Private

Time to go private again. I'm happy to send anyone an invite, just let me know. Send an email to gremily2@aol.com or leave a comment.

The Parable of the Bagel

Once upon a time, there was a man and a woman who loved each other, at least they thought they loved each other. 12 years ago, they spent their days flirting, staring into each other's eyes, staying up half the night talking about everything under the sun, and prancing around town completely oblivious that there were other people living in the world. Their days were magical, enchanting, and they were blissfully ignorant in their little bubble.

Somehow, over the course of eight years, five children came into their home. The old enchantment was replaced with a new enchantment. The enchantment of giggles, slobbery kisses, and babies napping on their chests. Along with the enchantment came chaos. The chaos of tantrums, the onslaught of dirty diapers, and the never-ending colossal messes. The nights were still sleepless, but the dynamic conversations were replaced with feedings, combating nightmares, and cleaning up 3 a.m. sickness. Evenings of adoring couch snuggling were replaced with homework, baths, and hours of managing the debris.

Love endured; exhaustion ensued.

Then, one chilly December day, amid the background of family tragedy, this man and this woman spent the entire day apart, each frantically doing their part to ease the burden of another and keep their little family safe. It had been several days of tackling a crisis the size of which either had ever seen, each day bringing stressful, unforeseen developments. Exhaustion was replaced with endless worry, debilitating fear, and straight-up fatigue.

It was a Tuesday. Throughout their travels that bizarre, surreal, winter day, the man and the woman had each stopped to get the other a gift, a trifle really, just to say that they were thinking of the other person and thanking them for their selfless and endless contribution the last few weeks. Well after sunset, into the very late evening after all the children had been put to bed, this man and this woman were reunited. They both pulled out a large, square Einstein Bros. box filled with a baker's dozen of fresh bagels.

26 bagels in total.

Plus 4 tubs of flavored cream cheese.

The irony alone was tender and sweet and was met with a hug, an adoring smile, and a peck on the lips. Then, the tired couple opened the boxes to reveal the components. The man's box was full of Asiago cheese, toasted onion, and garden veggie spread. The smell of asiago makes the man vomit slightly, he detests straight-up onion, and vegetables mixed with cream cheese is possibly the most revolting flavor available offered by the famous brothers. The woman then opened her box. It was full of blueberry madness, cinnamon raisin goodness, and bright pink strawberry spread.

The man giggled as he grabbed his favorite fresh blueberry bagel, ripped it apart, and tossed a bite in his mouth. Then he reached out, pulled the likewise giggling woman into him, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. The woman rested her weary forehead on the man's chest and melted into his arms. She lacked the energy to even put her arms around his body. But, as had become the norm over the past decade (plus), his arms gave her strength, his love gave her hope, and his ironic, caring gesture made her pity that girl 12 years ago.

To think that young, 22-year-old girl thought she knew what love was...

Spiritual Lego

Sunday afternoons at our house are a "throw-the-rules-out-the-window-fend-for-yourself" type of lifestyle. I may be reading the scriptures about "keeping the Sabbath Day" loosely, but it works for our family in our stage of life right now. After we eat (which is more like foraging), people kind of do their own thing. Since we don't have the TV on, the kids are actually forced into enjoying each other's company (usually) while babies nap, Daddy's nap (well, there's really only one Daddy, and he is usually going to meetings or out on visits, but napping would be his choice if he were given one), and I read or pick up the kitchen (which is generally the result of foraging) or talk to my sisters on the phone.

Last Sunday, Austin disappeared to his room. A little while later, I walked in to find these (and he took the pictures by himself - he was so proud):

King Benjamin in his tower:

The stand that King Benjamin is on swivels so he can talk to all of his kingdom. Don't you just love the people that are listening. I'm pretty sure that is Darth Vader in the front/left (which is good because if anyone needs King Benjamin's message, it is probably Darth Vader).

Samuel the Lamanite:

Samuel is holding a book to try to preach the gospel to those disbelieving, helmet-wearing, unrighteous Nephites.

What do you think, could we market it to Deseret Book???

To read about King Benjamin, go here.

To read about Samuel the Lamanite, go here.

Reason To Get An Insurance Policy #267: The Child with No Fear

Come next Monday, we officially are without health insurance. The following pictures illustrate just one of the five main reasons why I am spending every spare moment researching, comparing, and applying to various insurance companies.

