For Dustin

The hardest things for me to write about are the hard things. I can conjure up good and funny memories and write so seamlessly, but when I try to write about the hard times, the words just don't flow. I reread what I've written, and it just seems either empty or dramatic.

So hopefully this won't come out that way. I've been trying to get it down on paper for a very long time since it is a big part of my story. It hasn't come together very well in the past. But his has been on my mind a lot, as it is every year in October and November.

I want to be able to write about the accident that changed my life and helped me to ultimately find out that I have a Heavenly Father that knows me and loves me.

In October 2004 I was a senior in high school. I was excited about a lot of new things that were happening in my life. One night, I was getting ready to leave work when I had a strong impression to not take the freeway home. I was a little surprised at the force of what I was feeling, and then immediately wondered if the reason for that was to guide me to avoid an accident on the freeway.

As I was driving home on some side streets in the pouring rain, a car made a left turn in front of me and I was unable to stop. The roads were so wet, and there just wasn't enough time. I swerved hard but I knew there was no chance to avoid the accident. Fortunately, I was unhurt. I jumped out of my mangled minivan and ran across the road to help the people in the other car. Door panels were lying on the side of the road. I saw three teens in the car and recognized the driver as a classmate from my high school. A doctor who had stopped was trying to help the passenger in the backseat who was holding his head in his hands. Or that is how it appeared to me. After a flurry of police reports, ambulances, and shaky adrenalin-filled questions my parents and I headed home. I was told that the people in the other car had sustained minor injuries. When I got home I watched 90210. I remember feeling that everything was surreal. It was so odd to be sitting there doing something so mundane when something so important had just happened.

The next day at lunch my dad pulled me into his classroom (he was a seminary teacher at my school) and informed me that the boy in the backseat of the car had suffered serious injuries and would either be brain damaged, or he could possibly die. It took me awhile to process what he was saying. When the bell rang and the hallway cleared, the tears came and I lost it. A nice person offered me a ride home. I think those days were tortuous. Like there was this feeling of suffocation that nothing would shake.

A few days later Dustin passed away. He was an amazing violinist; his dad’s beloved son. I think about how hard that must have been for his family. I have an only son, and I can only imagine the heartbreak of losing a child. It was a very, very difficult time for them, as well as for the other teens that were in the car with him. I think about Dustin and the accident every day.

A lot of emotional days followed for everyone involved. I’m sure my struggles paled in comparison to the others. But even for me, there were lots of tears, rumors, stress, and struggling to understand the grief process. I had a hard time wanting to do anything when I got home from school except sleep. Finally my mom made a long list of things that we needed to do and she kept me busy checking all of those things: opening a checking account, getting my social security card, etc.

In mid-November (coincidentally it was fifteen years ago tonight) my fears and frustrations and feelings culminated in one miserable night. I felt so lonely, so unhappy. I didn't know anything anymore. Was there a Heavenly Father after all? Did any of the things I was doing matter? What was the purpose of all of this struggle and pain? It was honestly the hardest night of my life.

I was angry and feeling incredibly sorry for myself. And probably not in the right mindset to be receptive to the tender answer. But what I did get was a very direct challenge. I was basically told that I wasn't doing what I needed to be doing and that I needed to try harder if I wanted my questions answered.

The next day, I got a phone call from someone I had a big secret crush on. To this day, I think that phone call was a little blessing. The night before, I got the justice I deserved. Next, I got to experience a tender mercy. I felt that out of the blue, he blessed me with exactly what I needed: some fun and light-hearted friends that would distract me and get me through the next few months.

The following year the course of my life changed again when I took a semester abroad in Russia to teach English to pre-school aged kids. I had a lot of time on my hands. A lot of time to read the Book of Mormon, do tons of service, and focus on the gospel. I had a few unbelievable experiences there that really let me know that there were angels with me--I finally felt like I was doing what I needed to be doing and that felt good.

