Kevin Whitehead-- the doctor, not the jazz critic

I've totally got this.  I'm off to the University of Utah hospital.  I get my echocardiogram in one hour and four minutes.  Then it's off to lunch (maybe with Ryan) in downtown Salt Lake City.  And then I meet with Dr. Kevin Whitehead at 1pm.  I've weighed myself this morning and taken a photo of the scale--so that I can eat lunch without worry.  I'm showered and dressed and smelling lovely.  I have on my happiness and adventure bracelets.  The boys are clean and dressed and were smelling lovely when I dropped them off at school with cousin Grace.  They ate breakfast and we said a prayer and they had all papers signed, homework done, and had studied up for tests today.  And Ryan looked amazing and kind this morning and he will be wonderful to talk to when I am finished with my day.  Or before...at lunch.  And now I have exactly one hour and one minute to get down there.  I hope it's the nice echo technician.  And I hope they'll accept the scale photo.  And, oh yeah, I also hope my heart is doing amazingly well and that the doc will tell me unequivocally that I can and should have another baby.  That'd be nice. Lunch will be nice too.

"I remember that fateful day back in September of 2017...."

How many times have I imagined myself saying something like this to an old friend I just happen to bump into at the park, or in a glorious speech to a crowd of admirers, or in an intimate interview with Robert Siegel, on NPR?  Many times.

I would go on to say that after that day in September my whole life changed.  I figured everything out.  I never ate sugar again.  I always awoke at 6am and exercised and meditated and cooked a delicious, healthy, organic breakfast for my family. I always had clean sheets on all the beds.  The laundry was always folded and put away.  I never missed visiting teaching.  I never missed family scripture study. I never argued with anyone.  I always recycled everything I could.  I was always kind and loving.  I was always completely honest. I showered daily. I got my doctorate in children's literature and non-profit organizational strategy. I wrote every day and soon after published fifty books.  I just figured it all out.  I knew how to live and I began to live perfectly.

My logical brain realized that of course I will never be perfect in this life...ever.  But I thought that if I could be perfectly consistent in doing a long list of very good things every single day, and not miss, or skip, or forget, that would make my life pretty perfect.  I would perfect my habits and thereby perfect myself.

But last week, my life did change dramatically.  I realized, not just in my brain, but in my heart, soul, gut, what-have-you, that I would never be perfect.  And I realized that feeling like I could be-- if I just did my list of dailies-- was not only foolish, it was harmful.  I realized that believing in a perfect future that is just around the corner discredits, and de-values, and denies the beautiful, and very imperfect life I've lived these past almost 38 years.  I have become me--the Charity that I am today--because of all of my decisions good and bad.  My family has become my family, my home, has become my home, my life has become my life, because of all the good and bad and imperfect, and wonderful decisions and experiences I've had--we've had.

For example...my boys are amazing.  Obv. They are huge.  They are growing every day.  They are learning new things. They are making new friends.  They are developing and changing and they are awesome.  And they are always hungry! And sometimes I feed them really healthy food, and sometimes I feed them ramen and donuts. And sometimes I make them turn off the television and help me clean up the yard, and sometimes I let them play Zelda for hours.  Sometimes we read our bedtime story, and sometimes we're getting to bed late, and we're all grumpy and I tuck them in with a kiss and an exasperated "It's sooo late!" and we don't read a word.

And yet they grow, and they are happy and I love them.  And I love our shared life together.  And when I'm in that unhealthy thinking mode-- believing that suddenly everything will change and I will only feed them the best, healthiest foods, and they will never watch TV, and we will treasure story-time every night, and never go to be angry and frustrated and THEN they will be even more amazing, I feel like I'm de-valuing the strong, beautiful, good people that they have grown into.  I'm discrediting all the work and effort and tears and struggle and JOY that have gone into helping them grow up to this point.  I never meant to do this, but always thinking that there is a better way to raise my children implies by default that I'm not doing things right and they would be better too, if only I did things differently.

So on that fateful day in September of 2017--last week-- I realized that I'm not suddenly going to figure out everything.  I cannot perfect myself.  I can't pretend to be Aunt Sherry, who always seemed perfectly nice all the time. Perfection is not how my life works. Perfection all happens over time--in the eternities--with a ton of help from the Savior.  I don't want to tell people about the day I figured it all out---because what does that say about who I am today (pre-perfection). I don't want to start over with a clean slate, because I don't want to erase my life.  I want my experiences and my mistakes and my life because they have helped to make it mine and make me...me.  Loving what is, and what has been, is much more real and nourishing than loving what I hope will be.  And any of that joy that I thought I would feel as a perfect person is joy that I can tap into now--because I can love the here and the now. And love = joy.

I keep thinking of the words "patchwork", "quilt", "mosaic", "scrapbook", "casserole".  These things are beautiful or tasty because they are pieced together with lots of different colors, textures, and flavors.  And in my quilt there are light and dark patches.  In my quilt there are plain and intricate patches.  In my quilt there are french fry, and wheat crepe (both breakfast foods) patches. (And it is definitely time for lunch.)

In my quilt there is real love.  And I love my quilt.  And I'm still making it, and just because I love how it is today doesn't mean I'm not going to keep adding to it, and keep trying to do a little better on those things I want to improve.  Not at all.  I'm still sewing and climbing and working and improving.  That's part of who I am. But I don't feel frantic.  I don't feel like I have to do a do-over every time I "mess-up".  And I would be heartbroken to give up this old quilt and start-over on a new one.

60 Day Super Moon Radiant Mermaid Fearless Road-trip of Joy, Confidence, Adventure, and Love

I'm so in!

Before and After

I think far too much about what I will be like after.....after I have published a children's book or five, or after I have lost the other 63 lbs I want to lose, or after we are out of debt, or after I've fixed up the house the way I want to.  I suppose I think I will be happier, lighter, richer, able to do more and that I will feel more confident about myself and my place in the world.  I suppose I will feel like I have reached some, level, some mark, or expectation, some line that I needed to reach-- to feel that I have succeeded.  That I will have straight A's in life, a full-ride scholarship to the future, and can hold my head up high.  

I often imagine conversations between myself and someone I haven't seen for years.  They will ask me how I'm doing, and I will tell them, humbly, that yes, I just published my 6th book, and just had our fourth baby, and yes, my children are brilliant and beautiful (which they truly are already), and my husband is heroically biking the African coastline handing out supplies to refugees, and certainly, my home has been historically restored, and no, I just exercise and watch what I eat, but yes, thank you, I do weigh as much as I did in high school when you saw me last, or maybe just a few pounds less.  I grow all my own food, so it's pretty easy to stay healthy, you know how it is.  

Yes, that sounds pretty good, but it doesn't mean I'd be any happier then than I am now. It doesn't mean that I'd feel or be any more loved.  It doesn't mean that I'd have any more friends.  It doesn't mean that I'd even like myself! I have the same capacity for joy today that I would have in the "after" conversation.  And that capacity is really quite limitless.  If I can love unconditionally, I can feel unconditional joy.   

Happy 200th Birthday Henry David Thoreau!

I have to admit that although I love so much of what Thoreau wrote, and did, I've never actually read all of Walden.  I had a hard time staying interested in all of his measurements, and descriptions of starting a fire, etc.  It's so very cool and admirable, but not always riveting reading.  He was, in some ways, a blogger, I suppose. Recording his days, and thoughts, along with every single bit of information about his experiences.  That way other people could do it too.  Or they could make adjustments to their cabins, or gardens, etc. and stay even longer at Walden Pond.

I really like Thoreau though.  I like that he cared so much.  He might have been difficult to have at family dinners, but he really cared about what he did.  I'm sure he would know where all of his food came from.  It would all be organic.  It would probably be grown or raised by him.  He would always have his own reusable shopping bags and would only shop at Whole Foods, or something even greener.  He would sign every petition against Trump and Trump-like behavior.  He would probably start a million or so petitions! He would be at every protest march, and probably be Bernie Sanders vice-presidential running mate.

But he cared about the inner man/woman too---not just the community.  "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."  This is probably his most famous quote.  I love it.  He didn't want to find when he died that he had not truly lived.  He wanted to live deliberately. Such a buzz-word this day.  I read all the time about deliberate parenting, deliberate relationships, deliberate, intentional eating.  Thoreau was all about essentialism and mindfulness before it was cool.   I have never thought about Thoreau as a mindfulness guru, but I suppose he was.  He would be able to lead hugely popular silent retreats in the woods of Massachusetts, and help stressed-out Americans get to know themselves as only a transcendentalist can.  He would be able to help people de-clutter their homes and find the "joy of tidying up" like no other!

But because he was born 200 years ago, he would not have called himself a blogger, or a green-liberal political activist, or a mindfulness instructor.  He was himself.  And he knew himself.  And he did what he thought was right.  What a guy!

I've had this line from a movie running through my head for weeks, and just this morning I took the time to finally figure out where the quote comes from.  I thought it was from Breakfast at Tiffany's at first, but it's not.  It comes from one of my favorite movies from my college days: Ever After.  I loved that movie.  I'd probably still love it, but haven't seen it since I got married.  The line is towards the end, when the prince says to Danielle (Cinderella), "I thought if I cared about anything, I'd have to care about everything and I'd go stark raving mad."  He then goes on to explain how she has inspired him to care and he's decided to start a university with a huge library where anyone can go to learn.

