Climbing

photo by skeez. public domain.

Hey, Hi. It's occurred to me that I haven't posted since September. I was shocked to see that. Not because I'm so punctual when it comes to this blog, but because it seems like only a couple of months ago that I was posting about Jacob's football season. So much has happened--things kind of derailed at the end of football season, so I thought instead of a long, drawn-out explanation of things, I'd just make a bullet list and try not to meander...as I tend to do.

• My back took a turn for the worse. Probably because of all the extra work of a toddler. My injured back was injured more and nose-dived around Halloween. I didn't get to take Will trick-or-treating. He was a little dragon. My costume was "writer with a back injury." Brandon stepped up (a sign of things to come) and took Will around the cul-de-sac. They both loved it. Will was astonished by candy bars.
• After an MRI it was determined that I (finally) needed surgery to repair a collapsed disc. The image was scary. I was very eager to have it fixed. Surgery was scheduled for January 12, 2016.
• My sister hosted Thanksgiving. It was the first time I didn't bring pie. Or maybe I did. I don't remember. I was on heavy painkillers. I do know I brought one of the turkeys. It was beautiful and the whole dinner was delicious. I remember Will hated his port-a-crib and I got two hours of sleep between 6-8 am, when Brandon finally took him out of the room. It was his first time staying somewhere else since we brought him home. I don't remember much else.
• Will's first Christmas was so fun. I'll do a separate blog post for that. It was wonderful to have a little one seeing his first Christmas. The older kids were awesome. We got to Skype with Braeden from Riga, Latvia. Lots of laughter and gratitude. I made our traditional chiles rellenos dinner, but this time I had lots of help.
• Chelsea, Matt, and Carly came for the week of New Years. They got to meet Will for the first time! Carly and Will were shy at first, but they recognized each other from our Skype sessions. Then they were pretty inseparable/adorable. We got lots of snow! The kids had lots of snow play in the yard. Will loves snow. It was sad to say good bye.
• My surgery (my first ever) went well. So weird to be awake and blinking one minute and then waking up to a new world--a world of agonizing fire the size of a basketball in your back. They hurried and got the pain meds in me. Gah. I went home an hour post-surgery. I had my phone alarms set for meds. Brandon took really good care of me that first week. I don't really remember it. My surgery was on Tuesday. The next morning I said, "It's Wednesday, right?" He said, "It's Friday." He must have taken really good care of me.
• A week after my surgery, Braeden returned home from his 2-year mission in the Baltics. I didn't get to go to the airport, so I waited at home. I was using a walker at this point but couldn't get in a car. My friends Sara and Laura went and took lots of pictures and video. Yay for friends! When Braeden came to the door, and I was able to hold him, it felt like a piece of my heart was in its place again. He stayed by my side and talked to me a lot while I rested.
• The following week, Brandon had to return to work and Braeden was job hunting, so Will and I went to my mom and dad's house. That was a dream. They both took such excellent care of me and Will. The craziest thing was when they set up our (me and my sibling's) old crib for Will! They still had it! They helped me through tears, we laughed, they made sure I rested and exercised, and fed me a lot of really good food. Will absolutely loved it there. I stayed for two weeks. I did a lot of healing, inside and out.
• My second grandchild, Brady Robert Bare, was born on February 10. He's adorable and has the biggest blue eyes I've ever seen. It broke my heart not to be there, but Matt's mom, Gigi, was able to be there and help Chelsea afterward. I'm so grateful for good, helping mothers.
• Back home, Braeden had found an afternoon-to-late-hours job, so he was able to take care of Will (and finally get to know his new brother) and me until Will's naptime. Maren would come home from school after that. Braeden went from never having changed a diaper to being Mr. Mom. It was great. I was up to walking 0.9 miles in 40 minutes. That's the lowest speed on the treadmill, but the fact that I could be upright and walking for 40 minutes was awesome. I was starting gentle yoga. My back pain had gone from a burning sack of lava to two small jagged rocks pressing against each other. I was pleased with that.
• Most of my family and some of Brandon's family were able to come for Will's baby blessing. I was worried about Will having a meltdown during the blessing, I prayed about it. My answer came simply: Have Will shake hands and say the name of all the men taking part in the blessing, and then give him a cookie while he sits on Grampa Anglesey's (my dad's) lap. Maren made cookies that morning. It worked beautifully. Brandon gave him a blessing while Will happily munched on a big homemade cookie on Grampa's lap, surrounded by all these friends he'd just greeted. And know what? The cookie was made by Gramma A, Because they'd had the same idea. Will ate Maren's cookie afterward. :)
• That same Sunday, Braeden gave his mission homecoming talk. It was a memorable day, and the first day I'd been to church since December. The family came over for food after. I loved that. I love my house full of people.