I learned a great lesson about Heavenly Father when I was in Russia that has stayed with me. When we taught English, we gave the kids little tokens when they used English correctly. It was an immersion program, and that was our way to reinforce what they were doing right so they would continue to do it. If we gave them a token when they said something incorrectly, it would confuse them and they wouldn't learn. I think Heavenly Father is like that too. When I'd been started my senior year of high school, I really wanted to gain a testimony and know for myself what was true, but I didn't put forth the effort necessary. I was extremely busy with work, school, extra curricular activities, etc. I slacked when it came to reading the scriptures. And reading the Book of Mormon is pretty much the foundation for gaining a testimony. So that was key, and I wasn't doing it. If Heavenly Father had rewarded me then, my growth and understanding of the gospel would have been stunted.

When I did finally read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover, and I prayed and asked if it was true, I didn't just get a warm feeling--I felt what it was to be in the Lord’s presence. There is nothing on Earth that compares with how I felt—it was concrete. I knew in that instant that he knew me, loved me, that I was on the right track, that he wanted to be with me again. And I knew why we go through so much pain and got a little glimpse of what is on the other side.

Motherhood Karma

Sometimes my kids do things that make me so stinking frustrated. Then in the midst of my anger, I realize that I did the same at their age. It is like all the Karma gods are laughing at me.

The other day I hauled a bag of rice down to the food storage closet in the basement and put it down a little too roughly and one of the seams ripped. Oh well--I put them in plastic pails anyway.

Along come my two youngest children. I see exactly what they are going to do as they are looking at the rice. I head them off with a stern "don't touch the rice!" I thought my scary voice would let them know how serious I was.

Didn't work. They dumped out the whole very large bag when I was upstairs, and proceeded to play in it--kinda like a sandbox. Sneaky boy blamed it all on Simone. "She said she was going to bite me if I didn't." Yeah right, the 25 lb two-year-old is not all that threatening these days.

I was so angry. I sent them both to their rooms. And just sat feeling sorry for myself and frustrated that my basement was covered in rice, regretting the next hour that would be spent trying to get it all up and my wasted $15.

But as I sat and explained to Jared how mad I was, a vision popped into my head. My two little sisters and me prying open cans of our mother's food storage wheat and putting our feet into the cans. Oh it felt so good! The sensory experience was wonderful. We pulled out handfuls of that wheat, and started throwing it everywhere. It was sprinkled on the lime green shag carpet remnants for months.

Then a few days after our basement had flooded, we went downstairs to find wheat growing in the light of one of the windows. The pale green shoots coming up in a thick rectangle. We laughed and thought that was so funny. And we never even got in trouble for it. I don't know who cleaned up the wheat grass.

I guess life has come full-circle and it was my turn to clean up the rice. Although I did make them help!

My middle child

I think my little Monet needs a little recognition. I feel like I post all about the younger kids because they are constantly changing. And with Elise being the oldest, things are new on that end too. Simone is the youngest, Miles is the boy, and Elise is the oldest. But Monet is the awesome middle child!

Monet is an amazing kid. She's got this little sponge of a brain that pretty much soaks up everything. But what is even more amazing about her is her eagerness to learn. She loves a challenge.

When she was two, I was taking a load of stuff to the D.I. In it was a toy with the alphabet letters on it. Monet played with that toy the whole trip there, and I decided that maybe we should keep it afterall. I'm glad I did. It totally taught her the alphabet and the sounds.

When she was nearly three, her grandpa challenged all the kids and grandkids to learn Helaman 5:12, and promised them all a chocolate bar if they could memorize this super long scripture.

So as I was trying to memorize it as I was cooking, I was saying the verses over and over, and suddenly here is little tiny Monet who can't say many of her consonants, and she has it all memorized with me.

She was very motivated by that "big, big chocolate bar!"

In Kindergarten, she acquired her first American Girl doll, Nicky. And because she had the doll, she felt she needed to read the book. So she read her first AG doll chapter book in Kindergarten. More recently, she's been flying through the Harry Potter books and keeps us updated regularly on which page she is on.

