Her Hands

When I was young I remember looking at my mom’s hands.  They weren’t usually painted or particularly fancy, but I loved them.  I saw my grandmother’s hands when I held those hands.  Her long fingers, the knuckles a little knobby and her veins visible.  I still love my mom’s hands.  They have aged and are still beautiful to me.  They hold memories of all of my childhood in them.

When my own kids have sat beside me and taken my hands, usually in a chapel pew, or while watching a movie together- Each has examined my hands.  Sometimes they push my veins around because it’s gross, but most of the time they just look at them and comment on how old they look or how much they look like Grammy’s hands. They are great at making me feel young.  Today though… as Lainy held my hand I felt her bending my fingers, open close, open close… She said, “that’s weird, you’re fingers… they creak. I can feel them; they creak when I bend them.  You know, like an old door.”  Super. Creaky old door hinge hands.

I did get a bit of a rebound when I subbed in primary today.  Cute 4-year-old Michael sat atop my knee and held my hands in his.  I could feel that he was assessing them.  He asked me to clasp my fingers together and he lifted them up to his little face.  Then I heard him sniff, you just never know what will happen while holding a 4 year old boy. “Ooooh, your hands smell good” Sniff, sniff.  “Like peppermint” Thank you bath and body works, I’ll take it.  It’s certainly a step up from the creaky door hinge comparison.

Jayce has never been one for outward affection in the public eye.  (Ask him about the time I kissed him square on the lips in Walmart if you see him, I thought I was hilarious.  He did NOT) I love holding hands, and when Jayce was in the “middle” years, you know those years that teenagers get a little squirrely about being embarrassed by their parents?  I tried to reach over while we were sitting next to each other and hold his hand.  He of course, was not up for that., and pulled his hand away like I had tried to cut it off or something.  Then it evolved and became a game.  I would try and hold his hand whenever he was least expecting it.  Again, he was not a fan.  But there was a day once.  In the midst of a particularly hard time in our lives that he saw me.  He looked past all of his teenager lenses and saw that I was suffering.  I remember the feeling of him taking my hand, looking me straight in the eye and saying nothing.  He knew. He knew what that gesture meant for me.  These are the moments that make motherhood the best calling of them all. 

Doubt vs Question

Doubt is defined as "expressing or feeling uncertainty or lack of conviction; skeptical"
Questioning is defined as "the action of someone asking questions"

So many times has this idea of doubt vs questioning come up in discussion of religion.  Many times I have heard that doubting is bad, but questioning is ok.  I'm not sure that I can get on board with that.  I didn't spend any of my youth asking questions, I don't even remember spending any of my valuable teenage time considering any of it.  It didn't occur to me.  I was trying to keep the emotional roller coaster of youth on the tracks.  Sure, I went to church camps, educational religious events, and I learned and grew from them, but I don't remember really wondering if there was truth in it.  It just was what I knew.  In my 20's while a newlywed and having babies, I still attended church, listened and felt filled by the lessons taught and the lessons I was asked to prepare and teach.  It was my 30's that I finally began to consider God and religion as more than just something that I did.  So, I began to question.

For quite a few years I questioned off and on.  Mostly I was frustrated by the roles of women in the church, or the lack of it.  I struggled with the concept of polygamy, some of the early prophets and their imperfections, and little things that popped up every now and then.  But I never doubted.  I questioned.

Before several of my family members chose to leave the church, they spent a great deal of time and energy asking every question imaginable.  As those questions because to accumulate, doubt began to creep in.  I questioned and began to doubt as well.  And you know what?  That ok.  Doubting does not make any of us bad people.  It means we are human and imperfect, and we are using our gift of agency and choice, and isn't that fantastic! Isn't it ok to wonder and worry and panic when things start to feel shaky underneath our usually stable ground?  I think yes. I have been on my share of shaky ground having been raised in Southern California and it is a scary feeling to have ground beneath you move. And just as an earthquake shakes things up, eventually time continues and the ground stops shaking. You assess the damage, and start moving forward again.  I think when we spend so much time trying to remind others that doubt is scary and wrong we are misunderstanding the purpose of learning.

It's scary to watch someone we love make choices that are different than ours, especially if we know we have the truth.  Sorry to break it to you, but you can't make anyone's choices for them.  You can provide love, information, share your testimony and be an example, but you can't choose for them.  Most of us have somewhere between 75-85 years on average, to learn what we can in mortality.  It is not smooth sailing, you won't have a perfect journey, things will be hard, and you'll do your best.  But part of learning is time.  It might take one person a single year of learning something and they are solid in it. It wasn't a tough choice, they knew right away what their answer was and they stuck with it.  Someone else might take 40 years to learn the same.  Questioning, doubting, wondering, ignoring, coming back to and finally knowing.  Guess what?  That's ok.