• Late February something went really wrong. I had a sore throat and slight fever, no biggie. Then one night my legs started burning, like they were on fire. By morning the fire had spread through my whole body and by the next morning every joint--from my toes, ankles, knees to every joint and  knuckle in my hands were frozen hot. On top of this, it felt like every nerve in my body was plugged into an electric generator. I couldn't move. My muscles were slack and I was terrified. I called the doctor and he could see me in two days. I would spend an hour working out the stiffness in my joints enough so someone could help me out of bed to use the bathroom. I walked like a drunk robot, having to really focus on my muscles for them to move. I couldn't raise my arms to eat. I had no appetite. I lost 6 lbs in a week. One night my breathing was very soft and shallow. I felt like a burning husk. My eyes teared constantly. I was scared. I took stock of my life and thought I'd done okay. Dramatic, I know, but that's what I did.
• The doctor referred me back to my surgeon as soon as possible. In the meantime, he prescribed me Neurontin. It helped dial back the burning and I no longer woke up with frozen joints. It smoothed out my movement. It helped me sleep. I love Neurontin. I still felt a continual buzz coursing through my nerves, and the whole inside of my mouth and my tongue tingled like pop rocks.
• The next week my surgeon referred me to a neurologist. The appointment was at the end of May, two months out. He guessed that a virus was attacking my nervous system. So I had two months to dwell on that. I had a brain MRI and blood work. Both came back normal.
• Physically, I had to start back at the beginning, walking 10 minutes, completely exhausted after. I'm so grateful Braeden was home for a while before going to BYU for spring semester. And Brandon totally stepped up to take care of anything else on top of his own demanding responsibilities. He became Super Brandon. He did things I didn't know he could do. He's been holding out. ;) I love Super Brandon.
• I couldn't write anything during all of this time. The pain would just overpower any focus. I could barely read. The medicines made me tired. The idea of writing romance was as far away from me as was running a marathon. My publisher, Covenant, was so patient with me, moving my deadline dates further and further ahead, and encouraging me to put myself and my family first. Thank you, Covenant.
• Separate from the nerve issue, my back was getting lots of rest, and gratefully, continued to strengthen. So much so that as long as I was careful and didn't lose my balance or get jostled, the back pain became secondary to everything else. That was helpful, and as the pain subsided, I was able to focus and start writing again. As long as I could stay awake. I started back up on the novel I'd had to abandon, and the words came.
• Braeden left for college. Brandon took him to Provo and that weekend they were able to attend Brady's baby blessing. I missed them both. I missed them all.
• Jacob gashed his shin open on a hurdle. For the first time ever, I took Jacob to the hospital. For the first time ever, I saw my kid's bone. Kinda cool. I'll spare you the pics. We were there for 4.5 hours and I didn't bring my pain meds. He sang songs to me while we waited. My favorite was Pat Benatar's "We Belong." We were both hobbling back to the car when all was done. But we were rock stars.
• Maren's knee caps had been randomly popping out over the past year. Very painful. She'd shove them back in and cry and we'd get her on ice and ibuprofen. It was becoming more frequent. The doctor took xrays and found both of her patellas are an inch too high. She'll need surgery on both knees. We're enjoying trips to the PT as they strengthen her up in preparation for that. Hooray. O_O
• Will has been a champ with all of this transition. When I was down, he'd bring me books to read and pretend meals from his kitchen. He'd say, "Mommy back hurt." Or "Cheek?" and I'd lean as best as I could while he reached up and rub my cheek softly, saying, "It's okay. It's okay." Melt. My. Heart.
• I worked hard to keep walking and tone up my muscles the best I could. Brandon and I decided that I would fly to Provo the first week of May and attend a day of my favorite writers conference and see my friends, and then spend a few days with Chelsea and her family, Braeden, and finally hold my grandson. Physically, the trip wore me out. Emotionally, it was very healing. I loved it. My friend Sarah Eden loaned me her cane, and I'm so glad she did. By the end of my conference day I could hardly walk, but without the cane I would have been done a lot sooner. Hooray for the cane brigade!
• I'm skipping to the end, because really I've just been resting and exercising and waiting for my neurologist appointment without trying to self-diagnose with unnerving online information.
• NEUROLOGIST APPOINTMENT: The neurologist suspected either a lesion on my spinal cord (formed as I healed from surgery), or a virus attacking my myelin sheath (the protective covering of the nerves themselves). I had another MRI of my back to look for signs of lesions. We looked over all my other images, too. That was trippy, seeing side and top cross-sections of my head. Hello, eyeballs. You are HUGE. Anyway, it all looked clean. My back is healing well, nice spaces there. No signs of lesions anywhere. Which is GREAT, but he had to go back to my symptoms and test results.
• Diagnosis: Transverse Myelitis. Which means a virus (or trauma of some kind) compromised the myelin sheath. It will take a long time (months to years) to heal. But the odds are very good that I will heal. Here's how I explained it to my family: 

