Sweet Happy Life

Mid-Morning Text

2011-06-01T10:46:00.001-06:00

Cole: Check my grades

Me: A- in Health. The rest are A's

Cole: I'm aware

Me: So you just wanted me to know what a stud you were?

Cole: Exactly

Texting at school can't be all that bad when he makes me laugh every single day. Love that boy.

Thirty Days of Thanks #3

2010-11-03T11:04:00.003-06:00

MESSES

This morning, in the amount of time it took to crumble a pound of hamburger into the pot for tonight's chili, Blake and Miles discovered the drawer filled with sugar and flour.

In less than the five minutes my back was turned, they had each emptied several scoops of flour and sugar onto the floor.

Yesterday I left them finishing their lunches while I ran to pick up the kids from school. In the ten minutes between when I left and Tony came upstairs to check on them, they had completely destroyed the kitchen. We had chicken nuggets and fries scattered across the entire counter. Worse, though, was the sprite they had dumped all over the floor and were walking through, spreading the stickiness from corner to corner of the kitchen. Unfortunately, Tony had clean up duty on his birthday.

They are busy. Oh.So.Busy. They don't intentionally try to make messes. I know they are just curious, and creative and playful. They don't understand how frustrating it gets to never have a clean house for more than five minutes. They are blissfully unaware at the constant mess that surrounds them.

And today I am grateful for those little messes. Grateful for toys underfoot, dirty little faces, fingerprints and sticky spaces. Because it means they are here. They are alive and healthy and busy making messes as they learn about their world. When I think of how often I pined and prayed for these little babies, it would feel ungrateful to begrudge the little incoveniences they cause. How I love my little boys, messes and all.

Miles...On Death

2010-10-05T13:03:00.003-06:00

October is typically a bit rough around here. So it wasn't very unusual last week that I had tears running down my cheeks while running a few errands with my boys.

"Mommy, why are you sad?"

"Oh Miles, I just miss Grandpa Bill."

"Oh."

Silence

"I miss him too. Is he out of town?"

"No Miles. He died. He's in heaven with Heavenly Father."

"Oh. That's far away."

It is far away. Too far away for my liking.

Miles

2010-08-05T17:21:00.002-06:00

Finally finished my year end post on Miles. You can read it here.

I have one written on Blake as well. Just need to find the time to edit and post it.

I'm sad that the craziness of my life has caused my blog to be put on the back burner. I don't imagine anyone is reading this anymore, but I miss having a regular record of our life, even if it's only in short blog entries.

Here's hoping things settle down once the kids start school in two weeks.

Empty

2010-03-23T14:40:00.002-06:00

Sometimes,

when one person is missing,

the whole world feels empty.

Alphonse de Lamartine

My Toddler

2009-12-31T18:14:00.000-07:00

This afternoon, I found you at the kitchen counter, intently playing with Play Doh. Playing so intently, in fact, that you had wet your pants. You turned to me before I had a chance to notice the accident and sweetly inquired:

"Mom, are you nice today? Are you?"

It gave me pause. It humbled me. So many times over the past year I have raised my voice to you in anger or frustration or sheer exhaustion. It saddened me that you, so newly potty trained, expected that short temper from me, rather than the patient, loving mother I aspire to be.

Little Man. You have had quite a year. So much growing and changing in the year from two to three. And it hasn't been an easy year....for either one of us.

In the weeks before your second birthday, I became increasingly alarmed at your lack of speech. So much so that I had Jordan School District come out to assess you. Although you could sign easily over 50 words, you rarely voiced your needs. Through the assessment we discovered that you were in the 90th percantile in all categories except for speech and for that you were less that 5th percentile. Weekly speech therapy and intensive parent interaction was strongly recommended.

But the timing wasn't right. I was in the early stages of pregnancy and exhausted. But more importantly, my dad, your grandpa Bill, was in the final weeks of life and I just couldn't muster enough strength or momma energy to put one more thing on my plate, and so I held off.

In the six weeks between Grandpa's funeral and your 2nd birthday, when I worried the grief might never lift, when I found myself more often in tears, than not; a miracle occurred. The words just started flowing from your mouth. Like my tears, once the words began, you couldn't stop them. And boy did you have a lot to say. Your sentences became stories and my loneliness was abated by sweet conversations with you.

You, my boy, made my pregnancy fly by. I reveled in one on one time with you knowing all too soon another babe would occupy my time and attention. The last eight weeks of my pregnancy were very difficult and I was as sick as I have ever been. Kidney stones, kidney infections, pneumonia, strep throat, toxemia. We were confined to the house and mostly on bed rest. So many afternoons you would drag your books and cars and toys to my bed and contentedly play right by my side. At some point each day, you would snuggle your body as close as you could to my ever growing belly and we would nap in the comfort of each other.

But then your brother Blake was born.

It would be an understatement to say his birth was difficult for you. Our little master of the house had been completely knocked off his throne. The tantrums began innocently enough when the doorbell would ring with visitors to see the new baby. Even from the deepest sleep you would wake with a scream when the doorbell rang. You wanted to be the one to answer the door. At.All.Costs. I remember well our kind next door neighbor coming one night to bring us dinner. I made the mistake of answering the door before you, which began the downward spiral of your emotions. Our neighbor went so far as going outside and ringing the bell again just so you could answer the door. But you were too far gone. You were inconsolable and my recent C-section prevented me from lifting you in my arms to hold you and soothe away your sadness. Soon I was crying right along with you.

I felt so inadequate as your mother. It seemed a constant battle trying to find a way to please you. If I was feeding the baby, you wanted your own space on my lap. If I poured you apple juice, you insisted on orange juice. And so it went. Control of opening the door was only the first of many things you wanted to own. From which clothes you wore, to buckling your own car seat, to which shoes went on which foot (and typically you wore them incorrectly). You made it clear that you didn't much care for me or the new little guy garnering all the attention in our home.

Yet, your dad and I were determined to provide consistent discipline and boundaries for you even though your will seemed so much stronger than our own. Many times after issuing several warnings to you, in exasperation we would tell you "if you do that again, you are going to your room". And you know what? You simply turned and went to your room, slamming the door behind you. No one was going to tell you what to do, but you would certainly do it on your own terms.

Just before your third birthday, I took you in for a check up, hoping the pediatrician could give me some advice on handling your fierce independent spirit. While I loved your tenacity, I simply wanted to direct it into more productive avenues than tantrums and control. His advice to me? Give up some of my need for control, and hopefully you would follow suit. Tough to do...especially because I was desperate to potty train you. And you my little man, you were completely determined NOT to potty train, simply because it was something that I wanted.

So I let you wear your shoes on the wrong feet. You often wore your football jersey four days in a row without washing, and you frequently ate ice cream for breakfast. But you seemed a little bit happier. I was certainly learning to pick my battles, but I was still determined to get you into big boy underwear.

Just days before your third birthday, we went to Palm Desert for Thanksgiving. I put you in underwear and let you pee outside to your hearts content. I was happy for dry pants. You were happy with the freedom to run around naked. Your grandma, aunts, uncles and cousins were cheering you on at every turn. It was a win win for both of us. Within just a few weeks you were completely potty trained and I, well I was stunned. I couldn't believe you so willingly and so simply relinquished your control.

And with that accomplishment came a confidence and a happiness in you that had been missing since your brother was born. It was another miracle. My little Miles was back. Almost overnight, the tantrums stopped, the power plays were over. I dare say you began to enjoy my company again. And finally, finally, you adored your baby Blake and delighted in being the big brother.

I look at you now and I can hardly believe you are the same little boy. I've been a mom long enough to know that you will surely go through another difficult stage. But I can honestly say, this has by far been my most difficult year of parenting. There were days here and there where I really didn't like you. But I never stopped loving you. In fact I loved you with a fierceness I have never known. I hated seeing you struggle. I felt so responsible for disrupting your beautiful little life with a new brother. But I learned so very much this year, probably at your expense. I'm a better mother for weathering this storm with you. I'm so grateful for the knowledge and patience I gained this year. But most importantly I am completely confident in knowing that when the going gets tough, love never fails. Remind me of that when you're a teenager, will you?

My Tween

2009-12-30T13:44:00.000-07:00

The day after Christmas, we received a phone call from the director of The Dance Club, wondering if you were available to come in for choreography over the Christmas break.

Soon after the texts started rolling in..."Can Rach play after choreography?", "Would Rachel like to sleepover after dance on Tuesday?". And so on. At first you bemoaned the long day at the studio over the sacred two week break. But as I was pulling your hair into a ponytail Tuesday morning and packing you up for a series of play dates with dance friends, you admitted that you were really looking forward to a day of dance.

Dance, moreso this year than in years past, has become your life. It is not only something that you love to do, but has become a steady source of confidence and a constructive outlet for your endless energy. Often times, after a hard day of school, you will express your desire to just go and "dance it off". I am so grateful that you have this in your life...not only for the confidence it gives you, but also for the social opportunities, and for an incredibly effective physical outlet for your stress.

Earlier this year, you were invited to join a team of dancers aged 12-13. This invitation came a month after placement auditions, and was totally unexpected. You were comfortable on your existing team and were in the enviable place of team leader, dancing front and center, the go to girl. Moving up to Company meant not only dancing with older girls, but also committing to 12-16 hours, four days per week. It was an incredible opportunity, but one that came with a great deal of worry and trepidation for me as your mother. I was concerned about the time away from home, how you would fit in socially, how you would maintain your school work and frankly, I worried about your ability to keep up. I knew in my heart you would be going from top of the heap, to bottom of the barrel, and I worried how it would effect your confidence.

What I didn't expect was the backlash we received from other parents and dancers when you were chosen to move up over them. It was a very difficult few weeks after the change was made. I felt like every time you walked into that studio, you had a target on your back. There was a lot of gossip and back biting and down right tantrums from dance moms upset that a younger, less experienced dancer was moving to Company ahead of their own daughter. Every day I worried that we had made the right decision. Every day I prayed for you as I wiped tears away from my eyes each time I dropped you off. You seemed so young, so innocent and vulnerable, and I felt as if I were sending you into the lion's den.

But you, my sweet girl, never looked back. "Mom", you would say "I didn't ask to be moved up...they asked ME. Obviously they think I can do this".

And you were right. I have never seen such poise and grace from such a young child. I was, and continue to be, humbled by your quiet confidence. While I grew angry and felt the need to defend you and retaliate with clever comebacks and putdowns, you simply went to work. Steady, determined, tenacious; you were all that and more. Not for one moment did you let the naysayers bring you down. You held your head high and just danced.

In October, you attended your first convention and competition with your new team. I was amazed at the growth I witnessed. Not only in your dancing, but in the maturity you possessed among the older girls. How they adore you. Awards fell on Halloween, which made it difficult for me attend. I was stunned to hear you'd won a scholarship which is a very prestigious honor. Yet, when I finally spoke with you on the phone to offer up my congratulations, you downplayed it, not wanting to hurt the feelings of the other girls in the car. Again you taught me the best way to behave.

The only downside to your dancing is the void I feel in your absence. I miss you. I miss your laughter and kindness in our home. I miss the twinkle in your bright blue eyes as you twirl around the kitchen telling me the details of your day. I miss your constant, unselfish help with the little boys. I miss you wanting to learn how to cook every night as I make dinner. I miss watching TV in my bed with you. I miss our girl time, and girls only errands, which may or may not include frozen yogurt or pedicures. Mostly I just miss the light and love that is my Rachel.

Some may say you are missing out on your childhood, but when I look at you and all that you have gained, I have to disagree. Not only are you growing more talented in your dance, but you possess a rare confidence that enables you to be kind, and loving, and refined. Your uncommon grace has touched me and you have taught me. The only person you compete against is yourself, always striving to become better. My wish for you my dear daughter, is that you can continue to have this gift your entire life. So much time is wasted when we worry about what others are doing or saying. How lucky you are, how brilliant you are, to figure this out at such a tender age.

And when you come home late at night, with callouses and torn skin upon your toes. I will be here waiting and watching you with love and admiration.

My Teen

2009-12-29T15:38:00.003-07:00

Today I dropped you and a friend off at Snowbird for a day of skiing. You weren't too sure of your way around the mountain, and you were skiing on loaner skis as you've quickly outgrown your skis and boots and we just haven't found the time to get you new gear. I watched you suit up, remembering very well the many days your dad had to buckle up your boots for you.

With twenty dollars and a cell phone in your pocket, you were off to conquer the mountain, carving turns with your buddy.

As I drove off, I couldn't help but wonder how we arrived at this place. I am amazed at your independence, at your confidence and bright spirit. You are quickly growing from boy to man and though I hate to watch it happen, hate to have you taller than me, I am so very proud of the man you are becoming.

This has been a year of firsts for you....first girlfriend, first heartbreak..albeit shortlived, first kiss (I kissed a girl and I liked it..sung Katy Perry style over breakfast), first time shaving, first summer cutting the grass, first solo sleepover summer camp...quickly followed by first solo airplane trip. First year of junior high, first voice changing squeak, first out of state lacrosse tournament and first time you've really ever given dad and I cause to worry. I suppose it's all part of being a teenager.

A few of my favorite memories of you this year....

Sitting by you at the Draper Temple Dedication and watching the Spirit touch you. I could almost feel your budding testimony well up inside of your chest and make your heart pound. Witnessing sweet tears pool in your eyes as you recognized the feelings of the Spirit and the truthfulness of blessings found in the house of the Lord.

Watching you take responsibility for breaking the window at the Presbyterian church while playing wall ball. Pastor Lee told you: "On the outside, you look like just a boy...but you act just like a man". You developed a nice friendship with Pastor Lee over the summer. He welcomed you each time you came to play and you enjoyed learning about Hockey and old cars from him. I was so proud of you for having integrity, for owning up to your mistakes and making the effort to set things right.

Having you ask me "Do you know what today is?" on the fifteenth of each month. I love that you remember and miss him as much as I do. It touches me when you share a memory with me or point out something that he would like or that reminds you of him. I love that you never complain about getting up at six in the morning on Federal Holidays to place flags in our neighborhood...you honor him by doing that, you know how he loved the American Flag and all it represents.

Watching you become a leader on both your lacrosse and football teams. I was particularly proud of you in football this fall. Almost all of your friends were put on the same team together, while you were placed on a team where you didn't know anyone. I worried about your ability to fit in. I worried about your friends leaving you out. I think you were a bit worried too, but by the second week of practice, you had formed new bonds, created new friendships that still exist. I see the same thing as you play lacrosse for Team Utah. I admire your ability to make and keep friends from different schools, different backgrounds, different religions. This ability to accept and appreciate others, to enthuse them to good works, will serve you well your entire life.

There are so many things that I love about you, so many moments which have touched my heart this year. It seems silly to try to wrap it up in one single blog post. But I don't want to forget you at this age. I don't want to forget what a great big brother you are, particularly to your little brothers. How tender you are with them...and silly. I don't want to forget how you make me laugh every single day, how you are incredibly quick witted, yet kind in your humor. I appreciate that you don't make jokes at the expense of others. I don't want to forget how affectionate you are with your mom, how you give me strong hugs each morning and night, how you still say "love you mom" when I drop you off at school each morning...regardless of what your friends might think.

Dad and I laugh that you still get excited to go to the zoo, that your favorite christmas gift was your pet frogs and star wars legos. You are growing up my sweet son, but you are still just a boy at heart. How I love you.

Grateful

2009-11-20T16:46:00.003-07:00

Life is crazy. It never slows down. For one such as myself who doesn't thrive in the midst of chaos, I am still slowly adjusting to the new reality of four little people depending on me. I have not abandoned this blog. Journaling has become my new source of sanity...but the jumbled notes kept in the notebook in my purse rarely organize themselves into a sensible blog entry. I will do better...in the weeks and months ahead, I commit to do better. For I do want to remember this crazy time in my life and I want my children to remember that though often frazzled, usually on edge and tired and constantly in motion, I loved them and was utterly devoted to their well-being.

In the meantime, I am ever so grateful. Grateful for my beautiful life filled with an amazing spouse, talented, spirited children, a kind mother and sweet brothers. My incredible nieces and nephews, supportive friends who keep me in laughter. I am blessed. Today and Every day.

On the Other Hand

2009-09-25T13:10:00.001-06:00

Yesterday as I was changing his diaper, Miles looked up at me, brown eyes shining. Dark, curly lashes blinking, framing his innocent face. Sometimes when I look deep into those beautiful eyes, my heart almost skips a beat. I am overcome in love for him. And then:

"Momma, I don't like you anymore".

It stung. Probably more than it should have given his temperment of late. We are deeply embedded in the terrible twos. Tantrums and tears have become the rule rather than the exception.

Then today as we were leaving Kindermusik:

"That was awesome, Momma."

"It was awesome Miles. You were awesome."

"I was a rock star Momma".

"yep."

"I wuv you Momma.....so much."

And so it goes. I know his moods are dictated by his need for control. Apparently that includes the right to change his mind.

And that is the way we roll.

15

2009-09-09T05:00:00.001-06:00

"The very first moment I beheld him, my heart was irrevocably gone."

Jane Austen

Happy Anniversary!

Just Like You

2009-08-27T05:00:00.001-06:00

This is how we found Miles last night.

The house became eerily quiet, which usually means Miles is getting into trouble somewhere.

Instead, we found him in the garage, putting on all of Cole's Lacrosse gear.

Move over Daddy, Miles has a new Role Model.

Slumber

2009-08-25T17:34:00.000-06:00

The house was quiet tonight with the exception of the constant hum of the central air. I hesitated to bathe you as the oppressive heat of the day would only be compounded by the warm sudsy water. But such is the ritual, and somehow watching you stretch and splash in the water each night washes away my stress, and soothes me as much as it does you.

With no other children demanding my attention tonight, I take my time dressing you for bed. I massage the Baby Magic into each of your tiny toes, your earlobes, the rolls of your thighs. Even with the sun still hanging in the sky, your eye lids are heavy. Quickly I swaddle you in your blanket, a habit for you since the day of your birth. You, my only baby who seems to need the comfort and security found in a few simple folds of flannel.

Greedily you eat, struggling to keep your eyes open. I stroke the peach fuzz of your soft, round cheeks and slowly you surrender. The suckling becomes slower, your breath heavier. At last I feel the full weight of your thirteen pound frame grow limp in my arms.

Quietly I lay you in your crib, tucking the "cozy" grandma gave you around your body. I stop for a moment in awe at how long you are beginning to look in what once was a spacious crib, too vast for my little baby. I close the blinds. 8:08 pm and the world outside is still buzzing, neighborhood children shrieking, a lawn mower motoring.

It isn't often that the house is this quiet. And for a moment, I'm unsure of what to do with myself. The dinner dishes are done, the baby is down and Tony and the rest of the children are out...football, dance, a late night bike ride. Eventually I settle on a new book and climb into my own bed. Before long, darkness sets in and I too fall asleep, weary from the heat and the constant busyness that summer brings.

I awake at one and lay awake, keeping an ear on the monitor, waiting for the familiar first strains of your cry. Silence. I turn over and watch the clock. 1:37 am, silent. 1:59 am, silent still. Sleep comes again, but I wake in a panic. 2:42 am.

I quickly make my way down the hall to your room, and reach for you in the dark. You stir and I feel grateful to find you warm and breathing. Followed immediately by feeling foolish at my fear. I tip the shutter just slightly so the pale moon light floods your room. Peacefully you sleep, arms flailed above your head, lips moving slightly in a subtle sucking motion.

I return to bed, but sleep fails me. My body has grown accustom to the nightly wake up calls at 1 am and five am. It isn't that I'm not tired....of course I'm tired, as most mothers with a newborn are. But that little burst of adrenaline won't allow my mind to quiet down enough for sleep. And so I lie there and I wait for you.

Finally at 4:29 am, I hear you softly coo. Again I make my way to your room and peek over the edge of your crib. Your eyes are wide and dark. Immediately you grin, and dimples blossom on each of your cheeks. I scoop you up, eager to hold you and feed you. We snuggle and eagerly you eat, vocalizing your thirst with every suckle. Ten minutes and you are finished, satiated and arching your back as you stretch.