I understand what he means by that line.  I don't know that I completely understood it back in my college days.  There is so very much to care about in this world.  There are so many petitions to sign, and protests to attend, and people to feed.  There is so much bad stuff in the world to care about and try and fix.  It can be overwhelming.  It can be easier to not care about anything.  And loving is scary.  Even though perfect love casts out all fear, loving can be scary at first.  I worry so much more than I would like to about the safety of my boys, my siblings, my parents, my husband.  Caring means great joy and great pain.  Caring makes me vulnerable.  And it can be exhausting.  But I know that it is the only way when I die to find that I have truly lived.

"If I live the life I'm given, I won't be scared to die." To quote some other pretty cool transcendental liberals with long beards, The Avett Brothers.

And I believe that caring about everything and everyone includes caring about myself.   If I can know myself and love myself, then I can love others without going stark raving mad.

7-7-17 Lucky Day!!

I love numbers! Today is a lucky day, and I'm posting two blogs, so it's your lucky day too, reader.  I just needed to say that 6 boys in the house between the ages of 10 and 3 is crazy, but fun.  We have the Wilkinson boys over today.  Lots of legos and Wii and X-Box.  And popsicles and cookies and popcorn.  And Sunni is going to be okay.  It was so good to see her today and feel that.  And James had fun with Aunt Melissa.  And I'm feeling bad that he didn't thank her spontaneously, but had to be reminded.  But I don't need to feel bad.  I know he's a good kid.  And I appreciate it and so did he.  He keeps talking about riding a pony and holding a lamb.  

The noise level has increased.  Time to go downstairs!

A Year Without Fear

Courage...Bravery... Fearlessness...What is a one-word verb that means all of these things?  My one-word verb theme for 2017 is still "Rejoice"--and I think implicit in that word is courage, and fearlessness.  It's not a wimpy word by any stretch of the imagination.  But I've started thinking about next year, and actually have been thinking about that fact that the year is half-way done.  It feels good.  It feels good to have lived this past half year, to have had the experiences I've had, and to have learned the things I've learned.  It has not always been easy, and I have been terrifically imperfect, but it has been good and there has been a lot of rejoicing!

And to be honest, I've been doing quite well, actually, of late, with reaching my goals.  Obviously not the goal to post every day for my 104 days of summer vacation.  (But I've got 75 days left until my birthday and there is much that can be done in 75 days......and maybe, just maybe I can post for 75 days?).  But other goals....I've been reaching.  I've read lots of books lately.  I've gotten a job, and have applied for two more.  I've done lots of visits, and a few more hikes, and I've lost twelve pounds (for the third time this year, but that's okay!).  I've gotten to know the Beehives in my ward, and I've supported Ryan in his calling.  I actually enjoyed most of Young Women's Camp, and I certainly love the girls in our ward.  I've rejoiced with others who have rejoiced and I've rejoiced for myself.  That feels good.

But I wonder if I can add a little bit to my theme for this last half of the year.  Can I add three short words?  "Fear not and......Rejoice!"  I've been thinking about what motivates me.  And I've been thinking of how rejoicing and loving and courage are related.  Of course, as I've said before I want to be motivated by love, and I find it really empowering to think about love being my only motive.  But how much fear is still lurking in the corners of my mind and heart? How much of it is hanging out all over center stage?  And how can I overcome that fear and be even braver this last half of the year.

"Perfect love casteth out all fear. " I want this to be one of the themes, running through my life.  I want this to be one of the truths that courses through my veins.

In the month of June, my grandma died, my sons' art teacher was murdered, and my friend's baby was still-born.  That's a lot of death in one month.  Death does not usually play such a big part in my life, in a typical month.  I have felt peace about my grandma, knowing that she knows me and loves me and remembers everything now.  I have felt stunned and horrified by my sons' art teacher's tragic death, but have been able to help them feel some peace remembering her, and trying to help them make sense of things has been helpful and healing to me.  Ry and I have had some really good talks about agency with William this month, and it has helped me remember that life is very short, agency is necessary, and we keep growing and learning as we forgive and let go of hurt.

But my friend's baby's death has been different.  I think, in part, because I have not just felt sad, I have felt scared.  She is just a few years older than me, with three amazing boys just like me.  Her youngest boy actually has red hair too.  She is a writer, and an English major, and a mother.  Her husband is a good man who works hard and is the bishop of their ward.  They have a beautiful old home that they love.  I have often felt like she was the updated version of me. She is Charity 2.0. We are different, certainly, and yet we have more in common than I have with most other people I've ever met.

Her pregnancy was unplanned.  That would never happen to me.  Unless there was some divine intervention or some infidelity happening.  But I want to have another baby.  Of course.  And then this happened and I felt scared..  I felt so afraid that if I got pregnant again my baby would die.  And I felt afraid that I would not be okay if that happened.  And so then I felt that I just would not want a baby.  And for a day that worked.  I felt great.  That desire for another baby had left me and I was so happy to have it gone.  I have so much in my life.  I have so much I can do.  With that desire gone I felt free to pursue anything.  The default mode had been "Let's do all we can to try and have a baby."  And now it was, "Let's not have another baby unless we are struck by lightning or someone hands us one."

And then the next day came and I felt anxiety.  I felt so worried about each of my boys.  I felt worried about my marriage.  I felt worried that I was failing all of them and that I was aging too fast and so were they.  I felt worried about the fourth of July, and the week ahead of me, and the rest of the summer.  I felt horrible, and I couldn't figure out why.

Now I think it's because I let fear be my motivation.  I let fear sneak in and change me.  Fear about a baby dying grew and spiraled and I let fear tell me I needed to be perfect, and keep my kids young and safe, and keep our country sane, and keep my husband happy, and keep my siblings well, and keep my parents alive.  And I knew all of that was impossible.  The weight of the world was on my shoulders, and I felt crushed and claustrophobic.

Realizing that I was filled with fear instantly made me feel less scared.  Once I name a bad feeling it takes away some of its scariness.  In fact I ended up bearing my testimony in church last Sunday about overcoming fear through love-- and feeling great joy as we do this.  If we don't have the bad, we can't know the good.  So it's not like perfect love doesn't allow any fear in this world ever.  Perfect love lives with fear, but doesn't let it stay, and grow roots and take over.  Perfect love is able to cast it out, after feeling it, and naming it, and do so lovingly.

I am going to be brave and do things that scare me every day.  I am going to face those fears.  And now my default mode is, "I have an abundance of love and I can give it to everyone and everything in my life including myself.  And if a baby ends up entering my life, I will have love and to spare for that baby.  And if not, I will love myself compassionately and live with love and an unfulfilled desire and have great joy."  It is a much longer default mode.  But that is where I am now.  And it feels good.

Sapphires and Diamonds

Ryan had his ten year anniversary at OC Tanner, and came home today with the most beautiful sapphire earrings and necklace I have ever seen.  I am so lucky to be married to such a good man.  A man who understands me sometimes better than I understand myself.  A man who told me to take a drive up the canyon or meditate or do whatever I needed to when he could see that I was frustrated and tired.  A man who will listen to me for hours, even when I say the same thing 50 million times. A man who loves our boys and is happy to wrestle them, and hug them, and nerf battle them, and play Zelda with them, and camp with them, and listen to them.  A man who commutes every day so we can live in the home I love, in the neighborhood I love, and send the boys to the school they love.  I love Ryan Kenneth Keyes.

"I am just getting memories of six..."

James said this yesterday, after William asked me if I remembered being six or seven.  I told him that I did-- that I had lots of great memories of being six and seven, learning to ride a bike, living in Detroit Michigan in a huge apartment building, and being home-schooled by my dad.  William said he remembered going to Sea World, and being in first grade, and living our old house.  And Peter remembered going to Oregon, and Disneyland, and Legoland.  They remembered lots about those years, not too long past.  But James simply said, "I remember five, but I am just getting memories of six."

I love the idea of this-- that we are just getting memories of the age we are now.  I am still just barely getting memories of age 37, and summer 2017, and life with my boys these ages, in this house this year.  I am just barely getting memories of being this way that I am now, and it is not entirely the same as I was yesterday.  I am just learning how to garden, and how to cook, and how to write.  I am just learning how to deal with death, and how to teach my children about it.  I am just getting memories of having a pre-teen, who has a crush on a girl who is in love with him!  I am just getting memories of these 104 days of summer vacation.

I felt a few times yesterday that I did not know what to do, or what to say--- to my kids, to my mom, to my friend, to my in-laws.  I felt unsure, because each situation and each day is a little bit different. When my in-laws called to say we wouldn't be able to camp in Idaho because of the rain, and they all had strep-throat, I did not know what to say, or how to adjust my thinking and plans for our trip.  When my mom said she was not doing well at all, and I felt myself flung back to a time when she was very sick and sad and I didn't know how to help her, I did not know what to do--because this time is different and I am 27 years older and so is she.

I am still getting understanding of 37.  I am grateful for the things I do know, and grateful to know that I have chosen to love myself and others, to live in the neighborhood of joy, and to be as mindful as I can---because then it doesn't matter what new situation comes.  I can get those memories with courage.

My 38th post! Whaaaaaat?!!!!!!!

As I was typing just now--trying to catch up on my blogging this morning (got to bed after midnight last night). James came up and snuggled into my just-made bed. He is lying on his favorite pillow in the house.  It has a picture of a bike and says, "Make Everyday an Adventure".  He loves it because it is so soft and he loves what it says too.  As he was lying there he just said, "I miss Grammy Rees.  I wish she was still alive."  I do too, and I love how he's able to talk about what he's feeling.  