I hope that those who believe differently in regards to religion or any subject - treat each other with respect, love, kindness and consideration.  Happy Sunday.

Raise a Hallelujah. C'mon, do it.

It happened again tonight.  That beautiful feeling we sometimes label inspiration.  It's been a hard week.  It seems like a one-thing-after-another kind of week.  Today I felt overwhelmed. It was that feeling where your insides are tense, everything feels overwhelming and your to-do list feels like it will never get done, and you have this unnatural drive to have it all done right this second.  I tried venting to my sister and even though she spoke calm and kindness to me, I still felt an intense need to yell at all the things. 

One weekend of every month we make a visit to someone we love who is doing amazing things on the path to personal healing. Like amazing stuff.  Like the stuff of miracles.  And it never fails, the week leading up to that visit is filled with chaos and stress.  Wouldn't you know it, our visit is this weekend.  

I went on a quick run tonight and decided that I would just listen to pandora.  I have all but given up on "normal" music these days. There is too much sifting to find something that isn't offensive, so I was listening to Christian rock while I jogged along to the beat of whatever came on next.  Sometimes I sing when I run. Out loud.  So I was singing and I was running.  And I was thinking.  Of all the crazy I had on my list to get done before our visit this weekend.  Then that beautiful feeling came as I sang these words to this incredible song by Bethel music "I raise a Hallelujah... in the presence of my enemies."  You might not know this little thing about me.  But I love a good "amen" "hallelujah" or "praise the Lord" during worship services.  Ok, so it's not a big thing in the LDS church around here, but I wish it was!  So, I say it in a whisper, but I love to say it! 

These weekend visits.  They are important.  This person we love, is doing things that will change many lives for good.  This person we love is a giant and is spreading love and healing.  So when I had that beautiful feeling... with a jolt, I sang loud, "I raise a hallelujah!" and said "not today Satan!" And I will continue to raise a hallelujah every. single. day.    

Running without a purpose

I post a lot about running.  It's because it serves to fill so many voids and calm so much chaos in my life.  I don't love the actual act of running.  Pretty much every single time I hit the pavement I have the thought that I'm doing such a repetitive act, and I hate repetition so why do I keep doing it? 

I finished my third half marathon recently.  I cursed the training.  It was a lot of hours, and months to prep.  With my finger pointed in the air, a slight bend forward, and an accusatory tone, I said too many times to count "I will take a break from running- so help me when this is over, for a month!"  Well, the race is over. And I am still running.  Let me tell you why. 

Yesterday was hard.  It was just a long day, and I had too many balls in the air.  Working all day, football practice, meal making, house cleaning, dog mourning (my little Flapjack is fading fast) and when the biscuits burned while I was folding laundry and cleaning up a spill... that was it.  I dropped everything, put my running shoes on and before my thoughts had time to catch up- I was running.  I ran past the hospital, down Main street and found myself nearly sprinting a hard right into the cemetery.  I slowed to a walk and pulled out my earbuds, feeling the reverence of that place.  Of every place where souls are put the rest.  I walked to the headstone of the only soul I knew and loved there.  I sat.  I talked. I told her it's not possible that so much time has passed. I told her about the hard things.  I cried.  I remembered.  And then I stood, grateful for her in my life, walked down the pathway toward Main St and started running home. 

That's what running is in my life.  Release and space to think.  There are probably hundreds if not thousands of miles that I have invested in the pavement of my emotions.  Anger, sadness, pain, joy, fear, elation, melancholy, and sorrow.  There is something about being able to physically work through the mess in your head through your feet, or pushing your lungs to keep up with the steady stream of thoughts you work through as you rhythmically pace your feet to the beat of the music. 

So, I still run. And I still love/hate it.   

Jared turns 13

A teenager.  My last baby to leave childhood on his way to adulthood.  He is the gentlest, quietest, let's be honest...sweetest one of all.  It takes a bit more work to see those qualities through the mist of the teenage barrier, but you can see it.  In our quiet moments, away from the world when he lets the walls down.  I am grateful to be the mother to three incredible souls.  But for today, I celebrate Jared.  He was a smidge of baby coming into the world nearly 4 weeks early at a whopping 5 lbs.  He was darling and sweet from the start, eating well, sleeping well, and just happy to be carted around.  It was his second year of life that he began to make things interesting.  After 13 years of it, I can tell now that it's because he has a busy brain.  He likes to create, build, tinker with, and destroy everything in his line of sight.  As a 2 year old that translated to chaos, but only in the hours he was awake...  One year all I did for a birthday post was list all the things he had dumped out and destroyed.  It was a very long list. These days you will find him on the football field, on a skateboard, a scooter, a bike or running on his own two feet.  But rarely will you see him standing still, he's just the best kind of fun. I love you kid. Happiest birthday to you my sweet boy. 