I put you to my shoulder and pat your back. You lay your head against my cheek and I feel your soft breath on my neck. You sigh in contentment and soon you sleep once again. This time I am in no hurry to lay you in your crib. I rock you for several minutes and savor the sweetest sleeping baby, safe in my arms.

In your first month or so of life, I spent half the night awake with you. How I longed for the day when you would sleep through the night. But now that it's here, now that you consistently sleep eight hours each night, I find it bittersweet. The truth is, I miss you Baby Blake. I miss our middle of the night snuggles. I miss rocking and holding you with no time constraints and no distractions. I miss sharing the quiet peace of the night with you on my shoulder. I will forever miss feeling the closeness of Heaven surround us as we shared our daily night-cap.

Love you Blakers,

Momma

Fresh Eyes

2009-08-06T07:33:00.006-06:00

Last night I crawled into bed before 9 pm. Tony and I have been up the last three or four nights talking. Talking about our kids, his Leadville race, business, religion. Just the general things we discuss every night, only deeper and more expansive. I've had a string of several late nights, followed by very early mornings getting Rachel to dance, combined with one little two year old who has decided to wake up every few hours now that his 4 month old sibling is sleeping through the night. I was exhausted and grumpy.

Tony came in around 9:15 just as I was drifting off to sleep. He opened the blinds a bit, turned on a light or two and noisily slurped on his slurpee, happily chatting away with me about the TV show he thought I was watching. I snapped at him that I was trying to sleep, angry at his inconsideration. He quietly left the room and left me to my moodiness borne of sheer exhaustion.

He came to bed around 11:30 and I felt his warm hand on my cheek. When I stirred he held my hand. "Susan passed tonight." He whispered. And immediately my eyes were open trying to find his in the dark.

For months and months, we have watched our friend Elden tenderly care for his sweet wife Susan as she battled breast cancer. I have never witnessed a more beautiful love story unfold as together they courageously endured this most difficult of diseases with dignity, humor and uncommon determination. Together they worked to raise over $500,000 in donations to the LiveStrong organization, hoping that this money will one day help find a cure. They are both an inspiration to me in so many ways and I am overcome with sadness for them and their four brave children.

After Tony told me, I couldn't sleep for hours, trying to process what a huge loss this is for Elden and his family. I recognize that I am only human, but I was embarrassed that I had lost my temper with Tony over something so insignificant. Especially on that night when one we care about so deeply was sleeping alone in his bed for the first time, wishing he could talk with her, hold her hand, touch her cheek as she slept.

Surviving six years of infertility has given me a profound sense of gratitude for my four incredible children. I take more time with them. I am more patient with them, more present in the day to day. Specifically, I am filled with wonder that I am blessed with their tender care, that I have the honor and privilege of being their mother.

Susan's passing brought these same feelings to my heart about my sweet husband. How often I take him for granted and simply expect that he will take care of all of us. He is such a blessing in my life and all too often I fail to tell him how incredibly lucky I feel to be his wife. There isn't anything he wouldn't do for me if I but ask. He supports me in all that I want to do. He validates my feelings. He listens to me and cheers me on. He is quite simply my best friend. Most importantly, he makes me feel safe. I trust him without question and know he would never do anything to hurt me or our children. I have never met a more loyal person.

As I watched him sleep this morning, I saw him with fresh eyes. After fifteen years, he still makes my heart race. He still makes me laugh. He makes our life together work. I am so grateful that he belongs to me and that we are headed in the same direction...together.

And I am grateful for the Nelson's. For sharing so much of their story with us so that we might be reminded of the treasures found within our own home. On his blog, Elden told us to "Fight Like Susan" and I know he intended those words to represent her incredible fight with Cancer. But for me today, Fighting Like Susan means never wasting another day Fighting or Angry with my spouse. Life is too short and he is too important to me.

Today

2009-07-18T16:36:00.002-06:00

Outside my Window: Hot and Breezy. Did I mention hot? Actually left the Draper Days parade early because it was easily 100 degrees by 10 am.

I am Thinking: About my Dad. I have been thinking about him a lot this past week as we marked the nine month anniversary of his death. I can't describe how much I miss him. So much so that it weighs me down...almost in a physical sense. But as sad as I feel, the truth is I have been so busy lately that I really haven't had time to process all of my emotions. Tony took me out for late night sushi last night and when we started talking about my dad, the flood gates really opened. Poor guy.

I am Thankful For: Sweet Baby Blake. Happy, Smiling, Cooing, Sweetest Baby Ever. He is like a soothing balm for my weary soul. I am so in love with this baby. What a brilliant bright light he is in my life.

From the Kitchen: Having company for dinner. Cafe Rio...easiest dinner I've made all week. Wink! Then off to the park for the fireworks.

I am Wearing: Tan linen capri pants. Light Blue Tee Shirt. Now known as my favorite t-shirt ever since a complete stranger approached me at dinner last week and told me this shirt really set off my eyes. Prettiest blue eyes she's ever seen. Hey, I'll take my compliments where I can find them....even if they do come from complete strangers. Ha!

I am Creating: My grocery and to do list for next week. I've got to get my act together. Seriously....I should be adjusted to four kids by now.

I am Going: To take a little nap once this post is finished. Long night with Blakers last night.

I am Reading: My RS Lesson for tomorrow on Charity. And...the new People Magazine. I bet Jon and Kate were a bit grateful when Micheal Jackson took them out of the spotlight for a few weeks.

I am Hoping: That Miles will soon decide he's ready to poop on the potty. Two kids in diapers is killin me.

I am Hearing: Ah...the sweet sound of silence. Mr. Blake is asleep and Tony and the kiddos are up at my mom's pool.

Around the House: Clean...ready for guests. Cool. Calm. Plus Tony hung a new piece in my laundry room today. Love it.

One of My Favorite Things: Spontaneous Date night. Tsunami for Sushi and Red Mango for Dessert. Time to actually talk to each other, reconnect. Coming home to four sleeping children and a clean kitchen. I'm a lucky girl.

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week: Spending three days in Park City with Rachel for Dance Attack. Lots of Lacrosse for Cole this week before Football starts. Holiday Weekend next weekend...probably most of it flying solo as Tony completes the final push in training before Leadville.

What are you doing Today?

Two Months

2009-05-28T21:35:00.004-06:00

My sweet baby is two months old today. He is a darling little baby. Sweet tempered, calm, easy. But he is very time consuming, as most newborns are. He is my last baby. I try to remind myself of this when I'm feeding him at one o clock in the morning, and again at four o clock. I'm trying not to wish his babyhood away....knowing all too soon he will be rolling and sitting and crawling and then walking. Walking away from me and growing all together too quickly.

Thomas S. Monson shared this powerful insight to happiness, “This is our one and only chance at life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and nonexistent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now.”

I do find joy in this journey with baby Blake. I really can't get enough of him. I need to remember President Monson's counsel when I get overwhelmed with dishes in the sink, laundry to fold, dinner to make. Surely baby Blake is more important than all of that and I don't want it to pass me by.

Oh how I love him.

Even at four in the morning.

Responsibility

2009-05-26T21:39:00.003-06:00

Last night as we were driving to dinner in the searing Palm Desert heat, Miles sang out from the back seat. And then, he counted to ten. Without cajole or prompt. He simply said each number in the correct order.

And I, I was astonished. I recall very well teaching Cole to count to ten. I remember practicing the ABC song with Rachel over and over until she got it right. And with Miles, I have done nothing. Somehow he knows his ABC's. He knows how to count to ten. Not because of me. But in spite of me.

My heart broke into jagged pieces as it has so many times over the past several weeks. I feel so clearly how I am failing him. How my feeble attempts to mother four children have left him without the guidance and attention my older children enjoyed.

"You need to read to him" Tony reminds me. And I do. Almost daily. But it is usually rushed and simply marked off my list as yet another chore accomplished. It isn't the unfettered hour I used to spend with my older children, absorbed in one book after another. Truth be told, the large bin of board books, most suitable for this two year old boy, remains hidden on the dark shelves of our cold storage. I've yet to dust off the box, though I know the treasure which lies therein.

Last week, as I bathed my sweet new baby. Miles broke down and begged of me to "put him down!" Over and over he beseeched me to put the baby down. The baby, past due for a feeding, cried out his own pleas, and soon a symphony of tears filled the sun drenched nursery.

For the first time in weeks, I attended to Miles' needs first. Blake lay screaming in his crib. Miles wailed in my arms and soon, I too, was weeping hot and frustrated tears.

I wish I could say this was the exception rather than the rule. But the truth is, each day I am overwhelmed in my responsibility for these four precious souls. Each day, amid requests and tears, in the midst of the constant "mom can you iron my shirt, I need a library book, can you give me a ride, I want some apple juice, I hate this dinner, can you please tuck me in, do I have any clean socks, can you volunteer in my classroom, when are you going to the grocery store and will you please, please put the baby down", I feel a sense of failure. For try as I might, there is always one of them...or more, who isn't getting enough of me. Enough of my time, enough of my attention and patience. Enough of my love. I feel it in the tantrums of my two year old. I feel it in the wistful glances of my nine year old and I most certainly feel it in the hot temper of my teenager.

I've always wanted to be a mother. And frankly, it's always come quite easily to me. I have pretty good instincts about my children and I have never really struggled in my role as a parent. Perhaps I was too quick to pat myself on the back. Too quick to take credit for their obedience, for their easy personalities and good behavior.

My shortcomings have become all too clear since the arrival of baby Blake. As I strive for more patience, more understanding and more kindness for each of my sweet children. As I struggle to love them better in spite of my weariness and daily inadequacies, I hope I am teaching my children to offer me the same.

Consumed

2009-04-29T17:28:00.003-06:00

Nursing

Changing

Patting

Rocking

Bathing

Feeding

Burping

Holding

Snuggling

Napping

LOVING

"It was the tiniest thing

I ever decided to put

my whole life into"

Accustom

2009-04-21T09:57:00.005-06:00

I've grown Accustom to his Face.

He almost makes the day begin.

I've grown accustom to the tune

He whistles night and noon.

His Smiles

His Frowns

His Ups

His Downs

Are Second Nature to me Now

Like Breathing Out

And Breathing In.

I was so really Independent and Content

Before we Met.

Surely I could always Be.

That Way Again.

And Yet,

I've grown Acustom to his Looks

Accustom to his Voice

Accustom to his Face

Six Months

2009-04-15T20:05:00.002-06:00

I used to talk to my dad every day. Every. Single. Day. I worked for him for fifteen years of my adult life. But even on those days when I wasn't in the office, he would call me each day to chat.

The last few years of his life, things were a bit different and I didn't talk to him each day. I missed it. I missed him. Sometimes it would be a few weeks in between our conversations. But never more than that.

Today marks the six month anniversary of his death. I have been thinking about him so much. So many things big and small to miss about him. But I think the thing I miss most is just being able to talk to him. Just hearing his voice on the other end of the phone. I have never gone six long months without talking to my dad.

My dad was one of the most positive people I know. Always upbeat, cheerful, encouraging. I miss that influence in my life. I miss hearing his stories. I miss him making me laugh or making difficult things in my life seem light. I miss his advice. I miss him making me feel better.

I miss his voice.

I miss him.

More today than yesterday. More than last week or last month. More than four or five months ago.

The longer it goes, the harder it is to remember the sound of his voice. The harder it is to recall the warmth of his spirit.

Six months feels like forever.

Do something for me.....call your dad today and tell him that you love him.

I would if I could.

Fresh

2009-04-03T19:15:00.002-06:00

Taken just a few minutes after birth

Blake William

Six Pounds Six Ounces

Nineteen Inches Long

Fresh from Heaven

Delicious

2009-03-26T20:07:00.000-06:00

He is.

Delicious to me.

Monday night I filled the tub with hot sudsy water, cracked open the french door to draft the room with fresh air, and carefully lowered my aching body into the soothing comfort of weightlessness only found in water.

I had a long scary day at the hospital and was looking forward to a little quiet, me time to decompress after the drama of the day.

It didn't take long before I heard him calling to me: "Mommy, Mommy 'ere ares you?".

He quickly found me in the tub and was stripping down in no time. I'm not a real lover of the tub except for when I'm pregnant, so he was so excited to see that I had entered his playground. "Mommy in the hot tubby?"

I don't know when it happened, but sometime over the last few months, his little legs have gotten long enough that he can swing them up over the tub ledge and get himself into the tub. He quickly sat down and was surprised to find the water nearly touching his nose. He giggled, not sure if this was really the tub as the depth made it feel more like a swimming pool.

Soon he found delight in rolling his toys off of my swollen belly, squealing each time an errant ducky or pirate or boat splashed into the water. "Baby stuck mommy?" Indeed, it does feel like the baby is stuck.

He made a game out of my protruding belly button, using it as his microphone to call all pirates back home. "argh, mommy! no cry stuck baby!"

Later I slathered him in Baby Magic before dressing him in his pajamas. Even though technically he isn't my baby anymore, the smell of that lotion on his skin transcends me back to the first days and weeks of his life.

In the middle of the night I hear him call to me: "Mommy 'ere ares you?"

And so I go to him. I go to him more often than I actually sleep through the night. At 2 1/2 there is no reason for him to be waking at 3 or 4 am. But he usually does, and somehow I have failed to find frustration in our late night visit.

As I enter his room, he immediately greets me with a flood of words: "Hi Mommy. Hold you Mommy? Rock you Mommy? Just one minute?"

Ah, he knows the routine. But more importantly he knows I'm a sucker for his sweet cuddle request.

I pick him up and immediately find myself enveloped in his small arms. I sit to rock him in the overstuffed chair and smile as he tries to find comfort in my lap in spite of my growing belly. Eventually, he gives up on his preferred position of knees tucked to chest, head resting on my shoulder, and allows me to cradle him as I did when he was a newborn babe. Within minutes he is sleeping soundly and I quietly tuck him back in bed.

I often have a hard time falling back to sleep. I'd like to blame it on pregnancy induced insomnia and the inability to find comfort. But truthfully, after a visit with this little love, I can't get him out of my mind. I love this age. I love his innocence, his budding vocabulary, his need for me still. I love him with a fierceness that feels foreign and yet familiar all at once. It is that ache deep within my heart that I faintly recall feeling when Cole was a toddler and I was expecting Rachel. I wonder and I worry: will I love the next one just the same? Of course I know the answer. I am well aware of the magical ability of a mother's heart to expand exponentially within just minutes of giving birth.

And yet, for the moment. Miles in all of his deliciousness, has stolen my heart.

Bedrest

2009-03-25T18:18:00.002-06:00

And so it begins.

I've anticipated it since conception. I have experienced it with each of my pregnancies. I shouldn't be surprised. And yet, there is nothing comforting about the doctor telling you to stay completely down aside from a daily shower and potty breaks.

My blood pressure is too high. The baby is too small, too early, too immature to survive outside the safety of my womb without medical intervention.

"Each day we prevent delivery is a gift to your son". He said, looking me straight in the eyes, trying to convey the seriousness of the situation. Truth be told...I have never been so panicked in all of my life. This is the earliest I have ever threatened to deliver. I asked him for some kind of hope that my baby wouldn't end up in the NICU and he simply said "Bedrest can work if you comply." Sentiments confirmed by a kind nurse during subsequent monitoring.

And so it goes. I've made it two days so far, I am hoping for fourteen more.

Lest my brain turn to total mush, I'm going to try to post once a day until my delivery. That's a pretty lofty goal that I may not make...but at least it gives me something to think about while lying around.

See you tomorrow.

Near but not Near Enough

2009-03-06T17:54:00.002-07:00

By looking just at the title of this post, one could assume I am talking about my elusive due date, which is most definitely near, but not near enough.

But this is another post about my dad. I'm sure it would be much better for the two people who actually read my blog (thanks mom and Tony) to move on to a different topic. But I sense that the feelings that creep into my heart will slowly start to fade, and because of that, I feel more of an urgent need to post little things I am feeling about my dad.

My dad used to love to give big hugs. They were full bodied and strong. He always said "Come here and let me squeeze your guts out". It was a trademark of his, one that every single grandchild will recall with fondness.

In his last weeks, Miles was just beginning to speak. I would often lay him on my dad's chest so he too could experience a squeeze your guts out hug from Papa Bill. Each day I would ask him "Who squeezes your guts out?" and he would promptly respond "Papa Bill".

I stopped asking eventually and Miles began speaking in full sentences; each of us pressing forward, moving onward.

Sunday night we gathered for family dinner. We toasted a niece on her new job, we welcomed my mother home from an extended vacation, we laughed and traded stories. It was just the kind of dinner my dad would have loved. Miles kept leaving his seat, racing to my chair, and then running back to his own. I was growing exasperated by his antics in the crowded restaurant. At last he came to me and said "Papa Bill squeezes guts out." He repeated it over and over to his cousins, his siblings, his aunt and uncle.

Perhaps Miles was the only one who could see my dad there, wrapping his arms around each one of us.

Tuesday, Cole came and lay down with me in bed. He has been recovering from a pretty bad case of strep, which he so kindly shared with me. He told me how he'd been thinking so much about his grandpa. He said when he felt so sick for just a few days, it made him realize how his grandpa had been sick for months and months and yet he rarely complained. He always remained positive, stoic.

I, too, have been having these same thoughts of my dad. Especially when I was in the hospital a few weeks ago suffering from severe pain. In those short six hours before I was able to obtain pain relief, my thoughts turned continually to my dad who endured that kind of pain for months on end. I understood on a different level his desperation and panic. I have thought of little else and have worried and wondered that we did enough to help make and keep him comfortable. Over and over I have felt him calm my fears and tell me it was enough, that we did everything possible. Perhaps the only lesson he is trying to show me is that of empathy for others pain.

On Wednesday, I was searching frantically for a lost email and came across an email written by my second oldest brother the day after my dad's funeral. Somehow it had ended up in my spam file.

"I think everything went extremely well yesterday. I want you all to know how proud I am to have you as my brothers and beloved sister. I know I don't always say it, but I just wanted you to know I love and appreciate you all, I couldn't ask for better siblings. Now pick yourself up. The show must go on!"

I wept and recognized my dad's hand in reminding me that I am not alone, that I have three of the kindest, most amazing, accomplished, compassionate brothers. Each of them possessing a portion of my dad's charm and character. What a lovely reminder found in an errant email on a day when I most needed it.

Yesterday, I attending a meeting for the American Cancer Society. Their annual Babe golf tournament will be held in honor of my dad this year. I knew that this was happening, it was the sole reason I was asked to volunteer my time on the committee. And yet, walking in that door and seeing "In Honor of William C. "Bill" Roderick" on all of the tournament literature took my breath away. I quietly wiped away silent tears as my sister in law gently rubbed my leg under the table.

I don't have any physical possessions of my dad due to some pretty unusual circumstances. But what I do have is a lifetime of memories, an over-flowing reservoir of treasured moments and tender feelings. I think he was with me at that meeting, reminding me that while I don't have his 'things', I still have him. I carry him with me everywhere I go, right here in my heart. Surely he is nearby if only the sight of his name can bring me to tears.

I know my dad is near. I feel him every day in sometimes profound, sometimes silly ways. He is here, just not nearly close enough.

I Miss

2009-02-16T17:26:00.004-07:00

I miss him.

Yesterday marked the four month anniversary of his death. In some ways it seems like yesterday and in some ways it feels like forever.

I've been sick now for an entire week. In all my life I don't remember being this sick. And something about feeling so yucky makes me emotional and sad. I miss my dad.

When I was put down on bedrest with my last baby, my dad sent me a dozen roses. He called me everyday just to check in. I've been thinking about all of the little things he did like that to make me feel loved. I miss him.

It isn't that I'm not in good hands. I have the best husband and mother. My in-laws have been amazing, my friends incredible. But something is missing.

Someone is missing.

And I'm really feeling it this week.

I Love

2009-01-29T15:41:00.006-07:00

I love him. Deeply, Madly and truly More than I ever thought possible.

I've spent the last sixteen of my years with him, but something is noticeably different the past four months. I think it's called surrender.

I've always been an independent soul. Probably too independent for my own good. And while I have enjoyed and relied upon the partnership that I share with him, I think I have always relied on myself first and foremost. Honestly, I think he would be the first to tell you that one of the things he loves most about me is my independent spirit, my determination to be my own self.