Yesterday we began Rock Week.  Lots of joking about how "This week totally rocks!!"and pebbles, and stones...

One step at a time.  Folding laundry and then putting it away.  Working on one little corner of the garden and then the next one.  Reading one of the many books I own but haven't read and then the next, and the next.  James is reading a new book we got from my mom called The Egg Tree . He has decided to read one page of it a day--- there are a million words on each page.  And he is loving it.  So proud after he finishes each page.  

Reading my Quiet Thoughts book again  (the one from Onda Thorstensen) and then passing it along to my mom to read.  The things that stand out today are different from those that stood out a year ago, or 24 years ago.  

Ryan gave me a globe!!!! He's been searching at the D.I. for  months and he found one today and it's huge and it has a beautiful wooden stand it sits in, and it's in the piano room and it makes me feel like our home is complete.  Looking at it I just feel happy and loved and excited about our life.  

Peter had his final baseball game last night.  He got a hit, they lost to the Dodgers, and his coach, our friend, felt badly about pulling out the first string pitcher after one inning. But what do you do?  And Peter had so much fun and didn't want to go originally, per the norm.  So exciting.  Lots of bad calls from the ump.  So much base stealing and sliding.  Even a few fly balls caught!

Love is always an option.  Even if people don't love or like me.  Even if I feel that they are not being fair or kind, I can still choose to love them.  So empowering!!!

James just finished another page.  Wow.  And the next page has just pictures.  So happy to get to a big picture!

Happy 100th Birthday Joseph B. Wirthlin!

Today has been such a beautiful Sunday.  We were nine minutes late for nine o'clock church (other than Ryan who made it on time to his 6:30am meeting), but we made it before the sacrament, and we were all dressed, clean, and had our hair combed.  The boys are adorable.  And Ryan is so darn cute! I love to watch him sitting up there on the stand next to the bishop.  He smiles and winks at all of us, and occasionally gives James a thumbs up.

It's almost midnight--and I want to post this.  I have just a few words to write to help me remember today and then I can fill in the details later:  chicken ranch, frozen burritos, wagon rides, priesthood blessing, Joseph B. Wirthlin

Chicken Ranch and Frozen Burritos:  capitalized, as they should be...I started a delicious smelling chicken dinner in the crockpot with ranch dressing and lipton soup mix, and about the time it should have been done I started worrying that the chicken had gone bad.  I bought it on Memorial Day.  Before we even knew my grandma was very sick.  Seems like a month ago at least.  So our neighbors, who were getting some of our dinner because they just had a baby, ended up getting frozen burritos.  They were dressed up with some fancy cheese and tomatoes and avocados.  They were baked in the oven, not the microwave, but they were frozen burritos, none the less.  Good thing my sense of self is not based on my cooking abilities!!!

Priesthood Blessing:  do my research, listen to the Spirit, go to the temple, keep working on my goals, and find direction as I go.

Best Job Ever!

I have been reminded several times today that my boys are indeed Masters of Joy.  From the time they wake up, until the time they jump into their beds, they live far more in the present-- in that moment--than I do, even when I'm quietly sitting and purposefully, mindfully, focusing on a single breath.  Certainly they think about things in the past and future, and they imagine things, and they can feel a wide range of emotions, and even have empathy and understand what other people might be feeling.  But they are so fully present in now--they are all about today.  Maybe that's one reason why hours and days and years seem longer when you are young. And I know that mindfulness, along with gratitude and love are the secrets to joy.  Right? Can I get my diploma yet?

I saw that joy in them today at Menchies.  We went there with my dad (hi dad!), my sister, and my brother.  They have been to a frozen yogurt self-serve joints before, but not this particular one, and it did look rather inviting, with it's bright colors, clean counters and floors, right in the middle of downtown Ogden.  And we were with Grampy, for goodness sake.  And we were getting frozen yogurt-- which is a lot like ice-cream, but a little healthier.  What could be better?  In fact, William was so excited to be there he exclaimed to the solitary worker (a petite, soft-spoken girl of less than twenty), "You have the best job ever!"  They sampled the flavors.  They got lots of their favorite ones, with toppings.  They colored the little coloring pages with the yogurt-haired Menchies mascot.  They hung up their pictures, and used the restroom, and drew on the chalk-board too.  They ate most of their yogurts and loved most of the flavors.  They hugged their aunt and uncle and Grampy.  They were joyful. And I was too, being there and watching them.  I love seeing their joy.  And I loved my frozen yogurt too.

James showed his mastery of joy earlier in the day at his friend Heath's birthday party.  He couldn't wait to give him his Target dollar-bins gift.  He loved the card I picked out, even though it was kind of lame and part of a bargain birthday card pack.  He shouted to his friend Henry and couldn't believe how lucky that they were both at the party!  He loved the pokemon ball rice krispy treat that Heath's mom had made and asked for one more when it was time to leave so that I could try it.  "It is soooo yummy, Mom.  You've got to try it!"  He had a total blast, fully immersed in birthday fun with school friends he hasn't seen for a whole super-long (kind of sad) first week of summer.

Master William showed his mindful joyfulness while playing with Truman this afternoon.  They grabbed a bunch of sea creatures from the bathtub, and brought them outside where I watched as they made the sea creatures thoroughly battle the dinosaurs that have been immersed in the cat-urine turtle-shaped sandbox since last summer.  It was inevitable that the whales would beat even the mighty T-rex.  The dinosaurs just didn't have much fight left in them.  And not a scrap of dignity left.  They did wash them in the hose first though, before touching them too much.  It was a hilarious and joyful hour, and we were all a little sad when Truman had to go home because his grandma had come to visit his new baby sister (born yesterday and so far without a name).

And today Peter read me all the information he could find in his new comprehensive Star Wars book (thanks Grampy) about light-sabers.  It was pretty interesting.  Especially the parts about crystals and how they sense if you are light side or dark side.  The saber chooses the color.  I asked Peter what color my light saber would be.  "Let's see.  Loving, kind, caring....I'd say green."  Awwwww....He said his would be gold, or yellow, and said he'd explain later what that would say about him.  But being with him and feeling his excitement about light-sabers was exciting, and interesting, and we were at least half an hour sitting on the love seat while his brothers were pushing a wagon up and down the sidewalk screaming.  It wasn't until James came in with a scraped bottom that we put down the book, with the promise that he could read me all about Star Wars vehicles tomorrow.

We visited my mom this evening after seeing an amazing home movie that Chris made with the boys during their uncle camp on Thursday. It was called Whale Defenders and I loved everything about it.  Chris is a great uncle and the boys love him.  In fact, James said that after me and Ryan, he loves Chris the most.  William was not happy about this, and James said he loved William a lot too, but the point is, they love Chris and he is really good with them.  The other point (?) is that my mom is still very, very sad-- understandably.  And being around her I get just a taste of the depth of her sadness, (being a betazoid it's inevitable).  That was hard.  I left her house feeling sad.  I felt sad about my grandma dying, and sad that my mom was so sad.  I felt regret that I didn't know what to say, or how to make things better.  I felt a desire to wave a wand and make all my relationships loving and nourishing and perfect so that I could avoid regret in the future.

When we got back home James gave me a big hug before we got out of the car, and I asked him if he could tell I was sad.  He said no, that I looked like I was crying a little, but as he put it, "I thought it was tears of joy because of the baby."  He thought I was crying because I was so happy about our neighbors' new baby girl who I got to hold for a full twenty minutes earlier in the afternoon.  He can't wait to see her, and wanted to know what she can do.  "Can she walk, or crawl?  Can she just sit up?"

When I explained that I was a little sad about grammy, but very happy for our neighbors, and the baby can't really do much of anything, he simply said, "That would be hard!"  And he was off to brush his teeth and jump into bed with his koala, his baby jaguar, a new pokemon bracelet from Heath's party, and just his shorts, because his shirt makes him too warm.  He loves being without a shirt.

I love these boys and my sweet husband so much.  I love being alive, and love today, and tonight.  I am definitely still learning, and being mindful and having joy doesn't mean you don't experience sadness.  You do, and may experience it more deeply, but you don't have to live in the neighborhood of sadness.  You can just visit.  I want to live in the neighborhood of joy.

And even though it would be pretty amazing to work at Menchies, I can honestly say I think I have the best job ever!

104 Days of Summer Vacation

I just love Phineas and Ferb, but I sometimes feel its a little unfair that they are always living out the dream in summer-time.  They never go to school.  There are a few Christmas specials, but I think only one of them actually takes place in winter-- during Christmas vacation.  I remember when we went to Disneyland five years ago (really?!!) and we saw the Phineas and Ferb characters riding onto Main Street on a float that was playing their theme song, and William had on his Perry the Platypus hat and they gave him a thumbs up, and I started to cry just a little because I was so happy to be there and was kind of starstruck too.  Great day.....

Well today I am going to start my 104 Days of Summer Vacation.  The last day of school for my boys was a week ago-- a hot and glorious field-day-end to a wonderful year.  I started this whole quest for Joy when they all began school in the fall, and just as it always does the school year flew by.  I learned a lot, and so did they.  They all liked school, and their teachers, and their friends.  They all did really well.  James is reading like a pro now.  William has mastered most of his times tables.  Peter is doing long division, and multiplying fractions.  They have had unique and wonderful experiences in their unique and wonderful (and sometimes chaotic) charter school.  I have still cried a few times dropping them off in the mornings, and wondered how on earth they got soooooo huge and old.  Peter and William have both grown about three inches this year.  But it has been very good, and I have learned about life and joy-- possibly haven't earned my master's degree in joy quite yet, but definitely got a good start on the dissertation, and I'll be defending it soon...

