again, we don't give out candy.  We give out plastic crap and stickers from Oriental Trading.  And generally speaking it really ticks people off.  Especially the 10 and older crowd.  Especially times two, the 20 years olds who come to our door at 9:00 pm, not even in costumes with pillow cases wanting candy and all we have left are ghost finger puppets and pumpkin stickers.  Ha ha!  And, that one girl, who didn't have a bag, who was with said 20 year olds who just stuck out her hand and stood on my front porch staring at my 7 year old and he just stared back because she didn't have a bag and even he was smart enough to know that we weren't giving handouts - not in that sense anyway.  That was when we turned off the lights and called it a night.

Or, the little kid who, when Elliott gave him one of the few pieces of candy we did have, inspected it and then handed it back declaring that he didn't like it and marched into our house, to our bowl and demanded something different, while his mom just stood on the porch weakly telling him to back off.  He and Elliott had a short stand off, and finally Elliott took the candy away from him and gave him a cheap plastic jumping spider.  See kid, you beg and you lose.  That kid was not from my neighborhood.  And I didn't like him either.

We gave out about 600 "treats" last night.  Our neighborhood is known as one that goes all out for the holiday with enough "big ticket houses" that it has a reputation that brings out not only all the surrounding neighborhoods, but people from all over.  People we've never seen.  People we know don't live around here.  It bugs me.  Is it really worth it for a snack size pack of M&M's?

But, Wyatt had so much fun being in big kid school and in the parade ("But Mom, it wasn't a parade, we just walked around the school," he said) and having a party with FOUR treats.  And Elliott thought he was pretty cool because he was one of only a small handful of baseball players, not like all the ELSA's we say - holy unoriginal batman.  We joked in the car that it should have been called Elsaween, instead of Halloween.

And, we carved pumpkins and it grossed Quinn out which was pretty funny.  And, before bed time that little sloth was so hopped up on sugar that he not only broke open a glow stick and sprayed glow goo all over the entire house (bad!) but he was moving at the speed of roadrunner, not sloth and he was singing and dancing and passing out candy and was down right hilarious and crazy and I wish you could have seen him because most people don't think he has a personality but once he gets going, he's a total nutter (phew!  long sentence.).







You want to know what was the best part of yesterday?  It was payday and I was able to order a whole bunch of Christmas presents online while the boys were doing their thing all afternoon and evening.  And that made the day just about worth it.

Until next year Halloween....

Until next year....

When it all falls apart

You know how when you are in the hospital, they ask you to rank your pain? You have a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst pain you ever could feel in your life I suppose. I've been in those situations and never really ranked my pain higher than a 7 probably. Either the pain of the procedures I've had hasn't been bad (really, it has been though) or I have a pretty high thresh hold for pain. Either way, I've not been higher than a 7 and as soon as I'm home, I quit the hard stuff and recuperate on tylenol and advil.

The last 15 days or so of my life haven't gone so well. They've been around an 8 or 9 on the "pain" scale. Pretty much every single day, something in my world of #firstworldproblems has gone terribly wrong and if you would have talked to me at any given time in those last two weeks, I probably, if I wasn't wallowing in my own "pain" would have sat down and told you all the gory details.  There has been a lot of arguing and raising of voices, dramatic expression of frustration at the actions of other people towards and around me and my family, sadness at the choices of others.  Many things have broken, strange conversations have happened, and bad attitudes, at least on my part, abound.  I've pretty much felt like giving up on just about everything because nothing has been happening as it should.

Yesterday, we skipped out on stake conference because we were going to attend a baby blessing instead and it was the first I've been to church in three weeks time.  It was, honestly, a little strange to be in such a familiar setting, and really refreshing, too.  It was a Fast Sunday and let's face it, Fast Sunday in a different ward has the potential to be full of surprises.  But instead, for the most part, it was really good.  I was happy to be in the meeting and feel the spirit that was there.  I was happy to hear the messages that were shared.  I was happy to be reminded that no one is forcing me to make the choices I make in this life - that they are mine, and I make them happily.

Today is Monday.  Monday is preparation day in Lithuania, which means it is letter day from that big Iggy brother of mine.  Words cannot begin to describe how I look forward to Monday mornings.  Lately, I've taken to keeping my phone by my bedside on Sunday nights because 1) on the off chance that I wake up around the time he sends his e-mails, I think about trying to catch him and 2) the first thing I do when I get out of bed on Monday morning is read his letter.  It lifts me up and inspires me and makes me smile.

This Monday, I got an e-mail from him.  My brother likes to talk about our "chi" - our inner spirit that guides us and keeps us balanced.  My letter to him for the week, basically, detailed how my chi was lost, and my struggle to try and find it.  (Seriously Internet, you have no idea how rough these last two weeks have been.  Going to lunch and me talking the WHOLE time couldn't even begin to cover it!)  I told him of a couple experience though that were helping me feel like I was getting back on track.  He told me that my e-mail was intense to read, but then he shared some things with me that were really important for me to hear from my wise missionary little brother, who, is way too skinny.  It's funny how from so far away, in a different time zone, he knew the right things to say to me.

And then, in typical Willie fashion, he signed off like this:

Be calm. Be happy.

Express your thoughts. Let it all out. 

May all of your wildest dreams come true :)

 

Thanks Napoleon.  For your information, I drink almond milk and yes, it's because I think I'm fat!

Oh, get to the point, right?

What is the point?

I think that the point is - sometimes life really really sucks.  It sucks so hard and so bad that you don't even want to get out of bed.  It just sucks your will right out of you.  But, no matter what, there are things that make it better.  Like your goofball kids doing well in school, and making each other laugh, and having great soccer games.  Or, your baby saying the word "cooties" all the time and calls his brothers, "the boys" and sings the chorus, "say Geronimo" from the song we heard on the radio all day long.  And, a husband who is your opposite so when you are sitting inside the emotional toilet, he is at least on the seat, not all the way in.  Or your mom and your aunts remind you that girl power rules and that learning how to work hard is pretty much the most important thing.

And all of that stuff, if only for the fact that it is barely keeping me sane, is the stuff I need to think about.