                                 

 

Profits and Losses

I can't decide if the year and a half spent preparing for, working on, and eventually the closing of the bakery- was a loss of a year and half of my life or the biggest growing experience of my life.  Maybe, it's both.  There was so much joy, excitement, drive and I'll be honest.. pride- involved the months leading up to the opening of that place.  Those quickly dissolved into survival.  I spent more mornings crying on my drive to the bakery (if I got to go home that night) than not.  I cried A LOT the first few months.  I slept an average of 3-4 hours a night.  I never saw my kids. I was a shell of a human and my role as a mother was pretty slim.  Ask my kids.  They willingly share their thoughts on the subject.  I sucked at life that year.  I gave everything to that bakery. 

From outside that bakery window looking in, people looked into my "life" and saw an entrepreneur, a working mom who could do it all, juggling work, life and family.  It took just 9 months for me to see the walls coming down.  My family life took a major turn.  Jason and I were staring down the barrel of divorce.  My kids were tearing at the seams.  Grades were down, moral was down.  Constant fighting at home and at school.  My kids were dealing with some major issues... alone.  Without their mom.  And they weren't dealing very well.  My life seemed to just come unhinged all at once. 

I looked up.  It was as if I had my head down and I was laser focused on making this bakery work. I looked up and at my life and I didn't recognize it.  I didn't recognize myself.  I knew I had to make a conscious change.  A choice.  There was no question at that point that my choice was my family. Yes, saying goodbye to the wonderful women who became part of my family that year was hard.  But I knew.  I knew this was the only option. 

A lot of changes have happened in the last few months.  There's a huge story there and someday Jason and I will share it together, but for now just know miracles do happen.  Marriages and relationships can heal, and I love that man more than I have ever loved anyone.  Ever. 

The biggest lesson, with no runner up even coming close, that I learned opening this business is that no matter what age your kids are- they need their mother.  The bakery has been closed for just over 3 months.  I am still working full time at another job, but I'm there when my kids need me.  It's taken this long to start to build trust again.  So when my14 year old daughter comes up behind me while I'm folding laundry, wraps her arms around me and just breathes... I stop.  I close my eyes and revel in the connection.  Motherhood is worth it.  So, it's both.  That year and a half was my biggest loss of time with my family, and my biggest gain of understanding.  And I am grateful. 

My Teenagers are awesome

My three kids have a lot in common.  All with light colored hair, blue eyes and fair skin.  They all have giant feet like their dad.  Each has a strong sense of who they are, and a strong will to compliment it.  Once upon a time they all sounded pretty much the same when they spoke until Jayce turned into a man boy and his voice dropped a few octaves.  But the similarities are as numerous as their differences.  I can't say it enough,  I LOVE watching teenagers become.  I don't always like the decisions, but I sure love standing back and watching them squirm out of their cocoon and spread their wings.  

Lainy is just 13 and has always known who she is.  She has a strong sense of goodness and generally makes good choices.  Enter boy number one.  There isn't currently a boy number two, but I am sure there will be, so this boy is the first.  Her little heart is circling and swirling round and round, fluttering between real life and responsibility and fluffy feelings of dreamy boy number one.  My first response as a mama was,  whoa- kid.  Nuh uh.  No way, no how.  Not happening.  And then my 13 year old self knocked very lightly and said, hey remember what you were like at 13 years old?  Oh yeah, I had a boy number one at age 13 too...  And I felt so completely unprepared for the parenting duties that were required of me.  She isn't a fan of our parental standing on it all.  But boundaries were tested a little, tears were abundant, and understanding of those boundaries so far has been good.

Skip on over to my oldest child Jayce.  He's pushing 16 and he is either completely unprepared for dating, or he wised up and is keeping his mouth shut about it.  He has never been super sure of how to present himself to the world.  He knows who he is, and what he stands for and what kind of person he wants to become, but isn't super strong at holding up high and carrying it around on his shoulders.  While we are holding Lainy back and helping her set boundaries for dating, we are having to do a little pushing, prodding and teaching for Jayce.  My sweet friend told me about a brilliant parenting moment by a friend.  This friend takes her sons on their first date, and her husband takes their daughters on their first date.  They teach them how to handle conversation, how to appropriately accept an opened door, or open the door for the other, how to pay the bill and how to tip, they discuss dating ideas, what is appropriate and what is not.  Jayce doesn't like the idea.  But he's going on a date with me anyway. 

Yesterday Jayce got in the car after school and said, I just laid out another kid.  Unfortunately, this was not the first (or second or third...) time that those words have been uttered from Jayce.  But this time was different.  We have tried to teach our kids that there will be times in life that you need to step up and act in defense of the defenseless.  I am not a fan of physical responses in anger.  But I am proud of Jayce for acting in defense of the defenseless yesterday.  There is a special needs boy who often waits for his parents in a grassy area near the high school, yesterday he was sitting in the snow building a snowman.  Several boys walked by, one kicked over the snowman, and they all laughed and ridiculed.  Jayce was nearby, gave him a solid punch to the face, told him that was not ok and walked on.  My mama heart was proud.  Most days I wonder if I am teaching them anything that sticks.  