Which brings us to today.  Why am I starting my summer today?  My grandma died a week and a day ago.  She died the day James had his kindergarten graduation.  James said it was the best day ever, but also really sad.  He told his class before the awards and "diplomas" were handed out, that one of his grandmas died that morning.  His teacher didn't quite know how to react.  He has been sad.  All the boys have been sad.  I have been very sad.  It is strange to not go help her in the mornings.  I feel like I'm forgetting to do something every day.  I miss her more than I ever thought I would.  And it just seems wrong to have something so sad happen at the start of summer vacation.

But..... I have learned a lot about joy this year.  I have so much joy in my life, because I have love.  I have love and gratitude for my boys, my husband, my home, my parents, my siblings, my neighbors, my ward, my Savior, and my Father in Heaven.

And I am going to take massive, not passive action to reach my goals by the end of this year.  That's going to mean a lot of really hard, really good work. I'm going to be doing lots of walks, and hikes, and eating healthy, and drinking water, and saving money, and reading books, and illustrating my books.  And part of that goal-reaching will be posting on my blog each day for the 104 days of summer vacation which ends right before my birthday--after the boys' summer vacation is over, and school has been in session for a over a month.  Because in the real world no one actually gets that much summer vacation.  I think my boys have like 76 days or something.  Not fair Phineas and Ferb.  But I still love you.

Why I have the best marriage ever and a dozen red roses for my dozenth anniversary

I have been married for twelve years and I can honestly say that love my husband more today than I did the day we were married.  This is, in part, because he is a really nice, easy-to-love guy, who also happens to really love me.  But is also because I am not afraid (anymore) to be honest about what I'm thinking and feeling and what I want.

Ryan is more practical than I-- which is why we have a home and two vehicles and plenty of food in the cupboards.  But because he is so practical, he doesn't love the idea of buying something that is supposed to die and wither and smell funny in a week.  So buying flowers does not come naturally to him.  I, on the other hand, regularly buy flowers for our home.  I love it if they are planted in pots, so they will live longer, but if I can't buy those, I will often buy cut flowers and put them all over our home.  They brighten our home and I feel happy when I see them.  So this year, since we were celebrating our dozen years, it just made sense to get a dozen roses.  And so I bluntly and unabashedly asked Ryan for them.  I decided it was worth it to me to not be surprised and ask him for exactly what I wanted.

Before I got married, I thought that if someone really loved me, they would be able to read my mind and fill my every need.  Now I know that if I really love someone, and want our relationship to be happy I need to tell him what I want-- and be specific--and that in all reality most of my needs I can fill myself.  We do kind things for each other every day.  And we really do love each other, but we are two complete human beings, and we don't rely on each other (most days) for validation, or even for love.  That sounds so unromantic as I type this, but I already have love.  I love myself and I know God loves me too.  I know that I'm good and I'm okay.  And Ryan's okay too.  He's a happy guy.  He was happy before we got married, and so was I.  That's why we're happy as a married couple.

So this year we went together to buy me a temple bag, and a lunch container that I've really been wanting.  I bought Ryan a nerf gun that got some great reviews.  And we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants.  And next year we will go to Greece, because he promised! And on the morning of our anniversary, after he went around the neighborhood and collected bags of stuff to be donated to the DI and the Scouting for Food programs for our ward, Ryan stopped at the local florist shop and bought me a dozen beautiful long-stemmed red roses and brought them home in a beautiful vase and I was absolutely delighted, and may have cried just a little when I read his card, written for "the love of his life".  How lucky are we to have that?!

I remember reading Kahlil Gibran's The Prophet years ago, when I was in college, and reading the lines he wrote about marriage-- about there being, "spaces in your togetherness", just as there in "space between pillars".  We have space to be alone, and space to be together, and space to be ourselves.  Great advice from Mr. Gibran.  I'm excited to see what else we'll learn in the next twelve years!

Being an adult means filling my own needs and my own 32 cup of diet coke

Agents to act and those to be acted upon

How reading a short story can make me so sad and how that's probably a good thing

Doing Hannah's Hair and Other Uncomfortable Wonders of Today

The Worrier is Dorcas Johnson

100 Things Charity is Good At

Who's that critical voice inside my head? Violet? Brooke? Emma?

Africa

Today I woke up and listened to a conference talk from April of last year.  I had listened twice to all of the talks from the October conference, and thought I'd take a gander at them and pick one to hear a third time.  When nothing stood out to me, I went back to the April 2016 conference, and almost immediately clicked on the talk entitled, "I am a Child of God" by a member of the presidency of the seventy whose name escapes me at the moment.  It is an amazing talk.  Great speaker, and great message.  He speaks at the end about being in a huge conference in Liberia, right after the Ebola outbreak ended and they finally let westerners back into the country.  There were 4300 people at this conference and most of them had walked long distances to be there.  It was a hot and humid day, and they arrived hours early most of them, in anticipation of the event.  They wanted to be there to hear an apostle of the Lord.  During the conference when any speaker read a scripture, they all recited the scripture aloud, from memory.  Then when Elder Bednar, the anticipated speaker got up to speak last, the mood became even more, "electric".

He spoke and they were silently listening, except when they quoted a scripture with him.  And then he asked them, "Do you know the hymn 'How Firm a Foundation'?

4300 voices said, "Yes!"

"Do you know verses 1, 2, 3, and 7?"

"Yes!"

They began to sing-- powerfully and beautifully and with all their hearts.  Verse seven is especially powerful.

"That soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose,
I will not, I cannot desert to his foes.
That soul, though all hell has endeavored to break,
I'll never, no never,
I'll never, no never,
I'll never, no never, no never forsake."

He concludes by saying that in terms of material goods, these saints had very little, but spiritually they seemed to have it all.  I left by bed yesterday morning (I'd been listening in bed), deciding to try and be more like an African mother.  The speaker mentioned the way that we get distracted by material things.  I wore my African bracelet and felt determined to not be distracted.

And I don't even remember what distracted me first, but I had forgotten my desires to be like an African mother by the time James was dropped off at home.  I did not remember until this morning when Ryan told me about his African experience yesterday...

 

Interview?!!!!!

I have been handed every single job I've ever had.  I've never had to apply for a job. That is unusual, I think.  My first job was handed to me when I was fourteen and my neighbors asked me and my friend Kari, their niece, to work in their needlepoint shop downtown.  I worked there for ten years. And then after graduating from college, and going on a mission, I student taught at Ogden High, and was asked to replace a teacher the next year.  There was an interview, and I filled out paper work, but I was handed the job without applying.  I taught for a student-exchange program for one summer--asked to work for the program by an old friend from my ward growing up.  It was a few months and no interview.  And that was the last "job" I've been handed, other than a few baby-sitting gigs, and of course helping Grammy every morning.  No interview or application process there.

But Monday morning at 9:30, I am going to have a "chat--not really an interview" with the director of Greenwood--my boys' school.  The director, Jessie Kidd, asked me at the end of last year if I had any interest in working part time as a reading instructor/tutor, etc.  And when she found out I used to teach high school English, she asked me to think about teaching for them when they get their 8th grade program set-- 2018-19.  I called yesterday and spoke briefly with one of the amazing secretaries, asking her to just put my name on a list of people they might call if they had need of a helper next year.  She was very excited and kind and asked if I would do an interview.  Or a "chat--not really an interview".  

That's how it all happened.  So I sort of have my first interview, sort of.  I didn't apply for anything, but I'm excited.  I think this is a good move for me.  If I can work part time next year while the boys are all in school full time--- at their school, and make a little extra money, and save up for trips and updates and babies-- and improve my teaching/grown-up skills, then why not?  

I wonder what I should wear......My only pantsuit is six sizes too small.  

The Evolution of Insecurity

I wonder why it is that we want to be liked so much.  I suppose back in the caveman days we sought to form alliances, and  be liked by others so we could survive-- have other people who would help us hunt and fish and not die.  If we were perceived as weird, or deviant and wore feathers in our ears or decided to become a vegetarian or something, then we might be shunned, and we would most likely die alone.  And if our main goal in life after survival was to reproduce, then having at least one person like us would have been pretty critical.

But why today do we still care so much about what other people think of us?  Why do we seek approval from our peers so often?  How does it still make sense?  Or is this one of those things-- like our love of carbs and sitting that used to help us survive and is now slowly killing us?

Ryan has to worry about whether or not his co-workers and managers and directors "like" him, and that he is perceived as competent enough to continue working and making a living.  That makes sense.  When I was teaching, I wanted to be liked by the students and my fellow teachers.  I sought approval, because I needed their approval to keep my job.  That makes sense too.  I certainly want to get along with my neighbors, so that we can help each other in times of crisis-- have the kind of relationship that makes it easy to borrow a cup of sugar, or call when there's a strange man wandering the neighborhood asking for money.  That makes sense.

And my way of living in the world is all defined by relationships.  My relationships with my family and friends bring joy and light to my life every single day.  Knowing how others are feeling is an important part of that.  If Peter is sad, and won't talk about it, I work hard to find a way for him to start talking about it and then try and let him know how much I love him.  If Ryan is frustrated I need to know so I can help him work it out and he can be his best for work and church and such.  Relationships and loving people is the way to joy!!!!!