Would it really have been too much to ask to put just a drop of fear into that adorable little body???

Right of Passage: A Christmas Story

*Photos from a recent photoshoot by Fauset Photography

Last night, I took Austin to the store to make a Christmas list. It was so nice for us to spend an hour or so together. Sometimes I forget that this boy was my entire life for so many years. He is the only child that I had completely to myself for three years. Those three years are some of the happiest of my life. Even though Austin was my fussiest baby, I didn’t know it. I was young and naive and inexperienced. Ignorance really is bliss. I just pushed through those first few colicky months. Then, at five months, Austin learned to sit up and his world changed. He became this happy, creative, curious ball of darling energy. He was my little buddy. We did everything together and I truly loved feeding his endless curiosity.

Life got incredibly busy, and babies kept being born, and we started having struggles with Austin’s behavior, and I felt like a constant failure, and Austin changed from toddler to preschooler to little kid to big kid. We desperately needed some time together just to have some fun. I felt complete having my Little Buddy back for a few minutes.

On the way to the store, Austin explained to me (in depth) the ins and outs of Four Square. He is passionate about this game and plays “every recess.” I listened intently and didn’t have the heart to tell him that I easily remember 4^th Grade and Four Square.It was fascinating to listen to him explain the game and his strategy.

I was pleasantly surprised to see how picky he was when it came to his Christmas List.I thought that he would just write everything down that he found, but he didn’t. He was very selective. Even when he found something that he liked, he read the box and really took the time to decide if it was “List Worthy.” When we were walking out of the store, I explained to him that he doesn’t get everything on his list, just a few. He made the point that there weren’t very many items, but I pointed out that some of them are quite expensive (Harry Potter Lego sets come with a pretty hefty price tag). He said, “Yeah, but he doesn’t pay for them?” I said, “He?” Austin responded by saying, “Well…whoever gets the toys.” I asked him who he thought that was, and he hesitatingly said, “You?” (He even looked out the window instead of looking at me when he said it, as if he was guilty or something.) So, I smiled and shook my head.

He was pretty surprised as we talked about how Dad and I are really “Santa.” When one idea would sink in, he would ask more questions. “You are the one who wraps all the presents?” “You are the one who writes the notes?” “You eat the cookies, too? Or do you just break them up?” “How do you disguise your handwriting?” Then, he told me “I guess it is pretty impossible for one person to visit every house in one night.”

I sat there and got a little choked up thinking of all the Christmases that we have spent together. Austin is an absolute joy to buy for. He always gets so excited about his presents and everybody elses. And he has never been shy with his excitement. Every Christmas Eve I find it difficult to sleep because I can’t wait to see the surprise and exhilliration on his face. If I could bottle up Christmas morning, I could market a new antidepressant. It was so sad to see my little boy growing up and losing that part of his childhood.

Then, I started explaining that now that he’s in on this secret, he gets to play Santa with us. I told him how, on Christmas Eve, we’ll put everyone to bed. Then, when the girls are asleep, we’ll get him up and he can help us stuff their stockings. Right away, he started planning how he can find out about Macy’s favorite treats and how she’ll never suspect because she still believes in Santa. Then, he can tell us so we can get her exactly what she loves. The wheels in his brain kept turning and had all these plans for his sisters.

I started getting choked up again, and I told him how much I love being Santa and believing in Santa. I told him the legend of the real Saint Nicholas and how the legend began. I said, “Think about how much you enjoy getting presents on Christmas. Giving them is about a thousand times better.” I told himhow I think the world is a better place by having the “idea” of a Santa Claus. How amazing to have a person whose entire purpose is to give all the children in the entire world gifts. It’s just a happy thought.

Every year I struggle with the commercialism of Christmas. I want my kids to experience the magic of Christmas, and yet have the birth of the Savior and the “reason for the season” be at the forefront of the Christmas season. Over the years, Greg and I have tried several different tactics to help our kids feel the real meaning of Christmas and try to help them find the joy in giving. In that car, I realized that this is the first year that Austin will really “get” it, and I was full of gratitude. He’s not my little boy anymore, but at moments like this, I realize what a strong, giving, loving, and adoring spirit I have in my midst. And I am excited to show him, firsthand this year, how giving can truly be better than receiving.

Let the real magic begin.