Her teachers are amazed with how quickly she catches on to things and retains the information she is learning.

Monet is super tough! She went out for a run with me one day and did three miles just like that. We did another mile for a family reunion, and her short little legs finished the race in eleven minutes or so. I thought that was great! We've started biking a lot more recently and Monet was keeping up with us on her little 16" bike she's had since she was three. She was pretty awesome because even without gears, she didn't want to stop on the huge hills.

Jared is coaching her basketball team this year. It is her first year and she is one of the smallest. But she is great at rebounding and she finds a way to get that ball away from the other team.

I love that Monet still really wants to sit by me and cuddle with me. When I was pregnant with Miles, she'd always lay on the couch with me when I wasn't feeling well. And when he was born, she had to reach up and hold his hand when I had him in the sling. She had a real need to touch him. Even when they were in the car, she'd figure out a way to hold onto his foot in the carseat. She was such a sweet sister. She loved to cuddle. I think I need to do a better job at remembering that just because she is older now and there are toddlers occupying my lap, she still needs some of that cuddling.

Simone's Sniffer

Simone has a great sense of smell. She loves to smell candles and will sit for literally an hour smelling all the candles at the store. We tried this once at the home show when we were waiting for Jared. She can last for a long time when she has something good to smell.

However, her sensitivity to smells can be a bit of a problem. At the Fourth of July, she had her first experience ever using the port-a-potties. My other kids thought of port-a-potties as really interesting and kinda fun. Simone's first reaction on entering was "it smell stinky in here!" And she refused to use it.

When she climbs into the car, one of her first statements is either, "it smell stinky in here!" or "MM, smell good."

And she complains like no other if someone has gas. She gets this fully disgusted look on her face, and usually takes out her anger on Miles.

So yesterday at Ikea, we were still back by all the plants and she said "I smell bread, and it smells good!" I couldn't smell anything and was wondering what in the world she was talking about. About twenty five yards later we turned the corner to the warehouse and I smelled their cinnamon buns. I was amazed that she could smell something so far off.

Ninety-Three and Counting

My Grandma Wanda is now 93—and pissed. She has made it clear for the last ten or so years that she is ready to go. But at the same time, she continues to exercise daily, and eats her perfectly portioned meals with complete restraint, counting out her 9 potato chips with her lunch. She is hilarious. I think at that point, I’d be eating all the junk I wanted.

Miles said to me the other day, what will happen if we eat too much ice cream? Will we die? Then he explained his theory behind the question and said to me, “Your Grandma who wants to die just needs to eat more ice cream, then she can go live with her husband again in heaven.” He knows she misses him and her other family members that have passed on, and it is a curious thing to him. He thinks about that a lot. He even mentioned his idea to her today. Thankfully she is hard of hearing and totally missed it.

We went to church with her today, and it was a great experience for me. Here were all of these people living in a care home, the youngest of them mostly octogenarians. Nearly all of them had spouses who had died years ago, or in my grandma’s case decades ago. One spoke of her husband as if he were still living, but in a care facility or nursing home. How sad! It was testimony meeting, and we got to hear some neat stories and reminiscing. As we walked out I realized that this is it. This period of our lives is something to cherish. At some point, your spouse passes on, your senses dull and your kids grow up and get busy. Things get lonely and for so many, their memories of the earlier years are everything.

When I was pregnant with Elise I used to sleepover at my grandma’s house out in the desert in California. She lived next door to her sister, Ila. They each had a double wide mobile home from the late 1960’s. In my grandma’s, everything looked brand new, but from another era. She takes such meticulous care of things. She still puts chair pads on her favorite spot on the couch so she won’t wear anything. She gave me an old quilt that her and her mother made out of their old house dresses. She used to keep it on her bed when she was first married. Of course she sewed a little white protective sheet near the top so it would stay perfect. That is how she does things.