Teenagers are hard, they are sweet, awkward, wonderful and really awful.  I love to watch them grow.  Literally, if you stare at them long enough you can probably see them grow right out of the clothes and shoes I just bought.  But man, are they awesome.  I just love my teens.  

Warning: Hint, guidance, recommendation, love.

"Oil change needed"

I knew it was close, but I also knew I didn't have to change the oil immediately.  It would keep.  A few days later...

"front left tire pressure low"

 Yeeeeah, I did a once around to check if I had a real flat, but they looked good.  I chalked it up to cold temperature.  It would right itself once it warmed up.

"ice possible- drive with caution"

That one I was familiar with.  It had been snowing and anytime the temp drops below freezing that warning pops up.

It was when all three of these warnings ran across my dashboard in a news ticker fashion, that I began to think I should probably pay attention.  These small warnings were beginning to pile up. 

Each of these warnings are a little different.   An oil change has a little bit of wiggle room.  You know eventually you have to get to it or there will be bigger issues that follow. 

A tire pressure warning is kind of an important one.  Especially in my case when husband informed me that I did indeed have low tire pressure due to a nail being stuck in it.  Definitely a case requiring immediate repair.

The ice possible warning is one that pops up just to remind you that danger is possible.

I have teenagers.  I have taught the youth most of my adult life in my church assignments.  I can assure you that they feel like we are the news ticker scrolling across their daily lives in a steady stream of warnings. 

Oil change needed.  Choose your friends wisely, it might not be an issue now, but eventually you'll end up with bigger problems.  Choosing friends as teenagers is tough.  Sure, sometimes the friendships find you- and if you're lucky, the friendship is as if two pieces of a puzzle are popping together in perfect place.  Sometimes finding even one friend is tough.  It's these moments that can cause you to be impatient and just friendship someone right into your life that isn't quite the match you need.  I wish I could better help these teens understand that being alone isn't as terrible as it feels.  Learning to be alone is a neat journey and each person should really take the opportunity to understand what it means.  Mean girls.  I know, I just jumped there.  I couldn't find a soft segue to lead into the topic.  It applies to boys as well.  It isn't friendship when you are in a group that judges, makes fun of, or hurts others.  It just means you are part of a group who has a common purpose.  It isn't friendship- don't fool yourself.  Friendship results in a lot of things- joy, growth, support, understanding, love, kindness, bonding and a zillion other positive good things.  If you are bound together and you find yourself using the group to take advantage of another, stop it.  And reassess your group.  Is this a friendship?  Are these people helping me to become who I want to become?  Am I being a good friend?  Am I helping others become who they want to become?  Choose your friends wisely now, so you don't have bigger problems later. 

Low tire pressure.  What's causing it?  Why is my relationship with my Heavenly Father and Savior  at a low?  I can tell you with certainty that it isn't because He is lacking.  Take a walk around your vehicle life.  Can you see anything wrong that might be causing your low pressure?  Really look.  Remember, I took a walk around my car and didn't see anything major.  Tires looked fine, ignore the warning.  But someone I love and someone who was looking out for me took a closer look.  And he found a big fat nail in my tire.  What might your nail be?  Addiction to Netflix/social media/video games/food/pornography/anything else? A poor choice of language? Low self esteem? Judging others? What is your nail?  What can you work on?  We all have something, if you can't find something the first time, look again.  If you are still walking this earth, you've got something to work on, something to be warned about, something to change in order to be closer to your Savior and your Father in Heaven.

Ice possible, drive with caution.  I think of these words as a daily warning.  Be careful out there.  It might be slippery.  Watch for things that will cause you to slip and try to avoid them.  But guys, He gets it.  You're going to hit ice once in a while, sometimes that ice comes in the form of things that you can't control, sometimes you are going to make poor choices.  Driving with caution means paying attention, do the same thing in your lives.  Pay attention to what is a good thing in your life, and the things that are slippery. 

The warnings from your car are only there to protect you.  Your car isn't giving you warnings to make your drive more difficult.  I promise, if an adult is giving you a warning, before you roll your eyes, try and remind yourself that it's only because they love you and want to protect you from the crazy that's out there. 

He's home.

You guys.  My husband is home.  Permanently.  Goodbye lonely empty bed, goodbye saying goodbye every Sunday, goodbye frantic running around trying to get children to various activities all at once, goodbye all too common cereal dinners because why make dinner when you have to force feed it, goodbye rocking in the corner because parenting alone is haaaard.  Hello to my nightly spooning buddy, hello to my companion taking the reigns with the punk teenagers, hello partner who cleans, hello husband who helps kids practice sports, hello math tutor (hallelujah!) hello consistency, hello to my other half. 