Certainly he is my partner in every sense of the word. I couldn't ask for a better father for my children, a better friend or soul mate. I can't imagine my world without him, nor would I want to. He is the first person I choose to be with, the first person I seek out when I have something to say or when something is troubling me. His is the opinion I value the most. He makes me a better person.

A few weeks before my dad died, I sat at the kitchen counter with him, trying to find words, but barely being able to choke out the sobs. I heard him quietly get up, grab the phone and cancel a much anticipated bike trip for the upcoming weekend. "I've never seen her like this. I need to be here."

And honestly, I haven't felt him leave my side ever since. Physically or figuratively. His is a constant presence that I have come to rely upon, to need, much like I need air to breathe. He comforts me and calms me in a way that no one else can. It's not even something that I can do for myself.

A parent has a remarkable unconditional love for their child. I was my dad's only daughter. I know he loved me without question. I remember sitting on his bed during one of his last days and tenderly shaving his white whiskers. "Thank you for taking care of me", he whispered. It was then that it hit me that my dad had taken care of me my entire life, that no other man would love me in quite the same unconditional way that my dad did.

And yet, I have felt the same safety, the same security with Tony, in his love for me. I have felt it in ways I never imagined possible. I am humbled in his unselfish, constant care of me. Of how he has quietly and consistently served me and put my needs ahead of his own for several months. Perhaps it has always been there, this unconditional love. Maybe for the first time I have allowed myself to let go and experience it, to surrender myself completely to the care of someone else.

In losing my dad, I have discovered what an incredible life partner I have. He has always been here, of this I am sure. But now I see him with new eyes. And the more I feel his unconditional love for me, the deeper I fall in love with him.

Still Can't Get Enough

2009-01-07T12:21:00.004-07:00

Five days later and the excitement still hasn't worn off.

For a good read click here.

GO UTES!

PS. What do BYU and Marijuana have in common?

They both get smoked in Bowls. ha ha ha

Thanks Coley for the funny.

2009

2009-01-01T15:39:00.002-07:00

This Year We Will

Mend a Quarrel

Seek out a Forgotten Friend

Dismiss Suspicion and replace it with Trust

Write a letter

Give a soft answer

Encourage youth

Manifest our loyalty in word and deed

Keep a promise

Forgo a grudge

Forgive an Enemy

Apologize

Try to Understand

Examine our demands on Others

Think First of Someone Else

Be Kind

Be Gentle

Laugh a little More

Express our Gratitude

Welcome a Stranger

Gladden the heart of a Child

Take pleasure in the beauty and wonder of the Earth

Speak our Love

And then Speak it Again

Howard W. Hunter

Christmas Peace

2008-12-24T12:57:00.002-07:00

Sunday morning as I readied my children for church, I found myself blinking away almost constant tears. I don't know why Sunday's are the hardest. I imagine it is the closeness I feel to the Spirit while attending my meetings. Even my sweet Rachel has the hardest time on Sunday, often crying her way through Primary songs with her Primary teacher daddy holding her hand.

The closing song of our Sacrament Christmas program was Silent Night. I have never heard it sung so beautifully and found peace in each melodic verse of our ward choir. But I could not contain the tears and felt a bit embarassed at this raw, personal show of emotion in so public a setting.

Later I stopped in at my mom's to help her with a quick task. I sought comfort in her arms and sobbed as she held me. Sometimes I can't even articulate what I am feeling, I just know that I feel so weighed down, so profoundly sad. The beautiful thing about my mother's love is that there is no need for explanation. She just knows. She understands and accepts.

Imagine my surprise then, when I read this today at Segullah. Of course I cried my way through it, espescially when the author writes "The loss of my father penetrates in the cavern of my chest and I carry it daily, and with even more heaviness just before Christmas."

But the article also gave me peace. Peace in knowing that my feelings are normal and understood by those who have suffered the same loss. Peace in the blessing of a firm testimony that my dad is well and close by. And espescially, peace and gratitude for the blessing of a kind and loving mother who is still here to offer her mother arms in comfort when I need it most.

My Saving Grace

2008-12-11T14:39:00.004-07:00

Tuesday night I set out into the cold dark night to make the thirty minute drive to Orem to pick up Rachel from dance. Sara Mclachlan's Christmas CD was playing on my car stereo. As she sang "Wintersong", I found myself silently sobbing at sixty miles an hour. While the song is about missing a lover, the lyrics spoke to my heart.

The Lake is frozen over,

The trees are white with snow,

And all around reminders of you are everywhere I go.

When silence gets too hard to handle,

And the night too long,

This is how I see you

In the snow on Christmas Morning

Love and Happiness surround you.

Oh I miss you now.

Rachel opened the door with her usual post-dance exuberance and immediately noticed my tear stained face. "Oh mom! I miss him too." As she quickly climbed into my lap and wrapped her arms around me. More tears of gratitude for a nine year old spirit wise beyond her years. I am constantly amazed at her perception and tender compassion for me, her mother. The one who is supposed to be guiding her.

Wednesday morning I set out to make Coconut bread for Christmas morning. Miles found his usual spot on the counter sitting next to the Bosch. I let him crack his first egg and he happily helped me count out cups of flour. He delighted in the sweetened coconut which he called "cheese" and was soon helping himself to copious handfuls from the bag. Each time I removed the lid he squealed his pleasure and sank his pudgy fingers into the sticky batter. In the end, we were both a floured-coconut mess, but I don't remember feeling that happy in a very long time. It is hard to feel sad in the midst and wide eyed wonder of a two year olds' joy. Oh, how Miles' bright spirit blesses me.

Later as I was driving Cole home from school, he told me how his teacher was trying to teach his class about the moon and it's effect on seasons; except she kept saying semen instead of season. Cole and I laughed and laughed and laughed. Each time he told the story, it became funnier as only a few of the kids in his sixth grade class understood the faux pas. It felt so good to laugh. I have come to rely on Cole's humor, his silly antics, his impressions and crazy accents to lighten my heart. He is like a breath of fresh air walking through the door each day at three o clock.

And late at night, when the quiet house brings a profound sense of loneliness as I sort through thirty eight years of memories with my dad, it is this sweet babe inside of me, rolling and kicking, stretching and turning that gives me reason to pause. Pause and relish the present day blessings and abundant joy filling my life. When sleep fails me, it is often this tiny spirit which offers peace.

These children are my saving grace. I have never felt more grateful for the blessing of being a mother. Tony has been holding me up for over three months, his efforts worthy of an entire post dedicated solely to him. But it is these four children who lift me, laugh with me, comfort me and calm me day in and day out. They give my life purpose in a time when I have felt unanchored.

Six Weeks

2008-11-27T11:40:00.003-07:00

Tuesday afternoon I received a beautiful bouquet of flowers arranged in the glory of fall colors, perfect to dress my Thanksgiving table. I set them on the kitchen counter and immediately felt the prick of tears at my eyes. The card read exactly what I knew it would: "Happy Thanksgiving! Love, Dad"

My dad loved to send flowers. An evergreen wreath on December 1st, tulips to mark the Easter season, pink roses for the birth of each of my babies, glorious red ones for Valentines day, fragrant lilies when my heart was breaking. Always thoughtful, always present. I'm sure I came to expect it, maybe even take it for granted.

So constant was he in his practice, that his flower shop of choice sent him a large arrangement upon his death. He was probably one of their best customers.

The Thanksgiving flowers, a sweet gesture from my eldest brother, in memory of our dad, left me shaken for the rest of the evening. Some days seem almost normal as I occupy myself with the busyness of my life. And then there are small and simple things, like fall hued flowers crowding an amber colored vase, that crush me with the weight of missing him. It is a heaviness that I was not prepared for, even though I thought I was ready.

It has been six weeks since I held dad's hand and whispered my good-byes in his ear, resting my cheek against his own. Six weeks since I heard his voice or felt his arms around me. Six weeks since I've been warmed by his smile and enveloped in his spirit.

In six weeks, I've grown into maternity clothes. We've celebrated three birthdays, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Cole's football team made the playoffs, Rachel mastered her power round off back tuck, we had two straight A report cards, and Miles gave up his bottle. The Utes are BCS bowl bound (I know dad is smiling from ear to ear at their game against the Cougs), we've elected a new president, and had the first snow of the season. Life is in constant forward motion, as are we.

I know dad would expect us to move forward, would want us to get on with the show, continue to progress, succeed, press on. But did he know how hard it would be without him here? Did he realize how many things, big and small, remind us of him? Perhaps it was me that didn't realize the magnitude of this loss until I experienced it, didn't realize what an integral part of my life he was, until he was gone.

"Grief is a most peculiar thing, we're so helpless in the face of it. It's like a window that will simply open of its' own accord. The room grows cold and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time and a little less and one day we wonder what has become of it, only then are we left with our happy memories in place of the sorrow."

I look forward to the next six weeks, to learning the sex of our baby, to serving the homeless vets in honor of my dad, celebrating the Christmas season with my family, to entering my third trimester and taking a holiday vacation. I know there will continue to be moments of heartache and the heavy toll of missing him. But I also know that it will all be okay....eventually.

In Loving Memory

2008-10-16T21:13:00.005-06:00

My sweet father passed peacefully away last night, October 15, 2008. I find great comfort in knowing he is free from his suffering. I know he is happy and well. I just don't know exactly how to live without him. I'm sure it is a process and an adjustment that I will probably struggle with for the rest of my life.

"When you come to the edge of all that you've known and are about to step into darkness, one of two things will happen. Either there will be something solid for you to stand on, or you will be taught to fly."

While I cannot begin to fathom how to live with the void of my father's absence. I am comforted in the knowledge that he gave me both wings to fly and a solid foundation to stand on. Two very valueable gifts that will see me through.

But oh, how I will miss him.

Beauty For Ashes

2008-10-14T10:20:00.004-06:00

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." Isaiah 61:3

When you struggle with infertility for five years, give birth to what you consider a miracle baby, and then use birth control deemed as 98.9% effective, the last words you expect to hear from your doctor are "Congratulations! You are pregnant." But this is exactly where I found myself in August.

Our shock soon turned to gratitude and humility, even awe as I pondered the path my life has taken, which is so very different from the map I created for my own life.

Quietly, I have found peace in this precious gift inside of me. For with it comes pure knowledge that life goes on, that my Heavenly Father loves me and knows exactly what I need to take the sting out of my father's death.

So many nights as I lay in bed absorbed in my grief, this baby is the oil of joy for my mourning, the beauty for ashes. I know my dad is ready to go. His suffering is really too great to ask him to stay. I have great peace in knowing that he will soon be free from his pain, able to live and laugh and once again be the strong, charasmatic, happy man I know him to be.

And yet, and yet....I cannot fully comprehend my life without him. I don't know how to begin to fill the void I will feel in his absence. But I do know, this angel baby will come in April, fresh from my father's arms. I know the crater slowly forming in my heart will hurt a bit less as I am enveloped in the sweet spirit of a newborn babe.

I am profoundly grateful for this gift which I didn't even know I needed.

Broken Hearted

2008-09-26T09:40:00.000-06:00

Dad, Tony and I at the Hope Gala

When I was a junior in high school, my grandmother, my dad's mother, was suffering from bone cancer. I remember sitting at the kitchen counter studying my biology book trying desperately to memorize all of the bones in the human body. My dad glanced over my shoulder and asked if he could borrow my book. The next day my dad carried my large text book into his mother's oncologists' office and in exasperation asked the doctor to explain exactly which bones were affected by the cancer. The doctor quietly took a highlighter and methodically colored nearly every bone of the pictured skeleton. I think my dad needed a visual to adequately understand his mother's diagnosis.

I find myself in what I imagine to be that same place of shock and disbelief. I thought I was ready. I have known this day was coming for a year and a half, and yet learning that we are at the end of the road treatment-wise has brought a new sense of grief. My dad's cancer is now in his bone marrow, so effectually, the picture of his skeleton can also be colored from head to toe. The beast he has been fighting so diligently, for so long, has at last overcome, despite his best efforts.

The week has been long and there are more emotions than words. So many moments this week and the witnessing of my dad's suffering in his final days, have brought me to my knees.

It was on Tuesday when we met as a family to try to figure out the best care for dad. He, who so rarely shows emotion, choked up on several occassions. Witnessing such vulnerability and humility is heart wrenching. I cried, which upset him. Then I felt guilty for crying. It should be me lifting him up rather than the other way around.

It was on Thursday at the American Cancer Society's Hope Gala where my dad was honored with the Sword of Hope Award. Seeing my dad in a wheelchair for the first time, smiling despite the pain. Watching him insist on walking un-assisted to the podium to accept his award and deliver a charming, witty speech more true to his larger than life character than his frail body portrayed.

It was Sunday witnessing my sweet husband and kind brother administer to him. Jon's tender words of peace and comfort which bore witness to my heart of truths I hold dear. It is watching those promised blessings and tender mercies come to fruition one by one and knowing my Heavenly Father is mindful of him, of me and my entire family.

It is the voicemail message Monday night, left from his hospital bed for Cole, wanting to dissect the Chargers game and celebrate Weddle's interception.

It was on Tuesday watching Miles snuggle with him at the hospital; Miles content to lay with him, Dad stroking his cheeks repeatedly as if to memorize his face.

It was Wednesday, watching the hospital bed be delivered to his home and then helping to bring him home from the hospital. His struggle to walk and to get into his new bed. He wore his sunglasses and neatly pressed golf shirt and shorts. He cracked a joke once he caught his breath, turning our tears to laughter. He is still the same man, but oh how his body betrays him.

It was on Thursday as I held his hand and told him a secret. His blue eyes sparkled and joyful tears leaked onto his cheeks as he winked at me.

It was last night holding the small sobbing shoulders of my twelve year old son as he grieved his beloved grandfather.

Each day brings a new moment of heart break, of remembering, of gratitude. Each day in my grief I feel angel arms around me bolstering me. It is in the meals which magically appear on my kitchen counter, the tender emails, kind phone calls and flowers. It is in the daily phone calls with my mother and each of my brothers and sweet sisters in law. It is in Tony's constant support and care of me. I feel loved. I feel lifted.

"It is imperative to remember He is right there with us as He has always been. When we weep, He and the angels of Heaven weep with us...When suffering, we may in fact be nearer to God than we have been in our entire lives...Bad days come to an end. Faith always triumphs. Heavenly promises are always kept." Jeffrey R. Holland

Even in my heartbreak, I know it is true.

A Beautiful Life

2008-09-09T18:18:00.003-06:00

I arrived home this afternoon to a beautiful bouquet of roses from my sweet husband. There they were nestled among the breakfast dishes, the scattered newspaper and crust from my morning toast. We celebrated our anniversary this past weekend in Jackson Hole and yet he still made the effort to make today special.

I put the baby to bed and quickly called my dad to see how his appointment at the pain clinic had gone. His new drug regimen made him particularly loquacious and he had a lot to say. At times I struggled to follow his pattern of thought and even wondered about his lucidity. But then he paused and wished me happy anniversary. "How many years?"

"Fourteen". I replied.

"Jill, you have a beautiful life with Tony. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of all the things you do and have accomplished together. Keep living the way you are."

I hung up the phone and wept. It is very rare for my dad to compliment me, or anyone for that matter. Rarer still for him to tell you he is proud of you. He was raised with the mantra that a pat on the back will spoil you, so it always, always takes me back when he sincerely and openly praises me. Perhaps his words meant more today knowing that I won't be having this same conversation with him next year on my anniversary.

I went to work cleaning the kitchen and making lunch. I visited Tony in his office and told him I wasn't feeling well. He told me to lie down, take a nap, take it easy, we could have leftovers for dinner.

I did just that and quickly found sleep, waking just in time to run the after school carpool.

The leftovers are in the oven now. Tony is out mowing the lawn with Miles close behind. Rachel and Cole are both gone for the evening, absorbed in dance and football practice. The house is quiet, rain slowly beginning to fall outside.

I am overwhelmed in the abundance of my life. Amongst the chaos of children and dishes and laundry to fold, my sweet husband would rather see me take care of myself and get the rest I need than attend to my chores. He happily lets Miles "help" him mow the lawn. He drives my carpool anytime I ask. He listens to me, he loves me, he makes me feel safe. Our life isn't perfect. We have weathered many storms and I know many difficult days are closing in on us. But I know he'll be there. I know he will strengthen me and give 100% on those days when I can only give 5%. I believe in him. I believe in us, and in the life we have created together.

It is a beautiful life.

Day in and day out.

Happy Anniversary to my best friend. Thank you for giving me our beautiful life.

Memories for Miles

2008-08-23T12:06:00.005-06:00

A few weeks ago I was heading out the door with Miles to go and sit with my dad while he had chemo. As Tony hugged me goodbye, he suggested I take the camera with me so that I could take some pictures of my dad and Miles, so that we could help Miles remember him. His words tore at my heart as I recognized the validity of his comment. We seem to have come to a point where we need to do and say those things which will comfort us after his passing.

Reluctantly, I slipped the camera in my purse.

I arrived at the infusion lab and quickly scanned the room for dad. I wheeled the stroller clear to the end of the room trying to find him and turned around to re-trace my steps. A kind nurse who recognized me, silently pointed me in the right direction. Dad was there, quietly sleeping. I took a moment to regain my composure as I realized that it was in fact him. I didn't recognize the thin, pale, gray man as my father. I had walked right past him.

I watched him sleep for awhile and witnessed occassional slow tears leak from the corners of his eyes, tears born of pain I'm sure. Next to me in the stroller, Miles also lay sleeping, rosy cheeked and pudgy legged. I found it difficult to comprehend these two that I love so much: One preparing to leave this world, and one just discovering all that this world has to offer. The contrast was stark. It left me shaken, and perhaps for the first time I felt the urgency, the reality of my dad's diagnosis.

Later that night I went searching for pictures of my dad with Miles. This is the only picture I have of the two of them together. Just one picture taken a month after Miles was born and one month before my dad was diagnosed. It saddens me that this may be the only picture I ever get of Miles with his grandpa. There are not many days when dad feels well enough or looks well enough to want to be in front of the camera. I wished I had recorded more of the time they have spent together.

The next week I was responsible for getting dad to chemo. Miles woke up just in time to walk into the hospital with us. We waited with dad for almost two hours before he started his infusion. I was so grateful for that time. Dad was relatively comfortable having taken pain meds before we left the house, and Miles was, in a word, delightful.

Miles, I may not have many pictures of you with your grandpa Bill, but the memory of that day is forever ingrained on my heart. As we sat waiting to see the doctor, you shared your pretzels one by one with grandpa. Usually you would take a bite of each one before giving it to him...but you shared nonetheless. You offered up your sippy cup as well, but grandpa refused. Grandpa and I laughed as you emptied an entire box of kleenex in the waiting room. Something I normally wouldn't have let you do...but grandpa was getting such pleasure in watching your curiousity.

When it came time to start grandpa's IV, the nurse had a hard time finding a vein. You kept pointing at your arm and saying "Ow" and making the sign for hurt. When it was finally over, you climbed up on grandpa's lap and kissed his arm better, again signing "hurt". Grandpa lay back in the recliner and had a hard time seeing you. You stood at the foot of the chair playing with his shoes. He opened up his feet to get a better look at you and you instantly said "boo". A game was born and the two of you played peek a boo for a few minutes. I told you to kiss him and hug him goodbye, which you did without hesitation.

We left him to rest and I chased you all the way to the elevator, so grateful for your happy spirit and the opportunity you had to brighten up a normally dreary day for your grandpa. You will not remember this day. You probably won't even remember your grandpa. But I will remember and I know your grandpa will remember. Thank you for shining so bright my darling boy.

The Last

2008-07-30T10:47:00.007-06:00

My friend Courtney recently had her first baby after a five year struggle with infertility. She wrote a very poignant post where she describes knowing that her baby would come. It got me thinking to how I knew as well. I cannot proclaim the same type of faith that Courtney possessed. Many times I lost hope amidst storms of frustration and doubt. But I still knew. I knew this little brown eyed boy would eventually find his way to my arms. I didn't know how he would come to join our family, I just knew that he was coming at some point. Many times this impression I had held hope for me when I had none.

