The me I don't want to be

Where once I felt shattered, I don't anymore. Where once I felt broken, I'm not.
And yet, I don't feel whole either.

How is that possible? How does that even make sense?
How is it that I can feel so much healing has taken place, so much recovery, and still feel the way I do?

For a week or two I sailed on golden seas. Everything was possible, anything could be done. I felt great, and it felt so good to feel good.

And then, I stepped into a deep hole. I climbed out, and kept walking forward, but every few steps, I drop back down a deep, deep hole. And just by admitting it, I feel guilty and fall down again. Because I who have been given so much, so much love, so many friends, so much healing, I should not feel this way. I should not be as low as I have ever been.

But I do. And it hurts.

I know part of what I'm struggling with are the food allergies I have and the way that is affecting my life. Each time I eat, I get sick. Painfully sick. Or, I can't breathe, which as you can imagine, isn't any fun either.

That is only part of the picture though, and I know that I can't blame everything on that. Through a lot of work and effort on my part, and some kind and helpful friends, I have learned to dig deeper and find the root of my lows. There is always an emotion triggering a relapse, and usually if I can identify and name the emotion and the cause of it, I can work through it and pull myself back together.

That was so much easier to write than it is to actually do, especially when there is more than one emotion and more than one source involved.

Still, I have to boil it down. .I have to unravel it. If I don't, it chokes me. And I'm tired of choking.

The past week or so has been exceptionally difficult. Yes, dealing with the food allergies has definitely been part of it. After several severe reactions lately, and getting sick after every time I eat, Ryan made me an appointment to go in and see an allergist.  Turns out I am allergic to more than I thought I was and everything that didn't show up on the skin prick test is still making me painfully sick every time I eat.

I'm angry. I'm tired of being sick. I just want to feel good. What is so wrong with that?

I just want butter and sour cream on my potatoes. I want to eat a bite or two of sinfully delicious ice cream. I want to enjoy a mouthful of chewy sourdough bread. I want to take the buttermilk in the fridge and make some fluffy pancakes or tender, flaky biscuits shaped into hearts for my kids. I want to make some tangy Orange Chicken for Amanda and then sit and enjoy eating it with her. I want to dip strawberries in Val's homemade chocolate ganache and in every bite, find more love.

I want to make gingerbread cookies with my kids, and sour cream cookies for the neighbors. I want to make omelets and crepes and have friends over for breakfast. I want to help Mercy make Monkey Bread like we do every year for Thanksgiving, and sit and share the first loaf with her and Ryan when it comes out of the oven.  I want the Reeses Peanut Butter cookies Mom Mel made growing up. I want to be able to bake a birthday cake for my kids without dying.

I'm angry. And I'm grieving. And I'm empty and hollow.  And I feel like I've lost a part of me.

Food isn't just about eating. Not for me. It's the joy of making something good and sharing it with someone I love. It's the memories for my kids as I make a dinner they love and then draw pictures on their plate with sour cream. It's the time I spend in the kitchen unravelling my thoughts as I do something so comforting and assuring as melting butter, whipping cream, folding egg whites, or measuring flour.

Like it or not, my memories are often tied to food. The rye sandwich my brother and I shared in Disneyland, and the hamburger he bought me after they got back from the theatre. It was my first time on a plane, first trip to the ocean, times I'll always remember, food I'll never forget.  The french fries and frosty shakes I shared with Ryan after the dance. The barbecue sauce on the ribs - our first date. The spaghetti that was for dinner the night we first kissed. The steak at Carver's, the lobster dipped in butter while we were in Boston, trying to make things work in our failing marriage.  The loaded potato skins, baked potato soup, caramel apple crisp and heavenly cheesecake we'd share as we repaired our relationship.

Candy sticks from Harmon's with Dad, and sometimes ice cream cones while we shopped for Sunday morning cereal. The dinner he complained about after I made it especially for him. The chicken fried steak I refused to eat after he bought it for me (because I thought it looked like worms). The pineapple shake I hated that he bought in anger because he couldn't hear me as I requested another flavor.