I can't believe how much I was lacking until when he came home he made it whole.  It was like juggling constantly, and someone coming over and holding a couple of the balls while you just tossed one up in the air and caught it.  It's hard to explain in a tiny blog post, but it's more than just: he's been gone, and now he's home. 

When we had the chance to live a typical, non traveling life style, when we were younger, it didn't work.  Let's be real, we didn't like living together full time all that much.  We were young, and very, very different with some weaknesses that clashed big time.  It was a pretty special experience when we started talking last year about Jason moving home and finding local work.  There was a lot of prayer, fasting and communication before a decision was made.  All of the logistics weren't matching up.  How do we leave a job that pays well,  are there any opportunities locally to support our family?  Will we have to sell the house?  Can we stay in Cedar?  Will we kill each other?  We had some hard decisions to make.  It all boiled down to the importance of being together as a couple, and the importance and his desire to be a present father.  We were and are willing to sacrifice whatever is necessary to be together.  We know it's what's right for us, and more importantly we want to be together. 

I have missed my person.  I am so grateful for progression, growth, and forgiveness. 
Over and out. 

One year

Growing up I remember listening to my mom in her adult conversations with other adults about scary things like divorce, death, abuse, and all the things that adults discuss and cope with, that children usually get to blissfully ignore.  I watched my mom mourn the loss of her own mother at about the age I am now. I watched her help rescue women in abusive situations, and hold the hand of a friend going through chemo.  I watched her mourn with those that mourn and comfort those in need of comfort. I am so thankful for her example, I think she never guessed that I would someday return to those memories and use them as a guide for my own journey. 

 It wasn't until just over 2 years ago that I held my own friends hand during chemo.  It didn't feel anything like I imagined it would.  Somehow I think I thought it would be fulfilling to help someone who was suffering.  Weird, right?  That I thought I would be the one feeling good, and fulfilled.  Such a selfish girl.  What I did feel was helpless.  I thought often that I just wanted to take some of it away for her, she always smiled in response and tried to comfort me.  It was such an odd feeling to be comforted by someone who was suffering.  But she did.  All the time, that Janna comforted me.  Clear until the day I said goodbye to her.  

One year later, the emotional jarring of loss has softened.  A few of her friends and I met at her grave this week.  We talked about the fresh dirt on some of the plots, and how the grass was settled and grown in on others.  Janna's little rectangle is at the halfway point.  The grass is in, but you can still see it hasn't quiet finished settling, leaving big lines around it.  It seems to match my emotions. A year later, the rawness of it has been covered and started to heal, but it hasn't quite settled.  There are still deep lines of loss that need more time.  I will always miss her, but I take comfort in knowing that someday soon when I think of Janna, it will be not laced with heartache and sorrow, but only with joy.  

Good Vibes Only today and forever my friend.  

Today I celebrate

I wondered how I would feel today.  I wondered if I would wake feeling heavy and sad. Or if my emotions would play close to the surface.  As soon as I opened my eyes it was the first thought that I had, Happy Birthday Janna. 

I've thought about it all morning, and realized I had to decide.  I have the ability to choose how this day will feel.  I thought about Janna and what she would want to do on this day.  I pictured myself asking her.  I see her face, it has a giant grin spreading across that beautiful face.  She would want us to be happy.  She would want us to remember her happy. 

Today I celebrate.  I celebrate the day my sweet friend was born. I celebrate her joy, her laughter, and her friendship.  I celebrate her grit, perseverance and her grace.  I celebrate the many lessons she taught me that I might never have learned otherwise.  I celebrate her motherhood, womanhood, and sisterhood.  I celebrate the day she was gifted a return to her heavenly home.  She battled well,  she left her legacy, and she left her love in everyone she knew. 

So, today I choose to celebrate.  Happy Birthday Janna, we miss you like crazy. 

Blindsided

Jared had his annual optometrist appointment today.  The good news, he no longer needs to wear glasses to read.  I was pretty thrilled since keeping track of anything in Jared's world is a challenge.  We were nearing the end of his appointment as the doctor was doing a routine check of his eyes, and he hesitated.  He looked at me, and then back into the depths of Jared's right eye.  His tone changed from jovial to concern.  I felt it change. He asked if we had discussed the spot on Jared's eye before.  No, we hadn't.  I am forgetful and sometimes just plain don't listen but, would have remembered something like this.