But I worry way too much about what my Facebook friends think of my posts.  I worry too much about what my neighbors and ward members think of how we're dressed on Sunday, and how much we helped at the ward clean-up.  And I worry too much about what everyone, including my family and loved ones think about my life and my ambitions and my success (or lack thereof).

There is a big difference between loving and serving others and seeking the approval of others.  I love my kids, and I know they love me, and they like me too, but I'm going to do all I can to help them succeed, and be their best selves because I love them, not because I want them to like me and tell everyone what a great mom I am.

Yesterday I accidentally published an article on my Facebook page about the Women's March against Trump.  It was written by an LDS woman from Provo who had participated in the march, and was uneasy about what a former Young Women's General President had said about those women marching.  She described them as "unladylike" and lacking in virtue.  I wanted to save the article to my timeline in order to read it later and think about it.  But I shared it with "friends" not "only me".  And two of my friends who are relatively liberal loved it.  One of them even wrote me a really nice message via messenger to thank me for sharing the article.  I appreciated her words, but I was really upset when I actually read the article-- realizing exactly what it said, and knowing that most of my friends would not like an article that spoke, even a bit negatively, about Sister Dalton.

I think she didn't fully understand the situation.  I think that a lot of the women who marched probably agreed with her on most things 100%.  I think that only a small percentage of the women used rude or crude words.  And I think the term "ladylike" has little meaning these days.  Should marching ladies behave differently from marching gentlemen? Should we not all act with virtue and dignity and honor--men and women alike?  Sister Dalton is also the Young Women's leader who said that leggings and short skirts were not okay to wear to church.  Today that is almost all that our young women in our ward wear.  So maybe times have changed a bit.  Also, she is not a general auxiliary leader anymore!  She is not an apostle or a prophet.  She is a really neat lady who has done really neat things, but she certainly does not speak for the church or for God!

So, I agreed with the sister from Provo who wrote the article.  But I would not have shared it on purpose.  What does that say about me?  I think it says that I care too much about what people think.  I love people and I don't want to hurt them, but I need to stop worrying about whether or not everyone in the world likes me.  They won't.  And they shouldn't.  I don't think Trump or Putin would like me.  I hope not.  And the Savior was hated by many.  The Pharisees and Saduccees hated him so much they killed him!  So if I am trying to be like Jesus Christ, some will not like me and even hate me.  Also, I realize that I need to be myself, not the other moms (see posts from yesterday), and not everyone sees the world the way I do.  They will disagree with me.  And that's okay too.  Conflict does not mean the end of a world or a relationship.

Three things I'm taking from this experience:
1.  I should read any article I post on Facebook all the way through.
2.  I'm going to stop caring what others think about me, and just care about them.  Loving people is not the same as winning any sort of popularity contest.
3.  At the end of the day/life, what I think about myself, and what my Heavenly Father and my Savior think of me will matter, and I like myself and am going to be a lot more kind to Charity.

I can remember so many times in elementary school, and middle school, and high school feeling so aware of the fact that I was not one of the cool kids.  I was not popular--at least not after 5th grade.  But when I did the things that I liked, and was more true to myself I was happy and had friends that liked similar things, and I felt that I could reach out to other people because I was okay.  That's when school was fun-- doing Literary Harvest, and National Honors Society, and Band.  I was so proud to be one of nine members of the Young Democrats at Ogden High.  Still am.

Love of self comes first, when we feel God's love for us.  And that means we can be true to that self.  We don't have to bend with every wind.  We don't have to change and worry.  We can know that we are okay and we can love people truly, sincerely and fully.

That's what I'm doing now.  I'm not going to go out of my way to offend people.  And I think generally I will avoid posting anything too controversial.  But I am happy and grateful to be me.

Complaining is something I will probably do again, but no more competing or comparing!

No more! That's it! I'm done! A new month began two days ago, and I've already complained a lot, after resolving not to.  I think I may at some point learn how not to complain, and I certainly would like to kick that habit, but for right now I'm going to focus on cutting out the other two bad "c" words: competing and comparing.  I do it all the time!  More than I drink diet coke!

Yesterday I went to a long doctor's visit.  The doctor is very kind, and works in the same office as my doctor sister.  They are friends, and they are both kind and brilliant doctors.  I have, however, avoided my doctor for years, because I wanted to be at a healthy weight before I saw her again.  I didn't want to go through the horrible stress and embarrassment of being weighed in the hallway, in front of the nurses station, and find that I weighed just as much or more than I did a year and a half ago.  But I needed to go. 

 I lost the feeling in my face on Monday-- well, half of my face.  The left half.  It was really scary and I went to the ER with my mom and Ryan hurried home early, and it probably cost us about $1000 and we still don't know for sure what the heck was going on.  But we did find out I wasn't having a stroke.  And I did make it back to the doctor's as a result.  It should not take something so scary for me to finally swallow my pride and do something I should have done long ago.  But I compare myself to everyone.  My sister probably weighs at least 120 pounds less than I do.  That is not a happy thing to think about, for either of us.  Most of my friends probably weight 50-70 pounds less than I do, while being pregnant! Also not a happy thought.  And while they live at their ideal weights and grow beautiful healthy babies, they also write and publish poetry, teach college classes, create whole Dr. Seuss-themed dinners, and do their hair.  

This is the kind of comparing I do-- or at least I did-- daily.  And it made me miserable! I am not my friends.  I am me.  I have so many good things going for me and I have so many talents.  I have three beautiful healthy and happy boys.  I have a husband who loves me and is willing to work hard and commute long distances because he wants me to be happy.  I have family and friends close by who love and care for me.  I cannot and should not try and be like Molly, or Sunni, or Emily, Amber, or Gina, or any of the other amazing moms out there who are comparing themselves all the time to me!  Enough is enough!

If the secret to joy is love, then that means loving myself.  Loving myself means I don't try and become someone else, or do things to make myself feel bad.  I will be inspired by these moms and others, but I will be me, and I will stop comparing. I already made a pact with Molly that we will no longer compare ourselves to each other.  It feels really good.  

Plus if I'm always feeling bad about myself, I end up giving up and don't even try to do the things I want to and know I should because "I'm never going to be as good as Madame Secretary (or whoever else I'm comparing myself to at the moment)!"  I end up not doing a lot of the things I really want to do and would do if I wasn't wasting time and energy feeling bad.  

I want the boys to take piano lessons.  I want to publish a children's book.  I want to adopt or have a job by the end of this year. I want to lose weight and hike mountains and see the world.  I want to help my boys with their problems.  I can and will do these things with love and some energy, because I'm not going to devote any more time to the bad c's! I want to do these things not to be better than the other moms, but because I really want to do these things.  I know they will bring me and my family JOY!

Also, I realized two things in the shower last night.  I would hate it if William decided he wanted to be exactly like his older brother.  I would hate it if Peter decided he wanted to be like James.  And although James loves and idolizes his older brothers right now, I would hate it if he lost his own personality and amazingly joyful outlook on life.  My Father in Heaven must be sad when I forget who I am, and try and be like another one of His daughters.  He has blessed me with my own unique set of talents, abilities, strengths, weaknesses and experiences.  If I am not me, who will be!

Also, I was reminded of the Savior's words to His disciples when they were doing the comparing thing thousands of years ago.  They were kind of quarreling about who would be "the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven".  That's where the whole, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." comes from.  He taught them plainly that "He who is greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven, let Him be thy servant." And "He who shall exhalt himself shall be abased, but he who shall abase himself shall be exhalted."  

My value as a human being is not based on anything I do.  It is based on being a human-- a child of God.  And my value doesn't change.  I am "less than the dust of the earth".  But I am also of infinite worth.  I want to do these good things to find joy.  I want to spread that joy and learn how to love and add to God's joy.  He loves me infinitely in spite of all my imperfections.  He will not love me more when I overcome them, but He will rejoice with me when I do.  He will rejoice when I become closer to my true and best self.  Just as I do and will do with my own amazing and unique and imperfect boys.

It feels good to write this down.  I hope I can keep writing daily, but if I don't, I'm not going to beat myself up.  Just keep trying, right?  And now I'm going to play Mario with James and make some mac and cheese.  

Do you know what that smell is?

I have a great sense of smell.  It comes from being a mom.  It is a blessing and a curse.  The other day James asked me to smell his hands.  He was being so sweet and cuddly, but I was hesitant.  Usually when the boys ask me to smell their hands it's not a good thing.  But I did, and couldn't smell anything.

"Do you know what that smell is, Mom?"  He asked me with a mischievous James grin.

"Love!! It smells like love!"

Awwwwwww! Love me some James love smell!

Marching on to Victory-- or at least one day doing everything on my goal list!

The past three weeks have been some of the busiest in my recent history.  There was the aforementioned science fair on Valentine's Day-- which went remarkably well, and was, by all charter school measures, a success, but was exhausting! I learned so much and I would love to do it again, which really says something, right?  But I would do some things differently, and I would do more of the prep work in the weeks before the science fair, so that on Valentine's Night (and I wouldn't do it on Valentine's) I would not be up until 1 or 2 filling out certificates and ribbons with my sweet husband.