Every now and then I will catch a certain glimpse of that boy in Miles; his eyes or his smile will seem familiar in a way I cannot adequately describe. Mostly though, Miles offers me a sense of peace I did not have before he was born. I often wonder if his birth was pre-ordained for this very specific time in my life. He has brought immeasurable joy to my heart. Many days I find great comfort in the miracle of his birth. He brings a calm assurance that prayers are indeed answered, that my Heavenly Father loves me beyond measure and that trials can be endured.

It isn't that I love Miles more than any of my other children, ....but somehow I am constantly and keenly aware of what a blessing he is to me. I cherish these short days of his babyhood knowing all too well how fast he will grow. Here are 25 things I want to remember about Miles right now:

1) He prefers Tony over anyone. 2) Each morning when I bring him into our bed, if Tony isn't there he says "Da Bok" and signs Bike. Smart little boys that knows his daddy is usually on his bike. 3) He still has his bottle...because he's my baby. 4) He loves all types of fruit..especially strawberries and grapes. 5) The way he sleeps on his stomach with his legs tucked underneath him and his butt in the air. 6) The way he runs everywhere he goes. 7) How he cries whenever his siblings leave the house...he misses them. 8) How he loves my make-up...particularly lip gloss. 9) He signs more, thank you, please, bike, ball, throw, dance, milk, thirsty, imagination, dirty, clean, hurt, car, train, shoes, socks, and get dressed. 10) He says more, Cole, Da(d), Coke, show, hot, hurt, ow, wow, car, shirt, shoes, ba ba (bottle), ball and bok (bike). 11) He likes to flirt and will often cast a sidewards glance at me with his big brown eyes. 12) He loves the water..shower, tub, pool. 13) He loves to play in Daddy's office (poor Tony). 14) He gives high fives, pounds, great hugs and wet kisses on demand. 15) He loves to go...always happy to get in the car and leave. 16) He will NOT sit in his high chair and prefers to eat standing up. 17) He prefers Diet Coke over Sprite...no comment. 18) He has thrown up more in his 20 months of life then my other two children in their combined 20 years of life. 19) He loves to brush his teeth and comb his hair. 20) His favorite show is Signing Time...we are constantly renewing it from the library. I need to just break down and buy it already. 21) He prefers peanut M&M's over plain..hmm. 22) He has discovered how to escape out the front door...even when it's locked. 23) He hides all kind of things in our shutters...toys, beaters, bottles, utensils. 24) He likes to wear everyone's shoes...but hates to wear his own. 25) Right now, at this moment in time, he is my constant companion.

Love this boy. So lucky he belongs to me.

The Second

2008-07-24T14:21:00.003-06:00

Rachel and I spent the last three days up in Park City so she could attend Dance Attack which is a dance convention put on by her dance studio. This year her instructors included Nick Lazzarini, Travis Wall, Cameron Binks and Sabra Johnson from So You Think You Can Dance. Being among these dance stars made three long days of dance seem not so grueling. Rachel had a blast and mastered some very difficult choreography. I was proud of her and ecstatic when she won a $275 scholarship for next years' Dance Attack. Rachel has more talent in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body. She never ceases to amaze me, this child of mine. I texted Tony and told him the news, exclaiming how proud of Rachel I was. His response: "Just remember that the next time you want to beat her." Rachel is the most tenacious little person I have ever encountered. This determination helps her succeed, but also makes her difficult at times....her will is so much stronger than mine. She tests me, this one....but oh how she teaches me.

So this is for you, my lovely dream daughter, 25 things I want to remember about you right now:

1. Each night you complain that it's not fair that you have to sleep alone while Daddy and I get to have a sleepover every night. 2. At eight years old you weigh a whopping 35 pounds. 3. You LOVE chocolate. 4. You set goals and you reach them...often. 5. You're messy, but organized. 6. You HATE being late. 7. You're my best eater. 8. I never have to ask you to do your homework. Never. 9. You require very little sleep...much to my chagrin. 10. Your favorite treat is to get a pedicure with mom or grams. 11. Two summer goals accomplished: Back Tuck and Front Aerial. 12. You're working hard to perfect your triple pirouette. 13. You have enough confidence to call Corbin Bleu on his cell phone and chat him up. 14. You love to bathe with Miles. 15. You are always up for a bike ride with Daddy. 16. You eat a bowl of ice cream every night. 17. You have a tender heart. Last week when I was shedding a few tears about Grandpa you asked me if I wanted to talk about it with you. 18. You can do this weird stomach roll thing. 19. You are happiest when you are busy...you don't like a lot of down time. 20. You always volunteer to shuck the corn and to lick the beaters. 21. You worry more than an eight year old should. 22. Before you make a phone call or leave a message, you practice what you are going to say. 23. You are constantly, constantly in motion...dancing, tumbling, twirling, talking. 24. You like to fall asleep in my bed (see #1 above). 25. Right now, at this moment, you are my most independent child.

So much to love in such a small package.

Thanks for teaching me how to be your mom Miss Rachel.

XOXOX

Momma

The First

2008-07-17T12:02:00.004-06:00

On Wednesday, I woke up at 5 am to drive Cole to Scout Camp in Franklin, Idaho. Both of us had gone to bed very late the night before and neither of us had slept very well. I expected him to be grouchy as I woke him in the pre-dawn darkness. But as I went downstairs I found him up and showering. He quickly fell asleep once we were on the road and I was left to my own devices for entertainment on the two and a half hour drive.

Much to my delight, he woke up when we hit Logan, just in time to share breakfast at McDonalds and a Diet Coke.

It isn't often when I get two hours of pure peace and quiet to myself, alone with my own thoughts and the time to actually process and organize my feelings. I honestly didn't mind the long drive, but I was surprised at how happy I was to have Cole's company once he woke up and climbed into the front seat.

He chatted on and on about his recent experience at lacrosse camp. He cracked a few jokes and marveled at how beautiful our surroundings were. Just as we pulled into camp he said "Mom, we need to go on a road trip. Just you and I". And honestly, there is nothing I would like better than more alone time with Cole in the car. I count this boy as one of my closest friends. I have missed him this week. A LOT.

In those hours before he woke up, my thoughts were consumed with each of my three children: their personalities, their unique needs and talents, their challenges and how I could better mother each of them. Moreso, I was struck with how blessed I feel to be their mother. I probably blog too much about my children. But the truth is I feel so honored to be a mother. I appreciate it so much more for having struggled to become pregnant with Miles. But particularly, I know it is their tender spirits which are carrying me through. How I love them. As I counted the miles, I also counted so many things I adore about each of my children right now, at this moment in time. So here it is...25 things I want to remember about Cole:

1. Your tender concern for your cousin Riley. 2. The way you include Miles. 3. You love popcorn with extra salt. 4. You invited a boy to eat lunch with you at Golf camp when you noticed he was all alone. 5. The way you celebrate on the field when you score a goal. 6. The way you call dad Fasja. 6. The way you lolligag in the morning...too busy listening to music to get ready. 7. How you still sleep with a stuffed animal or two. 8. Constantly changing the radio station while we are in the car. 9. How you ask permission to swear on occassion. 10. Taking the higher road in scouting...showing integrity, even though it wasn't the easy way out. 11. Showing kindness and concern for your grams. 12. Telling me I look hot everytime I wear heels. 13. You are easily the most affectionate member of our family. 14. You're razor sharp quick wit. 15. The way you need your down time, your personal space...so much like your mama. 16. You drink soda straight from the can...even if it's warm (yuck). 17. How you love, love, love onion rings from Apollo Burger. 18. Telling girls "I'm done talking now." when you want to get off the phone (it makes me laugh, but we probably ought to work on that one.) 19. You always notice when I get my hair done. 20. You don't complain about working in the yard with dad. 21. You always wake up happy and still want to be tucked in at night. 22. You have a strong moral compass...always have, hope you always will. 23. You love to crawl into my bed and watch Jon and Kate plus Eight. 24. Golf is your new passion this summer. 25. Right now, at this moment in time, you are my easiest child.

I lubba lubba lubba you Coley.

Blank Pages

2008-07-17T11:31:00.003-06:00

It happened again today. I was talking to a friend this morning and she mentioned to me that an acquaintance of ours had stumbled upon my blog and had called my friend to see how I was doing. It felt weird. Not weird because someone I know is reading my blog, but weird because I never know just who is out there reading my blog. After all, there is a lot of personal stuff on my blog. It's happened other times as well...people at my church will tell me they read my blog or someone will ask about something that I wrote about. It always makes me stop for a minute and catch my breath. Certainly I don't know everyone who reads my blog and that's okay. But sometimes, I admit, I wish I knew my audience better, I wish I knew who is quietly, anonymously, reading my story. I wish those people who read would just leave a comment, de-lurk or something. It's the not knowing that I guess gets to me a little bit.

I've often thought about taking my blog private, but that doesn't feel right either. I have made some amazing friends through the blog world and have been touched by so many other blogs that I read, that I feel selfish in not sharing my journey.

Which brings me to this day. I have so many thoughts whirling around in my head. So many words dancing in my brain begging for a place of permanence on paper. And yet...I hesitate. Maybe it's because I don't know who is out there reading my words. Perhaps it is because I don't want my blog to be all gloom and doom as my life is certainly filled with happiness and the perfect brightness of hope. Sometimes, the simple truth is that it's too painful to write it all out.

I have read the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer and while I don't think I ever truly understood the mania surrounding those books, there was one moment, in my opinion, of pure literary genious. In the second book, when Bella and Edward broke up, Meyer strategically left several blank pages in the book. I remember smiling as I turned the pages. The feeling of shock, of having no words, felt so familiar to me.

Lately, I have had several weeks of blank pages. Many days of worry and wonder that did not, could not, transcribe themselves accurately into words. But I have also had many many moments of joy this summer and for that I am most grateful.

So I will continue to write my story. It isn't always a pretty picture and sometimes I hesitate to let it all hang out. Writing is therapeutic to me. It helps me remember all that I have in my life that is brilliant and pure and good. So if you're out there, let me know. Drop me a line. I know I have many dark days ahead and I imagine I will weather them a bit easier knowing I have the love and support of all of you, friends and strangers alike.

Just as Pretty on the Inside

2008-07-03T16:17:00.003-06:00

For the past three months we have been in a High School Musical frenzy around our house. My darling niece Haylee was chosen as one of the principal dancers in the film to be released this fall.

We have all had the priviledge of being on set to watch filming, eating dinner at my brother's house with all of the HSM3 stars and getting an up close and personal view into not only the nuances of filming, but the day to day drama of being on a movie set.

I have adored Haylee from the moment she was born as hers was the first birth I ever witnessed. I love having her in my home twice a week, visiting with her over lunch before she drives Rachel to dance for me. I have been amazed at her grace and uncommon maturity as she has dealt with this opportunity. This has been an amazing experience for her and yet she remains the kindest, sweetest, most humble dancer I know......just as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside.

We love you Hay-Hay, and we're oh so very proud.

To read more about Haylee's High School Musical Experience, click here.

Ah...Kiawah

2008-06-17T20:23:00.007-06:00

While I love, love, love traveling with my family, I have found that adjusting to real life has been a bit more difficult that last few times we have gone away. The re-entry is rough, and I find myself dragging as I try to play catch up.

We have been home for about ten days and have not stopped since the airplane landed. The kids had one final week of school to get through, Cole was involved in a lacrosse tournament in Park City, I had to fill in for a few days at my old office helping an old colleague who is battling breast cancer, not to mention bills to pay, laundry to finish, and celebrating Father's Day. We were home an entire week before I actually had time to go to the grocery store and take a deep breath.

But oh, what a time we had. I have never seen such a beautiful place, so green and lush. Our family stayed in two southern style mansions complete with front porch swings and french doors. Our homes bordered both the golf course and the beach. I felt like I was living in the pages of Southern Living.

While I could devote an entire post writing a travelogue about the beautiful beaches, golf courses, dolpin cruises, gator sitings and warm waters of the Atlantic ocean, I have two memories of this trip emblazoned on my heart.

Kiawah Island has over thirty miles of bike trails begging for exploration. We all rented bikes...including a very sturdy tricycle for my mother and a baby buggy for Mr. Miles. The second morning of our trip we all headed out for a bike ride. I stayed at the back of the pack enjoying watching most of my entire family delight in the company of one another, young and old alike. We watched for gators, heard the trill of red cardinals, laughed and raced and were in awe at the beauty surrounding us.

On our last night on the Island, sunset found all of us at the beach. My brother Mike was in the ocean, fully clothed, boogie boarding with Rachel and my little niece, Emily. My brother Brian, nude except for his undies, was skim boarding with Cole and his Cousins. Tony and my brother Jon were playing football with a few of the boys. Christee was helping Miles collect shells. The beach was practically deserted and we had miles and miles of sand all to ourselves. I don't know if it was the light cast by the setting sun, or the laughter carried on the gentle breeze. It may have been the calm lapping of the waves against my toes or breathing in the warm sea air. I don't know what it was really, other than for the first time in a really long time, I felt peaceful.

I felt hopeful and calm, and remarkably, I felt the healing begin. I felt profoundly grateful for each of the 17 people on that trip with me, and for the three nieces and one nephew who couldn't come with us. I have an amazing family. Still.

Thanks mom, for the reminder, for each of my three brothers and for working so hard to make us each feel so loved. I love you!

Goin' to Carolina

2008-05-30T21:25:00.002-06:00

The bags are packed. Rash guards, sunscreen and flip flops on board. In just a few short hours we head out on our adventure to Kiawah Island.

Hopefully I'll come home with a clear mind, a bit of color and a more optimistic outlook.

Until then.

Magnum Opus

2008-05-15T17:06:00.002-06:00

One of my favorite books of all time is Charlotte's Web. Each time I have read it, I have taken a different message from it. Perhaps, the message I received the last time I read it has stuck with me the longest.

It is near the end of the book when Charlotte is weaving her final web including the egg sack which holds thousands of her children. She has worked tirelessly to protect her babies and to save Wilbur's life. She is exhausted and knows her death is imminent.

Wilbur is afraid of losing her and tries to coax her into living, hoping and insisting that he can help her. Charlotte quietly explains that the best thing he can do to help her is to look after her children, her most precious possessions on earth. When talking of her egg sack, her children, she says something to the effect of "This is my magnum opus. My life's great work". And while I'm probably not quoting it accurately, this notion has stuck with me.

I often think of Charlotte when I imagine that my exhaustion matches her own. The work of motherhood is neverending. It is repetitive, messy, sometimes grueling, oftentimes thankless and always, always, it is constant. I often feel as if I am spinning my wheels, getting one child through a crisis or difficult phase, just to have another child enter a different phase with a different set of needs.

Mother's Day came this year and I found tears leaking out of my eyes as Tony asked me what he could make me for breakfast. Not because I was feeling sorry for myself or because my family wasn't taking care of me. But because I was so very tired and for just a few hours I didn't want to have to make the decisions, I didn't want to have to think or work or keep spinning. I just wanted to feel the sweet relief of someone taking care of me.

It has been a very hectic month. Sick kids, sick parents, soccer, lacrosse, dance recitals, dance competitions, dinner parties, jazz games, constant running, carpool chasing chaos. I'm exhausted, but I am also this: overwhelmed in my gratitude.

They wear me out, these three little loves. But, like Charlotte, I recognize that they are my magnum opus. My life's greatest work. I am profoundly grateful that I have the honor, the distinct priviledge really, of being mother to exactly these three children.

Perception

2008-04-23T08:46:00.002-06:00

This morning the phone rang before 8 am. It was a friend. A kind, wise friend who I adore. I don't get to see her very often or talk to her much though she lives just a few doors away. She is one of those friends who I could call and she would drop everything to help me and even though I don't enjoy a daily interaction with her, I know she loves me. I know she understands even when I don't have the words to explain it.

How do I know? She calls me, unexpectedly, like today, to check on me, to leave me with something to think about or lift me up. She seems to call when I most need to hear her voice. She listens to the promptings of the Spirit.

Monday evening I left the soccer field a bit shaken after having a conversation with my Mother in Law about cancer. Her friend is undergoing chemo, so I took a moment to explain my dad's regimen to her. My in-laws are good people who I am sure care for me. But they fail to inquire about my dad or even about how I am doing under the weight of this anvil. It's the proverbial elephant in the room. But the lack of discussion does not dismiss the constant ache I carry in my heart.

Yesterday my sister in law called, also to check in on me. Having lost her own dad a few years ago, she understands all too well the many nuances of this trial, big and small. She is a constant source of support and enlightenment to me. I expressed my frustration to her and my sadness that my mother in law didn't seem to understand my dad's prognosis. She kindly explained to me that life experience effects our behavior. Truly, some people don't understand what to do or say until they have experienced something similar.

I immediately thought back to an experience I had last week while at Nordstrom. Sitting on the couch was a girl I know, deep in conversation on her cell phone. I knew she had recently done IVF and was anxiously awaiting the results of her pregnancy test. The first thing I noticed were the tears brimming in her eyes and threatening to spill out onto her cheeks. Such raw emotion in a public place and in that moment I knew. I knew how she wouldn't choose to cry in the shoe department of Nordstrom, but I also knew how she couldn't contain the pain of her experience. I knew her results. I knew her heartache. I reached out to her and gave her a hug. We did not exchange words. We didn't have to. She knows that I understand.

At the studio where Rachel takes tumbling there are five words painted on the otherwise lackluster white walls. They read "I CAN DO HARD THINGS.". Many times I hear Rachel's teacher repeating this mantra to her students. Now I find myself repeating it to myself. I can do hard things.

The truth is every day I get up and get through the day. I have children relying on me and responsibilities to keep. I really don't have the luxury of wallowing in the grief that I feel. Tony comments on how strong I am, as do so many of my closest friends. But truthfully, I cry every day. Every single day. Sometimes it's just a tear or two which sneaks out while I pray for my dad. Some days I sob in the shower where no one will hear me. Many times it is in the middle of the night when I am unable to clear my mind of childhood memories which come to me in my dreams. Each day I go on because I know that I can do hard things.

This week has brought a new perspective. Perhaps one of the hardest things we can do is to step outside of our comfort zone and reach out to those who most need our support. I am grateful for my trials. I am grateful for these most difficult life experiences which have ingrained compassion in my soul. Mostly I hope that one day when the roles are reversed and I have the opportunity to reach out to someone that I will do so with courage and purpose. I hope I will remember to worry less about my own awkwardness and more about soothing another's troubled heart. I hope I remember that I can do hard things.

2008-04-18T10:34:00.000-06:00

Miles first word is more. All day long I hear him chirping more, more, more. More juice, more crackers, more play time with his momma. When he first began to say more, it sounded like "moe", or "more" with a very thick Brooklyn accent, the R sound almost completely absent, with more emphasis on the long O sound. Secretly I hoped he was trying to say Mom, but it soon became apparent that it was only More.

I would like to say that he has gone on to add an abundance of words to his vocabularly, but unfortunately he has not. It is still just more. More. More. More. He does sign it now as well as say it, so I suppose we are making progress.

I don't think Miles really needs anymore words. "More" seems to be a multi-functional word. He will hand me a book and say "more". I know he wants to be read to. He brings me a bottle and emphatically states "more". I know he wants milk. When he wants to be held, he lifts his arms up and utters a sweet "more". I know I should be working with him and encouraging him to use more words, but we seem to communicate very well, Miles and I and our friend "More".

My baby Miles, more is a great word. I think about it a lot and how I wish I could adequately convey to you just how much "more" my life is blessed because of you; how I wish for "more" moments of your babyhood, how I find it hard to accomplish much "more" than simply enjoying being with you.

I love you more. More than chocolate chip cookies and ice cold Diet Coke. More than sleeping in on Sunday morning. More than merry go rounds and fields full of bright red tulips. More than fresh cut strawberries and presents under the Christmas tree. More than slow rambling walks down country lanes and Sunday afternoon bike rides. More than the birds of summer and breezy autumn days. More than drops of warm spring rain and rainbows in a light blue sky. More than wrapped up surprises and my favorite movies. More than quiet secluded cul de sacs and summer sunsets. More than morning dew, more than dance and music and books of ABC. More than boats and ships and sails, more than orange blossoms in the air, more than sugar cookies and cream puffs set out on a plate. More than letters from old friends, more than soft grass underfoot and big pink balloons. More than soft feather pillows, and hand-sewn patchwork quilts. More than stars and clouds and deep-filled soft old sofas. More than secret whisperings from daddy, more than long cool evenings, more than garden swings and daffodils. More than the buzzing of honey bees and rows of summer corn. More than sand between my toes, more than slipping between cool white sheets, more than reading in the tub, more than most things, more, more....just more.

