Summertime

Summer vacation is here! And while my boys love to have some three months off from school, I've been noticing a slight wave of anxiety growing in the pit of my stomach. As my work at the hospital and teaching schedule changes I find myself wondering how I will accomplish my work while still being a loving mom to my boys.

So with that said, My boys and I have come to a decision about summer. And I share it with you because we all have responsibilities that beg for our time, attention, and energy.

So what exactly are the things that kids want? Would you believe there is a list of such items coming from children themselves?

When I stumbled on this list of what kids love their parents to do, I felt as if I had a chance. A chance to live so that my boys remember the summer of 2013 as one of the best.

A wise teacher named Erin Kurt happened to have the insight to ask her students what they most liked their parents to do with them. She asked this same question every year for 16 years and from these responses she revealed, “The Top 10 Things Kids Want From Parents.”

The Top Ten Things Kids Really Want Their Parents To Do With Them

1. Come into my bedroom at night, tuck me in and sing me a song. Also tell me stories about when you were little.
2. Give me hugs and kisses and sit and talk with me privately.
3. Spend quality time just with me, not with my brothers and sisters around.
4. Give me nutritious food so I can grow up healthy.
5. At dinner talk about what we could do together on the weekend.
6. At night talk to me about about anything; love, school, family etc.
7. Let me play outside a lot.
8. Cuddle under a blanket and watch our favorite TV show together.
9. Discipline me. It makes me feel like you care.
10. Leave special messages in my desk or lunch bag.

So based on this new-found knowledge, I've decided exactly what I want our summer to look like. Because the simple fact is this: I hold the power to determine what my family’s summer will look like based on the choices I make. But be warned, some of it may not look pretty.

Today there was …

{Less clean surfaces and more projects that reach across the table for hours...maybe even days}

{More sleeping in}

{And less drawer usage, more piles}

{Less keyboard time and more old-fashioned fort building}

{Less formal music and more playing of the tunes in our heart}

{Less sitting on the side and more jumping in to the action}

{Less time spent on how we look and more hats on unwashed hair}

{Less hurry up}

{More pause}

{Less watching Netflix and more watching of the clouds}

{Less time driving kids around and more time letting them drive}

{More baseball - Markus' first All-Star practice this year}

{More spontaneous, less seriousness}

{Less hours spent in the kitchen and more casual picnic dinners on the patio}

{Less baking perfection and more helping hands}

{More friends, less fighting}

{Less running and more unconventional forms of exercise like climbing fifty flights of stairs}

As you can see, a day in the life of our summertime is not always pretty. It's not always organized. It's not efficient or productive. And it's definitely not perfect, but I can breathe; and I can laugh, and play, and feel joy - which are impossible to do if I am too busy working, constantly trying to pick up the mess and stressing over details that won't matter ten months from now let alone ten years from now.

I vow to make this summer my handsome grown boys will remember as their favorite summer. 

They won't remember the summer they went to Disney World. 

And they won't remember the summer they went to Lake Powell or even if they ever go to Hawaii. 

It will be the summer of 2013 when we grew our own tomatoes and made fresh squeezed lemonade. The summer we had perpetual grass stains on the bottom of our feet.  

This summer will have more...

thinking of others

walks to the park with Molly

flip-flop wearing

play on the floor - board games and yahtzee

rainbow spotting

having good attitudes

patience

I come from a long line of overachieving workaholics. I have a tiny drill sergeant in my head that tends to drown out my inner voice with demands of productivity and perfection. I know three little boys who can hold me accountable for the summer to remember. And they even agreed to help me by helping more with chores, cooking meals and having positive attitudes with me and each other. All day long, we have choices we make on how we spend our time. Today's the day we became mindful of these choices, me and my boys, to remember things - not being perfect but giving them the perfect childhood. 

Wonders

Continuing from the list of blog prompts, here are ten things that make me really happy (in no particular order):

1. Going to a BBQ at Lara's house to honor my dad, and for Todd's birthday.

2. Freshly mowed grass. 

3. Beautiful colors. When asked "What's your favourite color?" I usually say "Sunset." I love the swirl and slide of one color into lots of others, particularly blue to purple to sapphire blue to dark red to orange.

4. Unexpected mail (E- or snail-) from friends. 

5. Hanging out with my boys. 

6. Freshly washed and dried sheets. 

7. An early night. 

8. Movies with magic, bank robberies and a plot that has an unexpected twist at the end. 

9. Whimsy. In any time, place or way. Art, the unexpected gift, in stories or conversation - I love it all.

10. TOKYOMILK Bon Bon Bubbling Bath with extracts of green tea, citrus zest, rosewood, mimosa and mandarin, crushed and distilled. 