The Season of Giving

"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love!" - Hamilton Wright Mabie

I know that we just had Halloween and even though the Christmas music has started, most of us probably aren't ready to start our celebrations. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Christmas. But, I do like to enjoy my holidays one at a time. I am very much looking forward to Thanksgiving and then enjoying the holiday season (which I define as the month of December).

So, you are probably wondering why (if I feel this way) I am posting about Christmas. Well, in light of my last post, I just wanted to tell people of an opportunity to give this holiday season. As awkward as it is for my family and I to ask for help, the reality is that since Curtis's accident, he has not been able to work. Therefore, in addition to all of the medical bills, there has not been any income for over three months. At this point, Alexie is the main caregiver (trust me, it is an around-the-clock job), and is unable to go out and get a job to support their family.

In an effort to help, a donation account has been set up. I know that a lot of you look for opportunities to help during the holiday season, whether it be in the form of Sub-for-Santa or monetary donations as the year comes to an end for the purpose of tax advantages. I also know that there are so many amazing causes out there to support. I wanted to get the word out that this is just another opportunity to help a family that has suffered from an accident that was not their fault but is left with the repercussions.

Thank you to all of you who are so concerned with our family. We are so grateful for your love, support, and prayers. I feel so blessed to be surrounded by so many good, GOOD people.

Donation Account: #569353865 at Zion's Bank in Curtis's name.

Since every post deserves an image, here are some pictures of my sister's family from last Christmas:

"The best of all gifts around any Christmas tree: the presence of a happy family all wrapped up in each other." - Burton Hillis

The Parable of the Curve Ball

*adapted from my dad's testimony last month.

When a batter steps up to the plate, he/she never knows what type of pitch is coming. One of the most difficult pitches to hit is the curve ball. The curve ball is thrown with spin so that its path curves as it approaches the batter. Hence, a pitch may look like it is headed in one direction and unexpectedly change paths. A good hitter can judge the curve ball by following the spin as it leaves the pitcher's hand. By following the threads of the baseball, the batter can anticipate the break and make adjustments before the curve occurs. However, sometimes God can throw a pitch with a baseball that doesn't have any threads, making it impossible to judge directionality.

On August 1st, this is exactly what happened to my sister and her family. It started out as a typical Sunday, except Alexie (my sister) was just recovering from a stomach bug that had been floating around the family for several weeks. She stayed home while her husband, Curtis, took their two children to his parent's house for dinner. After dinner, they started a movie so it was quite late by the time he left for home. With Abby (4) and Max (2) safely fastened in their car seats, Curtis headed for home. The kids were both asleep within minutes of leaving.

About five minutes from home, Curtis approached an intersection. He slowed due to the red light, but when the light changed to green, he stepped on the gas. In the middle of an intersection, a young girl, talking on her cell phone, ran the red light and smashed directly into Curtis going 40-45 mph. She was not paying attention and did not break. The children were rushed to the hospital, but released the next day with aches and pains and Abby had a broken arm, but otherwise just fine. Curtis, on the other hand, was life-flighted to the hospital and spent the next month in the SICU (Surgical Intensive Care Unit).

I believe that the original accident report actually recorded it as a fatal car accident. He was in extremely critical condition. He spent the next couple of weeks unresponsive while undergoing several surgeries. There was extensive damage to the abdomen, but the brunt of the injuries resulted as a brain hemorrhage. The bleeding and swelling of the brain became the main focus of everyone involved for the rest of the month. At one point, my sister counted 17 tubes going in and coming out of her husband to keep him alive.

When it became apparent that Curtis was going to survive, he was given a permanent shunt and became a Brain Injury Patient. Then, the rehab began. He spent the next six weeks in Inpatient Rehab. The best was to describe his injuries is to compare it to that of a stroke victim. His spine and spinal cord are intact, but because of the damage done to the brain, he is having difficulty "recognizing" the left side of his body. (He calls his left arm "George". It's good to see he has a sense of humor about it all.)

The miracle is that Curtis was able to come home a few weeks ago. The improvement he made during inpatient rehab was remarkable and truly astonishing. However, the journey is far from over. He is wheelchair bound (for now - we hope and pray). He is still unable to move without assistance. He is working on learning how to speak again, and eat again, and move again. He is on a restricted diet, but desperately needs to gain weight (he is 6'4" and weighs less than me).