The neurologist compared it to hitting your funny bone (on a much larger scale). Something hit my nervous system and the onset was big and painful and rendered me pretty useless for a time. Then that twangy pain spread out to the rest of my body and is lingering. I thought that was a pretty fair comparison. Another description of how it affects my nervous system is that the connection between my brain and nerves is interfered with like static on a phone line.

SO. There's no cure. I just keep working at getting stronger. Exercise. Be careful. Vitamins. I'll probably add oils, too. It may take months-years, and the tingling sensation might never go away. But I should regain my strength and coordination as my myelin sheath heals. And that's good.

And that's where we are now. It's been two days since the diagnosis and a few things have been running through my mind. 1) I'm grateful to have a "something" to work toward instead of a blank. 2) I'm so grateful to those who've stepped up to help me and my family. 3) It's incredible how the absolutely important things rise to the top and the rest fades away simply because you are rendered incapable. It's a paradox, how freeing and how caging it feels. 4) You. My friends and family, and all of those who've prayed on my behalf, who are still praying, and who are wondering how I'm doing and hoping I'm okay. That's why I wrote this post. Because I know you're wondering. I'm overwhelmed by the number of you who care. But knowing that has buoyed me and helped me work harder.

So I'll keep working. And counting blessings. And doing what I always do. 

Climb.

An Angel on Poop Day

Mother's Day has been nice today. Jacob made me his special scrambled eggs and Maren picked me a bouquet of garden flowers. I got cards and Almond Joys and a new spatula. I got to Skype with Braeden from Latvia, and later with Chelsea, Carly, and Matt. It's a beautiful day in Yakima and I took a nap in a hammock. I saw the invitations to a baby shower my friend Sara is giving me for Will. I've felt very loved as a mother. I'm so thankful. Mother's Day has always been a "hold your breath and see what happens" kind of day for me. Today was really nice.

I thought I'd post an address I gave in March for a group of women celebrating the belief that we are "Beloved Daughters of God." That was the theme I was given, and my friend, Kira, asked me to speak because she'd been there the evening that I gave my talk on Love last year. She even suggested I could use the other talk and tweak it to fit the theme if I liked. I love Kira, so I said yes. And this is what I came up with. Here is my Mother's Day offering to you, with so much love. I hope you enjoy it.

I took this picture in my yard.
These flowers smell so much nicer than the events in the story I'm about to share.

As I considered what to share with you tonight, I remembered a story I’d written a long time ago. And then I tried to forget it. I knew we’d be eating dinner and while this story is perfect for the theme, it’s also pretty graphic and gross. It’s a story of motherhood. It’s, in fact, a true account of one of the worst days I’ve ever had as a young mother. And it kept coming back to me. Because it’s not just a story for young mothers, but for anyone who has felt alone, inadequate, if you’ve ever felt like you give and give, but what do you get? It’s for anyone who tries, and has to keep trying. It’s for anyone who has been—figuratively or literally—pooped on. So I’m going to share it with you. And I’m sorry.

An Angel On Poop Day.

On Friday, the 12^th of October, 2001, I was 4 months pregnant, and except for bouts of morning sickness I was feeling healthy and happy, busy with my three children. Jacob was 3, Braeden, 6, and Chelsea, almost 9.

It was what I had termed in our house to be a Poop Day, meaning Jacob went a few days with just one or two bowel movements, and then had a day where he went “number two” every time. Potty training became a bit messier on these days, as he seemed to wait until it actually made an appearance, no matter how often I asked, before running to the potty. But, I was dealing with it; just a little more work and a lot more laundry.

That day, Braeden came home from school with a tummy-ache and a bit of the runs, and was on the toilet quite often as well. My husband, Brandon, was coaching an away football game and was gone that day and the next, so I was on my own, but that was nothing new. Brandon coached football, basketball and track, and after ten years, I’d learned to handle a lot of things in his absence.

My good friend Christy, whose husband coached with Brandon, called and invited me to come have a look at the house they were buying, at around 5:00 that afternoon, and I thought this would be a great excuse to throw a diaper on Jacob, get out of the house, have a short visit, and just take a break from Poop Day.