I'm Sorry

As you already know, last year I got divorced. This has been a very difficult time, for all of us. In the past I have made mistakes and my boys saw me arguing with Ben. I have since apologized to them for this and have made a commitment to work out our differences peacefully. There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says, "Morning, boys. How's the water?" And the two young fish swim on for a bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and says "What the heck is water?"

This is one of those little parable-ish stories. The story is one I like, but if you're worried that I plan to show myself as the wise, older fish explaining what water is to younger fish, please don't. I am not wise. Although I am old. My point in the fish story is that the most obvious, important realities are often the hardest to see and talk about. 

Of course the main requirement of an apology letter like this is that I'm supposed to write about the meaning of forgiveness. To try to explain to you why my apology has actual human value and not just some blog everyday requirement. Because the really big thing about apologies isn't really about the capacity to explain, but rather about the choice of what to forgive. If freedom of choice about what to forgive seems too obvious to waste time thinking about, I'd ask you to think about fish and water for a second. And forget about the doubts about the totally obvious. 

I think this is one part of what apologizing is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have a little critic inside me and my certainties. Because about 99% of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, I have learned the hard way, totally wrong and deluded.

One example of total wrongness: I am the center of the universe. The realest and most vital person in existence. Not the kind of thing you thought I was going to say huh? 

I'm sorry it is my default setting, born that way from birth. 

I'm sorry that there is no experience I have had that I was not the absolute center of. 

I'm sorry the world was right there in front of ME.

I'm sorry it was always to the left or right of ME. 

I'm sorry it was on MY TV or MY computer. 

I'm sorry that my thoughts and feelings were so immediate, urgent, real, that I had trouble listening to other people's.

This is not my best virtue. In fact it's not a matter of virtue at all. It's a matter of choice. Of me choosing to do the work of somehow altering or setting free my natural, hard wired default setting (as my dad called it "Natural Man") which is to be totally and completely self-centered. To see EVERYTHING through this lens.   I have met some people who have adjusted for their natural default setting and I often hear them described as being "well-adjusted" which is not an accident. Obviously, I question myself. It's tricky. How much of this adjustment requires knowledge and how much is just paying attention to what is going on inside me, how I feel? 

I'm sorry it is extremely hard for me to stay alert instead of getting lost inside my own head (may be happening right now?! lol). Twenty years of learning how to exercise some control over how and what I think and I still struggle with being conscious and aware enough to choose how I figure out meaning from experience. I'm sorry that because I haven't sometimes, I got totally hosed. 

I'm sorry I have gone through parts of my comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a slave to my head of being alone day in and day out. That may sound like hyperbole. Getting concrete here. When I was in school I did not have any clue what day in day out really meant. Nobody talks about whole, large parts of life that involve being bored, same old routine and frustration. You know what I am talking about. Working, grocery shopping, cleaning, everyone has to do this. It's routine day after week after month after year. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless routines besides. But that is not the point. My point is that is where choosing comes in. The traffic jams, crowded aisles and long checkout lines give me time to think, and make a conscious decision to notice. Otherwise I'm going to be grumpy and miserable every time I shop. 

I'm sorry that I made situations like these all about me. About MY hungry baby and MY tiredness and MY wanting to just get home. And for seeming like the whole world was in my way. Or how the most disgustingly selfish cars, driven by ugly, inconsiderate and aggressive drivers are honking at me or cutting me off. Or how consumer society just sucks at Costco and so on. 

You get the idea. 

I am sorry I choose to think this way sometimes. Except it wasn't really a choice was it? It was easy and automatic. Sometimes I find myself making up excuses for other people. Maybe the car that just cut me off is on the way to the hospital with a baby that is turning blue from needing a heart transplant. It is actually me that was in their way. Or that everyone else in line at Walmart is just as bored as I am and that some of these people have harder, more painful lives than I do. 

I'm not suggesting this as moral advice. Or that you should think this way. Or that I can do it automatically. Because I know it is HARD. It takes energy and effort and some day's I can't or won't do it. 

But on most days, if I am aware enough to give myself a choice, I can choose to look differently at the obese, crazy-eyed, fake-finger-nailed lady who just slapped her son in the checkout line. Maybe she's not usually like that. Maybe she's been at the hospital for three nights with no sleep holding the hand of her boyfriend who had a traumatic brain injury. Not that this is likely, it just could be if I consider the possibilities. 