Just in case Alexie wasn't positive that she knew the real meaning of "Trials," Max broke his leg the day that Curtis came home from the hospital. This was on my watch, and I could not feel more terrible. So, she brought her husband home for the first time in 2 1/2 months only to turn around, drive back to Primary's and spend the night with Max. The break was high up on his femur, so both of his legs are in a cast just to make sure that it is completely immobilized. Here is my sweet, strong, beautiful sister (six months pregnant) with two people who are unable to move without her help.

We never know how high we are

Till we are called to rise;

And then, if we are true to plan,

Our statures touch the skies-

- Emily Dickinson

I just want to say what a truly sweet experience this has been. I think that one of the reasons people stand up in Sacrament Meeting and express gratitude for their trials is because when you are in the depths, the Lord opens his heart even more and pours out miracles. You have to look for these miracles because sometimes they can be difficult to see through the surgeries, beeping life-support machines, insurance claims, utility bills, injuries, tears, sleepless nights, pain, and frustration. But I have watched as my sister and her family has been blessed by so much love and generosity. I have watched Curtis and Alexie dig really deep when they were sure that the "well was empty" to find strength and courage and perseverance that they didn't know existed. I have experienced quiet, personal moments with Curtis and Alexie and have felt the love of our Savior so deeply. I have felt that Alexie and I (and all my siblings) were sent to our amazing parents and to each other for very specific purposes. Old wounds have been healed as we have recommitted ourselves to seeing the best in each other and being so full of gratitude to have each other. I have watched as hundreds of people have come out of the woodwork to do their part to ease the burden. It has been nothing short of incredible and our family has been blessed by an outpouring of unconditional love.

Some days, we all find the wisdom, courage, and strength to actually hit that curve ball. A lot of days, we miss it and have to get back in that batters box to wait for the next pitch. Most of the time, we are just trying to put a smile on our face and be grateful that we get to play the game.

"Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he's been robbed. The fact is that most putts don't drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to be just people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is like an old time rail journey...delays, sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders, and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas, and trilling burst of speed. The trick is the thank the Lord for letting you have the ride."

- Gordon B. Hinckley

Alexie has written about the accident in great detail on her private blog. She has written almost daily if you want to read about the last three months in greater depth. If you are interested, please email me and I will get you an invite.

My Career in the Circus

Do you ever get the feeling that you may have missed your calling in life? I'm sure most people think about things like medical school, acting, or some sort of career in politics. Me? I think I should have been a circus performer. Plate spinning to be specific. Or maybe just perfect the craft so I could be a guest on Letterman or Leno.

I feel like I've got all of these plates going. Somehow, one by one, I've committed to all sorts of different things. When I say "yes," up goes another plate. At this point, I really feel like I've reached my max. Right now, I've got all these plates spinning and I spend my days running back and forth just trying to keep them all going. As I'm spinning one, I start to notice another one that starts to teeter. Very quickly, I notice that the teetering moves to wobbling which moves to dangerously close to stopping. But, in the nick of time, I am able to sprint over and get it spinning again. I am trying my best to do it with a smile on my face (rarely am I wearing an evening gown though), and although I go to bed exhausted every night, it is a good exhaustion. I'm managing. I'm thriving. I'm learning. I'm growing. I'm loving. I'm feeling loved.

But I'm telling you all right now: If I am handed another plate, it is all going to come crashing down.

(And you know what? If you look closely, you'll notice that the plates really aren't all that clean.)

The Gospel According to Macy

Macy was assigned to give a talk in Primary on Sunday. So, we talked about how she can quote a scripture on following the prophet and then state that she heard President Monson speak last Sunday. He spoke on gratitude, and she can follow the prophet by being grateful. To prepare for this, we made a list of things that she is grateful for and she is going to draw some pictures. She started with this picture of her holding hands with Heavenly Father and Jesus.

The first draft of the picture just had a few stick figures and it was kind of sloppy. So we talked about what her teachers at school teach her about what makes a good picture: details. So, she started over with the goal to put in some details. As she was drawing, and I was wiping down the counters, I glanced over and complimented her on her details - including the fact that she even colored in the background. That's when she pointed to the blue rectangle and said, "Yeah, and that's a Rock Wall."

Greg observed that "of course there are Rock Walls in Heaven, and you probably don't even have to use the harness."