After the science fair everything felt relatively easy for a day.  Thursday was great.  I stayed in my sweats all day.  I got take-out for every meal.  I watched Ninjago with James.  I rested.  Then Friday was back to crazy-town.  I knew my sister in law and her four high-energy, darling kiddos were coming that night, and I had a much anticipated date night at Taggart Grill with my aforementioned sweet husband.  I worked all day to get the laundry done so we could have some clean blankets and sleeping bags and towels for our guests and ourselves.  And maybe some clean underwear too.  It took hours and hours.  And it was expensive.  We're talking $120.  I took the laundry to the laundromat so we could do it faster.  And it was faster than waiting for each of 20 loads to wash at home.  But it was not cheap.  The boys and Ryan helped me and cleaned the house and then with great relief we left Ogden and drove to Salt Lake City to drop off the boys at Grampy's house.

They were thrilled.  We were thrilled.  Grampy was generous and welcoming, as always.  Ryan and I traveled through the snowy canyon to dinner with friends and had a lovely evening.  We picked up the boys, drove home and then the crazy began.  The problem was not the kids, nor my sister-in-law.  The problem was simply that she needed to do so many things while she was here:  cut hair, visit family, use gift cards, buy a new car.  It was hard for her to do that with her kids, so we watched them, and that got long and hard.  We watched them for 13 hours one day, and just about the same another day.  If we had gone about our lives as usual (which I did on Tuesday and it was just fine) we would not have felt exhausted and frustrated.  But we wanted to help, and she used the help she could get.

In between those two 13 hour baby-sitting days, Ryan was called and sustained and set-apart to be a member of the bishopric.  Another answer for our family to my question, "What's next?"  The bishop is wonderful and I love their family so much.  They are down-to-earth and funny and kind.  They genuinely care about others.  Their girls have babysat our boys for years.  The wife is the funniest lady in the ward, but really strong and kind too.  The bishop is the kind of man you could trust with your life after knowing him for ten minutes.  Great guy.  I am glad that Ryan is having the chance to work with him.  Right now, in fact.  They are out on visits.  It's pretty fabulous.  And Ryan is amazing and good and will be such a good first counselor.  The other counselor is great too-- his wife is the other Young Women's counselor that I work with and so we have lots of chances to get to be good friends.  She is kind and smart and works in salt lake and they don't have any kids yet.  He is an attorney in town and very kind and rather soft spoken.  They love to travel.  Cool people and kind.

So that's all good, and I have had some great experiences already with Ryan's new calling.  I have been given a blessing to help me understand things and have strength and comfort.  The days are more busy, but very good.  We are at a good point in our lives for this calling, and I am grateful for it.

But in the midst of house guests and hours of babysitting we had his calling and setting apart and the whole family up to our house for a roast dinner.  And my sister in law sat next to Ryan in the chapel while we were waiting for him to get set apart.  I was busy getting her kids to the right primary classes.  I was busy getting my kids in to the chapel so we could listen and watch their father get made a high priest.  And I didn't get to sit by my husband.  And we were two minutes late getting into the chapel.  Because I was taking care of her kids. I was so frustrated I could have spit. And I vowed it wouldn't happen again.  I would make sure I was there next to him.  And after talking to Ryan he (who was totally overwhelmed that morning, and didn't really know what was going on) decided that he would be sure I was always next to him too!

It was hard, and they stayed an extra day and a half.  But I love them.  And they went home eventually.  And life went on.  And Ryan and I are growing and learning.  And last week I finished up science club.  We had the pinewood derby.  We had a lot going on again--good stuff.

And now it is March.  I love a new month.  And for one day this month I want to try and do all the "dailies" I planned to do this year, including meditation and practicing an instrument and exercising.  I want to read to my boys.  I want to do one act of kindness and do it with a kind heart.  I want to stop complaining and start being more genuine.  I want to clarify with good communication.  I can do this.  I love my family.  I love my life.  I want to be healthy and to rejoice.  I can do it, and I love spring!

The night after the full moon

Last night I drove up the canyon in the rain and fog and then snow and fog to try and catch a glimpse of the full Snow Moon.  I drove carefully up Trapper's Loop, and turned off on the road to SnowBasin.  I was up almost as high as I could go in elevation.  I was definitely above some of the clouds that I had just driven through.  But I did not see the moon.  I did not see much of anything but more snow and fog.  I was disappointed.  There was going to be a cool eclipse, and also there was a comet, with a greenish tail that crossed the sky last night.  And I could not see a single bit of it.  

I love full moons, and love learning their names.  I love going for drives on full moon nights with or without my bungalow boys.  I love the sense of renewal and rebirth.  I love the reassurance that comes from knowing that the moon will always get full again.  It's a great way to keep track of the time too.  I've been known to set my goals and challenges based on full moons.  (By the Strawberry Super Moon I want read three books and be 30 lbs lighter, etc.).

But last night I couldn't see it.  I came home, opened the door, and James came bounding up the stairs.  It was about 9:30, and he should have been asleep.  His brothers were.  Ryan had put him to bed an hour ago.  But he was ecstatic. 

"Mom!! I have a wiggly tooth!!"  

He sure did.  My baby boy has his first loose tooth.  I scooped him up in my arms and hugged him, and wiggled the tooth and told him I couldn't believe he was such a big boy.  He wanted to run up and tell dad right away. Ryan's response was much like mine.  

"You are my baby, how can you have a loose tooth?!" 

Because he's not a baby anymore.  But he is so adorable and he is pure joy.  He feels things so much-- his whole entire body was wriggling around with happiness.  

How could I be sad about not seeing a full moon when I have such a boy?  

And tonight it is clear. How many times have I been sad that I missed the full moon, when the almost full moon was perfectly visible, brightly shining down from a clear sky the very next night?  Probably a lot.  I don't want to stop looking for full moons, but I also want to start looking for the moon every night.  And there is so much I can pull from that, right?  The present-- this day is where and when I am-- so this day, or rather this night is when I will look for, and love and enjoy the moon. This night I will check on my biggish boys once more and kiss their cheeks and make sure they are warm enough.  

Science Fair With a Chance of Discovery

I have been thinking much more about science the past month than I usually do.  Actually this whole school year.  I love science, don't get me wrong.  I can't help but love it with my Bungalow Boys and their constant questions and love of discovery.  Science is life, right?  And Bill Nye, Wild Kratts, and Magic School Bus are three of our all time favorite shows.  So science is right up there on my top ten favorite things to think about.  But being in charge of the science club and the science fair has made me think a lot more about questions that could lead to science projects, or at least science club experiments that would not be too messy or crazy, but keep elementary school kids interested for a good hour.  

Today my boys worked on all of their science fair projects.  William was planning for weeks on doing a project about orcas-- a research style project answering a question about their speed, or age, or predatory skills.  Peter was planning for weeks on doing a slime-based project.  He was going to answer a question about the best recipe for slime, or how to make glow-in-the-dark slime or something.  And James wasn't sure, but thought it would have to do with paper airplanes.  Well today all of that changed.  Wild Kratts came out with two amazing new episodes this week.  One about narwhals and one about electric eels.  So this afternoon Peter decided to do his project on electric eels, and William chose the narwhals.  James decided after a major nerf gun battle this morning to do his on nerf gun darts-- which ones go the farthest.  

They worked hard.  We all worked hard today.  We did research, and drew pictures.  We tweaked our questions a bit, and we did lots of cutting and taping and writing.  And James and Ryan did lots of nerf gun-shooting, and photo-taking, and measuring.  And at the end of the day Peter and William not only have amazing project boards completed and beautiful and ready three days before they're due, they also both learned some amazing things too.  They actually discovered things through their research.  And that makes me really happy.  

William found out that narwhals tusks may actually be used for communication, not aggression! How cool is that?! They may convey information about the ocean water and habitat to the other narwhal by rubbing tusks.  They have rarely been seen using their tusks in aggressive behavior.  

And Peter found out that electric eels have three organs in their bodies that allow them to create low and high voltage shocks, and that they can actually create 860 volts of electricity!  A defibrillator usually has about 700 volts.  And he discovered his new favorite animal too.  

I love how excited they were doing the work of science.  And they really did a lot of it themselves.  

And James had a blast shooting nerf guns with his dad.  Not really surprised about that, but really happy that they made some great memories and measurements today.  

And James has his first loose tooth!!!! I am so excited for him, and kind of in denial at the same time!  

Thoreau and Otter Pops

I feel like life with my three boys swings back and forth from the highly serious, to the hilarious quickly and often.  Also, I feel that my boys zoom from emotion to emotion without looking back. They go from very sad or very angry to very happy and very content in a matter of moments.  And maybe this is true for girls too.  I don't know.  But I remember feeling emotions pretty deeply, and taking some time to move from one to the next.  Maybe I'm remembering things wrong.  Even today, I have to have time to process and work things out in my mind before I can transition to the next thing or next feeling.  

The past two days offer dozens of examples of this rapid, happy roller-coaster ride-- in which my boys rarely look back to see where they were a few moments ago.  

William called me from school today to say he was feeling sick.  He had a headache.  He had mentioned having a headache before school, and I had told him to take a warm bath, eat some breakfast and see how he was feeling.  He was feeling better, and went to school happily, but after a long five hours with a substitute teacher and a very noisy classroom his headache was back, apparently, and he was ready to come home.  It was not the greatest, most convenient time to come get him, but it was doable. 