Dinner and a Show

2008-04-12T10:49:00.006-06:00

Is it just me? Or is it getting harder and harder these days to sit down together as a family and eat dinner? It seems the past few weeks we have been eating in shifts in between Lacrosse practice, soccer and dance. I've come to count on Sunday as the day we can all be together. Usually on Sunday, I make the effort to sit at the table rather than the bar, but lately, Miles is so messy, that it's easier just to eat at the counter.

He was beyond thrilled to have the undivided attention of everyone in the family and put on quite the dinner show. What a ham!

Shameless Plug

2008-04-11T17:10:00.004-06:00

A few years ago I was vacationing with some friends. As we sat around the pool we started to discuss our favorite recipes and what kind of things our families liked to eat for dinner.

The longer we talked, the more we were making promises to each other to exchange this recipe or that recipe. Good intentions to be sure, but I knew realistically that these exchanges would probably never happen once we returned home to our busy lives.

By the end of the weekend we had each commited to compile our recipes in a cookbook and Peacocks on My Porch was born.

We took a few months to gather, organize and type our recipes. We then sent the book off to the publisher and a few weeks later, 500 cookbooks landed on my front porch.

That first year, we each gave them to friends and family for Christmas gifts. The book was an instant hint. Soon we were all receiving calls from people wanting to buy our book. Within just a few months, all 500 cookbooks were gone. We ordered a second printing and now those books are also extinct.

It's kind of amazing to me the kind of response our little cookbook has generated. I'm always a little taken back when people tell me it is their favorite cookbook. Not because I don't believe it be great, but truthfully, I haven't spent a great deal of time cooking out of it. Many of my tried and true recipes are in the book, but like most people, I get in a rut and make the same rotation of meals over and over again. That being said, I know my friends are wonderfully, talented cooks, so I am certain that the "tried and true" recipes they have included in the book are fabulous. I really need to spend some time experimenting with everyone's recipes....after all, I've been given rave reviews!

So now it is a few years later and we have decided to do one FINAL printing of our beloved cookbook. Perhaps ten years down the road, we might decide to do another one, but for now, this baby has run it's course. In the spirit of going out with a bang, we have added nearly 300 new recipes, bringing the total recipe count of Peacocks on My Porch to 700 recipes.

I did some editing on our book today and I must say, I'm really excited to cook this week. I'm trying three new recipes from my friends and I get a bit hungry just thinking about it.

If you are interested in owning a Peacocks on My Porch cookbook, this is your last chance. We are ordering pre-sold books only, and will not have excess books available to purchase at a later date. Please leave a comment with your email address or send me an email if you would like to place an order.

Again

2008-04-11T17:01:00.003-06:00

Rachel's trio took first place again last weekend at the Hall of Fame Dance Challenge. She won this trophy for 1st place Platinum and was thrilled. But at the end of the award ceremony, it was announced that her Trio also won "High Score Overall" and each of the three girls was awarded $100 check.

The MC interviewed the three girls as she handed them their prize money and asked them who they would most like to thank for helping them achieve this accomplishment.

This is how it went:

Madison: I would like to thank my parents.

Gentry: I want to thank my mom and dad.

Rachel: I really want to thank my teacher, Heidi.

Hmm. I wonder if this is her response to my behavior at last week's competition?

Eating My Words

2008-04-02T17:26:00.009-06:00

Last Saturday, Rachel had her first dance competition of the season. I should probably preface this post by explaining that Rachel has been dancing since she was three. She has competed the last two years in several local dance competitions with her company. So while the competition atmosphere is not new to us, she is dancing at a new studio this year.

Yes, I am the crazy mom who drives my daughter to Orem twice a week to dance. But I am also the smart mom who knows to leave the dancer well enough alone, lest I become one of those nazi stage moms who are always involved in one dance drama or another. That being said, I usually drop Rach off and pick her up without spending a whole lot of time actually watching her dance. It's not that I'm uninterested, but this is about Rachel, not me. Dance is a huge commitment for Rachel which I am happy to support. But I want her to do it because she loves it, not because she feels an obligation to me. This may sound pretty obvious to most of you, but trust me, there are a lot of whacked out moms in the dance world who live vicariously through their daughters.

With that little disclaimer, I will say that I love to watch Rachel dance. On Saturday, she competed in two numbers: her trio, Country Girl, and her company number, Le Jazz Hot. We made the trek down to the Salt Palace where we promptly parked in the wrong place, causing us to walk an additional 5 blocks out of our way. Normally, not a big deal...but I am nursing a broken foot and I was wearing flip flops in 30 degree weather because those are the only shoes that fit. Ugh! But I digress.

I hung out with Rach in the dressing room until it was time for Country Girl. I sat in the audience and marveled at my wee one up on stage. Tumbling and twirling and smiling. All the while, I sat wondering where she got such confidence, such stage presence. I always get emotional when she is on stage. I'm so very proud, but also so stunned at how quickly she is growing up and away from me.

After Country girl, we headed back to the dressing room. We had two hours to kill before her next number. So I took my little niece home to Sugar House while Rachel hung out with her team and changed into her next costume.

As I returned to the Salt Palace I had a really difficult time finding a parking spot. Down town was crazy busy and I realized that the YW General Broadcast was going on. I barely made it back in time to watch her next number, Le Jazz Hot. Right after she danced I called Tony and told him I'd be home soon and he promised to take me out to sushi. It was only 6 o clock. We'd been at the Salt Palace for about 5 hours, so I was anxious to gather my girl and get on my way.

Here is where I explain that while I watched both of Rachel's numbers, I didn't stick around to watch a lot of the other dancers perform. Mostly I hung out with Rach in the dressing room. While I thought she was darling and was quite impressed with her numbers, I just figured I was biased. I recognize that she is pretty talented, but I wonder sometimes if I don't give her enough credit or praise for her abilities.

When I found Rachel in the dressing room, she told me she wanted to stay for awards. I was not happy. Awards were not until 8:30. I was done. I was tired, I was grumpy, my foot was hurting, I was starving. The last thing I wanted to do was hang out for another 2 hours. She insisted we stay and I insisted we go. I was so frustrated with her. The more I tried to convince her to go, the more she dug her heels in to stay. I even went so far as to tell her that it was a waste of time and she wasn't going to get an award anyway. Yeah, I know, mom of the year over here. So full of praise and positive reinforcement I am. Ha!

Finally, I acquiesced, realizing how important it was to her. We stayed for awards, but I wasn't happy about it and I let her know it more than once. I am ashamed that I acted so horribly and selfishly. This was such a big deal to her, but to me, it was just one incredibly long day. One that we will repeat three more times this month for other competitions.

So now, I'm eating my words. Rachel's trio, Country girl, took first place, high score overall and also won the award for exceptional smiles. Her Company dance, Le Jazz Hot, was awarded platinum (first place), high score overall and the award for exceptional precision.

My girl was on cloud nine and the long, cold walk back to the car didn't seem so bad as she recounted the entire experience to everyone she loved via my cell phone. I'm still a bit ashamed at my bad attitude. I won't soon forget how my pride in her was somewhat tempered by my disappointment in myself. She teaches me, this little wonder, oh how she teaches me.

Re-entry

2008-03-30T16:27:00.004-06:00

It's been six long days since we returned from our ten day spring break vacation to Palm Desert. Just yesterday I finally unpacked all of our suitcases. When we woke up to snow this morning, my heart skipped a beat or two.

I admit it, I've got the post vacation blues. The re-entry into real life this week has been a bit difficult. No energy for chores, no motivation to leave my house, still no food in our refrigerator. Hopefully this week will be better.

Yesterday Tony told me he has been checking my blog everyday, waiting for a new entry. Cole and Rach keep telling me I need to blog about different things that are going on...but strangely, I have no words. I can't remember the last time I have been in such a fog.

We did have a wonderful and very relaxing vacation. We are used to spending Easter with my entire family, but this year it was just our little family of five, plus my mom. Quiet, but oh, so nice to have so much quality time together.

Some of the best parts of our week:

Rachel received a phone call from her friend telling her that she had won the class election and is now the Class President. Yeah Rach!
Tony's sister FINALLY had her baby...sweet little Laura Jane.
The smell of citrus blossoms in the air.
90 degrees, blue skies, green grass and spring blossoms at every turn.
Our niece Haylee being selected as a principal dancer for Disney's High School Musical 3. 1000 were invited to try out, only eight made the cut! We are so proud. Can't wait to see her on the big screen.
Green Shamrock shakes from McDonalds on St. Patty's day.
2 awesome books read poolside
Waffles, Whip cream and Fresh Strawberries.
California Pizza Kitchen: 3 Times
Sweet Corn Tamales
Friends in town to join us for Easter Dinner
Miles' first Easter Egg Hunt
Money filled eggs from Grandma and new snugly pillows
Shorts and Sandals
Being outside all day, every day.
Pedicures with Grandma
Cole golfing with his Dad.
Cole saving Miles from a near drowning.

There were a few bad things that happened, however:

Breaking my foot trying to rescue Miles from his near drowning.
Mom having to fly home a day early. Yuck!
Rachel scraping up her face, mouth and arms trying to do back-walkovers into the pool.

It seems that no matter how often I spend time in Palm Desert, I am always anxious to return. Lazy, unscheduled days, spent enjoying my kids and laughing with Tony. Many meaningful conversations with my mom and enjoying her taking such good care of me. What's not to love?

Family Matters

2008-03-11T15:35:00.001-06:00

I wrote a guest post for Segullah today. You can read it here.

A Real Live Peep Show

2008-03-07T10:19:00.005-07:00

Received this in an email from my friend Chelle.

I can't stop laughing.

Chelle has given up blogging for Lent, so I wanted to share it with you here.

Enjoy!

Stowaway

2008-03-06T17:00:00.005-07:00

Tony and I are very blessed in that my parents own a vacation home in beautiful Palm Desert, California. We are lucky enough to be able to travel down there in the winter months for a break from the gray and cold.

Most times we travel with our children or extended family, but usually both Tony and I will sneak away with friends for a girls trip or boys weekend.

This year we decided to make it a couples trip with a few of our close friends. Tony called it a Biking Trip with Conjugal visits. I'm trying not to take offense as surely there is more to my presence than that.

After all, I did make all of the dinner reservations, heated the pool to perfection, and squoze him a fresh glass of grapefruit juice each morning.

As the time drew near for our little getaway, I found myself becoming more and more anxious about leaving my baby. I have never left him in all of his fifteen months and somehow I couldn't imagine six whole days without his sparkling, brown eyed grin.

My anxiety was seriously ridiculous. I had hired a more than capable babysitter who I trust implicitly. I knew we needed the time alone together (not what you're thinking), and I knew I needed a little reprieve from the constantness of motherhood. And yet, I just. couldn't. do. it.

With Tony's blessing....actually with Tony's strong encouragement, I decided to bring the little guy along. I'm so glad I did. He is such a great little traveler and I think I enjoyed my trip more knowing he was okay.

We had a wonderful weekend spent laughing and lounging with our dear friends. Aside from a small debacle with the water heater and one panicked call to search and rescue, it was a very relaxing trip. Thanks to a darling local babysitter, Tony and I did enjoy a lot of alone time....and Miles quickly bonded with each of our friends, constantly charming his way into their arms and laps, which gave me a welcome reprieve from mom duty.

Fifteen years from now when Miles is a teenager, trying his best to distance himself from his dear old mom, I will show him this post, and remind him how I couldn't bear to leave him, even for a few short days. Somehow, I don't think it will impress him all that much. But I imagine someday, with a baby of his own, he will know exactly how I felt.

For a great read on Tony's biking adventure and First Blog Post Ever, click here.

Why do it?

2008-02-20T09:34:00.005-07:00

I was a blog stalker long before I became a blog writer. It took me a while to actually get up enough nerve to start my own blog. It just seemed so personal, so raw, so...out there.

The only blog Tony ever read before mine was written by The Fat Cyclist. It's a delightfully witty blog all about cycling. What's not to love right? An entire blog dedicated to cycling....re-capping epic rides, rating the latest equipment, the best tasting recovery drink, a new found trail, etc. etc. It was easy to see why he was smitten.

So when I started my blog, Tony kept telling me that it wasn't very funny. After all, he was used to Fatty's charm. And frankly, I didn't care. Well, that's not exactly true. Of course I care what he thinks. His opinion matters to me more than anyones'. But in my heart, I felt strongly about the purpose of my blog, and I still do.

There are many reasons for blogging. Some people use it as a sort of scrapbook, some use it as a connection to the outside world; to some it's just the trendy thing to do. It really doesn't matter. But for me, my blog is really just for me. Sure I enjoy connecting with others; I read each little comment, I delight in sharing my world with my friends. But writing my posts has always been more about recording my thoughts and emotions rather than entertaining the masses. I just seem to have so many thoughts rolling around in my brain that writing them out often seems to quiet things down.

That's not to say that all of my posts are profound or even well written. Simply, I want a record of this period of my life. I want to remember certain moments and feelings. I wish I were more prolific in my writing, more consistent. I wish my blog were more complete. My life is filled with abundance and yet, I can't always find the words to express how infinitely blessed I feel. But that's okay. I'll just keep plugging along, writing when the mood strikes me, and remembering my purpose. I am accountable only to myself.

That being said, I have a renewed commitment to document the small and simple things. On several occassions during the past few weeks, my friend Tami has told me how grateful she is that she started a blog. Because of her blog she has taken countless pictures of her baby Joy. Capturing forever her silliness, her messiness, her beauty. What treasures those pictures are now that Joy is gone.

Many of my blogging friends took the challenge this year to post a picture a day. Knowing my personality all too well, and knowing how much I loathed a daily commitment of anything, I quickly dismissed all invitations to jump on the bandwagon.

I have been forever changed by this tragedy in Tami's life, and while I wish there were an alternate ending, I am most grateful for the lessons and feelings I have garnered while at her side. I can't promise a daily post. But this I know for sure: I'm leaving my camera out; ready and waiting to capture small moments, inane images of my family, my life's work.

Enjoy it here.

Close to Home

2008-02-16T08:38:00.001-07:00

No Regrets

2008-02-12T18:19:00.003-07:00

A year ago today, I learned that my dad had Stage IV cancer and was terminally ill. I don't know if I can adequately articulate just how difficult this past year has been. The illness in and of itself is barbaric. The pain, more excrutiating and overwhelming than I could have ever imagined...physically for him, emotionally for me.

Aside from the insidiousness that is cancer, I have found myself having to endure some of the most painful and awkward situations imagineable. Due to the choices my dad has made for his life, I have had to dig deep, finding forgiveness and uncommon courage along the way. I have had to bite my tongue, put on a happy face, swallow my pride and really be in the moment...all for my dad.

There have been days, weeks even, where my life seems somewhat normal. Stressful, yes. But manageable. And then, I hit the wall. As I did this week. I watch as the cancer seeps into his bones and invades his vital organs. The grief washes over me as I wonder if this is the beginning of the end.

I have started a small laundry list of the simple, often inane things I will miss about him. Through my tears I recommit to repair my relationship with him; hoping for the blessed peace which will surely accompany the reconciliation.

I often think of Baby Joy and the words her brave father spoke at her funeral. He said he had no regrets, that as far as Joy was concerned, his conscious was clear. He had done right by her. Oh that I should be so lucky.

Perhaps time is the only blessing of cancer. Quiet moments between diagnosis and death; moments spent remembering, communicating, healing.

Lil Ski Stud

2008-02-11T11:50:00.000-07:00

Cole is really starting to become a pretty skier. I am beginning to see a few moves that remind me of his daddy. Must be in the Parkinson genes.

Music to My Ears

2008-02-05T11:11:00.000-07:00

This morning, Miles started to whine just as we were getting ready for family prayer. I hurried down the hall to change his poopy diaper while Tony gathered Cole and Rachel in the family room.

Quietly I tiptoed back into the kitchen so as to not disrupt the prayer in progress. As if on cue, Cole began to pray for me.

"Thank you that mom can stay home with us. Please bless her that she will have the strength and energy she needs to take care of our family. Please bless her to have patience with Miles when he is a pain. And Heavenly Father, please bless Miles to sleep through the night."

Just a few simple phrases uttered in quiet prayer, gentle pleas with the Father to watch over me. My spirit was immediately buoyed by this kind consideration from my 11 year old. My work here matters. My family is mindful of me.

And then I wondered, do my children feel this same strength when they hear me pray for them? This quiet moment this morning brought clarity and an assurance that indeed my prayers are significant, and offer my children a unique sense of comfort and support. In all of the hustle and bustle of the morning rush, the pancake turning and lunch packing, I realize that the best thing I can do for my children each day is to humbly supplicate my Father on their behalf.

Dance Party

2008-02-01T15:25:00.000-07:00

A Mothers Arms

2008-01-23T10:40:00.000-07:00

Long before I first held Baby Miles, I ached to fill the void, the hollow space within my arms where I knew this child belonged. I remember being surrounded by mothers, their arms so full of life and love, and I fidgeted, trying to find something to keep my hands occupied. Well intentioned friends would often place their babies in my arms in an attempt to fill the chasm I found there. A kind gesture indeed, but one that lacked the familiarity, the sweet congruency of a mother holding her own child.

Sunday night I lay in a large king sized bed and had a hard time finding sleep. Hours earlier I had learned that my good friend Tami had lost her baby Joy. Miles stirred and cried out in his sleep, a fever disturbing his peaceful slumber. There was little I could do to comfort him other than to hold him in my arms. Rather than the usual annoyance at his inability to sleep through the night, I found grateful tears sliding down my cheeks. I held him close, his body molded against my own. In the dark I found solace in the familiar scent of his hair, his warm breath against my neck. My arms were full and yet the ache in my heart for Tami was recognizable and overwhelming. While I do not pretend to know the pain she is enduring, I understand in some small, diminutive way the emptiness she feels in her arms.

For months before I carried this boy in my arms, I carried him in my heart. He never left me and somehow, knowing he was residing there inside me, with every breath and beat of my heart, helped me to carry on. And so I hope it is with Tami. I hope she can hold Joy in her heart until she can hold her in her arms once again.

Mental Health Break

2008-01-15T06:47:00.000-07:00

Yesterday my cute niece called me in the morning in tears. She was stressed out, overwhelmed, a bit depressed and generally feeling yucky.

She spent the day on my couch snuggling my baby. We shared a bowl of soup and People magazine.

She just needed a day to re-group. To relax and recharge. So it is with me. I am leaving this morning for my own mental health break. Somehow I know a week in the warm sunshine with a few good books, a few good meals and lots of snuggle time with my baby is just the cure I need.

Until then.

Say it Ain't So

2008-01-06T18:17:00.000-07:00

Deep Sigh. My baby is walking. I've tried to keep him down, and have discouraged him at every turn, but alas his will has prevailed. Even with a little Benadryl in his system as evidenced in this clip, he is determined to walk..albeit a bit drunk. I hate that he is growing up. Can somebody please tell me how to stop time?

A Girls Best Friend

2008-01-04T11:58:00.000-07:00

In her post this morning, Ceej made a reference to my diamond ring which made me laugh. My wedding ring has certainly seen better days. Today it's prongs are covered in Baby Magic remnants from Miles' morning rubdown. The white gold is tarnished and in need of polishing. The diamond struggles to sparkle through the constancy of the daily chores my hands engage in. Diapers, dishes, dinner, repeat.

I enjoyed breakfast with a few old friends celebrating a birthday. The birthday girl was off to get her diamond re-set. We talked of how that first diamond is special, of how trading it in and up seems almost sacrilege. There is a certain sentiment attached to your wedding ring that just can't be replaced by another carat.

When Tony and I were dating I spent my 23rd birthday living in Washington DC. We weren't quite ready to get engaged and yet he wanted to send me something meaningful. I was surprised to receive in the mail a small gold initial ring which he had worn as a boy. I was ready for the diamond and for a moment this simple piece of gold planted a seed of disappointment in my heart.