* * *

There have been a lot of questions around our house about injury, healing, and death. For the first few weeks after the accident, we really didn't know if my brother-in-law was going to live. We prayed for him, and my kids asked some questions. One day, Macy asked if Curtis was going to die. I told her that it looked like he was going to live, but we really weren't sure about the extent of his injuries (this was probably about a month afterward). At the end of our conversation about living and dying and timing, she threw her arms up in the air and said, "Well...It's up to Jesus...He's the one who gets to decide...No one else can decide."

Sometimes I wonder if we are raising a Southern Baptist, but in the end, I guess she is right - It is up to Jesus. Now, if it were that easy to accept it. I'll have to chat with my daughter. Maybe she has some pointers. Never underestimate the wisdom of a 6-year-old!

The Crisis That Macy Built

This is my daughter.

This is my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is the quarter that was swallowed by my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is the x-ray that shows the quarter that was swallowed by my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is the ambulance that was ridden by the dad, the x-ray, the quarter, and my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is the hospital where the ambulance stopped that was ridden by the dad, the x-ray, the quarter, and my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is the house that will need to be mortgaged to pay for the eight-hour stay at the hospital where the ambulance stopped that was ridden by the dad, the x-ray, the quarter, and my daughter who turned six on her last birthday.

This is my daughter.

By the grace of God, it appears that she will live to see her 7th birthday.

* * *

This is the mom. This is the mom who assumed that when children swallow things, they go to the stomach and come out the other end. This is the mom who is grateful for a husband who rushed her daughter to the hospital because she would not stop vomiting. This is the mom who is grateful that she didn't give her daughter anything to eat or drink because it would have gone down the trachea and stopped her breathing. This is the mom who wavered between wanting to strangle her daughter and wanting the doctors to save her life. I am grateful for the outcome.

*That is not the actual ambulance used in the transport.

**That is not the actual house in which we reside...but a girl can dream, can't she.

***Pictures of Macy courtesy of Fauset Photography.

It's All Relative

The summer before 8th Grade, I attended Oakcrest camp with our church group. Kelly Bowman was my bunkmate. My basic philosophy in life is to become best friends with the most beautiful people - inside and out. Seriously, Kelly was one of the most gorgeous people I've ever seen with my own eyes, and she was "sweet as humble pie" (as my mother would say).

Anyway...At this particular camp, you attended before 7th Grade and again before 8th Grade. This camp had bunkhouses with two counselors assigned to each house. You were guaranteed to be with your bunkmate, but the other girls were mixed in from various wards and stakes. The counselors were all college-age girls who made up silly camp names (like Banana) that, at 14-years-old, we adored and admired and pretty much wanted to pattern our lives after theirs. The main area of the camp was made up of cinder block houses, bathrooms, and a huge indoor cafeteria or "mess hall" or whatever you call a giant building dedicated to eating and singing (we sang before, during, and after every meal). To this day, I'm pretty sure I could belt out a mean "Don't Buy the Liverwurst." In fact, I wonder what my children would say if I serenaded them tomorrow at dinner. Hmmm....

During the second year of this camp, we did what was called a 2-Day. We pretty much took all of our provisions up into the mountains, built a shelter, dug a latrine, and "lived off the land" for a few days. The Pre-Reality TV version of "Man Vs. Wild." Now, I understand that for some people, this would be a piece of cake. Heck! Some people might actually label this type of activity as "fun." Allow me to explain my Outdoor Genetics. My father took my brother to the Fathers-and-Sons Campout a few times. I believe he picked up take out and opted out of the Tinfoil Dinners (pretty sure that term is not in his vocabulary). When it came time to sleep, my dad and brother hoofed it (okay, they drove) to the nearest Best Western (okay, Marriott). We are NOT campers. Any time we did "camp" as a family, we were with my grandparents. They had a Hippie Green Camper Trailer. Therefore, we always had a stove, a sink, a table, a mattress, and "indoor plumbing".

Let me put it this way: Never before, and never since, have I ever been in a situation that required me to dig my own toilet. Even on the Pioneer Trek, we were followed by a giant truck carrying countless port-a-potty's.

As we were preparing for this journey, we were each assigned tasks. I was on the Lunch-Making Committee. To this day, I remember sitting at that picnic table (the one in the front Left-hand side of the Mess Hall) assembling bologna and mustard sandwiches. The "mustard" mixture was in a squeeze device to make it easier and designed to make it look even more appetizing-if that was even possible. It was repulsive. I remember thinking, and may have even exclaimed out loud, that there was absolutely no way in you-know-where (actually, I wouldn't have said that since I was too busy pretending to be Hailey Mills from "Parent Trap") that bologna and mustard would pass through my lips. There are very few things on this planet that I despise more than bologna. In fact, I am unable to come up with anything at this moment that is higher on my list than processed meat. However, this was to be my first experience at understanding the word "Relative."