I get to decide how I am going to try to see it. 

I am free. The really important kind of freedom that has to do with attention and awareness and discipline, and being able to truly care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in a thousand petty, unsexy ways every day. 

That is what I am apologizing for. You, of course, are free to forgive me for whatever you wish. This isn't about life after death. I am talking about life BEFORE death. Simple awareness; being aware of what is real and so hidden in plain sight all around us. I will keep reminding myself:

"This is water."

It is unimaginably hard to do. Stay focused and alive in the world day in and day out. Which means the scripture is true: do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Forgive me in this life? 

I wish you way more than luck.      

What Do I Miss?

I miss my Grandma Jo. 

I miss the smell of her; a mix of her hair wigs, ironing starch, perfume: Estée Lauder - particularly in the afternoon - a low smell of smoke.

I miss her profile, her little nose holding up her glasses. I miss the joy and delight she took in teaching me how to play poker with pennies. I miss watching her face grow a deeper shade of red as she fought to contain her fear of the car wash and I miss her snorting laugh at the end. I miss how she'd laugh so hard she'd have to wipe her eyes on the hanky ever present in her pocket. I even miss the crinkle of her nose as she looked over her glasses, a look as sweet and original as she was.

I miss hearing her say "How's my kindred spirit?" I miss how she'd look at me, and how she'd turn her head to one side (just like the ceramic dolls she loved to hand paint) when she spotted something suspect. I miss her hugs, and how she would always, always be ready to cheer me on. She expected greatness from me, came to my Ice Follies performances, riding in a bus for hours sometimes to do so, as she never had a drivers license or learned to drive.

I miss realizing every time I saw her that I was her favorite granddaughter (we all were her favorites!) I miss how much she loved me, and how gruff and vague she was when I asked her for her wedding dates for the genealogy software.

I spoke at her funeral, although I missed saying goodbye to her as she wavered between life and death. Kidney failure finally took her at 87. One of the greatest sacrifices of my life I've ever made is not going to hold her hand. I know Grandma would understand. 

{My Grandma Jo and me - 1993}

I miss my Grandma. I miss the scratchy sound of her voice on the phone, her arm across my shoulder, the satisfaction and love she showed every time she was with my mom. I miss the look of love and pride in her eyes. I've seen her in dreams, the first time being- so soon after she passed away the skin under my eyes was still patchy and raw - she held me, kissed my forehead and told me it would be okay. Everything hurt, I missed her so much, I woke sobbing, still feeling the warmth of her hug.

I feel her listening to my prayers, sometimes, and the love and missing each other reminds me to pull out her letters to me written in her scrawl. I know that when I did her temple work, I could feel her through the veil, right there, arms and grin wide, asking "How's my kindred spirit?"

That's how I imagine her greeting me on the other side. Then she'll laugh, and I'll cry, and she'll give me her hanky. "C'mon, kindred spirit." She'll say. And I won't miss her anymore.

^*%^*%*^*%^*%^*%*^*%^*%^*%*^*%^*%^*%*^*%

For Sale: B.

Try selling yourself in ten words or less. Who are the target buyers? Doesn't matter I guess, the same words keep popping up.

Attributes: Strong-Headed. Creative. Trusting. Active. Loving. Happy. Subject to change.

Likes: Words. Dessert. Work. Conversations. Sunshine. Rain. Rom-Com. Kindness.

Dislikes: Stupidity. Mosquitoes. Poor writing. Junk-food.

Flaws: Many. And varied. Temper reigns supreme.

Dreams: Swim and sing like mermaids under the sea. Green lights.

One Word

Before Ben and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple, I made my personal vows in a ceremony two days before our wedding day, also in the temple, with my parents, and his, there as well. In the Mormon church, this is called "taking out one's endowments." It is a sacred rite of passage.

What was embarrassing is this: Men sit on one side of the room and women sit on the other. Holy instructions and scriptures are given. From the story of Adam and Eve. Eve was a virgin; so was I. As I listened to the biblical text being read on the day-before-the-night-before my marriage, the only word in my head was a four letter one. I turned red. This was not a word I knew anything about as a nineteen-year-old girl. I blocked it and I was shocked that my own imagination was betraying me. Clear my thoughts, clean and pure. But there it was again. A word I had never spoken out loud. I turned a deeper red. I was sure that people were starting to wonder why I kept blushing.

Embarrassed? Fever? Yeah, both. Once again, when I was being asked to stand and make sacred covenants, this little word kept appearing in the most holy of moments, pulling me away from the marriage of Adam and Eve to the allure of the snake. I tried to stay focused on how my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents had been married before me. Bam, the word. The dance between sacred and profane only heats up.