Anyway, she and Ila used to have a bit of a cantankerous relationship, but at the same time, they were so sweet to each other. They’d watch Wheel of Fortune every night together. One day Ila told my grandma that she didn’t know why she (my grandma) bothered typing her personal history because no one was going to want to read it. Hah! Hearing their banter made me snicker. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. I love the stories, the pictures, the love letters, ALL of it. And my kids have been subjected to the retelling.

On the way to visit her today I was telling them some stories about our ancestors and Simone looks at me and says, “MOMMY. Stop talking!” Hilarious. Ila’s been reincarnated.

Someone in our family gave me a copy of some of the personal histories of my great-great-grandmothers and it was so interesting but I wanted to know so much more about them. I wanted to hear their struggles and their feelings most. I guess I’ve learned to connect with people by hearing about their trials. How was it to be a polygamous wife married to your older sister’s husband? How was it to lose four children within a few years? What was it like to cross the plains in a handcart, nearly freezing to death? I want to know how they overcame life’s adversity. I think my own life has been completely defined and shaped (mostly for the better) by the difficult times. I wondered how I am doing with recording my journey in my blog/journal. I feel like I am pretty personal here in many ways, but there are lots of holes too. Not because I am a very private person. I am pretty much an open book. But even I feel insecure sharing everything so publicly. However, I think that in the future, I will write with more of a focus on filling in what I want my kids to know about me and my feelings and the things that are important to me.

Today I am especially thankful for a house full of children. A husband who I couldn’t love more, and my wonderfully working body and senses. I am grateful for mobility and the freedom that affords me. And I am grateful that even though my grandma wants to be with her husband again, she is still around to share her stories with me and my kids.

Here we are with Grandma. Sitting on her perfect 70's couch. I hope I get white hair like hers when I get older. Simone looked up at her as we were leaving and said, "Grandma, I like your hair." I thought that was cute.

Solicitors Welcome

I've been thinking of doing a little vinyl on our door, "Solicitor's Welcome."

You see, we LOVE solicitors. In fact, ours may be the only house where when some random salesperson comes knocking, I am only too eager to give them my husband's cell phone number, especially when Christmas is just around the corner.

There was a time when I was very annoyed by them. We don't need any magazines, cleaners, vacuums, pest control. It seemed like someone was always ringing the doorbell and waking my baby from her nap.

Jared however has always had a connection with door-to-door salespeople. As a teen he painted house numbers on curbs. He made a lot of money in a relatively short period and had lots of time left over to play basketball. Then he continued the door-to-door routine as an LDS missionary in Pennsylvania. After having many doors slammed in his face, he vowed never to be "one of those." And so, whenever he is around and someone comes knocking, he invites them in chats with them and invariably buys whatever they are selling. It used to drive me nuts that he just couldn't say no. A couple of times, I put my foot down and refused to let him buy the overpriced magazines from the guys with the pity pitch--Jared gave them a donation instead.

A few years ago, the guys selling "Advantage Cleaner" came knocking. He invited them in, gave them some food, and ended up buying $80 worth of cleaner. I was annoyed to have spent that kind of money on something so boring.

The next year when they came around, I quickly explained that we'd already bought a bunch and still had some left over and tried to hurry them on their way before Jared got to the door. I was too slow. And he struck up an hour long conversation with these guys about how to boost their sales using his travel incentives. Soon, they had their manager on the phone, and Jared was invited to speak at their training. They ordered a few thousand dollars worth of Jared's products.

This kind of situation has repeated itself enough that my perspective has totally changed. These salespeople with the water softeners, pest control, cleaners, insulation---whatever they are selling, they are golden contacts. I smile and tell them we are very interested and here is my husband's cell phone number. I'm sure he'll want to talk to you! And it is true. He is interested, he will buy, and eventually their company will too. Win win.

Elise's Story

Elise had a birthday last week. Double digits! It is hard for me to believe that I have a ten-year-old. I've been a mom for a decade.

I was so young when I got married, sometimes it freaks me out that I made such a critical decision at 19. But I think I make good choices, and Jared was one of them. We immediately moved to California after we were married. People there were very confused to why I was married already. They'd always ask me if I had a baby, assuming of course that was the reason someone of my age would be married. Well, if you don't have a baby, why did you get married? Um, the same reason everyone else does! I met the man of my dreams and I wanted to be with him forever.