Let's be realistic, I selectively listen to my children when they tell me a world of information.  So when Jared sat next to me in the waiting room before this very appointment, covered up one of his eyes and said, Hey! My blindspot is almost gone! I looked at him sideways and said, what do you mean, blindspot?  He said, you know from the laser.  Huh-uh. I don't know.  Fast forward back to the doctor's tone changing to the kind that makes mama's panic.  He said, let's check something.  He covered one of Jared's eyes, and had him look at his letter board straight on, read the middle letter he said.  Jared's response was, well I can't.  I can see it, but every time I try to look at it, it disappears.  WHAT? Yep, he shined that damn, yes, damn laser into his eye ball for less than a second and broke his retina. I saw the scans.  It has beautiful straight lines and layers, and then, right there in the middle is a little spot where the line is broken.  And it causes his beautiful perfect blue eyes to have a blindspot.

I've thought about this all day.  This tiny moment of stupidity, when he made a choice he knew was not the right one and he created a blind spot.  A tiny one, but it wasn't there before.  He said, yeah, when ever I'm in class and I get bored, I close one eye and make my teacher disappear. 

We all do it.  We all make these tiny decisions that we know aren't the ones we should be making, and most of the time they don't have lasting consequences.  They don't affect much, and we keep moving forward.  But once in a while, we make a decision that we think is innocent, or we think the consequences don't apply to us, but they do.  And blindspots sometimes pop up.  And then we learn to just live life through imperfect vision.  Sometimes we even use these little blindspots to our advantage when we don't like something we see, we pretend it isn't there.  Eventually though, we have to acknowledge that we can't see.  And those sins, those tiny little blindspots become a burden and need to be healed.  Thankfully, we have the ability to completely repair our blindspots, and see clearly.  Over and over we can access this healing.

"The Atonement leaves no tracks, no traces. What it fixes, is fixed... It just heals, and what it heals, stays healed." 

-Boyd K Packer 

Jared turns 11.

This guy.  

He turned 11 a few weeks ago.  I am counting my blessings as I gather my thoughts for this post, that the weeks surrounding his birthday were complete chaos for me.  I may not have celebrated it.  I may have protested.  It can't be true. This boy who is filled with light, joy, sweetness, and fun cannot possibly have lived 11 years already.  Jared is disorganized, distractible, a major mess maker, and the most creative boy you'll ever find with a pile of junk.  If it isn't nailed down, and most people think it's useless, Jared wants it.  Last year as an incentive to bring his homework home, and to then, do it- I gathered a bin full of random supplies from zip ties to marbles, and a wood saw and random chunks of metal and wood to old handles and hinges.  He couldn't contain his excitement. (It didn't work. He loved the bin, but in my own chaos, I couldn't keep him away from it, even to do homework.)  

If a package arrives in the mail, you might as well toss the box it came in down the stairs toward Jared's room, because that is where it will eventually find its home.  Today I made my way to his classroom as the bell rang to help Jared give his desk a bit of attention.  As I knelt down to get comfortable at desk height, I started to giggle.  

This was the scene underneath his desk.  Medical tape so carefully strung from leg to leg.  You know that didn't happen so neatly on the first try.  Another gem about Jared.  He loves writing utensils, he always has.  He sort of collects them.  If you are missing a pen or pencil, chances are Jared has it.  

Although a rowdy and rambunctious boy, Jared has always had a gentle soul. He begged to play tackle football this season and after many months of consideration, we decided the positive's about football far outweighed the scary.  It has been a fun ride experiencing the world of football parents. (is there an emoji that conveys insanity? Insert here.)  Thankfully I can still coax him into a little snuggle time, he is quite affectionate, and though his emotions still play close to the surface, I will admit I am sad that the days of a sensitive little boy who cries too often, are numbered.  

I have sighed far more during this post, than most others.  Trying not to be too sad that this guy is growing up, up, up.  Claiming proudly that he is sprouting (albeit invisible) arm pit hair, is no deterrent for this mama who often needs a snuggle. 

Happiest birthday little buddy.  

I love you to the moon.

*** The day after I wrote this post,  I received a text from a friend with this picture and it read, "Found these determined souls down on Fiddlers Canyon by the retention basin. They have pushed it up 2 blocks so far!  I wished them good luck! Hands down my favorite thing I have seen yet this week!" 

If you have ever driven up in my neighborhood, it's a pretty steep climb to push an old built-in TV up two blocks.  They showed up at home empty handed.  When asked where the TV was, they replied, "we couldn't push it anymore, so we just left it by the round about, but we put a sign on it for $150!" When I asked them if for some reason someone wanted to pay them $150 for it, how would they know who to pay?  Oh, we put your cell number on the sign mom! 

Oh. My. Land. 

My sweet friend Amy helped me load that bad boy (and the sign!) into her truck and off to a dumpster, since even the DI wouldn't take it! 

The power of positive pants

Those people who always seem to be happy, to find joy in the journey, to look for the good... I want desperately to be one of those people.  Janna was so much that person.  She often referred to "putting on her positive pants" when she knew she had a hard thing ahead of her or she could feel herself starting to creep toward self pity.