In this very public place I was privately battling my own demon. Nobody had warned me about this. They all knew what I would be doing in two nights. This word that all our parents knew but didn't say.

Irresistibly Cool

Do-Overs

Hi. I don’t have any advice to give, but I have plenty of “keep your marriage from ending advice", and that might be almost as good. Since it is what would have been my 21st wedding anniversary tomorrow and since the only person in my family that hasn't been married yet is Darlin, I am writing this with her in mind. And so, with that, I give you my “advice list” for my little sister. You know… things I wish I would have known or done differently so that I didn't end up divorced. I call it my “What Not To Do in Marriage” list. Here goes...

Do not:

• tell him what he could do better 
• call him a control freak
• yell from downstairs to ask him to bring the diaper bag/blankets/whatever
• be in charge of and/or budget the money
• stop going out with each other
• be fake
• stop communicating especially when you're upset about something
• "roast" him
• play the martyr
• find distractions when he is home
• feel hurt and upset when the only time he touches you is for sex
• think that sarcasm is the same as having a sense of humor
• kill your own spiders 
• be a know it all
• live by his family - or yours - at least for a couple of years
• ask him what he is thinking when he clearly doesn't want to talk about it
• assume he will be different than his dad - gender roles carry on

That's my dirty laundry. Take from it what you will. Since I don't get any "Do-Overs" it is what it is.

More Than Spiders

I'm not afraid of spiders or snakes or heights. So I had to dig a little bit to think of what I'm really afraid of.  And all of it has to do with losing someone.

My mom.

My dad.

Morgen, Max and Markus.

My sisters. 

People lose people all the time. I have lost people. I have stood by while someone I know or someone I love gets that bad news. And it is the scariest thing in the world to me. Any one of those things would break me open and apart. Challenge who I am as a person. I don't know how I would survive without those closest to me. I don't know that I would live up to the standard of grace that has been set by those gone before me, if I were challenged like that. I'm not sure if Heavenly Father is really the one who designates time... somehow I don't think he is. But I'm afraid nonetheless. That next time it will be my own mother or sons, people I cannot live without. Those are my deepest fears, I suppose. On a light and happy note to leave it on, I quote Winnie the Pooh: 

   

What the #%&! Am I Doing?

This week at work, amid the several hundred showers, I was recognizing a familiar feeling. I recognised the oddness and could place it, even dressed in scrubs and with gloves on my hands.

I'm not the only person who reads while on break. Outside of housekeeping, I'm the only person who hasn't obtained a bachelor's degree, and often recently it's popped into my head at work - while someone is swearing at having to triple chart something, or the strutting Machiavelli of a tech who is micromanaging the showering of patients -

WHAT THE HECK AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE???

My brain is practically rotting in my head during the day, and while I am excellent at what I do at work, and love helping people and having the patients I shower and help to the bathroom thank me profusely, I know I am wasting my intellect. My role at work has changed somewhat, with more responsibility and being the 'shower queen' because the higher ups know I have a brain and ability and I will get the job done. But what am I DOING? Sometimes doubt gnaws at my brain making me itchy and sleep awaits until sunrise.

Maybe when I go back to school, I've been thinking. I'm an excellent student. I was an Honor Roll student, for crying out loud. Took me forever, yes, but I was steady. But I've thought seriously of becoming a Physical therapist, but that's a four year degree. FOUR YEARS. At which realization my mind casually states "Because it's not like you have any other responsibilities, do you?"

The sarcasm stings like the salt water my thoughts are drowning in. I need to work.  When I did my taxes for last year, I was actually nauseous when I saw what my taxable income had been. How on earth will I manage on so little? While it was obvious that a huge part of my stress comes from budgeting everything so closely.

So when - miracle of miracles - I got my current job, the sudden, welcome, influx of money made an incredible difference in life, in our home, on my stress levels. The payoff being long hours away from my boys, and tiredness, yet I can see how the boys are also learning from my working. You work to support your family. Everyone needs to work to support the family. Work is hard. Work can be fun and satisfying. You do what you need to do for your family. It may be buying cereal, it may be listening to yet another excited story about the wonders of Medal of Honor or Pokemon, it may be waiting up way too late doing dishes, mopping the floor, cleaning up throw up, three times from Markus' friend, Dylan, spending the night tonight and once from Markus.

But time at home is already at a premium. I'm torn, trying to work out what I should be doing. I need to work, to make sure food's on the table, shoes are on feet, that there is the opportunity for fun and hockey and baking. I need to work.