A few hours later, we started our hike. Each one of us had a 50-pound backpack on to carry our own supplies. In addition, we had to carry up tents, tarps, food, water, tools, etc. Pretty much anything we would need to survive in the wilderness for the next few days. I remember, at one point, I was on the back-end of a stick that was holding several dutch ovens. That was heavy. We had to switch off tasks so that we wouldn't get overly tired. I will never forget reaching our destination, unpacking a few essentials, and sitting down to lunch. Thankfully, each lunch had been packed with two bologna/mustard sandwiches. You see, someone much more experienced than myself, who had the foresight and understanding of the overall experience, and had gone through this activity previously, knew exactly what we would need at that point in time.

I don't believe food has ever tasted so wonderful.

It's all relative.

* * *

Last week, we were in San Francisco. On Saturday morning, we decided to head down to the trolley to do the "Tourist Thing." While we were in line, a man came up to us and was explaining how we can avoid the long lines and possibly even paying for the ride (even though the tickets were already purchased). He told us how we should walk down a few blocks and wait there for the trolley. He seemed a bit aggravated that we weren't taking his advice, and even more aggravated when we wouldn't give him money for dishing out his valuable advice. I tried explaining that we weren't really in a hurry, and we were actually having a very pleasant time.

There I was, in the middle of a gorgeous city, talking and laughing with my amazing husband and two of our best friends, having just finished a scrumptious breakfast (California fruit...Ahhhh...Nothing better), standing outside in what was possibly the most beautiful weather I have ever experienced in San Francisco (seriously-it was perfect with a capital "P"), WITHOUT my five kids. As much as I adore each and every one of them, waiting patiently takes on a whole new meaning when I don't have to yell at anyone to stay in line, or get out of the street, or stop crying, or stop whining, or stop touching each other, or stop breathing on each other, or...well, you get the picture.

B.L.I.S.S.

It's all relative.

* * *

Over the past month, I have had the opportunity to revisit this word again: Relative. As many of you know, my brother-in-law and niece and nephew were in a horrific car accident. In fact, my sister said that the police report actually called it a "Fatal" accident. My niece and nephew walked away from the accident with bumps and bruises and a broken arm thanks to their car seats. (Please, please, please...I am begging all you parents out there to always buckle your children in their car seats. They save lives!!! It is definitely a fight worth fighting!) My sister and I had the opportunity to get them replacement car seats. We entered the store, walked right up to the biggest, sturdiest car seats ever invented, and purchased two without hesitation. We refer to them as "capsules" now. It's almost as if you should push a button and a giant shield would reveal itself and encompass the child. It's comical. I never thought I would become so invested in car seat safety. It's all relative.

My brother-in-law, on the other hand, has had quite the month. He pretty much spent the entire month of August in the ICU or Critical Care Unit of the hospital. He has had several surgeries (apparently, you don't really need your spleen-It's all relative), countless medical procedures, and has been on a roller-coaster ride filled with all sorts of infections, medications, complications, etc. He is now looking forward to a few fun-filled months of in-patient therapy as he "fights like Hell" to function again.

Relativity is synonymous with Appreciation.

I have a greater appreciation for the word "Pain." I have a greater appreciation for the word "Patience." I have a greater appreciation for the word "Normal." I also have a greater appreciation for the miracle of our bodies and admiration for the individual cells of the body as they work together to repair, heal, and (in some cases) compensate for areas that may not heal completely. I have a much deeper appreciation for the gift of prayer and the power of the priesthood and the blessing of the Holy Ghost. This is how the Lord speaks to us. This is how he expresses his love for us. I know it to be true.

My sister is learning a lot about relativity, and her husband is living it. I have spent the past four weeks contemplating...a lot. What is this life really about? I have come to realize that it is less about the "why" and more about the "how." There is an endless stream of questions that begin with "why," and very few of those lead to concrete answers.