Basil and swedish meatballs are joined at the hip with memories of Danielle. Without her, I wouldn't know what a tomato concasse is, or how to properly blanch broccoli. Paring knives, pomegranates, and orange rolls immediately make me think of Mom Mel, not to mention Pot Pie, warm white bread, and slumgolium. Brenda is tied to peaches, and Debbie - twice baked potatoes and cabbage salad. Jason is forever tied to Banana Bread, and yellow Zingers to Barb, Jared, and Hossie. I know in a pinch, Eliza will always love a well made Homemade Hostess Cupcake. And because I make them, Mercy is proud.

Cooking is love to me. If I bake, you know I love you. If I make something you like, It's almost a hug.

It's not just what I can give to others, or what I remember others for, it's for me too. It's something with constants in a constantly changing world. It's something I can count on when I can't even count on myself.  It's something I know I do well when I feel like I fail at most everything else.

Why can't I just keep this one good part of me?

But, that's not all. I know it's not. Food and all it represents both in eating and being taken away from me is not all I'm struggling with. It's not the real reason I'm falling into holes with each step I take. It's an extension of the root of what I feel.

It's rejection. Rejection by those I love most. Rejection of what I have to offer. Rejection because I'm not good enough. Rejection because I mess up.

Loss. Of friendship. Of trust. Of hope.

And fear. Fear that I won't be accepted. Fear that I'll be rejected again. Fear I can't even verbalize.

Somehow my heart or brain is saying that since I'm not shattered, I should be whole. Since I'm not drowning, I should be good. I should be able. I should be likeable, at least to myself. But what I see is someone who although not shattered still holds the same hurtful heart within her chest. The one that never sees her mistakes until it's too late because she's messed up again. Hurt someone again. Or ruined something again.

How can I fix it all? How can I get past the me I see? How can I believe that it will ever feel right? That I'll ever get it right? That I'll ever be good enough?

I guess you could say, I'm rejecting me. And everyone I see.
Because I see in them a reflection of myself.

The me I don't want to be.

True Friends...

I can't begin to tell you how healing the past month has been for me, or how good it feels to feel good.  Somehow, some way, I know that I have turned a corner. My soul has been touched, and some of the gaping wounds in my heart have been closed up. Sometimes I just sit and reflect in wonder and amazement at the difference, at why there has been such a difference, and at the difference one person can make.

True, some things still hurt. Some parts of my heart still feel new and tender... but I think that there is nothing wrong with remembering the pain, for it makes us appreciate the love and healing more fully.

I have truly been blessed, not once, but many times, with the "cream of the crop" as friends in my life. You have each taught me something... but some of you have been there for me and helped me in more ways than you could ever know, and more ways than I ever could have dreamed or asked for.

To my particular friend from years ago, you know who you are... thank you for believing in me more than I believed in myself. Thank you for pointing me in the right direction. Thank you for loving me, and through that, helping me see the things I needed to see. I miss you.

To my brother Joe, his wives and children. You are the ones who have never left my side. Thank you for loving me fully and truly. Thank you for your encouragement, your love, and your help. I am so proud of you, and also still a bit incredulous that you count me as a close friend in your life.

To the friend I never expected to have. You deserve more love than you could ever imagine, and more than you could ever hope for. The people in your life that don't know that, just don't know you - and they have missed out on so much.  Thank you for helping me to forgive.  Thank you for helping me feel, for the first time in what seems like forever, that I wasn't broken anymore. You are truly a gift and one I treasure.
 
And last but not least, to Ryan, my best friend, the one who knows me inside and out ... and yet loves me still. Thank you for choosing me again. Thank you for making sure I know I matter, for making sure I know you care.  You've held me together when I've been shattered to pieces. Your heart has wrapped around mine and kept it beating more times than one. You've never given up on me and I don't understand why - but I'm grateful. Father in Heaven knew what he was doing when he blessed me with you, you are exactly what I need. I only hope I can be as much to you and more, because you deserve it.   I love you without end, and just when I think I love you as much as I could ever love anyone, I fall in love with you all over again.  Thank you Ryan. LYM.