You do what you need to do for your family. I have a job that I enjoy, that is happy to give me two weeks paid leave this year. I have a job that provides - and will continue to provide - the funds for cereal and a myriad of shoes for growing feet and hockey helmets and plans a plenty.

So what the ____ am I doing? I am working. I get satisfaction from my work, and the pay check is greeted with satisfaction and thanksgiving every week. I am wrestling with my demons, to make sure I am doing what I should be, for my sons and myself. I want to study, to graduate with a nursing degree but I don't even now if I will get in to the program. I wrestle my demons, arguing, pulling hair, and choke holds. They are scary, but sometimes bring clarity amid the bruises and sleepless nights.

I can get another degree, find a job that stretches me intellectually, but it can wait. It's going to have to. And for now, I'm satisfied with that decision, sprawled naked and dripping on the floor after a divorce. You do what you have to do for your family, despite and because of it all.

In the meantime, I write.

{End of school - Summer Blast party}

Great Artist Mom

It's been about 18 1/2 years now since I met this woman that I have talked about so many times before. I won't go into details, but there are some more things I want to record for memory's sake.

Such as about a month ago after surviving cancer, countless surgeries, and after having seven children, she launched her Great Artist Mom blog. Since day 5 of the blog everyday in June challenge is a public profession of love for a friend, either real or blog, I chose both.

I completely lucked out with some really and truly amazing friends, and the truth is I have been meaning to post a link to her blog for awhile, so since choosing to talk about just one is nearly impossible, I think I just want to say a thing or two about Laurie, whose birthday also happened to be yesterday. She is one of a handful of ladies that are so, so close to my heart. They have entertained me, made me think, and carried me through a dark time of my life.

I met Laurie shortly after she moved to Holladay in late 1994. I remember being excited that she and Heidi said hello to me at church, even if they did call me Becky. I couldn't find it in my heart to correct them, so for about six months, while all three of us were pregnant with our first babies, they said, 'Hi Becky,' in the halls and I answered back, I thought they were pretty much fantastic, so to receive any kind of greeting?! Whoa! Life = Made. Funny how we girls are about stuff.  Lo and behold, Heidi finally read my name on the ward list and called to tell Laurie that my name was not Becky. lol Heidi's daughter, Jessie, Laurie's son, Weston and Morgen all graduated from high school on the same day.

Anyway, I just love this girl and think she is amazing in so many ways. Her and her husband Aaron. I have so much respect for Laurie and her courage to fight cancer and win. Besides all that, Laurie is an intelligent human being, and also a fabulous artist. I've looked up to her and sometimes find myself thinking to myself, "what would Laurie do?" J/K

So that's my profession of love for another blogger/friend. There are many ladies that deserve love, but today I chose you, Laurie. Thanks for being my friend and for sharing over 18 years of your beautiful life with me. :)
 

Quotable

I collect quotes. Sometimes I pin them on Pinterest. The collected words puddle together, trickle down through my thoughts and live deep inside; a pool ready to be swam in, or paddled across in a canoe. Sometimes I use them to wash away the dust of an ordinary day, so I can go forward, stronger. This quote though, is one I've had pinned in my kitchen cupboard for years. I first read it when I was in Austria I think or wherever Goethe's statue is located. I came across it again when I was reading a Covey book and then again when I went to a Relief Society meeting. It seemed to be telling me something. Something I think I needed to hear. 

Uncomfortable Words, Strings and Hockey Tape

I see Morg chewing over thoughts, so we sit quiet for a minute. I’m driving in the car after picking him up from work last week and the conversation has just started.

This kid, who has had just months of trials, who wears his heart on his sleeve but in a yard in every direction around him, exposed to the wide world. Morg who – would throw himself into anything that interests him, but maybe not. Maybe now, after years of trying to figure out which way the fluttering twist of ribbon tied to a string, showing him the direction he is meant to go, right in that second, I can see it.

“I guess it’s going to happen,” he softly explains, holding the screen near my eyes. I read his report card when we stop and he shows me how he has two F’s that he changed to C’s. I know that it is uncomfortable for him to talk about his graduation from high school. He keeps talking, my stomach and my heart are making plans to exit the car as soon as possible. He considers his words, showing his grades, and his tone has morphed into a supportive warmth, like he is holding my hand in his as a wordless assist and comfort. “I could have done better,” he says as he pulls up his list of 6 missing assignments, “I was just being a slacker.” There’s an ache in my ribs, flinching with every word he speaks, biting hard every time another tear drops down my face. “I feel like that is a hard thing for people to admit,” I reassure him while pulling him in for a wet kiss on his cheek.  