One of my favorite talks is "Come What May" by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin. I used to think I knew what he meant when he quoted his mother by stating, "Come what may, and love it." It's all relative. The entire talk is wonderful, but I want to point out one line: "How can we love days that are filled with sorrow? We can't-at least not in the moment. I don't think my mother was suggesting that we suppress discouragement or deny the reality of pain. I don't think she was suggesting that we smother unpleasant truths beneath a cloak of pretended happiness. But I do believe that the way we react to adversity can be a major factor in how happy and successful we can be in life."

I'm not trying to tell my sister or her husband how to handle this trial. In fact, I have nothing but admiration for both of them. They are not only handling things "the best they can," they are tackling every obstacle gracefully - in a very determined manner. This is more of a lecture for myself. This much I know: I cannot always determine what happens to me, but I can choose my reaction. We get one shot at this life, and whether or not we do it with a fully functioning body or not, we have to live it to the fullest and do our best to "find joy." No matter what happens, there is a Father in Heaven who loves us deeply and knows us deeply. He loves us so much that he gave us the gift of the Savior to help us through those darkest days. I have often thought of Lehi's Dream. We have to walk through the darkness to reach the light. To quote my favorite children's book: "We can't go over it. We can't go under it. I guess we'll have to go through it."

It's all relative.

* * *

My brother-in-law took these photos about a month before the accident. We went up Millcreek Canyon for breakfast. We found these butterflies by the stream. We could go right up to them and they wouldn't fly away. They moved around a bit in a small area. It was amazing. I know the quote talks about "feathers," but I loved the quote.

Dentists: Avert Your Eyes

The other day, Spencer and Kade were driving me a bit crazy. They were both crawling around and pawing at my legs and reaching up at me and whining. When they want me to pick them up, they crawl over to my toes and try to peel them off the floor. I guess that's code for "Pick Me Up Already." I gave them each several rounds of TLC, but every time I tried to put them down, they resisted. I needed to get some stuff done, so in desperation, I put them both in their highchairs with a sucker!

Spencer was occupied for a few minutes (at least long enough for me to get the dishes done), but Kade was very dedicated to his Tootsie Pop. He was in the highchair for an hour and would not let go of the stick until every last lick was gone, and even then I had to pry the naked stick from his fingers.

Pop-Up School Year

I got this general idea from this amazing lady. I think good parenting is all about stealing great ideas from other parents. Although I could never do it as beautifully and creatively as her, we did decide to have a theme for the school year: Be Your Best. We managed to have a fun dinner: We made mini-pizzas (from delicious homemade pizza crust) but the kids got to choose cookie cutters and decorate their pizzas. It was a ton of fun. Although the pictures show the kids as very serious and concentrating on their "Food Art," let me assure you that there was plenty of giggling, sharing of ideas, and excitement. So much so that half of the people involved got a little over-excited and burned themselves on the pizza stone (myself included). Dinner=Huge Success

During dinner, while the kids ate (it is amazing how much better they eat when they have a part in creating the meal), I read some excerpts from "Standing for Something" by Gordon B. Hinckley. There is an entire chapter on Learning. Then, we discussed our theme for the year with the use of some famous quotes. I tried really hard to emphasize that the theme was "Be Your Best" NOT "Be Perfect." Even though sometimes they may face difficulties and challenges, we are all (our entire family) going to focus on Being our Best Selves and Doing Our Best Job.

The evening ended with the yummiest dessert and Greg gave each of our children a Father's Blessing. I am amazed at how the gospel blesses our home. Greg had a particularly difficult day and was just feeling heavy-burdened by some work situations. He came home to chaos (making your own pizzas is not an orderly activity for children), but when it came time to give the blessings, I think it may have blessed his life as much (and maybe more) than our children. He was able to express his love to each of them, point out some of their amazing talents/abilities, and bless them individually. Since my children don't generally sit still for 5 seconds, it is amazing to me how intently they listen to these blessings. It was a beautiful evening.

When I hear about other families having these types of evenings, I somehow picture gracious, well-mannered children, hanging on every word of wisdom spoken from the mouths of their parents. We really did have a beautiful evening, but it wasn't without the occasional, "Don't touch her again!" or "You are welcome to come out of your room when you're done crying." or "Please wait your turn" and several reminders about politeness and proper manners. In the end, I hope that our children were able to gather something from this evening. I hope they remember doing fun things as a family (like making silly, creative pizzas). I hope they remember feeling the Spirit in our home. And I hope they remember that Greg and I love them and are here to help them along their journey.