I gave Braeden a dose of Pepto, assured him there would be a bathroom there, packed up the kids, and headed out, down the quick drive on Main Street through our little town and up the hill. As we drove, I gave tongue-in-cheek directions that no one was to stink up the van. The kids giggled.

I arrived at Christy’s house without incident and she showed me around the 100 year old house with enthusiasm, sharing plans and color schemes as the kids played hide-and-seek in all the empty rooms and closets. Christy and her husband hadn’t had kids yet, and she’d glommed onto mine like sticky cotton candy. They adored her.

It was about time to go, when my nose picked up a hint of something. I looked at Jacob as he ran past and took a whiff. No, it wasn’t him. I continued down the hallway and there was Braeden, just outside the bathroom, a look of defeat on his face. He was close to tears and let me know he had tried to run to the bathroom, but it was too late.

I told him it was okay, I’d help him. But the house was completely empty except for a few squares of toilet paper on the roll. I told him that it was time to go, and we’d take care of it all at home. He trusted me.

His discomfort, and the smell, moved me to rush to get the other kids. I called urgently up the stairs. And I called. And called.

No Chelsea. No Jacob.

Braeden stood unmoving in the hallway. I heard little footsteps above me. Impatient to get Braeden home, I went to the bottom of the stairs and called again. “Jacob!” Nothing.

Then, with a pitter-patter, Jacob appeared at the top of the stairs. He said, “Chels is lost. She is stuck.”

What? I told Jacob it was time to go and to say goodbye to Christy. He simply said, “No,” ran down past me and into some other room. I sighed heavily, consoling myself that at least he was downstairs.

I went up to find my daughter. Chelsea was usually my most obedient child, and I was sure she’d heard everything I’d just told her little brother. So I called as I climbed, explaining that we needed to leave, now. I was losing my temper, picturing Braeden paralyzed in the hallway.

I heard a muffled giggle, which irritated me further.

As I made the landing I heard her voice. “Mom, I’m stuck,” and then another embarrassed giggle.

I knew right where she was. The attic bedroom had a short little closet built into the eaves for storage, and it had a sticky door. As I strode to the closet, it popped open, and I heard her relief.

“Whew, I got it.”

Then, she saw the look on my face and nearly shrunk back inside. I assured her that I understood she was stuck, but we had to go, now, for Braeden’s sake.

We headed quickly downstairs and I was thinking we could just go, but when Christy and I looked for Jacob, he was no longer inside the house.

My three year old was running around outside the house. Literally, running all the way around the house at top speed so he wouldn’t have to say goodbye to Christy, who was his second-favorite person in the whole world. I say second-favorite to make myself feel better.

I gave Christy one look and she took off after him while I got Braeden down the front steps. She finally jumped out in front of him and caught him up. She handed me my shrieking, squirming, solid little boy. At the same time I still ushered Braeden toward the car. He was now walking like a cowboy. Chelsea bounded into the car, and Jacob had become a screeching tangle of kicks and dead weight in my arms.

I locked him in the car seat, barely,  and Christy took over trying to make him smile while I went  to the other side of the van to help Braeden, who had stopped progressing, unsure of how or where to sit.

I helped Braeden in, and that is when the smell hit me. I started to gag, as pregnant women might, but I fought to get it under control as I walked back around the van, where Christy had Jacob giggling. She said goodbye and closed his door. I got in and thanked her for her help. She gave me a sympathetic smile and asked if I’d be okay. I assured her I’d just get the boys in a bath and everything would be fine. I’m tough.

I was so naive.

We opened all the car windows, because the smell was tremendous, and as soon as I backed down the drive, Jacob started shrieking again. Even with all the windows down, he screamed so loudly my ears buzzed. Then the heaving started. The smell was winning the fight against my “delicate condition.” The windows would have to stay down. I turned the fan on my face, full blast, and turned up the radio. Maybe people wouldn’t think I was driving a van for the criminally insane if they heard Keith Urban blasting above the screams as we drove down Main Street.

Chelsea found all of this funny, ducking down in her seat. Her laughter helped, actually.

We made it home and I marched Jacob, still kicking and screeching dead weight, into his room and shut. The. Door.

One down.

I asked Chelsea to unload the dishwasher while I got Braeden into a bath. He didn’t need a spectator. I started the bathwater and suds, and turned my full attention to my mortified, patient, grossed-out son. I got him undressed, and just as he stepped out of his underwear----I got some on my hand.