Who am I to tell him that forgiveness is the next step? Actually, who am I not to? If I’m trying to live my life as a disciple of Christ, to willingly choose to have faith in wholeness in the middle of injury and destruction, to share my belief and understanding of courage and gratitude, there is no way that I can stop now. I tell him about the quote I read recently that basically said ‘Forgiveness is the giving up of all hopes for a better past’. Forgiveness is hard, I’m not going to lie. But if you try to, it’s a huge weight off you. Off your heart and your head and your thoughts.  

“I love you. And I am so proud of you sweetie.” Another hug and I get wearily out of the car. Into a hockey net, a baseball bag and a roll of hockey tape obviously left over from re-taping a stick the night before. I tell him he has to pick up his cap and gown after school Wednesday, to which he agrees and asks if he can have a ride to Chance’s house. Negotiations ensue regarding emptying the dish washer and a question about his work schedule. We’re back to our regular lives and conversations, even as the sweat and tears dry on our necks.

It wasn’t a planned conversation, but that is the thing with parenting: sometimes [read, ‘usually’] the conversation arises when you’re not expecting it and putting it off just isn’t an option. So you sigh, and follow it. I lean over and kiss Morg again. “I love you” I remind him, as he throws an arm around my neck and pulls me in for a long hug. “I love you Mom.” I watch as a smile rolls over his face upwards towards his eyes. 

Giving up attachment. This is a concept that, for me, is so uncomfortable and I have to tell you that it still is for a lot of people I think, but it’s not impossible. I get better and better at it with time and practice. The moments when I can detach myself from all things (and that doesn’t mean I give up my love for them – because love and attachment have nothing to do with one another.) Attachment comes from a place of fear, while love, well, real love anyways is pure, kind, and selfless; where there is love there can’t be fear, and because of that, attachment and love cannot co-exist and that is when I get uncomfortable. I become so peaceful, so tolerant, so kind, and so serene. I try to get to a place where I will be able to understand all things without even trying. A state beyond words. Haven't quite made it there yet, that's what makes it uncomfortable - like a yoga pose. That you have to keep breathing through. It's hard. Parenting is hard. But that's what makes it worth it.   

  

Field Day

Fit, Fun, Run

{Landon and Markus at Friday's Fun Run at school}

{Markus accidentally ran 4 miles instead of three and still only came in three minutes after me!}

{Markus and the two Sams}

{School Brothers}

Running is something I know a lot about, but I'm not particularly good at it. As I type this, my boys are all firmly, intensely asleep. At least I hope Morgen is - he spent the night at Ben's house. So instead of telling you about something that I know a lot about, I'm going to change it up and tell you about things that can't be measured, just felt and attempted and hopefully understood. If not today, or this year, then maybe in years to come when my boys are sighing at their own children in frustration and utter devotion.

The more I have thought about this the more I've realized I want to tell my boys somethings. A letter, explaining and detailing a couple of handfuls of things.

First, I am so lucky to be your mom. Someone came up to church last Sunday and said, "I just wanted to say, and have been meaning to tell you, that you have such fine young men - they are so well behaved!" Whenever someone compliments me on how and who you are, for most of the time, I know it's got nothing to do with me. But you know what? I'm your mom and that means doing what needs to be done, as much as I'd rather otherwise. I don't know any other kids in this entire country your age who do their own laundry. I tell myself that obviously it'll help when you go on your missions, when you're grown and with a wife and family of your own. Ditto with the jobs you have around the house, and I'm delighted you took to mopping with such focus and determination, Morgen - I'll make sure you get more practice. I could do your laundry for you, I could do all the housework and gardening and stuff myself, but we all know that we'd all be miserable because I'd be exhausted and that means a cranky mom from that place where the devil lives. Trust me when I tell you that it's for the benefit of our family, and it means something to work for the greater good, and that it means so much to me. I can see you getting it, and it makes me light up with relief and satisfaction. Thank you.

We've weathered years of my learning, and while I never dropped you on your heads, I admit at times it was a close thing. The last couple of years in particular have been an intense upward battle of upsets, growth, change, cheer and adaptation. I couldn't be prouder of the fact that we've all come through alive, functioning, and even smiling. To see you both right now, asleep but healthy, comfortable, resting your senses of humour, varied interests and complex personalities, I thank Heavenly Father for you, over and over again, and His influence and direction in bringing us here, and here together. I've made some spectacular mistakes, and I'm sorry. But this is one of the things I want you to know: parenting isn't for wimps.