I loaded up James who had been busy passing levels in Lexia-- his school online reading program, and we headed back to Greenwood.  When we got there I overheard William laughing in the sick room with a fellow classmate.  The secretaries both told me he seemed to be feeling better.  He definitely did.  But I had come all the way to get him, and I told him if he was sick I would take him home.  I have much less of a problem with kids missing school than most mothers do, I think.  I warned him though, that if he came home early, he might not be able to go to Clara's birthday party that night.  He still wanted to come home.  And he probably knew I would not make him miss his darling cousin's 2nd birthday party.  

I loaded him up, we picked up some happy meals on the way home (they have the new Lego Batman movie toys) and as he was happily munching his chicken nuggets he asked me, "Why do people have to pay to live in houses?"  

A wonderful question.  I explained that home materials cost money, and that having a nice place to live in a nice neighborhood is worth a lot to people.  He then followed up with multiple "what if"questions--trying to figure out a way to live in the forest, or on an island--away from people--without having to pay for a house.  He asked questions about what would happen if he went into nature, and just built his own home out of wood he found, and ate the food he grew himself,   and didn't use electricity, and found his own water.  

As a former English teacher I had to take advantage of this teaching moment. "You know, William, there was a man almost two hundred years ago who asked the same questions.  His name was Henry David Thoreau and he decided he wanted to really "live" and he made his own house with his own hands out in the woods by a pond called Walden Pond.  And he grew his own food, and tried to really do things on his own. And he learned so much from it. He stayed there for almost two years, I think, and..."

"Mom?"

"Yes, William?"

"Why do they call them Otter Pops?"

"Ummmmmm.  I don't know, buddy."  

He was done with the philosopher and on to new questions that I really can't answer.  I'll have to do some research.  

"Rejoice! Again, I say Rejoice!"

This is my theme for the year 2017.  Also this is part of a not-so-weird hymn. My good friend Molly and my good sister-in-law Melissa both told me that several of their planner-buddies (yes, those are real, and yes, there are many Facebook groups that are based on owning the same planners and having wonderful planning ideas, and I may or may not belong to two of them) had come up with a single significant word as a theme for the new year.  Some of the words they mentioned were "build", "love" "hope", "strength", "faith", "gratitude".  Some pretty great words I'd say.  I thought about it for several days.  I usually like to have my planner a few weeks before the new year, and always try and have my new year's resolutions written down and posted somewhere highly visible before January first.

But this year I didn't get my planner in the mail until the 5th-- and the first two weeks of the year were unusually busy.  I didn't get Christmas put away until Ryan finally started taking down the tree.  So it took a while for me to get planning-- putting birthday stickers on all our family birthdays, putting little cash symbol stickers on all of Ryan's paydays, putting temple symbols on all of our temple nights. It is a long process, but I really enjoy it.  I love calendars more than I should.  And stickers.

One night in the second week of January, I was sitting by the Christmas tree and was praying for guidance.  I needed to know what my focus should be-- as I have mentioned in previous blog posts.  And the word "Rejoice" came to me as clear and sweet as can be.  I have often felt like the ability to rejoice with those who rejoice is the sign of a truly amazing, charitable person.  When I am just as happy for my neighbor who goes to Puerto Rico for a month as I would be if it was me on that beach, than I have arrived.  And I haven't arrived quite yet.  And yes, my friend is in Puerto Rico with her family for a month.  And I am trying to be happy for her.  I will go someday.

In the meantime, my planner says it's time for me to get to sleep.  Ryan is trying to ignore the tapping of the keys on the keyboard-- and I really ought to change the laundry, and check on the boys one more time.  It's been so warm today-- 56 degrees this afternoon.  I keep waiting for water to start seeping into the house somewhere, or a roof to cave in.  It does feel good to not freeze, though, and the blue sky and clear air today have been absolutely beautiful! I will rejoice for our own little vacation from the bitter cold here at home.  A vacation from my problems! You bet I will!

Now I'm rested and I'm ready....

Three years ago Ryan gave me the Avett Brothers "The Carpenter" album for my birthday.  I knew I would love it.  I had been watching one of their music videos "Live and Die" on you-tube and npr's website for months-- playing the same song again and again.  It was getting a little ridiculous.  We didn't have Pandora, or Apple Music, or Spotify at the time.  Sure enough, I loved the CD. Still do. "Live and Die" has been my ring tone for years.  BUT I was even more amazed by the 6th song on the album, the less famous, and less toe-tapping tune called "February 7".  It was beautiful, and hopeful-- filled with images of waking, working, embracing reality, and being smart--which is kind of rare for a song.

I began listening to this song all the time, and I think the chorus is my favorite part: "There's no fortune at the end of a road that has no end...there's no falling back to sleep once you've wakened from the dream...now I'm rested and I'm ready to begin."  It's reminiscent of Bright Eyes' line, "I'd rather be working for a paycheck, than waiting to win the lottery, oh-oh, mmmmm." (Humming and ahhing and such.)

Today is February 7th, and the fact is, my life is not perfect. It is not a dream. It is very real. And I am grateful for reality today.  And that's saying something.  It is soooo grey and rainy today.  The snow is dirty and brown.  My boots are wet, and my hair is too.  I have only lost three of the 75 lbs I want to lose before I hike Ben Lomond on July 8th, and Donald Trump is president of the United States.  Really that last bit is all I need to say, right?

But it is real.  This is what I'm working with and honestly, I am so grateful to know that. Grateful to feel awake today. There's that point in the Hobbit, when Gandalf leaves--also in the Lord of the Rings series--and it's scary, because he's gone, and with Gandalf by your side, nothing can ever get too bad.  Or there are the many times when Aslan leaves in the Chronicles of Narnia.  The kind, helpful, powerful guide and mentor leaves and life becomes a lot more uncertain, and frightening, but that is when Frodo and Bilbo and little Lucy really show what they're made of.  That is when they figure out that they have got to work hard, and that even though they are small and not magical, they can do amazing things.

I have not had anyone magical leave me recently, but I did think last week that I was magically pregnant.  It was so foolish of me to think that.  But I did.  I felt like I really and truly was.  I was sick to my stomach, and aware of so many horrible smells in our home.  The smell of my favorite perfume made me nauseated.  I was exhausted too, which is not that unusual, but the combination of everything made me wonder enough to buy a pregnancy test. There was about a 0.003% chance that I could be, but there was still that chance.  The test came back negative, and I am most definitely not pregnant. Most likely the nausea was caused by the inversion.  (Last week the Wasatch Front endured the worst air quality in the country, which makes the whole thing even more horrible.)

But all of my friends are pregnant right now, and none of them planned their pregnancies.  And it's when you least expect it, that it happens, right? (That's never really been the case with us, but....)I realized then as I do now that it would not have been an ideal situation, really.  I'm taking blood-thinners, for goodness sakes! It would have been scary, and could have ended up really, really badly. And the air outside is unbreathable, what does that do to a growing fetus?! But I was thinking somewhat magically--dreaming, really, and in my dream it would have all worked out and I would have had healthy, happy, beautiful twin girls named Elizabeth Hope and Lucy Joy come this October. And I would have a very easy answer to my burning question, "What's Next?"

But today I have wakened from that dream.  It's definitely time to wake up. I am rested and I'm ready to... continue. Because I already answered that question.  I know what's next.  It's not simple, or perfect, or clear-cut.  It's not swaddled in pink muslin blankets.  The answer is: keep doing what you are doing.  Keep loving and learning and re-learning.  Keep forgiving and finding joy in every single imperfect, smoggy day.  Keep trying to bring that joy to your family and loved ones and everyone really.  Keep caring about and working hard at the things that really matter.  Keep reading books and scriptures.  Keep listening to music and walking in the mountains.  Keep praying and having the courage to follow promptings.  Keep fiercely loving and supporting your husband and your boys who are amazing and glorious. Keep helping teachers and students.  Keep doing science club.  Keep planning vacations.  Keep writing and keep drawing and get that book published.  Keep saving money and trying to eat healthy.  Keep trying to clean up the air and the water and the earth.  Keep signing those petitions.  Keep getting up when you fall down, and keep going. Keep reminding yourself that you don't need to start over every time you stumble.

And keep in mind that you are never really alone. Even when Gandalf and Aslan are "detained" you have the best darn dwarves in the world at your side, and Mr. Tumnus has your back, Sting is pretty awesome, and so is your elven cloak.

Plus those magical mentors always seem to come back to help when they are needed most.  There will be more magical, easy things in my life, I am sure.  I have witnessed countless miracles in just 37 short years. Who knows what the next 37 will bring?!

And when the wizard and the lion do return in the stories they are always so happy and proud to see just how much their little friends have grown. They can see how brave and wise and resourceful and kind and strong and loving the un-magical ones have become. "Hobbits really are amazing creatures," and all that.

I don't understand all the reasons for things, but I do know that because of the sadness I have felt with my own unfulfilled desires for a baby, I have so much more awareness of and empathy for women who can't have children, including my sweet cousins, my sister in law, and my own dear sister.  They have experienced heartache beyond anything I have-- wanting to have a child, and being unable to do that.  This is part of what I must keep remembering.

I truly do believe we have a perfectly loving Father in Heaven, who wants us to become like Him--to love perfectly and to have a fullness of JOY. I believe He does not leave us alone, and He does not want us to fail.

So here I am, awake, rested and ready to continue on my journey, to keep finding joy, to keep loving, to keep putting one hairy foot in front of the other.

And I do realize that writing a blogpost about reality using fantasy-book metaphors may have been a very bad idea.