This is when my pregnant body decided to remind me just how pregnant I was, and I ran to the kitchen sink and threw up for almost ten minutes. I had to call to Chelsea, who had abandoned the dishwasher to try to help her brother, who wanted nothing to do with his sister helping him with dirty underwear and such, to TURN OFF THE BATHWATER, PLEASE! She yelped, and the water was turned off just as it was about to spill over.

I knew I had to get the nausea under control. I smelled the clean dish soap, washed my face, took deep breaths, and, noting Jacob was still screaming in his room, somehow, between holding my nose and breathing out in the hallway, I got Braeden into the tub.

Exhausted and feeling utterly alone, this is when I started to cry.

And this is when the doorbell rang.

Now, our front door was situated right in the middle of this chaos. There was no hallway to the bathroom and bedrooms, just doors right off the front and dining rooms. And furthermore, our front door was fully paned in glass. I could not hide.

I gulped a sob. “WHO THE *bleep*  IS THAT?” I asked in angry defeat. I heard Chelsea gasp.

“Mommy said a bad word,” she whispered.

I don’t try to imagine what the house smelled like at this point. I gingerly walked to the front door, blowing my nose in a wad of toilet paper. I hadn’t turned the porch light on. I hit the switch, and when I looked through the panes, I saw Christy.

I saw the pizza box in her arms, the DVD tucked on top. And she was welcome, although I’m sure she had second thoughts once I opened the door.

“Have you been throwing up?” That was her greeting.

I just started to cry again, wiping mascara from under my eyes, and I smiled. I haltingly explained, and apologized for the smell. She took my shoulder and looked right into my eyes. 

“You go clean yourself up. I’ve got this.”

I didn’t even argue. I went right downstairs to my room as she had Chelsea turn on the oven for pizza. She opened Jacob’s room with a loud, happy greeting. I felt nothing but gratitude as I washed, brushed, and changed. I sent up a prayer.

Thank you for her.

We ate pizza, put the kids to bed early, and watched the movie she’d brought. I thanked her and hugged her and invited her to come live with us.

I asked her what had made her decide to come.

She shrugged. “I felt like pizza, and couldn’t justify buying a whole one for myself.”

But I know better. She’d come to help. Just in time. My angel on poop day.

Men are that they might have joy. Part of joy is believing that God loves us. I found an anonymous quote.

“You don’t have to wait to hear ‘Well done’ (or to hear “I love you” or to get the flowers or the thank you, or the hug). If you do it right, you can know every day that God is smiling and saying, “That’s my girl.”

President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency: “A conviction that you are a daughter of God gives you a feeling of comfort in your self-worth. It means that you can find strength in the balm of Christ. It will help you meet the heartaches and challenges with faith and serenity.”

And if not serenity, then at least conviction, and a mind set to learn. To develop compassion so we recognize when others are struggling, and we can offer a hand. Or a pizza.

We’ve been through several very difficult trials, and lots of smaller ones, some are ongoing and will remain with me throughout my life. But as I was thinking about this talk, I considered that during every single trial, I have been somehow reminded that I am a beloved spirit daughter of God. And I am not left alone.

Little Miracles, Big Cookies

The Yard Sale/Adoption Fundraiser was a ton of work, but worth it. The bake sale alone brought in $80. Those giant cookies sold all day. I wish I had a picture of the smiles on Maren and her friend Alyssa's faces as they handed customers their cookies or their change, or when the customers said, "Keep the change for your China girl." 

All the big things sold. Tons of the little things sold. It was a hub of bargain-hunting activity. At the end of the day we had made, what I believed, was enough to cover our next adoption fee installment.

But I was wrong.

Because I had thought the next installment was $700. So when I was going through our Dossier papers, due today, making sure we had all the documents, checking them against the mailer list, I had a nagging feeling I'd missed something. That $ number seemed too low.

I did check. And then I sent an email to our Dossier Specialist. And she affirmed my nagging feeling. The installment due was $700+$1500. Two payments for different things, due at the same time.

My heart sank and I broke down in tears. Had the house sold already as we hoped, this wouldn't be an issue. But it hasn't yet. We are between jobs. We are keeping our credit lidded because we need to qualify for a loan to buy our next house. We knew it was a risk. We were willing to take it. So we are using cash for everything. Including the adoption.

I know this is a bit personal, but I needed to share.

Because when I counted everything up, I was floored. The yard sale brought in just under $1500! This was incredible, and I was so grateful. I had not expected to bring in that much!

But it was not enough. And I didn't know where we would get the rest. I fell asleep crying, and praying.