I later learned how his mom had tucked the ring away for safe keeping and how Tony had to do some major negotiating to reclaim this piece of his history. He told me how his mother was reluctant for him to give it to me for fear that our relationship would not last and the ring would be lost forever.

I keep that small ring tucked away in my jewelry box and in many ways it is more precious to me than the diamond Tony presented to me just a few months later. To me it represents the faith Tony had in me and in our relationship fifteen years ago. The faith he continues to display in me through dark and difficult times.

I cherish his willingness to go to bat for me against his mother's stern warning. A loyalty that has only grown stronger in the years we've been married.

I love his tender heart which still looks for small and simple ways to touch my life.

Right before Tony and I were married we met with his neighbor who was going to perform our sealing. He told us that we were richer and had more at that very moment then we would ever have in our entire lives. I remember thinking "Yeah, right! We're both in school, we can barely pay our mortgage."

So many years later I remember his words and realize just how right he was. For all the things I want for my life and for my family cannot be bought. The things that really matter are not things.

Newscaster in the Making

2007-12-31T11:00:00.000-07:00

Santa brought Rachel The Flip video camera, which is perfect for our loquacious little girl who offers her constant running commentary on all things in our home. Here's her first broadcast.

Christmas Magic

2007-12-19T11:31:00.000-07:00

Last Easter while vacationing in the Desert, Cole continually hounded me about the authenticity of the Easter Bunny. Perhaps he had stolen a glance of the Easter Baskets I had secured on a previous trip and had judiciously hidden in the pool equipment closet. He questioned, he coaxed, he prodded and pried. Sensing that he "knew" and growing more exasperated by the minute from his constant interrogation, I finally relented.

"Cole," I reasoned with my logical and very astute, ten year old, "do you really think a six foot tall bunny comes hopping through our front door and hides eggs?"

I will never forget the look of horror that flashed across his eyes. For although he knew the answer, he really wasn't ready to know.

"Well, then." he stammered, "What about Santa Claus?"

But before I could respond he clapped his hand across my mouth, "No, don't tell me! I don't want to even think about it until December!"

So many times in the past six months Cole has amazed me with his insightful heart. At times I am astounded by his charm and maturity. As the Christmas season arrived, I began to wonder when he would bring up Santa Claus. I assumed we would at least have a continuation of our conversation from last spring. But he never brought it up, and frankly, I was relieved.

Then something magical happened. Louie arrived on our front porch. Louie is our own little elf, sent to us by Santa, to make sure we are behaving ourselves. Louie came with clear instructions that each night he would return to Santa with a full report of our good and bad deeds. We could leave notes for Louie, but were cautioned not to touch him.

The kids went crazy for Louie. Several times a day they would embark on an all out search to see where Louie was hiding. It seemed Louie would move from room to room even while we were home. Louie was magic. Even Cole got into it and kept exclaiming how traveling Louie was "freaking him out."

Tony and I were amused...after all, this was the same boy who no longer believed. And yet, somehow it seemed he believed in our little flying elf and he delighted in Louies' hide and seek antics. He was so sincere in his joy, so excited by Louies' presence, that I had almost convinced myself that he was still a believer.

About a week after the arrival of Louie, Cole came home from school and requested a private meeting with me. We took a walk down to the mailbox and he asked me if I was the one moving Louie. I assured him that I wasn't.

"Then is dad moving Louie?"

"No, Cole. I don't think so."

"Well Mom, someone needs to be responsible for moving Louie. I've noticed that over the last few days Louie hasn't moved very much. So I have been taking care of it."

"You have been moving Louie?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"Well, yeah. Don't you think it's important to keep the magic alive for Rachel?"

I was stunned and I was speechless. I honestly believed that Tony had been taking care of Louie, and I'm sure Tony was confident it was me. And all along it had been Cole, single handedly spreading Christmas magic around our home.

He has a certain twinkle in his eye this year, a sense of enthusiasm for the season that he happily shares wherever he goes. I expected this coming of age ritual to be more traumatic for him, maybe because of the way my heart felt in knowing that my first born no longer believed.

Just yesterday he whispered in my ear, "Mom, is Santa real?". I told him that the spirit of Santa is very real to me, that I believe in the Magic that Santa brings.

"So do I, mom. So do I."

First Haircut

2007-12-13T14:47:00.000-07:00

We went kicking and screaming to the hair salon today for Miles' first haircut. Unfortunately, it was me doing the kicking and screaming. I can't believe my baby is big enough to get a big boy haircut. I really had to compose myself as I watched his curls fall. This is seriously the saddest event of the week.

My baby is growing up too fast.

Become As A Little Child

2007-12-12T19:51:00.000-07:00

The first snowfall of the season arrived the morning of Rachel's baptism. I love the peace, the calm and quiet of a morning storm. The earth was blanketed in clean, white snow and I found it a fitting allegory for the events of the day.

I was at the sink washing lettuce and found two strong arms around my waist. "Mom, I want to fast before my baptism."

I took the opportunity to teach her the proper way to open a fast. But in reality, it was she who taught me, as she humbly asked for help so that she wouldn't feel hungry and that she would feel of His spirit. Children have an amazing way of simplifying things, of sorting through the teachings and reducing it down to all that really matters.

Like Oprah, I believe that love is in the details. So I spent most of the week organizing a beautiful post-baptism luncheon and party for Rachel. My mom helped me plan a fabulous mexican fiesta complete with pink sprinkled sugar cookies carefully cut out to spell Rachel's entire name. From pale pink roses to hand-crafted favor boxes and programs written in Rachel's very own script. One of my girlfriends created a beautiful DVD of pictures from Rachel's first eight years and set it to Primary songs. Another friend hand made a necklace for Rachel bearing her initial.

Cole and Tony's sister gave beautiful talks. Cousins and friends sweetly loaned us their angelic voices. And of course, I am always so very grateful for the soothing tone of Tony's voice as he performs these sacred ordinances.

I had a very difficult time composing myself during the closing hymn "I Know that My Redeemer Lives". Somehow I managed to say the closing prayer and express my sincere gratitude for Rachel's choice spirit and how she blesses our home in so many ways.

The baptism was beautiful. The luncheon, delicious and delightful. But truly the most wonderful part of the day was the strong spirit which was present. How grateful I am for a wise young daughter who invited the spirit in and who truly recognized the significance of the ordinance. Who understands the promises she made and the blessings she will reap by remaining true to her baptismal covenants. That was the most lovely detail of all.

Weddle Wonderful

2007-12-07T16:40:00.001-07:00

Cole was born with Ute blood running through his veins. Around here, being a Ute fan isn't really a choice, rather it's a birth right.

Tony and I have been toting Cole along to Ute football games ever since he was just a baby.

Slowly over the years, I have lost the rights to my season ticket to Cole. He has happily taken over my chair and has developed a loyalty to the Utes that runs long and deep.

His passion for football ignited during the Urban Meyer era. And while he has a great affinity for Alex Smith, he has always been more excited by the play of Eric Weddle.

Along with the Utes, Cole has loved the San Diego Chargers with a passion. Last year when Eric Weddle was drafted to the Chargers, Tony and I heard the news on Sports Radio while we were out on a date. Upon arriving home, we woke Cole to tell him the news. He smiled and drifted back to sleep.

The next morning he came storming into our bedroom, "Was Weddle really drafted to the Chargers or was I dreaming?"

Ever since that day Cole has been dreaming of traveling to QualComm Stadium to watch Weddle and his beloved Chargers play.

When the day finally arrived a few weeks ago, Cole and his cousins all dressed in matching Weddle jerseys and we made the 2 hour drive from Palm Desert to San Diego for the game.

My dad suggested that we park in town and take the trolley to the game, but instead we opted to park at the Stadium and I am so glad that we did. Upon entering the stadium a man noticed the boys dressed in their Weddle jerseys and directed us to Weddle Headquarters.

The boys were thrilled to meet Eric's family and tailgate with fans and friends of our beloved #32. Eric's mom was so darling with the boys and took them right in...asking them for their addresses, asking them to sign a poster for Eric, introducing them to all of the family. I have never seen happier little boys. She insisted they come back after the game to meet Eric.

Talk about dream come true! After watching a fabulous win against the Ravens, and some serious shopping in the team store. The kids went back to Weddle HQ and got to meet Eric. He couldn't have been more darling with our boys. He autographed something for each of the kids and told them a little about his experience in the NFL.

Just as we were turning to leave, my nephew Riley started to sing the Utah Man song. We all joined in, including Eric and his entire family. His cute mom was wiping tears from her eyes as we all loudly proclaimed "A UTAH MAN AM I!"

I listened to the boys talk about Eric Weddle all the way back to the desert and for most of the next day. It couldn't have worked out any better and I was so thrilled as a mother to witness my son have such a wonderful experience and to be so excited about his chance encounter with Eric Weddle. The thing that strikes me as so amazing was that Eric's mother was just as thrilled to witness her son having this experience. She was so overcome with emotion to think that her son had such loyal fans. I guess it doesn't really matter if you're the mother of an eleven year old or the mother of an NFL star, the only thing you really want for your kids is to be happy, experience success and make the most of small moments such as these.

Eric Weddle and Me

2007-12-07T15:11:00.000-07:00

This is a guest post from my son, Cole. I am trying to encourage him to write about certain experiences in his life so that he will be able to remember them down the road. I promised him I would post this if he took the time to write it.

Earlier this year, my Grandpa Bill made my dreams come true by giving me tickets to watch the San Diego Chargers play. We went to the game on November 25, 2007. My cousins Riley, Matthew and Nathan and I all wore our Weddle #32 jerseys to the game. When we were walking into the stadium, some guy yelled out "Are you guys Eric Weddle fans?". We all nodded. He told us that Eric Weddle Headquarters were around the corner.

We headed over to Weddle Headquarters and found his family and friends tailgating. We saw about 20 or 30 Eric Weddle jerseys: white, dark blue and light blue, all kinds. Since we were the youngest kids there, everyone was noticing us. This lady who looked to be in her late 50's came to us and told us she was Eric's mom. We were all surprised. We introduced ourselves and told her we were from Salt Lake. She introduced us to Eric's family and then we got to ask her a lot of questions about Eric. Here are some of the questions I asked:

1. Does Eric like the NFL? Yes, but he still wishes he could play for the U.

2. How much money does he make? $99,000 per month, plus he received a $2.5 million signing bonus.

3. When is Eric's baby due, and is it a boy or a girl? The baby is due on January 5th and is a girl, but they are hoping it is born on January 4th, because that is Eric's birthday.

4. Where is Eric's locker? It is next to LT's, Shaun Merriman's and Antonio Gates'.

5. How many days a week does Eric practice? 6 days a week, 12 hours per day.

Eric's family was so awesome! They let us sign a banner that said "Go Eric Weddle #32". I wrote "Good Luck!! Your #1 fan Cole Parkinson P.S. Go Utes!"

Eric's wife told us that Eric always comes back to Weddle Headquarters after the game and signs things and visits with his fans. I asked Dad if we could come back after the game and he said "We'll see". So Eric's mom suggested that we give her our address and she would have Eric send us autographed pictures and stuff.

We went to the game, which was awesome. The Chargers won 32 to 14. Eric made 5 tackles and knocked two passes. After the game we went back to Weddle HQ and met up with Eric's family. After about 10 minutes Eric's sister came over and said "that's him" and pointed to a guy in a beanie about my dad's size. We went over to him, and yet again, because we were the smallest, all eyes were on us.

I asked Eric to sign my white Chargers hat. I told him that we were from Salt Lake and came all that way to see him play. I also told him that I followed his entire college career and that he was my favorite Ute player. He thought that was great. We got a couple of pictures with him, and then my cousin Riley started singing the Utah Man song. To my surprise, everyone, including Eric and his family started to sing it too.

After that a guy who said he was from the Deseret News interviewed Erick and took a picture of Eric and anyone who was wearing a Weddle Jersey.

It was a great experience going to a Chargers game. Did I mention that Eric makes $7 for every Weddle jersey that is sold? So my cousins and I made $28 for Eric Weddle. What a Great Day! I will never forget my day with Eric Weddle.

Top Priority

2007-11-29T16:32:00.000-07:00

From This

To This

My first miscarriage was in July of 2001. Infertility then consumed my life for five long years. Some day soon I will write my story; some day when the pain of that experience is not so fresh. For though I have the most happy of endings, those feelings of longing for this child are still tangible in my heart.

Last week as I was enjoying my final day of vacation, my brother teased me that he had done more in the past two hours than I would do all day. True that he had already run 5 miles and made a few sales calls while I was happily lounging on the patio in my jammies while feeding my sweet baby.

"Maybe so." I retorted, "But this, holding this baby, feeding this baby, is the most important thing I could be doing."

He knows it is true and so do I.

I don't know if I can adequately articulate the happiness our baby Miles has brought to our lives. I knew him before he was born, and yet, in all of my yearning, in all of the moments I spent envisioning him in our family, I never understood the inexplicable and complete joy he would bring to our home. I have delighted in him. Day in and day out. I have savored each moment of his first year, wanting to relish this precious time.

While I have loved each of my babies, I don't know if I fully appreciated them or enjoyed them in quite the same way as I have Miles. I wake up every day, every day, feeling transcedently blessed. I have a sense of reverent, radiant gratitude that is sweeter for having experienced its opposite.

Happy First Birthday my Darling Baby. It's been an amazing adventure.

On Thanksgiving

2007-11-17T16:03:00.000-07:00

...it is not JOY that makes us GRATEFUL;

it is GRATITUDE that makes us JOYFUL.

Brother David Steindl-Rast

I stand in awe at the abundance of blessings which fill my life. Not the least of which is my amazing family who I will be sharing the Holiday with in Palm Desert.

Until Then...In Everything give Thanks.

Simply You

2007-11-17T15:46:00.001-07:00

The way you like things 'Just So'

The way your blue eyes Sparkle

The way you Twirl and Cartwheel instead of Walk

The way you sleep with a Water Bottle

The way your Laughter fills our home with Music

The way you sing to yourself in the Shower

The way you Must have a bowl of Ice Cream before Bed

The way you leave Love Notes

The way you Take Care of each of Us

Simply You

Happy Birthday Sweetest Girl!

First Kiss

2007-11-14T07:05:00.000-07:00

Long before Miles was born, his bedroom sat empty in our home. I have always felt it was the best room in the house. Two of its' walls are flanked with large windows, allowing an abundance of light to fill the room.

I remember so vividly walking into that room on many occassions when I needed a boost from the woes of infertility. Somehow the open space, the calm, golden toned paint of the walls, the very energy of the sun streaming in, seemed to soothe me. It became a sort of sanctuary for me. It gave me hope when I had none.

As I was designing the nursery to fill those sacred walls, I knew I wanted an overstuffed chair to tuck in the corner by the window. A place where I could sit to rock and enjoy my precious baby.

Each morning, while the house is still quiet, with the exception of sweet babbling from my baby Miles, I take a moment to curl up in my chair and cuddle with my little one. There is something magical about those few minutes together. We have yet to wipe the sleep completely from our eyes; our bodies still warm from the covers and my mind still uncluttered and at rest. While the rest of the world is sleeping, before the sun creeps across the horizon, we sit, and greet the morning together.

This morning was no different. I opened the shutters and showed Miles the frost glistening on the grass outside. We sat and played pat-a-cake. He giggled. He wiggled on my lap and kept reaching for my face. I drew him close to me and told him to give me a kiss. And he did! It was open-mouthed and wet. Yet it was quick and purposeful. He knew exactly what he was doing. But just to be sure I wasn't dreaming, I asked him over and over again to kiss me. And he complied, time and time again. Truly, there is nothing sweeter than the first displays of affection bestowed upon you by your baby. What a beautiful way to start the day.

In this the season of gratitude, I find my heart full of thanksgiving for so many things, so many blessings I enjoy. But today, I am most grateful for the miraculous gift of baby Miles. I am grateful for perfect, exquisite moments such as this, where I am reminded how priviledged I am, how blessed I am, to be a mother.

Just Keep Swimming

2007-11-08T08:56:00.000-07:00

I have this little voice in my head that sounds remarkably like Dori, the clown fish from Disney's Finding Nemo. I love the part in that movie when Dori is in the water amongst several sharks and is frightened. To keep herself steady and focused, she sings over and over "just keep swimming, swimming, swimming; just keep swimming....".

Sometimes I feel like that little clown fish, swimming in the dark, being bounced from wave to wave, alone and afraid. Sometimes the only thing I can do is put a smile on my face and just keep swimming.

Last night I was reading in preparation for my RS lesson and I came across this story:

"Agnes Caldwell and her family traveled with the Willie handcart company and suffered terrible hardships with the others. When the rescue wagons came, they took on all the infirm and those who could walk no farther, but the able-bodied still had to press forward on foot. Nine year old Agnes and some of the other children decided to try to keep up with the wagons in hopes of being offered a ride. Sure enough, after a time one of the drivers asked her if she'd like to ride with him, an invitation she gratefully accepted. As she tells the story:

'At this he reached over, taking my hand, clucking to his horses to make me run, with legs that seemed to me could run no farther. On we went, to what to me seemed miles. What went through my head at that time was that he was the meanest man that ever lived or that I had ever heard of.'

I've tried to imagine this scene: I've pictured a little girl who had given everything she knew how to give for a cause she had been taught was dearer than life itself. I've wondered how it must have felt to finally be offered some relief and then have it just as suddenly withdrawn.

Agnes continues: 'Just at what seemed the breaking point, he stopped. Taking a blanket, he wrapped me up and lay me in the bottom of the wagon, warm and comfortable. Here I had time to change my mind, as I surely did, knowing full well by doing this, he saved me from freezing when taken into the wagon.'"

I smiled when I read this story thinking of all of the "running beside the wagon" moments I have had in the past few years. I too, have given all that I have to give, ready to collapse at times from the sheer exhaustion of it all. I try to remember the promise the Lord has made to lift us up and yet I often find myself frustrated, wondering why He doesn't just pull me into the wagon.

Maybe He is as the wagon driver. Maybe I am like Agnes, not fully aware of how He is trying to save me. I need to remember that He knows what I can bear and that my trials will not exceed my capacity. Perhaps, if I continue to hold on for just one more moment; if I keep putting one foot in front of the other; if I can just keep swimming, how great will be my reward.

"I have to trust that the Lord knows what he is doing with my life, even in those hard moments when I can't possibly see what he has in mind."

The Real Reason I Hate to Camp

2007-11-05T19:39:00.000-07:00

Tony and the Dirty Mistress

My Better Half

2007-11-02T10:32:00.001-06:00

Every now and then the sound of your voice carries up the stairs and I find comfort in remembering that you are just a few steps away if I should need you.

Every now and then I catch a glimpse of you loving on our little ones and playing with the reckless abandon of a child, and it makes me smile.

Every once in awhile I find your arms around me because you sense that I need it.

Sometimes I find an email in my inbox or a text message on my phone, for no other reason than just to say I love you.

Most of the time I get too busy to acknowledge how blessed I feel to have you in my life. I fail to tell you how the little things you do make me happy; how you, more than anyone, can turn my day around because of who you are and how you treat me.

So today, you should know that you make my heart pound. You should know that I am grateful every day that you were born, and that you are such an important part of me.

Happy, Happy Birthday!

Halloween

2007-11-01T08:03:00.000-06:00

Yesterday was a great day. Rachel and I spent the morning in the kitchen cooking. "It feels like Christmas!" she kept saying.

Last year on Halloween I had been put down on bed rest. I was nursing a horrific kidney infection, having mild contractions and battling toxemia. I didn't make halloween cookies, I didn't make dinner for my family, I didn't help them carve pumpkins or go trick or treating. Basically I just sat on the couch and felt sorry for my self. Oh and I passed a very large kidney stone. I did do that last Halloween.

What a difference a year makes.

This year, twilight found my children running around the backyard in the almost balmy temperature, and jumping on the trampoline in their costumes. Baby Miles giggled every time he caught his reflection in the mirror. We shared dinner with well loved family and friends. The house was a bustle of activity all night. Clam chowder, carmel apples and chocolate popcorn for twenty. And one bowl of Spaghettios.....for Tony, we ran out of soup....sorry Babe.