About two years after we got married, I knew the time was right to have a baby. We expected it to take a little while. The first pregnancy test I took was negative. Jared and I were both a little unexpectedly sad about that. The next month, it was his birthday. I felt pregnant. So I secretly took a test thinking if it was positive, I'd give it to him on his birthday. It was negative again. So a week later I went to the doctors office for my regular exam, and didn't mention any of this to Jared. My doctor told me that home pregnancy tests were pretty accurate, so it was probably something else, but did another blood test just to be sure. I kinda wrote that off. Stopping at a gas station and buying myself a bag of Doritos on the way home. Not pregnant. I can eat whatever the heck I want.

Later that day, he called me at work and said "I hope this is good news, but you ARE pregnant!"
It was hard to sit at work and pretend like nothing had happened for another couple of hours. I was shaking so bad. On the way home, I stopped at Target and bought a card and some little baby trinkets for Jared. I handed it to him when he got home from work, and he read it and thought I was joking. We must tease each other a lot, because when he proposed, I thought he was the one joking. Nope, not kidding. He just put his arms around me and started crying. Apparently that is another theme we have going on. Full on sobbing tears of joy.

He was very excited. Morning sickness hit and that was a whole new experience. Many of the freeways in California don't have shoulders, which is problematic when you are throwing up nearly every day.On our 2nd anniversary, I was trying hard not to puke. Cheese enchiladas sounded good, until I smelled them!

Finally after nine months of swelling, gaining weight, puking, peeing, insomnia, (can you see how much I love being pregnant?) I brought home my little big baby Elise. I guess you really love and appreciate what you sacrifice for, because I was in love with this chubby cheeked, cute little baby girl. She was so tiny and helpless (although tiny is relative, she was ten pounds at two weeks) and I just loved having her right next to me. She slept in a little cradle in our room, and we were inseparable for months. I remember leaving the hospital, and just feeling like I couldn't believe they were just going to let me take this baby home with me. Getting the carseat in the car was kind of a comedy. Finally, we got it figured out.

Our first outing with Elise was to Wal-mart a couple days after she was born. We were changing her diaper in the car, when black poop just started pouring out everywhere. There was a puddle of poop on the driver side seat. Jared was freaking out. Thankfully his mom was there to help us get it under control. Thinking about that day makes me laugh.

We've since mastered car seats, diaper changes, crazy schedules, carpools, sleep routines, naptimes, bedtime rituals, etc, but it is still fun to think back on the journey and how young and sometimes naive we were.

We couldn't be prouder of Elise. She is a very sweet girl.

Here are some baby pictures of the baby girl who made me a mom:

(thank goodness the maternity clothes are better now. This is me at 40 weeks--HUGE)

Who knew she was going to look like this?

We sure love you Elise!

The Duel

A few days ago I was gardening and Miles runs up to tell me that he saw a Praying mantis fighting with another bug, and the praying mantis had much "tougher moves" and won the "match" even without any arms.

Miles loves to talk about "battling" and to him, even the soccer match is a battle. He likes to ask me questions like, "who is tougher, you or daddy?" I told him Daddy was stronger and I am tougher. Sounds about right. Anyone whose ever had the chance to see Jared sick would have to agree. ; )

Top Of Utah Marathon Race Report

Last Saturday I finished my third marathon. With all the moving and other things that needed to be done this summer, I didn’t carve out the time for my Saturday morning long runs. I ended up with only two long runs. My half marathon in August was one of them. And I did a 20 miler a few weeks ago.

This was a little disappointing. For me, part of the excitement of running is the build-up. Going out each week and accomplishing your goal. Then, all those hard training hours finally culminate in the big race. There is a lot of anticipation and nervousness.

Without training, you don’t really get that. I have to admit, I was more excited to hang out with my friends Shelah and Deanna than I was to run the race.