When I woke up the next morning I remembered that we had a payment coming from selling our old truck. Our friends had bought the truck but didn't need it right away, so were letting us use it until the move. I made a call, and the payment was delivered without issue.

Which gave us enough to pay the adoption fee in full and on time.

So thank you. Thank you.

Xie xie.

The Power To Choose

Happy St. Patty's Day, everyone! Does anybody else think of Far and Away on this holiday? Shannon!

*sigh*
Actually, I haven't been feeling too well and I'm exhausted, but I thought a post might do me some good before I make myself go to bed early. That's right, a purely selfish post.

Last night I had a dream. I won't go into details, but I was confronted with an unpleasant prospect. And I am SO non-confrontational. But because it was a dream, I was able to keep my head, pause and gather myself and a small posse of my best girlfriends. They only stood behind me, but then I was ready. I felt like a part of the SuperFriends (wow, am I dating myself?). I could take what was coming and remain in control of my fears, my doubts, my hopes, and my strengths. I wasn't alone. And I had power. Not evil laugh I'm-going-to-rule-the-world power, because really, who would want to do that? Yet? (evil laugh). But I had the power to choose how I reacted to this onslaught. And I chose to strengthen myself with the presence of those I trusted, those who knew me, those who had faith in me.
SO, how is my dream so different from the trials I face in real, non-sleepy time? Even if I am alone and confronted, do I not have the power to gather the strength of those who love me? Who know me and have faith in me, even if all I can muster is the knowledge of God's love for me?
Just because I am non-confrontational does not mean I am weak. Just because a person doesn't like something, doesn't mean they aren't blessed with the abilities to get the job done... well.
So there you go. And thanks, SuperFriends. I knew I could count on you.

Fun Gift Ideas

My friend, Angela, from way back in Klamath Falls (both of us have moved a couple of times since) has a great new website through Artfire called Forget Me Notes. She creates memory boxes, cards, and beautiful kits for giving or getting!
The fun part of this, for me, is that I was the "friend" she mentions on her site who introduced her to paper-crafting when I was a demonstrator for Stampin' Up!. Angela had convinced herself she was not creative AT ALL, but kept coming to the parties for support and social fun. Finally our friend, Gnene, gave her a gift certificate for her birthday, so she HAD to buy something and get down with her hiding creative self. It was so fun to see her grow!
By the time I was moving, and ready to pass my business to someone else, Angela was an established paper-crafter and gladly took over my business.
So please, check out Angela's site and browse around. You may find something perfect for gift-giving!

Wedding Memory Box

Our Girl Memory Box pieces

Card Pack

Team!

I play competitive volleyball at the rec center. My teammates are Bobbi, Kim, Sue, Lisa, Stacy, and Michelle. We laugh way too much, but we win. Most of the time.
Bobbi has a killer serve. Kim is team clown and kills herself for the ball. Sue guides us along and reinforces our bump set spike delivery. Lisa is our slammer and net intimidation. Stacy is consistent and level-headed and skilled. Michelle is our hot-headed competitor, don't mess. And there's me. I love the net. I have to get over my power issues (I hit hard and consistently in practice, but I pull up in games, and stick to my reliable underhand serve), but I love to play with my team.
We talk to each other, we poke fun at each other, we goof off for each other, and we focus for each other. We cheer each other on. (Hmm, maybe I should make my kids play volleyball together.)

A few weeks ago I watched a little college volleyball and my B walked in.
"Hey, hon, look, we're on TV."
"You are?" He stops and looks at the screen.
"See, there's me going up for the block, and, oh, Kim dives for the tip and gets it up, here comes Lisa... Slam. See? It's us."
He laughs and shakes his head and starts to turn away.
"No, wait! Bobbi is serving, watch." The girl tosses the ball up high ten feet from the line, runs and jumps five feet in the air, slamming it over and down to the other team. "See? She's good, huh?"
"Yup." He laughs and moves along.
"You should come watch us play. We look a lot different in real life."

Well, we do. We won both games last night, and tournament starts next week.
Go Moss Ortho!