Gratitude is the Root of Joy

It sounds kind of like a dentist-ceiling poster.  Especially with the word "root" in there. Maybe with an inspirations picture of a forest or something.  I read this yesterday-- posted by a Facebook friend who is quite inspirational.  And I thought about it a lot.  Since I am, after all, trying to become a Master of Joy, or earn my Masters of Joy, however this all works, I am interested in thoughts and quotes about joy.  

I think it's true.  And I think if gratitude is the root, or seed of joy, then love is the sunlight, and maybe service is the water.  Or maybe not, but I think it starts with gratitude, and recognizing good in my life and feeling God's love.  

Last night I woke up Peter at eleven to use the restroom.  And as most of us would be, he was grumpy and tired and our bathroom is cold, and he did not want to get out of his warm bed.  And I don't have to wake up his brothers, and it seems incredibly unfair to him that he has to deal with this.  And it is not really fair.  I got his tucked back in, and while changing the laundry I found a really nice, soft, thick, warm blanket, fresh from the dryer, and I took it down to him and put it on top of his other blankets.  

He was still grumpy.  And that's okay-- I mean he really is mostly asleep when he walks up the stairs and uses the bathroom, so it's hard to fault him for his sleep-grumpiness.  But I thought to myself, if he would allow himself to be thankful for the warm blanket, he would be a lot happier.  And allowing himself to let go of the frustration and the unfairness of it all for that moment of gratitude might let him see other things to be thankful for and happy about.  

I'm not going to suggest that making a gratitude list is the answer when you are really sad about things being unfair.  It rarely feels very sincere.  But being thankful for one thing, can start a natural chain reaction of gratitude and perhaps that can flower into happiness and joy.  Yes, I think it can.  

And now I need to get all those sleepy boys up, and dressed, and fed, and bundled, and be grateful for a good van with good tired and warm seats.  

Better get those booties on...

"I am really rare!"

Yesterday afternoon James was a very happy boy.  He is usually happy, but yesterday he seemed to be glowing with unusual levels of joy and excitement.  He bounced on all the couch cushions and made a little obstacle course in the living room.  I was busy planning in my planner-- which I really enjoy doing.  Peter was playing Minecraft-- since he was home sick.

James was thinking about his birthday, which is May 2nd, and seems a century away, especially when you are five and it is so snowy outside, and you know your birthday is in the springtime.  But he was getting excited about it.  He wants another Skylanders game for his birthday.  It's called Imaginations, and apparently you can create your own characters.  He has come up with one, which I later helped him draw, called Fire Tiger.  It looks like a lion/tiger with a bow and arrow.  They are fire arrows and he looks really cool and James can't wait to get that for his birthday.

"And you want a baby girl for your birthday, right Mom?" He asks suddenly in the midst of all his Skylander talk.

"Ummmm...yes, that would be nice, but I already have the best boys in the whole universe, so I'm really happy now."

"And you have the rarest kind of boy too--Because I have red hair.  We are, like, the rarest hair color ever!"

And then he has me ask Siri what the rarest hair color is, and sure enough it is red, and he is excited to hear that again, and we talk about how amazing it is that his hair is red and so bright, and I would agree with James and Siri that I have the rarest, most wonderful boys ever.

I am, among women, most richly blessed.

In Which I Try to Figure Out How to Stop Waiting for the Next Big Thing

First of all I want to acknowledge that I have not written every day so far this year...not even close, and I want to admit that I just finished eating a really delicious raspberry scone from Great Harvest.  Good to get that out there.  I'm still going to try and make daily blog-posting a habit, and I'm going to try to make healthy (no sugar/low carbs) eating a habit.  BUT I think I may skip a day now and again, and I think a scone every couple of days might help me actually stick to the eating plan the rest of the time. Which is another blog post in and of itself....


That said, I've been thinking that it is a very good thing that my husband and I had different experiences growing up.  He had a relatively stable life, all things considered.  His younger brother was quite sick when he was a baby, with asthma and breathing troubles.  Lots of time in the hospital when he was quite small.  I'm sure that took a toll on Ryan, but he was quite young, and other than that he didn't have a lot of challenges (according to his own account) until his mission to Ghana, West Africa.  And then he had malaria, and back at home his older brother struggled horribly with drug addiction--throwing the whole family into turmoil, and he had a companion that made him question many of his previously held beliefs.  It was a rough two years.  Good thing he had a really cute girl back in Ogden writing to him....

But his childhood was, for the most part, stable.  He lived in the same house (where his parents still live) from the time he was two years old.  He had dozens of cousins on his mom's side who he played with.  They went camping and fishing and canoeing a lot.  He loved scouts.  He liked middle school! Seriously, who likes middle school?! But he did and he had some good friends in high school who are still his friends.  He was on the Seminary Council his senior year, and worked at roofing afterwards to pay for his mission.  He paid for most of it himself.  His family did not have a lot of money.  His dad worked at a few different jobs, but mainly he was a custodian for the school district, and his mom has been a lunch lady for twenty years.  They like(d) their jobs relatively well, and rarely complained, but they really enjoyed the summers when they could head up to the Uintahs with their family and camp. They didn't travel a lot.  Ryan didn't see the ocean until his mission.  Ryan loves his family and is very positive when he describes his childhood.  Christmases were always nice, but very simple. Every day life was nice, but simple.

My childhood was filled with change.  My parents loved me, that never changed-- but movement and change truly defined my growing up years.  My parents were in school for the first eight years of my life.  We moved to Detroit when I was six, and then back to Provo, and then to Ogden when they finished school and I was eight.  We went to Disneyland almost every year, even though we didn't have much money.  We traveled as much as we possibly could.  We camped and did road trips and we always talked about it travel and moving, even when we didn't actually do it.  We were always looking at new jobs and new homes and new ways of life--especially my mom.  She would watch a special on the Amazon and decide we should move to the Amazon and live like the natives.  Or Bali, or Zimbabwe, or Iceland.  I was aware that the world was big and that there were many different ways to live, and that maybe one of them was the very best way and we just needed to discover it.

When I was 9, my mom fell into depression, and after that my parents divorced.  And then came my illness, and my brother's illness, and my step-dad (who I love!) and step-sisters, and then my new little brother and soon after new little sister (both of whom I love!).  So many huge changes in such a short time.  And although some of them were very difficult I grew accostomed to change.  I could survive change, even when I didn't welcome it.

 I graduated from high school at 16, and went to college and went on a  mission where I changed companions every 6 weeks to 3 months, and went to more school and taught high school, and got married and had three sons, and moved 4 times and switched the boys schools 3 times and now....... Now I have no big changes on my horizon.  I have no hugely difficult problem to solve.  We know we never want to move. The boys love their school.  And next year all three boys will be there full time.  My siblings are all doing relatively well.  My parents are doing well.  We have figured some things out with our finances so we are pretty set for the moment.  We like our neighbors.  My heart has been doing okay.  The boys are healthy, thank goodness.

So now what?  I suppose that's original point for this year of figuring and this learning how to be a Master of Joy.  I just never looked at it in this particular way before.  I didn't realize how much movement I have always experienced or anticipated.  For my entire life I have anticipated, sometimes with gritted teeth, and sometimes with open arms, the next big thing. The next move, or next school, or next baby. Ryan didn't really do that.

He lived his days usually very well.  He looked forward to those camping trips.  He enjoyed his school days, mostly, and his work days.  And even today, he likes his job.  He likes his co-workers. He likes the weekend.  He likes his church callings. He loves his family.  He likes improving the house and his aquariums and his car.  He likes the fact that we are fixing up the basement and the garage.

And I like all those things too, but I still struggle to know where my focus should be.  What is that next big thing coming?  And if nothing big is coming what do I do?  My days are busy.  I love being a wife and mother.  But having elementary school age kids is a world away from the baby and toddler days.  Right now the boys are playing swap force and eating cookies.  In a few minutes I will make them come with me to help Grammy Rees and then we will come home and clean the house.  They like each other and they love me, but they don't need baby-style supervision.  I wonder if I am living up to my potential.  What a horrible word--potential! Do we ever truly live up to it-- in this life?  I know I've sacrificed things to be able to be home with my kids.  I sometimes regret not going to graduate school or traveling more before I got married.  But how would my life have been different? I would never want to live a life without my husband and kids? And now that I'm 37 am I too old to do some of those things? It can be paralyzing at times (like this morning) living with both the doubts that I have not done well enough with my life and talents and also with the question, "What's next?" buzzing around my head.

I know what I would tell Charity if I were my mom.  I would tell myself that I was doing so very well.  I would tell myself that having a wonderful house, job, husband and kids are not happenstance, but that we worked hard to get here.  I worked hard to get to this point.  I would tell myself that I don't need to figure out everything today.  I would tell myself to be mindful and enjoy the days without crises.  Because inevitably things will change.  I would tell myself in the meantime-- until I figure out whether or not I want a job, or whether or not we will pursue another baby to strengthen.

This is the time to let those roots grow deep, and the branches tall.  This is one of the full years when we can add some thickness to those rings that make my tree and our family tree.  This is a time to read lots of books and go on lots of hikes and get healthy.  I have not felt that I had the time or the energy to really lose weight, or write my books, or hike those mountains.  Well, now I do.

So maybe I'm hard-wired to like a certain amount of uncertainty.  Maybe I'm always geared up for change.  I want to learn from Ryan, as he has learned from me.  And I want to find balance.  I want to enjoy the calm and the storms.

This is a time to thrive, not just survive.  And I know that sounds terribly cliche, but it is true.