The morning of the race was chilly. We had our handwarmers and mylar sleeping bags, and I actually felt pretty warm. The first 14 miles of the race was so beautiful. It was a nice downhill. Not too steep. My Garmin didn’t charge right, so it shut off at mile 5. That was okay since I didn’t want to go out too fast. It was kinda odd to have no idea what pace I was running, but liberating as well. I enjoyed the scenery and tried to gauge where I was at by how I felt. I tried to keep pace with some of the other runners around me.

One lady was so inspiring. I was running behind her for five minutes when I looked down and noticed she had an artificial leg with a metal foot. It was pretty awesome. She was running to raise money for child amputees. Another guy had a huge orange backpack on. I should have asked him what he was doing running a race with that monster on his back.

The first half flew by. I hardly remembered I was running. i think I finished the first 13 in about 2 hours. The course was beautiful. I was chatting with the amputee lady and the orange backpack guy, and all was well. We were all trying not to go out too fast and burn out. So a little diversion was good.

At mile 14, I got a great little boost seeing my friend Megan and her son holding a little sign with *MY* name on it. It put a big smile on my face and definitely made me tear up a little. There is just something about having that personal encouragement that means so much at that point. I remember in Chicago, people would tape their names onto their shirts so the crowd could cheer for them. It really helps!

I kept pace with these two until about the last few miles. After mile 15, the race started getting hard. We lost the downhill incline and had 11 left to go. My legs started to feel like lead. So I decided to take it one mile at a time and just run to the next water stop, then walk while I drank and ate my orange slices. After the race, I wasn’t as hungry or thirsty as usual. I think the oranges really helped. At the end of the Chicago Marathon I had eaten so much energy gel I wanted to puke. Real food was wonderful! I think every race ought to have oranges slices.

I started playing mindgames at about mile 18. They went like this, “My legs are numb. My legs are numb. I can’t feel anything.” My legs were actually very heavy and pretending they weren’t there did help. The last four miles, I was doing a run/walk.

It was so nice to cross that finish line. I was pleasantly surprised that I finished in 4:36. At some of the later water stops, I'd call out "what time is it?" just to get a rough idea of where I was at and I was thinking that I was closer to 4:40. So my average pace was 10:31/mile, about a minute slower per mile than my last marathon. But hey, for what I put into it, I'll take it.

When I pulled into our driveway, Miles greeted me with the same question he asks me every time I run a race, “Did you WIN?!” Then before I could even answer, he saw my medal and was so excited. He ran downstairs and put it with my other race medals. I found a frame last week and realized it would be a great place for my medals. Sunday I was so sore, I told Jared I didn’t know if I was ever going to do another marathon. Miles overheard me, and said I had to do at least one more so I could fill up my medals frame. LOL. There is space for one more. It will be a sad day when Miles finally learns that no, I did not win all those races.

Overall, I liked the race. I preferred St. George, but Top of Utah was fun and was a good alternative. It seemed to be well organized. The next one on the books is the Phoenix Rock and Roll Marathon in January. That ought to fill my case. After that, who knows.

Perfect Saturday

I enjoyed the perfect Saturday.

I went on a very long run in the morning through the hills. There was light rain--perfect for running. As I hobbled up that last stretch, what did my eyes behold? My husband mowing the lawn and I didn't even have to remind him. Ah, I am in love. Then I went inside the house, and there were my kids loading up the dishwasher. French toast with fresh peaches awaited me.

I was famished after my run and ate the food, then we headed out to Cafe Rio and enjoyed a really yummy salad and bought a 1/2 flat of raspberries--I did burn 2000 calories on my run, so I got to enjoy the food completely, and not worry about calorie consumption.

Next we drove to Midway, hung out with some of our family and watched the BYU game.
Watching the BYU game with any of Jared's family is pretty awesome. I don't have to know anything about football, and it is still super exciting because of all the cheering and screaming going on.

I think I am getting really excited for fall. Produce stands everywhere, the colors turning, football season, and long cool runs. Lovely!