A Friend Indeed

Me, Carla, Norma, and Janet at T.O.W, April, 2007

I have a good friend named Carla. When we first moved to Cody, she called me and invited me to a weekend retreat called Time Out For Women, sponsored by Deseret Books. Someone had dropped out of their group and they needed another person to buy her ticket (thank you, Stacey). During this trip I got to know 3 inspiring women I would have otherwise probably shied away from. We found common ground and shared stories and, well, bonded.
Later that year, Carla began a Writer's Club, and put hours of work into our monthly meetings, where we have a short grammar lesson, a prompted free-write, and study an aspect of writing, like character development or conflict. Then, we share projects, bounce ideas off one another, and laugh. A lot. We linger, not wanting to leave, but we have smiles on our faces. The club is the reason I have re-discovered my love for writing. We chuckled when we realized it was mostly made up of our Time Out For Women group, so we named it T.O.W. (Time Out for Writing).
Now, after a year and a half of struggling with our oldest son, Braeden, Carla has again played a part in my life.
Braeden spent a couple of years resisting bullies. Last year, though reaching test scores beyond others in his class, acing every test, and being classified as 'genius', 'gifted', he slowly shut down... failing classes and withdrawing. His smile, always present before (we called him "Smiley-B" the first ten years of his life), faded. Of course, we stepped in, addressing the bullies, and with the help of the school counselor, were able to pull them out of the picture.
But, damage had been done. Braeden continued this year, to slough the classwork, ace the tests, and withdraw. With high school starting next year, we had to do something.
The teachers assured us, "It will be better once he gets to high school." And, "There are worse things he could be doing."
Yes, but, we want our son happy, now. We see his potential, and we see his joy of life gone. We want him to know success after hard work. We want him to feel he is worth something in this world. We had tried so many different things. We were at the end of our rope.
Enter Carla. Carla home schools her son, who is Braeden's friend. My husband suggested I talk with her, see if she had any ideas (this was huge, considering my husband's career in the public school system). As I spoke with her about the things we were facing, she was filled with compassion. We were soon discussing possibilities, answers to prayer (hers and mine) for these boys, and I began to feel hope... that we could do something.
We are nearly through our first week of home schooling. Carla is teaching her son and Braeden together, and I am helping however she needs me. I get to teach art class on Thursday, and I will be supervising Braeden's Algebra daily.
Here is the astonishing thing. Braeden has color in his cheeks. The dark circles under his eyes are gone. He falls asleep at night. He is smiling again, naturally. His jokes at the dinner table are not sarcastic, and he is eating. He has practiced piano every day, and even plays again in the evening, just for fun. He read his assigned biography in one afternoon, without me asking.
I feel like I'm getting my son back.
I really have no concerns about my younger kids surviving middle school. But kids are different.
What would we have done without Carla? I don't even want to think about it.
I know this is just the beginning, and we will have to be diligent, but what a motivator, to see the light back in my son's eyes.
I hope he remembers he loves to learn. And I hope he feels he is worth something in this world.
Thank you, Carla. You are a true friend.

Perfectly Trying

I have decided to address a subject some of us loathe, some of us cringe away from, and some of us just wonder about. I was visiting with some friends and we were chatting about our busy lives, housework, kids, chaos, etc. The usual. Then, one of them said, while looking down at her toddler who was trying to crawl up her leg, using her pants as a tow rope, "Could you please just tell us something about yourself that makes you seem less perfect?"
I paused, not sure who she was talking to. The other woman looked at me and agreed. "Yes, Krista, please."
"Are you talking to me?!"
They acknowledged that they were. I looked at them both, then burst out laughing. I asked them what would make them say that. Their answers included, as they wrestled their children, observations that my house was always clean (I snorted), and beautiful (comfortable), I was slender (so?). I stopped them.
"Do you want to come over to my house right now?! The sink is full of dishes. I am so tired at the end of the day, I seldom do dishes after dinner. I do them in the morning, or even later. And, for some reason, I noticed there are blankets all over the house, in little mounds all over. I am 3 days behind in laundry because I have been reading. Sometimes, most times, after getting after my kids about something, I realize that there is no way I would talk to them like that if other people were in the house. Not even my Mom. And I bet you about 80% of my home decor is hand-me-downs from my Mom and sister, which, don't get me wrong, I love..."
Mentally, I was making an even longer list (prideful, easily distracted, hard-headed, too shy, a dependency on Twizzlers). But, by the time I got to this point, I could see that they were calmed down a bit. So, I got deeper.

I shared that I live in almost constant pain, a result from a car crash and back injury years ago. I admitted that sometimes I get so frustrated with the pain that I cry, and wonder why I still have to suffer. I told them that my marriage is strong, and wonderful, but that hasn't always been the case. I reminded them that I had lost a child, a baby girl who only lived a couple of hours and died in our arms. So, no, I wasn't perfect. I told them that going through these things, these very imperfect trials made me realize how strong I am, much stronger than I had believed, and maybe that was what they sensed from me. They listened.