I love having people in my home, gathered around my table. I love hearing my mom's laugh at Boo's funny stories. I love that Jamie stopped in to drop something off, and ended up staying for an extra hour, forgetting his car was idling in the driveway.

We ended the evening with the kids sorting through and trading their candy. I am the lucky recipient of all of their tootsie rolls. Then Tony donned his fairy wings and tutu for the 1st Annual DNA Cycling Haunted Halloween Night Ride.

Sometimes we don't appreciate family traditions or our health until they are taken away from us. I have a renewed love and affection for Halloween after completely missing it last year. It may just have something to do with watching the excitement in Miles' eyes as he takes it all in. Oh, how I love this boy!

Tasteless

2007-10-27T20:04:00.000-06:00

Monday, my brothers and I had a meeting with my Dad's oncologist. I like our Doc. I like him a lot. It wasn't an easy conversation. The reality is sobering to say the least, and yet Dr. W. handled the situation with grace and empathy. I listened to him gently explain the prognosis and patiently explain the oft times confusing diagnosis. He is my age...37 years young, and is dedicating his career, his life really, to this most hideous disease. I have great respect for him and really can't adequately articulate how much I appreciate his bedside manner, his professionalism and personal attention to us in the most difficult of circumstances.

Fast forward to Friday night where I attended a 70th birthday party in honor of my father in law. There I was approached by a friend of my father in law, a man I know of, but don't know well. He too is a doctor. He inquired as to how my dad was doing. It took me back as I'm not certain that he has ever met my dad. I gave a short answer, assuming that he was inquiring out of concern for Tony and I.

"So," he said, "how long is it going to take? When is he going to die?"

I think I was in such shock at the boldness of his inquiry, that I fumbled around for an answer. And then I walked away in utter disbelief.

Not that my dad's condition is any of his business, but if he was going to ask about him, he should have tried to have some tact or at the very least, some respect for what Tony and I, not to mention my dad, are going through.

The more I think about it, the angrier I get. Angry that he would be so brazen, so arrogant, so obtuse. But more angry at myself that I couldn't come up with a wise comeback to put him in his place. Something like "Gee, my crystal ball seems to be broken today" or better still, "I don't know, when do you think you'll die?"

I'd like to take this man on a walk through the infusion room at the cancer center. I would introduce him to the bald headed beauty who rocks her new baby while the noxious chemo drugs feed into her veins. I'd show him the young children receiving chemo, their faces puffy from steroids, their eyes glassy from pain meds and anti-nausea drugs. I'd point out to him the many faces and families affected by cancer, the stress so evident in their weary smiles.

And if he was really lucky, I may even introduce him to my dad. I'd show him how he smiles through the pain even with tears staining his cheeks. I'd let him watch my dad tease his nurses and cheer on other patients. I'd share stories of his bravery, of his positive attitude and tenacious will to keep fighting even though his once strong and vibrant body cannot outwit the errant cancer cells.

And finally, I would remind him that cancer does not discriminate and it could just as easily be him spending 8 hours every other week with an IV in his arm. I might tell him about all of the horrible side effects the chemo brings and how even his own body will betray him, of how at times he will wish for the relief that is death. But then again, I have more tact than that.

Reality Check

2007-10-19T11:06:00.000-06:00

A few years ago my sister in law lost her dad to cancer. I remember watching her go through this tremendous trial. Many times I worried what to do to help her, what words to say or what act of service might ease her burden. She didn't talk about her dad a whole lot. I didn't know if her silence came from stress, or sadness, or possibly out of simple respect and honor for her dad.

Going through this same trial now, I am beginning to understand how she may have felt. I read my cute niece Carlee's blog this morning and felt the tears wash over me yet again.

I find it difficult to talk about my Dad. Sometimes the words elude me. And yet my brain is running at warp speed. I find tears in my eyes on most days. And yet I rarely give in to the intense emotions beating against my heart.

Those closest to me tell me I am strong, that I am coping well, that I am positive and resilient. But I am none of those things. What I am is overwhelmed.

Gratitude Check

2007-10-18T12:09:00.000-06:00

Every now and then my life kind of stresses me out. Okay, who am I kidding....my life is complete chaos right now. But I recognize that when I focus on being positive and grateful, good things happen to me. Studies show that people who express gratitude are happier, which can cause them to think better. Research also shows that when we are thankful we are more resilient. It's almost as if gratitude acts like a shield against stress.

With that in mind, each night I try to remember a moment or two during the day that made me happy. Something that made me smile or laugh, something that lifted the darkness from my heart, even for a brief moment. While there are many things rolling around my brain which I feel a need to write about, today here are a few things which have brightened my week.

1. I have a habit (Tony would call it a bad habit) of walking around the house in nothing but my undies and my shoes. My closet is on one end of the house and the ironing board is on the other end of the house, so sometimes when I need to iron my clothes, I get all dressed (shoes, unders, jewelry) and walk to the other side of the house to iron my clothes. Once the clothes are pressed, I slip them on and then walk out the door. I have a system and it works. Tony and the kids always make snide remarks reminding me that I need to wear pants to the grocery store, etc. Monday I was rushing to get out the door to get Miles to Primary Childrens for his eye check up. I put on my undies and my clogs and marched across the house to iron my clothes. Tony couldn't contain his laughter when he saw me.

"What? You don't find this sexy?" I smirked

"You do realize it's supposed to be high heels and a thong, right?" he answered.

Whatever it was "supposed to be", it sent me out the door laughing.

2. Cole has been sweet on a girl in his class for over a year. I think the attraction is mutual and he is always full of sweet stories about his first crush. But lately he has been talking non stop about another girl...we'll call her "Susie" for the sake of this blog. Susie this, Susie that, yada yada yada, blah blah blah. Finally I say to Cole "What about "Jenny?". I haven't heard about her for awhile...I think you kind of like "Susie".

"No mom. "Susie" is just my back up plan."

Nice. I still laugh every time I think about it. Wonder how "Susie" would feel knowing she's second string.

3. Rachel, the Note Fairy, has resurfaced. Leaving little notes for me all over the house. On Sunday she made place cards for all of us for dinner with a little note tucked inside. I just can't explain how happy my heart is when I put my hands in my pockets and find a little love note from her, or when I open the drawer to brush my teeth and find a picture from her. I miss that little bug so much because her schedule is so crazy and she is rarely home. Having a note from her is like having a little piece of her to carry around with me.

4. Today as Tony closed the door to leave, Miles dissolved into a pile of tears. I scooped him into my arms and tried to console him, but he would have none of it. Finally in desperation, I called Tony on his cell and asked him to talk to Miles. Sounds silly, but as soon as Miles heard Tony's voice on speaker phone, his tears stopped and he squealed and giggled while patting at the phone. I love how he can so easily be soothed by the sound of his daddy's voice. I love that he recognizes that voice and knows it well. Simple, but it brings joy to my heart.

Sweet Slumber

2007-10-12T10:28:00.000-06:00

To say Miles is not sleeping well would be an understatement. For the past month or so he has been waking two to three times a night, rising at the blessed hour of 5:30 am and trying desperately to give up naps. I'm lucky if he gives me two half hour cat naps each day. I'm tired, he's tired, and we're both grumpy.

When Tony and I built our house we decided not to install a lot of bathtubs; I hate to clean them, don't really love soaking in them, and shower curtains kind of creep me out. We really only have one tub, which is a large whirlpool bath in our master bathroom. The expanse of the tub makes it difficult to bathe a baby in, so Miles has been bathed exclusively in the kitchen or laundry room sink until a few months ago. Since that time he has been a shower baby.

Everytime I turn the shower on he gets excited and starts pounding on the glass door. We get in together and I scrub him first, then set him down on the shower floor to play while I clean myself. He LOVES the water and gleefully crawls in and out of the stream, splashing and opening his mouth to catch errant droplets. He is so happy in fact, that usually I get myself out, dry off a bit, and bundle up in my robe before I retrieve him.

Today was no different. He happily played while I shampooed. I jumped out, brushed my teeth quickly and grabbed a towel to bundle him up in. I opened the door and found him sitting right beneath the full stream of water, completely sound asleep. Just for a moment I wondered how much hot water was left in the tank...I mean this kid REALLY needs a nap. And even though crawling back into my own bed was very appealing, the mommy in me quickly scooped him up and felt guilty for leaving him, though it was only for a minute.

I fully expected him to wake up having caught his five minute power nap, but when I layed him down to diaper him, he sighed and threw his arms up over his head. He was out cold. I carefully lay him in his crib, not wanting to risk waking him by putting his clothes on. I added an extra blanket to ward off the morning chill and quietly watched as his features softened in peaceful slumber.

The Dirty Mistress

2007-10-06T08:00:00.000-06:00

I awoke early this morning around 1:30 am and found myself all alone in my big king size bed. I stretched my arms out wide hoping to find Tony curled up on his side. I left the comfort of my warm quilt and got up to check for him, but found the house quiet and the kitchen light still on. He was gone, out again, enjoying the company of his girlfriend: a 22 pound, scandium aluminum mountain bike, with a single gear and twenty nine inch rims.

Over the past six years I've grown accustomed to sharing my man with her. I take small comfort in knowing that there is only one of me, while at any given time he is courting two or three other "women". We have the pretty road bike, a titanium Lightspeed with golden tires which highlight her beauty at high speed. Then there is the dark green Niner One 9, a single speed Mountain Bike. Not to be out done by the Raw color Niner Air 9 (pictured), a geared Mountain Bike. Every time I turn around, it seems Tony is upgrading models, or switching out her parts, investing in the latest and greatest. He is fickle, and has easily owned a dozen of these little beauties. I can hardly keep up with their names, let alone the saddles, pedals, and components he buys for her. But gratefully, he hasn't yet turned me in on a new model.

His wardrobe advertises his love for her. Our mailbox is flooded with magazines all about her. We take her on vacation with us. Heck, we plan vacations around her. What free time he has is spent either with her, talking about her, or dreaming about and planning his new acquisition. I wonder if the other girls hanging in our garage feel a wee bit envious when he chooses the other girl to ride. I wonder if he worries about giving each of them equal saddle time. At least he spends equal time in keeping each of them groomed and pretty. I've witnessed it myself...using a toothbrush to clean the hard to get spots, gently lubing the chain, carefully polishing the frame with Pledge until it sparkles; a cleaner set of bikes has yet to be found.

Up until this year, Tony was pretty careful about the time he spent with the dirty mistress. I usually only had to share him on weekends and for after work rides. But this year he discovered the beauty and peace of mountain biking at night. The first time he took her out for a midnight spin, he came home gushing about the cool mountain air against his face, the brilliant stars lighting up the canyon sky, and the peaceful quiet, with only the sound of his own heartbeat as background music. The moon was full that night, and he described his adventure with such passion that it almost sounded romantic. I admit to feeling a bit envious. There are very few things that would keep Tony out until 2 in the morning, and while I'm sure he enjoys the camaraderie of his buddies and the post ride chill at Village Inn, it is her company that he craves.

And so it goes. Once or twice a week, Tony will tuck our children in, kiss me goodbye and quietly head out into the night air to enjoy a few hours on his bike. While I miss the warmth he brings to my bed and the steady rhythm of his breathing as he sleeps, I really can't blame him for taking this time with his other girl. She brings a passion to his life that I cannot. She eases his stress, she clears his mind, and his anxiety is washed away with each stroke of her pedals.

He returns to me refreshed and anew. He is home and he is present. Ready to be fully engaged in our lives. She helps him to be a more attentive husband, a more patient father. I see how happy she makes him during a thrilling ride with the boys, but I also recognize that she takes the brunt of his frustration after a grueling day at the office. Sure there have been many days when I have rolled my eyes or felt despair at his insatiable need to ride. But we seem to have reached some kind of balance. Maybe it is that I have finally come to realize that she is not the enemy, but rather we are playing on the same team. She helps me by helping Tony. He is simply a healthier, happier, more complete person for having her in his life. And I am grateful.

Tagged

2007-10-02T17:49:00.001-06:00

Okay, so I've been tagged a few times and I'm always too pre-occupied or lazy to respond. But I've had a bit of a whirlwind week and I don't trust my emotions well enough to actually write a new post. So...here it is, and I'm tagging some of my new blogging friends.

1. Best thing you cooked last week.

Turkey breast, mashed potatoes and gravy. We had my mom and Tony's sister over for Sunday dinner.

2. If money, time and babysitting were no object, where would you go and with who.

Italy and Spain with my sweetie pie.

3. When was the last time you cried.

About 30 minutes ago. My girlfriends husband called and asked how I was doing. When I told him "fine", he responded "liar". I know he "gets it" because he's been there. I'm grateful for my tender-hearted male friends.

4. 5 things you were doing this month 10 years ago.

Enjoying my sweet one year old son Cole....his first word was bird.
Working part-time for my pop.
Putting in our yard at the Curlew Circle House.
Traveling to San Diego to take Cole to Sea World and the Zoo.
Helping Tony start our business.

5. 5 things on your to do list today.

Take Mr. Miles to the doctor to see about his ears. Maybe an infection.
Schedule Rachel's birthday party at the Lion House.
Write a Thank you Note to my momma and my sweet friend Michelle.
Find a babysitter for Saturday Night.
Buy new jammies for Miles.

6. 5 favorite snacks

Barbeque Potato Chips
Chips and Salsa
Diet Coke (not really a snack, but more of a food group)
Home made chocolate chip cookies
Popcorn

7. 5 Bad Habits

Swearing.
Diet Coke.
Wasting time on the Computer
Falling asleep before Prayers
Making a mountain out of a molehill (that one's for you babe)

8. 5 favorite foods (food again? makes me hungry)

Mexican
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Mexican
Nachos from Porcupine Grill
Cafe Rio Salads
Did I mention mexican food?

9. 5 Places I've been

Paris
London
Portugal
Scotland
US and British Islands

10. 5 Favorite Memories

My Wedding Day
My Honeymoon in Hawaii
The births of my sweet babies
Finding out I was pregnant with Miles
Trips to Maui with my kiddos

10. 4 People I'm tagging

Melissa C.
Rachel J.
Christine B
Jenny S.

I'll come up with a better post tomorrow....or maybe I can get Melissa to write one for me since she's become an obsessive blogger. Just Kidding Mis, love you.

Remember

2007-09-27T15:42:00.001-06:00

For quite some time Cole has been a tad bit obsessed with the San Diego Chargers. I could go into great detail here about the breadth of his obsession, but alas, this blog is not about him.

But I digress, because of said obsession, he has been hounding Tony and I to take him to see the Chargers play. I am sure if you were to ask Cole he would emphatically state that this is his biggest heart's desire.

A few weeks before Cole's birthday, my dad called and asked if it would be okay if he gave Cole Chargers tickets in honor of the big day. Admittedly, it took me a few days to call my dad back. My dad is always so very, very generous with us, and this gift seemed a bit extravagant. Finally, I relented and agreed that my dad could surprise Cole with tickets.

Last Tuesday, on Cole's birthday, I told him that I would check him out of school so that we could go to lunch with Grandpa and celebrate. As I was doing the morning dishes, Tony and I got to talking about how excited we were for Cole and how much fun it would be to see the look on his face when he opened the tickets.

"This will be a wonderful memory Cole will always have of your dad." Tony whispered in my ear as he kissed me goodbye.

And that is when it hit me. My dad is dying. I actually had to say it out loud, as if vocalizing it would somehow make it feel more real. I know the reality, my heart knows it's true, and yet, I tend to cope with it by trying not to think about it.

I cleaned and I cried. I mopped and I wept. And I wondered if this was possibly the last birthday Cole would have with my Dad.

The kids and I have a bit of a game we play that helps us deal with the ambiguity that is my dad's cancer. "Will Grandpa be here for Christmas?" Oh, yes.

"Will Grandpa be there for my wedding?" No. "When I get my Eagle?" I'm not sure. My dance recital? My mission? Easter? And so it goes. We mark the time in events rather than in days, and somehow the inevitable, the unthinkable, becomes easier to accept.

I had a difficult time maintaining my composure as Cole and I drove to Apollo Burger. Twice my dad called to confirm the location and directions. I recognized his "chemo brain" and patiently guided him to the correct spot. I grimaced as I witnessed his severe pain in walking only 20 feet to our seat. I pretended not to notice his trembling hands, his translucent skin, his puffy face. It saddened me to look at the card he had written for Cole, and see how his once beautiful penmanship had turned shaky and uncertain.

The moment came and he handed his gift to Cole explaining that he didn't know what to buy him, so he hoped that Cole liked gift cards. I saw the familiar twinkle in his eye as we both watched and waited for Cole's reaction.

It sounds so silly to write, but I can't remember a moment so beautiful. I watched as Cole squealed in delight and then began crying tears of joy. Not just a few courtesy tears, but streams and streams of happy tears. A real dream come true for my little boy.

Before long Dad and I also were crying happy tears...right there in the middle of Apollo Burger, over our onion rings and hamburgers. I watched Cole throw his arms around my dad, and marveled at how big he seemed against my Dad's thin frame. I smiled as sweet baby Miles climbed into my Dad's lap and alternated between patting at his cheeks and laying his head upon Dad's chest. I savored the moment.

Over the course of lunch, Dad told me that he had gone to get his "obituary picture" taken. We laughed a bit at the absurdity of it all, but his comment stayed with me. I thought about it the entire day and most days since then, and the conclusion I have come to is this: When the day comes that Cole and I look back on my dad's life, I hope we don't have to look at his picture and try to remember him. Rather, I hope that the memory we have of Apollo Burger and the Chargers tickets will be emblazoned on our hearts. I hope that Cole's 11th birthday with my Dad will be a memory that is imprinted in his mind forever. I hope he remembers his grandpa, an imperfect man, and yet someone who loved him beyond measure.

And I hope that my Dad can take the memory of this day with him as well.

Fringe Benefits

2007-09-26T17:10:00.000-06:00

Part of my Sweet Happy Life includes amazing friends who nurture me, listen to me and love me on my most unloveable of days. I was reminded of how blessed I am today when I read Laura and Ashley's blog. Laura wrote about an article she read in SELF magazine regarding how important our female friendships are to our actual existence. The magazine sites a study which suggests that the special bond between certain women "soothes our tumultuous inner world, fills the emotional gaps in our marriage, and helps us remember who we really are."

I have many friends who lift me and, as Laura so eloquently wrote, "breathe life into me" on my darkest of days. But today I am thinking of my sweet friend Brooke .

Last week she had me over for lunch and spoiled me with the most amazing Filo Tomato Tart and Raspberry Coconut Bars. She listened to me, she fed me, she loved me; and I left her home feeling my spirit regenerated.

I don't believe it's an accident when those who so easily see into our hearts, come into our lives and make a profound difference. Again, I am humbled by the outpouring of blessings I have in my life. The best thing about this blog is the ability it has to make me take notice of the richness and fullness of my life.

Big Dreams

2007-09-26T09:28:00.000-06:00

I often marvel at my Rachel girl. Monday was hectic, as usual. Rachel ran in from school, changed into her leotard and we immediately left for gymnastics.

"Mom, I need a note for gym. We're having a backhandspring contest and I've done 428 of them since last week." She hands me the note to sign which she has already written. I notice that she has taken time to write neatly and everything is spelled correctly.

I suppose I should be surprised at the number of handsprings she's thrown. But I'm really not. Her teacher has asked her to do 100 per day and she works at it continually. 100 sounds impossible, but it really isn't if she has the time. But the thing is, she doesn't really have the time. She is quite possibly the most over scheduled 7 year old I know. From gymnastics, to dance, soccer, art, school and friends. And yet, she thrives on the schedule. I worry over her constantly, and am always watching for signs of stress and exhaustion. But happily she rolls along.

From gymnastics, we did another quick change for her soccer game. I watched her in the mirror as I pulled her hair back into a pony. In constant motion, and in constant conversation she demonstrated the 5 (or is there 6?) ballet positions to me in the mirror. Happily she turned pirouettes down the hall as we hurried to the car. I only scolded her once as I feared the twirling in her cleats might just scratch my hardwood floors.