I enjoy being happy, I love the feeling I get when I can look past an obstacle and see the good amidst the junk.  I'm not so great at putting on my positive pants when I'm tired, cranky, and overwhelmed.  I am really good at snapping at my children, and being short with my husband.  Today I shared those qualities, with my 15 year old son.  I love having a child that can problem solve, is mastering the art of sarcasm, and that I laugh with about stuff that would be lost on a younger kid.  But with those things, comes a kid who can call you on your crap, and knows when you're just having a bad day and taking it out on them. Jayce calls me on my crap, and my crap doesn't like it.  Today we spent a half an hour sitting in the car after we got home from church discussing the blessing of being positive.  He likes everything to be "fair." Which of course is relative when you're parenting 3 kids of different ages, differing personalities, and varying strengths and weaknesses.  He wants to talk though every situation where he gets treated differently than another sibling, so that he can be heard while he describes why his treatment is unfair.  Sorry dude, ain't nobody got time for that.  We all could spend our lives away trying to talk through why everything in everyone's lives are unfair.  It's exhausting just thinking about it!

Instead I challenged him for 24 hours to focus on nothing but the positive.  (He referenced a conference talk for last general conference, I was very impressed)  It took a few minutes of practicing.  How is that possible, he asked.  For example, I said, you walk outside and step in a pile of dog poop.  What's the positive?  He couldn't do it.  Thank goodness you had shoes on, and it didn't squish between your toes!  Thank heavens the dog pooped on the ground and not in your bed, and dog poop in the grass means we have our Flapjack, whom we love so much.  He started to catch on, but a thread of frustration was still intertwined with this new thought process.  His desire for fairness, for justice, and balance in treatment is strong.  I reminded him of Corrie and her reluctance to accept Betsy's gratitude for the fleas.  If these women, in the worst possible situation possibly ever, found things to grateful for, certainly we, as blessed as we are, can do the same.  (Corrie Ten Boom, The Hiding Place)

It's been 6 hours.  He has worked hard.  He grins sideways at me when he finds something especially difficult to find gratitude in, like at least Lainy gets to enjoy those Oreos, instead of them going to waste when he finds frustration at being gluten free.  

Maybe that's the answer.  If you desire and choose to be happy, and find joy, you will.  Eventually, if we try hard enough we will look around at the rain and realize that without trying we found beauty and gratitude for it.

Don't help!

I hadn't intended for the evening to turn toward a family council, but those are the best ones.  The ones that sort of just land in your lap and lay out seamlessly.  Well, with wrinkles, I mean they are my children after all.

My plate has been pretty full for a few months now.  Consistently full.  Sometimes when it spills over, I complain about the mess it's making.  And then I remember how lucky I am to have a plate with so much goodness a top.  Basketball, football, volleyball, scouts, piano, young women's, Color Run, baking, and everything else that this time of year brings to everyday life.  It's busy.  I mean, most days I don't stop moving until I hit the sheets.  So... you can imagine the state of my house.  It's less than pristine.  So, when your volleyball player comes in, drops her ball, knee pads and water bottle in the living room, followed shortly by your football player who drops his gear as he walks through the house toward the shower, where he leaves his clothes and towels behind,  backpacks unloaded and strewn across the counter,  peaches, pears, and tomatoes waiting patiently for their preservation, dust, dirt, fingerprints, and life all over the place!

Tonight I sat them down, and a story I had perused in the weeks prior popped into my brain.  It is titled "I don't help my wife," author unknown.   In it he talks about how he does housework not to help his wife, but because he lives there too.  He wears clothing that needs to be laundered, he uses dishes that need to be cleaned, he walks on the carpet that needs vacuuming, he pees in the throne that needs to be scrubbed.  As usual, Jayce is the kid who latched onto the idea, and understood my plight.  He may be a loose cannon with impulsivity, but that kid is dependable and aware of people and what they need help with.  To the core.  He reads situations faster than I do and leaps to aid.  So, I called the two youngers out on their crap.  I'm pretty sure my pleas fell on deaf ears.

We all get stuck in a habit of laziness.  Doing the minimum amount required to get by, muddling through.  So, look at your life, light a fire if you need to.  Shake things up, be better, try harder, and by all means pay attention to things and people around you, lend a hand, pick up trash someone left behind, talk to the lady in line next to you, wave to your neighbor, and don't forget to look at your kids or your spouse sometimes and see what an amazing human you have in your life!  I love my amazing humans.

Ragnars and Photo facials

The last two weeks have been nutso.  Let's go even farther and say that the last few months have been crazy all leading up to the last two weeks of chaos.  The last few months I had been training for yet another Ragnar.  My 6th Ragnar.  And my last.  At least for a while.