Comparing ourselves to other women, as easy as it is, is so wrong. It hurts us to do that. We don't know what others have been through, and everyone lives a life, full of all kinds of struggles and imperfections. No matter what we look like, or appear to be. I read something once, and I don't know who said it, but the meaning was this: Perfection is not an end; it is a journey... it is not a noun; it is a verb... it is not a result; it is a process.

Shannon, my friend who had approached the subject in the first place, is a mother of 6 children under the age of 10. Her husband is a doctor and works long hours and is on call often. Her home is peaceful and welcoming when I have visited. She ran a half-marathon this spring. I had recently told my mom, who was asking about my friends who gave me a birthday lunch, that Shannon was one of the most beautiful women I know. She bakes.

Karma moved here not too long ago, and immediately made a place for herself in our circle. She is open and honest, and has no trouble expressing her thoughts, questions, and concerns. She cares deeply about her family and it shows. She is just eager to learn and share and doesn't hold back. She is going to have a baby in a few months, her 4th, and is just letting herself get excited because she has lost one, too. I enjoy her contributions to our discussions in book club, and love that she looks you right in the eyes when she is talking to you. Every time I talk to her, I feel I know her better.

I know so many beautiful women who are just trying. We are so hard on ourselves. I think if we saw in ourselves, what other people see, we wouldn't compare so much. And if we knew what those other women are going through, we would thank heaven for our own short-comings. It is a lesson I am still learning. In all my imperfection.

A Day at Yellowtail

A couple of weeks ago our friends the Reno's invited us to Yellowtail Recreation Area. We followed them an hour and a half NE, just past Lovell, where this lake all of the sudden appeared out of nowhere. Their boat's name was Behaving Badly. We met the Greer's there, also in our ward, with their jetskiis and had a full, fun day in the sun. We were surprised by a fireworks show that night on the lake, a celebration put on by the town of Lovell. It was one of the best shows we have seen, so we were glad we stayed. I especially loved our evening excursion. The pictures can't do the canyon's breathtaking, rugged beauty justice. It was awesome. Thanks, Reno's and Greer's!

Some Friendships Never Die

A friend from high school, Sherrie Burt, sent me this photo the other day. These are 3 of my best friends from high school. Mara, Darold, and me, and on the left is my camera-loving sister who apparently loves jumping into pictures. Isn't she cute?


She hasn't changed much.

And speaking of Sherrie...

She's the one on the right. Donna is on the left. This is our last year of trick-or-treating. These two die-hards were all I could scrounge up. Everyone else thought they were too old, or their parents thought they were. Thanks, Sherrie! Love you guys!

3 Things In A Bag

We had a fun activity at church a couple of weeks ago, the Relief Society Birthday Dinner, and we got to know each other through this funny game. We were asked to bring in a brown grocery bag with 3 items inside that told something about ourselves that nobody knew. We each took a turn choosing a random bag, holding up the items and everyone guessed who the bag belonged to. There were items like a guitar songbook, an opera playbill, a piece of Fiestaware, a German beer stein, a Harry Potter book, a rafting helmet, a Portuguese to English book, a quilt, a statue of an angel, a Snoopy doll, a golf ball, a tennis ball, the most unusual item: a tool for sheep castration!... I could go on. My eyes were opened to these women of all ages and their talents, hobbies, and work. When the person was guessed, they would come up and briefly explain why they had chosen those items, and then pick the next bag. It was so great! It took them awhile to guess mine, but Julie called out, "Krista!" and the jig was up.

~I loved my Latin Ballroom class at BYU and this is how I get my fix (and my fit) 2-3 times a week.
~This portrait was my final project for a college watercolor class. It's Harry Connick Jr.
~I am a Lord of the Rings geek. Love the books, love the movies (ext. ed.), love the backstory, love it. Thanks, Dad.

What would go in your bag?

A Spring Luncheon, Cody Style

listen to: Sunshine On My Shoulders

Here was the invitation:

Just a reminder: Don’t forget about the potluck luncheon.
Tomorrow (Tuesday the 26th) at Rochelle Slight’s.
We are the last house at the end of the road, drive through the brick pillars. You can park at the house or the barn.
If you see Bethany walking with her kids, your getting close, don’t run her over, just follow her.
We will eat lunch at the house.
--
Rochelle

The dress called for grubbies and muck boots. Everyone brought something yummy, and there was plenty of it. We ate and visited, put on our footwear, then stepped outside to the beautiful sunshine, to see the new lambs and their mamas. The kids were so funny to watch as they followed these protective ewes and skipping little babies around the gates and corrals, not a care about the fact that these ewes were bigger than they were, reaching out to touch, attempting to hold, playing tag. It was a really great day. Thanks, Rochelle!