From a fabulous soccer game with an intense defensive effort, to homework and then bed. Only to begin again the next day. So many things come so easily to Rachel. She is smart, she is talented, she has amazing artistic and athletic ability. At times her physical ability amazes me, only to be more astounded by her mental toughness and determination. I recognized long ago that Rachel has set her own path, she is directing her life; and I, I am only here in a supporting role. For as talented and capable as she is, she is also very stubborn (she did get something from me). I have had to learn to let her lead, to step back as she willingly takes risks, to hold my breath as she makes choices and finds her way.

As we were driving home from soccer, she calls out from the back seat:

"Mom, when I grow up, I want to be a Slurpee girl or a gas station girl."

Tony and I snicker in the front seat and Tony responds "Go for your dreams Rach."

I can hardly contain my laughter and carefully ask her "Exactly what does a Slurpee girl do?"

"She gets Slurpees for people. Duh! Well, maybe I'll be an Orthodontist."

Relieved, I answer "That sounds like a great goal Rachel."

"No mom, not the orthodontist, orthodontist. I mean the orthodontist girl. You know, the girl that changes the wire?"

And so it goes, my ever so capable, talented and smart little girl, aspires to be the Slurpee girl or the Orthodontist girl. And that is the way she rolls.

Put Your Game Face On

2007-09-22T20:23:00.000-06:00

Today was Cole's fourth football game of the season. That's right, once again I'm blogging about Cole. Ahhh....Cole. He's just so darn yummy right now that I can hardly resist. Next week I'll blog about cute Rachel or Silly Miles or grumpy Tony or a myriad of other things, but just for tonight it's about Coley.

So we head clear out to Grantsville to watch Cole play in the pouring rain. As we were packing up the car to leave, Cole asked me to grab the camera. I declined telling him that I didn't want to ruin it in the rain.

"But Mom" he lamented, "today I'm going to get a touchdown." Yeah. Uh-huh. Sure you are you little first timer you. It's not that I don't have confidence in Cole or in his abilities, but he is, after all, a beginner.

Imagine my surprise and delight then, when Cole was handed the ball and proceeded to take a beautiful 15 yard run right into the end zone. Touchdown! And then of course instant tears pricking at my eyes.

Tony and I laughed as we watched him celebrate with his team-mates. He immediately searched us out on the sideline trying to secure eye contact. Tony gave him the thumbs up, I blew him a kiss and he grinned from ear to ear.

On the very next possession, Cole had another great play as he caught a very-lopsided 10 yard pass securing the first down. Again, the grin and the twinkle in his blue eyes so bright I could see the sparkle from clear across the field.

It happens every time Cole makes a good play, a happy little smirk curls against his lips and slowly a smile creeps across his face. Offense, defense, blocking, tackling, catching, running, it really doesn't matter; he simply loves being out there and the joy is evident on his face each and every time he plays.

During half time, Tony teasingly told Cole to "try and look a little mean out there." But I honestly don't think it's possible for Cole to put his game face on and play the part of big, tough football player. He's having too much fun.....As are we.

Alta Crimson 26 Grantsville 6

Secksy Birthday

2007-09-18T23:22:00.000-06:00

Happy 11th Birthday to my sweet son Cole.

Sunday he told me to wear my high heels because he thought they were "Secksy".

Tonight as I tucked him in I told him how I loved his cockney accent, the way he cuddles his brother, the energy and laughter he brings to our home. I love his tender heart, his goofy stories and silly impressions. I love his easy affection, his dedication, his compassion.

"And Mom" he said, "I love you because you're Secksy."

I can't decide if I should be flattered or worried. I know he just says it to make me laugh, and the word itself probably feels a bit naughty to him. But really, it just makes him seem so old.

Stop growing up already.

LOTOJA

2007-09-17T15:20:00.000-06:00

Just over a week ago, Tony and his DNA Cycling Team finished yet another Lotoja bike race. Exactly what is Lotoja you may ask. Lotoja is the longest, one day sanctioned bike race in the United States. Encompassing 206 miles and traveling through three States, over 1,000 riders partipated in this years' 25th addition. Participants begin in the pre-dawn hours in Logan, Utah and cycle through some of the most gorgeous, yet grueling terrain before they reach the finish line in Jackson Hole's Teton Village.

For the past four years Tony has participated in and finished Lotoja. The first year was his best finish time as he placed fourth in his category. When I met him at the finish line we both had tears streaming down our cheeks. The accomplishment in and of itself was amazing; a courageous display of determination and physical ability.

My friend Whitney and I got our feet wet supporting our husbands. We only got pulled over once by the Idaho State Patrol, mastered the art of handing off Musette bags and miraculously made it to every feed zone while still caring for a two month old baby.

Tony's second Lotoja was the infamous ride of 2005. Temperatures on the course would be recorded as one of the coldest in race history. As I waited at the Montepelier Feed Zone which was at the base of the 7,424 foot Strawberry Summit, I saw rider after rider suffering from hypothermia and needing assistance from EMT's. Scary is an understatement. Finally, Tony arrived and I was certain that he would abandon the race. I will never forget the snowflakes scattered through his hair beneath his helmet and clinging to his eyelashes. I urged him to get off the bike and warm up, but he refused, insisting that if he got off the bike, he wouldn't want to get back on. Only 424 riders finished the race that year and Tony was one of them. Watching him recover from the ordeal, I honestly thought that he would never again ride Lotoja.

But alas, we were back in 2006. With the DNA boys, if one of them decides to do a race, it almost becomes contagious, and soon several of them commit to the ride. Such was the case with the 2006 Lotoja. Certainly it couldn't be worse than the SNOW we encountered in 2005. Right? Wrong.

Tony and his teammates (Adam, Rick, John and Justin) committed to stay together throughout the course of the race. Cycling is indeed a team sport and riders rely on each other to take pulls at the front of their pace line while the others conserve energy behind the lead rider through drafting. The boys seemed to be doing well, everyone was in high spirits...until the last feed zone in Alpine.

We decided to take our kids along to help support Tony. They loved the excitement and energy of the race as much as I did, and were anxiously waiting for their Dad in Alpine. We waited and waited and soon I could see the concern on each of my friends' faces as they worried over their husbands. Soon riders were entering the feed zone talking of a huge wreck just a few miles back. Deep down inside I knew it was our boys.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, our boys coasted into the feed zone slowly. They had had a wreck in their pace line where Justin had cross wheeled a teammate in front of him, and Tony went down on top of him. Aside from a bit of road rash and being tangled in his bike, Tony was fine. Justin, on the other hand, had broken his collar bone and sustained serious damage to his bike.

Justin was determined to go on, so Gina, our resident sports medicine guru, quickly bandaged up his wounds and loaded him up with percoset, and they were off.

The last 50 miles were torture, with Justin in incredible pain, soft pedaling his bike, now with only 3/4 of a handlebar and unable to change gears. To add insult to injury, he flatted twice and twice his team stopped to help him, and then continued to accompany him to the finish line. When they finally rolled across the finish line together, we were all relieved. I had never had such an up close and personal experience of watching team work in action. My respect for these men increased tenfold as I realized how much they cared about each other and what great friends they were. Although their finish time was disappointing, I was so impressed with how they were able to put competition aside to be team players.

This year the DNA boys decided to do a Lotoja Relay. I celebrated this news all summer! Riding in a relay allows you to enjoy all of the fun and excitement of Lotoja without spending the entire summer in training. I watched Tony enjoy his mountain bike all summer, hardly clocking any miles at all on the road bike. The kids and I delighted in his time and attention. We took a family vacation, we goofed off and spent many Saturdays at the pool instead of on the bike.

Tony rode the second leg of the relay which was a climbing stage from Preston, Idaho to Montpelier, Idaho. His portion of the race was 45 miles in length with a total of 3,400 vertical climbing feet and included the infamous Strawberry Pass, which was dusted with snow just two years ago. All of the boys did very well and DNA took 2nd overall in the relay race.

It was so great to spend a day alone with Tony in the car. It was very enlightening for him to witness the race from the support end rather than the cycling end. Lotoja is magical in so many ways. You see so many different types of athletes from those who are competitive cyclists to amateur athletes riding the race as a personal goal or to support a cause. You witness suffering, elation and despair. Each year I am inspired over and over again by the strength of the human spirit. Each year I marvel at the beauty of not only the scenery, but the view of the colorful peleton, working together towards a common goal. Each year I love our team and their wives, my sweet friends, just a bit more. I love Lotoja. I can't wait for next year.

By Number

2007-09-12T10:36:00.000-06:00

13 Years

156 Months

4745 Days

1 Condo

2 Homes

3 Children

1 Dog

9 Cars

8 Bikes

3 Degrees

4 Jobs

1 Business

4 Lotoja Bike Races

7 Kidney Stones

2 IVF's

2 Ruptured Achilles Tendons

1 Problem Liver

Thousands of Joyful Moments

Inifinitely More Laughter than Tears

2 Imperfect People

Creating

One Sweet Happy Life

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Forgiving at Segullah

2007-09-07T07:24:00.000-06:00

I'm a guest writer over at Segullah today. Check it out here.

A Poet in the House

2007-09-05T17:47:00.001-06:00

I hesitate to post this lest my blog turn into an ongoing tribute to Coley. But I can't resist sharing this poem Cole wrote as part of a class assignment:

COLE

Lazy, Funny, Athletic, Crazy

Son of Tony & Jill, Brother of Rachel and Miles

Lover of sports, Utah Utes, and the San Diego Chargers

Who feels happy, confused and energetic

Who needs sports, playstation, soda and food

Who fears aliens, hobos and crazy people in straight jackets

Who admires Ladanian Tomlinison, my Dad, and Lance Armstrong

Who would like to see the San Diego Chargers play, the Tour de France, and Australia

Who likes to wear basketball shorts, t-shirts and hats

Who finds happiness in monkeys, squirrels and my little brother

Resident of Utah

PARKINSON

On the Gridiron

2007-09-01T22:10:00.000-06:00

It's official. Life as we know it is now over. Football has begun and we are officially, endlessly, tirelessly engaged in the craziness that is Alta little league.

Tony is off to Jackson Hole enjoying the long weekend, while Cole and I stayed behind so that he could play in his first ever football game.

I've never seen a kid so happy to be on the field. Last year he attended a one day clinic with Morgan Scalley and Luke Staley and he has been hooked ever since. He's developed a mad obsession with the Utes, the San Diego Chargers, Madden 2007 for PlayStation, and of course, plays in a fantasy football league with his buddies.

Every day at recess for the past two years he has played two hand touch and likewise, every night he has begged his dad and I to let him play football. The final push came when he had to write a persuasive letter for a school assignment. Diligently, he set forth to write, in no less than four pages, a letter to his dad detailing all of the reasons he should be able to play football. Finally, Tony's resolve was softened and he relented.

However, trying to use his desire to our advantage, we agreed to let him play only if he earned the privilege by reading a certain number of books this summer. Cole is a very reluctant reader, and not wanting to miss my opportunity for a good bribe, this seemed like a win-win for both of us. Cole gets to play football and I got to see him spend some serious book time this summer without the usual moaning and groaning.

The entire month of August has been spent in nightly practices and I have yet to hear him complain. He has worked his tail off trying to get up to speed on the plays and catch up to the boys who have two years of playing experience under their belts. It's a huge learning curve and I'm proud of him for sticking with it, for persevering and for putting his whole heart into the game.

Last night at our pep rally, his coach pulled me aside and told me how much he enjoyed coaching Cole because he is so teachable, and he truly wants to learn because of his love for the game. He said "There are three types of boys who play football: those who play because they have talent, those who play because their dad's want them to play, and those who play because they truly love the game and want to be on the field. Cole is the first and the last. He has a lot of ability and he has a great desire to play."

I couldn't ask for a better compliment for my boy. He was so nervous for his first game that he had a hard time sleeping last night. This morning he told me he felt like he was going to throw up because he was so anxious. And yet, when he set foot on the field this afternoon, he was all smiles. Love seeing him so happy, love watching him work so hard, and love, love the fact that he has enough guts to go after something that he really wanted.

And just for the record: Alta 35 Tooele 13. Go Alta Crimson!

Back to School Blues

2007-08-31T11:04:00.000-06:00

Cole and Rachel started back to school yesterday and I have to admit, I'm a bit lonely. The madness of the morning rush with it's cacophony of sound and flurry of activity, makes the house seem that much quieter and still once the front door closes behind them. While I am happy for the return of the routine, I will miss goofing around with them in our jammies until 11 am. I will miss grabbing lunch or heading to the pool. I will miss the conversations, the giggles, the sheer chaos and mess of having them home.

I knew I was in trouble on Wednesday night as I packed their school supplies into their backpacks. Somehow I had made the mistake of buying Cole fine tip markers without the names of the color written on the marker. This is a bit of an issue for my color blind boy. And yet, instead of having a meltdown, he just rolled with it and calmly asked if I would use a Sharpie to write the colors onto the markers. Easy enough...I thought. But for Cole it isn't enough to simply write "light blue" or "dark blue". His brain doesn't understand the subtle nuances in shades of color. So we had to get creative.

I sat with him at the counter coming up with names for his markers as I tried to describe each color to him. "This one is Charger Blue, like the San Diego Chargers retro jerseys. This one is Red, like Utah Red. Ohhh, and this one, this one is Crimson like your football team, Alta Crimson." And so it went as Cole and I created names for each of his thirty markers. It was fun, it was silly and it was amazing to me how grown up Cole has become. For just a year or so ago, this reminder of his color blindness would have been a sad moment, a complete frustration. But now I think he realizes it is what it is, and he has come to accept it. He is growing up and it makes my heart hurt just a bit.

We did the normal back to school routines: waffles for breakfast, Fathers' blessings, new shoes, and notes tucked into lunches. The kids could hardly contain their excitement, but I, I was a bit more reluctant. I know I can't keep them little for long and I even realize that the older they get the more expansive my relationship with them becomes, and yet I hate to see the changes come. Soon my days will be filled with lunches and errands and appointments and the hours that they are in school will feel like a flash, but for today, I miss them; I miss their voices, their warm bodies, the energy they fill our home with. 3:15 can't come soon enough.

Bragging Rights

2007-08-25T16:40:00.000-06:00

Just received a sneak peek from the photographer of our recent photo shoot. Wow! I may be biased, but I've got me some cute kids!

Grueling, Stressful Life

2007-08-21T14:05:00.000-06:00

This is a guest post from my gal pal, my earthly angel. It is exactly her tongue in cheek, sarcastic view of my life which makes me laugh and gives me courage. She really needs to get a blog of her own because her outlook on life would be a blessing to so many....but in the meantime, I'll let her be my guest-star anytime.

I woke today trying to figure out if it was really 10 am. I am usually up with my bright-eyed 9 month old by 5 am, and if not him, then the other two children in my life. It has been an incredible day with many happies. The kids are in school and I don't see them until 9 at night. Rachel got herself dressed and did her own hair today. Cole ironed his clothes, showered and made breakfast for the two of them. They walked hand in hand to school, paying attention to all of the street signs along the way. They got all of their homework done by themselves and set up their own carpooling schedule for gymnastics and football.

Miles has begun to crawl and is beginning to find his own food and feed himself. I have not heard him cry once today. I was able to sit on the couch for quite a spell and enjoy hand-dipped strawberries my neighbor brought over for me. I haven't heard from Tony in over 8 hours, his work is crazy right now and he is really bringing in the dough (if you know what I mean). He is so busy at work that I doubt he will even go for a bike ride this whole week.

My mom is doing so well, as usual, and there are no troubles with any of my siblings or their spouses.

.....sorry for the pause. I just had to wipe some strawberry juice off my shirt, dang it, ugh! I just hate it when something throws my day off like strawberry stains.

Oh, and by the way, dad has decided to move to Paris, France where he can enjoy his life without compounding any stress in our lives. He has decided not to divorce mom, but rather live in peace and harmony for the remainder of his life. What more could I ask for?

Life like this sounds nice. But then you sit back and realize that the 5 am meetings with Miles are really the only time the two of you share alone. Being woken up by the other two children in your life and their demands are what fill your life. That if you didn't get a phone call from Tony, who is downstairs, every hour, you would feel a void in your day. If you couldn't just listen to Oprah down the hall while you were ironing, it would let your mind wander, and then you would realize how much you really need to focus on the days tasks. If Mom was always doing well, would you hear from hear so much? And the biggest one of all. If dad really was living in reality, would you really appreciate your life, your beautiful children, and you quirky but wonderful husband? Would you have started a blog? Would you sit back and ponder about all those who do love you, and why they are a part of your life? I don't think so! So thank Dad, put forgiveness aside for a bit and focus on what he has made you more aware of! I think it's called SWEET HAPPY LIFE!

Love,

The Earthly, Silly, Angel

Earthly Angel

2007-08-21T06:54:00.000-06:00

I was in a bad place yesterday and really I'm not sure why. I have been reading The Peacegiver, which really is a life changing book and I highly recommend it. I'm actually on my 3rd reading because I have a lot of forgiving to do. Grrr. I continue to struggle with the decisions my dad has made and the person he has become. Yesterday, Dina McGreevy was the guest on the Oprah show. Mrs. McGreevy is the former wife of New Jersey's gay governor. When Oprah asked her if it hurt to watch her husband go on with his life in such a manner, she replied "No. He is not the same person I fell in love with. I'm not sure who this man is anymore."

These words rang true for me. Sometimes, most times actually, I feel as if I don't even recognize my dad anymore. He is so different from the man I knew him to be and it saddens me. I find myself grieving for him, for who he was, who he used to be, maybe even who I wish he were. Yesterday as this hurt rolled around inside of me I kept remembering a passage I read from The Peacegiver: "Being mistreated is the most important condition of mortality, for eternity itself depends on how we view those who mistreat us."

Somehow I need to get from where I am today to forgiveness. Again. And again and again. I think forgiveness is an ongoing process, a daily choice even, and currently I'm a bit bogged down in the mire. I've been thinking so much about it, that when Brooke asked me to write a guest post for Segullah, I immediately felt prompted to discuss the intricacies of forgiveness. (Brooke also taught me how to link my blog. Fancy schmancy.)

I am incredibly blessed with a sweet friend who I believe has a direct line to my heart. When I called her yesterday for a totally random reason she said "Your ears must've been burning. I was just going to call you and check in."

We chatted and most importantly we laughed. She checked in with me a few more times yesterday and magically, she always seems to know the right things to say to make my heart feel light.

I walked in the door last night after Rachel's soccer game against the Blueberries and found a gift from my darling friend sitting on my cluttered counter. She left a note which simply said "Because I love you."

A small but powerful reminder that my life is blessed beyond measure by people who love me and so unselfishly serve me. I will probably always grieve over losing my dad. I will always feel that void. But it is helpful to know that I am surrounded by loved ones who will help me to mend this hole in my heart.

Thank you Angel girl.

Stalling

2007-08-15T12:24:00.000-06:00

I cleared my entire schedule so that I could take my kids to Seven Peaks today with their cousins. But alas, this crummy flu bug, what I now know to be cryptosporidium, in still invading every ounce of little Cole's being. Poor guy. I don't think I have ever seen him so sick, including last nights battle with high fever and hallucinations. I think he's lost five pounds in two days. So I'm offering our germs, free of charge, to any parents out there who are trying to get their boys' weight down for football.

So here I sit with a wide open day and a chore list a mile long, but somehow I just can't seem to muster up the motivation to actually get anything done. Grrr... I hate feeling like that. I feel kind of mopey, not depressed really, just kind of blah. It might have something to do with one very sick little boy and another little boy who likes to get up at the crack of dawn.

Miles and I shared an Oreo after lunch...the site of which made Cole sick to his stomach. But really, what doesn't make Cole sick to his stomach these days?

Happy Birthday Brookie!

2007-08-14T15:00:00.000-06:00

This is a picture of Rachel and four of my five nieces on Christmas Eve. My niece Brooke, on the far left, lives in Valparaiso Indiana, working to put her cute husband James through law school.

Brooke is one of about six people who actually read my blog, so I thought I'd give a shout out to her for her birthday. Except I missed her birthday because it was yesterday. But I hope you had a wonderful day Brooke. I thought about you all day and was remembering babysitting you when you were a baby. Your mom and dad would go bowling every Friday night and I was the designated sitter. I loved you then and I love you now. You are smart, talented, beautiful and completely genuine and sincere. Plus...you make really good sugar cookies. I miss you and wish I got to see you more often.

Happy 26th!