I mess up. Because I'm human, I try stuff, and it's not quite right, or was the result of tiredness, or hunger, or desperation. But I'll keep trying. As your mom, there are Things I Want You To Know. So...

1. I want you to be a decent human being. You know that I won't allow you to be a jerk to your brothers, and will stop any attempt therein.

2. I Know You'll Be Fantastic Dads. You'll be fantastic Dads, and Uncles, there's not a single doubt in my head or heart about it at all.

3. Dance. Dance in your head, in your room, through the house, while washing dishes, windows or folding clothes. Sing loud and dance party in the car, get down in the shower or while brushing your teeth - find your music and dance to it. 

4. Punch responsibility. You know me, and my love of words. Words change lives, hearts and futures. Find the words which fed your soul, your heart and keep new ones in your pockets for fun. You don't have responsibility right now, as a brother, or a son, or as a Teacher's Quorum Secretary. You don't have responsibility - you own the ability to respond. You choose. Wisely. 

5. Change your underwear. Change your sheets. Change your prayers, and your habits. Regularly. The winds of change are blowing wild and free. You'll grow, and learn. It's part of life. And it's scary but you'll be okay. And if you aren't, come tell me about it. We'll work it out. 

6. I love you, handsome boys. Always. Remember that, no matter what. Remember our laughs, remember to kiss me goodnight, remember these Things I Want You To Know, choose to be good to people, choose life, choose vegetables - at least some of the time and love each other. 

Thank you for making me your mom, for making my laugh lines so deep, my worries so awful, my past, present and future so epically cool awesome.

Love, 

Mom

XO

Cliff Notes Version

Of The Story of My Life...

Born in love to a married 30 year old mother of four, I was named twice, after Janelle was changed on my birth certificate as requested by an entrepreneurial Englishman. My first year of life involved an enormous amount of family time at the rink, and ended with me being put on the ice which has continued for almost forty years. My Daddy negotiated a contract before I turned 4, and I spent 3 years on the roads of America, with my family of five sisters, and one brother whom I usually got along with. Lived in a motor home, and developed a love of travel as a result. Shortly after turning 13, we moved in with my Grandpa B and he let God in. Since he baptized me, my faith has changed and changed me. Was a strictly obedient teen, brilliant (if home-schooled) student, joined the University ranks right after passing GED exams. Fell in love with ice-dancing and a tall man with bedroom green eyes, and so I married him. Had three boys, three years a part, and realized each time I saw them I had no hope of defining love - ever. I enjoyed two decades of mostly great marriage before I chose to leave. Choices have changed my life, in many ways still unexpected. I write, have been over the pond, aced the HESI, am closer than ever to my sons -  and apart from allergies - life is nice. 

{247 words out of 250}

{Max on his recently acquired Slack Line}

{Aunt Lara gave it to him last week}

Some Five Years of Having This Blog

Today I am feeling exceptionally grateful. For not only starting this blog five years ago today, but also for the fact that there really hasn't been a day that I haven't had it on my mind and in my heart as I try to think of what to share. I think about it too much. I guess it's because I want to remember but also to connect and talk about things that matter to me, so very much.

I'm not really sure if this will inspire you, mostly because, let's face it, I am not sure if I can actually do it myself. But here goes: I have a challenge for you, if you still blog.

Blog every day for an entire month.

Wt? I know I did this back in 2008 when I started this blog. For 500 days straight, even on the weekends. I think when I forced myself to blog everyday it took the pressure off to make every post inspiring. I do that, the pressure thing, and lately I've been missing some things that I want to remember because I am not blogging as much anymore. I want to get back to writing. I don't know about you, but I miss my college English class where we were given a topic and told to run with it. Something I may have never even thought about before, but ended up really enjoying it once I started. Do you remember that? So no more pressure to write something cool, funny, readable, and enjoyable, and that's great! I can write away.

That's what this little challenge is all about. I am challenging you and me both to blog every single day in the month of June. I even found some post topics for us. Aren't I nice? If you're like me sometimes the hardest part of blogging is deciding what the crap to blog about. So. Will you join me?

Here are the rules:

1. There really aren't any rules. If you miss a day, you can make it up or skip it. The blog police will not come knocking. 
2. You can still post other things every day, too. I plan to do normal picture posts, life lesson posts, leaving footprints all over town posts, and conversations I have with my boys posts just like usual.
3. Here are the topics. You can be as creative and awesome or as boring and bland as you like with these. Take 'em and run. Use creative post titles. Interpret each "prompt" however you like. There are no wrong answers. Have fun.   