Colorado- Copper Mountain to Aspen.  It was incredible, beautiful, stunning, gorgeous.  I lucked out and had two 6.5 mile runs during the day and a 3.5 mile run at night.  I had high hopes of getting most of my running in while I breathed in the scenery.  With a van full of lovely women, we had a grand time.  Rivers, lakes, streams, mountains, meadows, sun  rises and sun sets were near perfection.  It was the night time isolation, bear sightings, and coming down with a massive cold during my last run that threw me.

Night running is a funny little game.  I find that if I can find someone who has about the same pace as I do, I will just stick close by so I feel a sense of support in case some crazy goes down.  Which is what happened with the bear.  Megen was part way through her night run and we were not too far from her along a mountain road, while she ran a little way down the mountain out of sight.  I was driving and what turned out to be a cat jumped out from the bushes startling all 5 of us left in the car.  So, when the animal a few yards ahead jumped out and started lumbering across the road we all took a second to register what we were seeing!  Sure enough, it was a good sized black bear.  Megen later told us that she had heard rustling in the bushes, likely in the same place we had seen him running up the mountain.

My last run was mid morning and the weather was perfect.  Running along side a beautiful lush lined river, I was prepared for a sweet spot. Turns out I was unprepared for all of it.  About a half a mile in I realized I was getting a cold, and it was happening fast.  I texted my team to find me along the route and have ibuprofen ready.  Unfortunately, I was too far into my run and had to take a turn off away from the road and along a path by the river.  Which was GORGEOUS.  By then I was two miles in and my face was throbbing.  My teeth hurt, my throat was on fire and raw, and my body was less than happy to be moving at all.  I texted Jason, filled him in and said I was finished.  I couldn't go any further.  I was going to call it.  He responded that he believed in me, that I had trained for this and that he knew I could do it.  I cried and ran, and cried and ran some more.  And I spit.  A lot.  At that point my head was full and mouth continued to fill with junk.  So now I'm crying, spitting and running.  It was then that I looked toward heaven and told Heavenly Father I was so tired and I couldn't finish.  I turned my head and started to spit again when I very clearly heard the Spirit say, "don't spit."  For a split second I questioned the command (response, gift, guidance).  But I didn't spit.  And wouldn't you know it, my raw throat dissipated,  my teeth and jaw stopped throbbing, and I had the ability to breath.  I put my head down and busted out the last 4 miles.  I lasted through the finish line when the last of our people came across, but once I hit the car I was down for the count.  I dragged myself up to the hotel, then back to the car the next morning.  I slept through dinner that last night, and through the 7 hour drive home.  And then I slept for 4 more days when I got home.

Don't spit.  I've thought a lot about that guidance over the last few weeks.  Never would I have come up with that plan on my own, and I still wonder why it worked.  But when the Spirit says not to spit, you don't spit!  What a gift.  It wasn't how I had intended to finish the race,  It wasn't my plan.  It wasn't what I was prepared for.  But it worked.  And when life doesn't go according to my plan, and it isn't what I am prepared for, I will always remember "not to spit."

Last week I finally pulled the trigger and got a photo facial at my local dermatologist's office.  IPL "intense pulsed light" is the proper description.  Thrilled to finally have all of my sun damaged skin removed from my face, I was pretty excited.  Nettie had had the procedure done a few months ago, filled me in on how it was done and the results were gorgeous.

My results are not gorgeous.  They had the light turned up too high and burned the living daylights out of my skin.  I asked about pain levels beforehand and the esthetician assured me it was nothing too painful.  Ooooooh that was not the case.  I teared under my little eyelid tapes, and flinched each time she shot me with light.  It has now been 5 days and I look a lot like a I would imagine a leper would have looked like long ago.  I have blisters and dark patchy burnt skin that is now peeling.  After a lot of research on IPL gone wrong, I made contact with Megen's sister who is an esthetician up north and after seeing my photos, hearing my experience, and consulting with her office- she confirmed that it was a botch job.  I met with the Dr. the following day who started off trying to convince me that this was normal and would heal beautifully.  My ammunition was already loaded... although I spent a good portion of my morning preparing my mind and emotions so that I didn't lose it when I went in.  Thankfully, it all came out without unleashing angrily or emotionally.  I called him on his crap, reminded him that I had already received a second opinion and that I was no fool.  He of course apologized and spent 45 min with me trying to do damage control.  He asked lots of questions aimed  at revealing just how much damage I could do to his reputation, which he mentioned was of utmost importance to him.  What did he want me to do? Crawl in a hole for 2 weeks?  I am a walking billboard of his negligence! His girls didn't even ask for my medical history! I am scheduled to return for a follow up on Tuesday and still am not sure what my game plan is.  He has not offered to refund my $200.  But if I don't heal well, I think I might need to press the matter.

Longwinded.  I know.  It felt long when I was living it all!  Signing off,  here's to hope for healing!