Day

1. The story of your life in 250 words or less (or one paragraph...no one will be counting your words...probably)
2. Educate me on something you know a lot about or are good at. Take any approach you'd like (serious and educational or funny and sarcastic)
3. Things that make you uncomfortable
4. Favorite quote (from a person, from a book, etc.) and why you like it
5. Publicly profess your love and devotion for one of your blogger friends. What makes them great? Why do you love them? If you don't have blogger friends, talk about a real-life friend.
6. What do you do? (How would you answer this question if you couldn't answer with your job)
7. The thing(s) you are most afraid of
8. Any piece of advice you have for others
9. A moment in your day (photo or both a photo and words) 
10. Most embarrassing moment. Spill.
11. Sell yourself in 10 words or less.
12. What do you miss? (A person, a thing, a place, a time of your life...)
13. Issue a public apology
14. Ten things that make you REALLY happy
15. A day in the life (I have seen this done on the river including photos from throughout the day - "a photo an hour" it looked like a ton of work)
16. Something difficult about your life and how you're working to overcome it (or how you overcame it)
17. A favorite photo of yourself and why
18. Tell a story from your childhood
19. Five of your favorite blogs and what you love about them
20. Get real. Share something you are struggling with right now
21. A link to your most visited post
22. Rant about something
23. Things you've learned (not in school)
24. Your top 3 worst traits
25. Something someone told you about yourself that you will never forget (good or bad)
26. Something you read online. Leave a link and discuss, if you'd like.
27. A letter to your readers
28. Only pictures
29. Five songs that speak to you or bring back memories
30. Define this term: Letting Go

Will you join me today, to blog everyday in June? We can do this!

{My boys playing catch even after the sun had set last night}

Keep Calm and Ride On

As requested - some photos from Little Red Riding Hood today. I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful day to ride through the countryside with friends. Ride on.

This morning after my friend Sarah helped me apply sunscreen to my back so it wouldn't get burnt like last year, I climbed on my bike and watched as my friends did the same. We rode our bikes and drafted and that's when it hit me. Maybe I've been too hard on myself. Maybe I've been too hard on my boys. And maybe, just maybe, it doesn't have to be so hard.   

What If

Life is more about applying sunscreen than applying pressure to succeed?

Less about extra stuff, test results and grades and more about bedtime stories, picnics in the yard and seeing the world while riding down from the top of a hill?

Less about perfection, and more about accepting flaws?

{Some of the food and treats from today's "Off to Bollywood" themed Little Red}

Less about the miles ridden, and more about how many kind words come from my lips?

More listening, less questioning?

More observing, less dictating?

"Follow your bliss and the universe will open doors for you where there were only walls." - J. Campbell

More rest, less rush?

What if life is less about taking big trips and more about taking every opportunity to get to know people?

{By letting it go, it all gets done. The world is won by those who let it go. But when you try and try, the world is beyond winning. - Lao Tzu}

Less about where you are going on your ride, and more about who you are riding with?

More about courageously battling cancer and less about how fast you ride?

{Sharon is a ten year cancer survivor}

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Less about being first to cross the finish line and more about being the one to stop and help injured riders?

 

Less about living up to other people's expectations and more about baring the colors of your soul?

Less about who's right and more about who's kind?

So was Little Red a life changing experience? Maybe. Maybe not, I don't know. But something tells me if I keep calm and ride on I could breathe easier. And my boys could breathe easier. More love, trust and faith and less opinions, beliefs and standards.

Then maybe one day I will look back, my grown boys and I, and we'll celebrate the way we kept calm and rode on through life - not by following what someone told us, but by letting our hearts be our guide. 

Until that day comes, I'll provide the sunscreen and unconditional love. 

And go easy on the other stuff. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*  

Although I spent the night at my sister's house in Preston, I didn't sleep very much after Sheri asking me to pray for her friend Ashley, who was in the path of the tornado in Oklahoma. The following is in honor of the men, women, and children affected by the tornadoes experiencing unfathomable pain and loss...

What if

Life is more about encouraging a stranger at mile 69 and less about beating your personal record?

More about hearing the cheers of family from the sidelines and less about saddle sores and self doubt?

More about feeling alive beneath a cloudless blue sky and less about a list of lifetime achievements?

More about the ability of the human soul and less about things that can break it?

{What really matters in this one precious life has become so clear. I feel like if I LIVE by heart - I can let everyone do the same}