Rachel

Random Bits

Torn

When once I open up my heart and thrice it's ripped and torn
No wonder that I hide myself to keep it from the thorns.
And though I cannot say just how or why I try again
I seem to ask for punishment as blessings in the end.

Barbs

The bitter barbs I throw about
Eventually find their way
Although, I think I'm off the mark,
...they're landing on my face.

Anthems of the Heart

And though the notes swoon to and fro
And pierce my laden breast
How is it that you cannot hear
The anthems as they crest?

The Fool

The jesters hat I shun to wear
The crown of grace I plea...
And still when all is said and done
The fool I seem to be.
 

 

 

Missing you...

What hope once bound with love anew 

Is crushed and bleeding, love withdrew.

Yet a glimmer of hope still beckons true, 

Indeed, this story is not yet through.

For when we walk with courageous steps, forward, upward, from our depths, 

We'll find an energy renewed from conscious effort aft review.

And when friendship's fragile hand no longer reaches to our land, the memory of its tender touch 

Will either hurt, or lift us up, to greater heights than previous knew.

Will we walk with steadfast faith, 

That love's great labor, once engaged, will find our heart again, and true.

For still, my heart is missing you.

The heart of the matter...

All I want is to matter.
What's the matter with that?
Why does it matter?
How can I make it not matter?
Do I want it to not matter?
Why does not mattering make me madder?
Matter is a general term for the substance of which all physical objects consist.

And when I don't matter, I don't exist.

Holes

I had a realization today that is still settling in, still tossing and turning around in my head.

I could feel it before I could say it.

I realized that sometimes having holes in a heart allows it to stretch farther and wider than it ever could before. I was amazed really, when I stopped and considered how one heart can wrap around and reach so many places... so many people. And thankful.

And once I began to think about it, I was left with tears streaming down my face. Tears, because for all the holes my heart has, it is still worth something. And for all the pain I watch in others, there is still good that comes of it.

It is God's gift really, and it made me think that the holes in our Saviors hands and feet, and the wound in his side are just one one of the many ways he loves us, and heals us. It is a showing of the many gifts He gave us. Love. Repentance. Faith. Hope.

Who am I to be angry at the holes in my heart, when the Savior bore the suffering and pain of the world and everyone in it?

Something else occurred to me, too. I suddenly realized that because there are holes in my heart, they allow the pain to drain out. I could plug up the holes... but then I wouldn't be able to release the pain.

For once... I'm not angry that the holes are there, and the hurt isn't quite so great.

I am more able to forgive the ones who put so many of those holes there. I am more able to let go of the anger and rage at myself for not being complete, and perfectly without holes.

It feels good to let go.

Unloading...

Do you ever get to the point where you have so much rolling around in your heart and brain that none of them have an outlet? You try to write and you end up erasing your sentences and changing your topics as fast as you can type and delete?  I went to write a Facebook status update and ended up typing and deleting about 8 of them before I finally gave up.

It's not a matter of things being to difficult to process... or even xtreme in their need for processing, but more just the sheer number of things going on in my head at once. All of them important. All of them evoking emotion. All of them, all at once.

I'm trying to narrow it down to just one at a time so I can think it through, identify, process and resolve.

Easier said than done.

But I've got to do it... and all of cyberspace doesn't need or especially want to hear about every detail.

Things I Can't Say...

Tears fall and I can't help it. My heart aches and it hurts to remember, to feel, and yet 

I can't stop feeling. 

I've tried over the years to not let this part of my heart hurt, or remember... 

but how could I ever expect it to forget?

And so, when it is three days after my own daughter's birthday...

five days after Ryan's...

the 20th of July, October 6th, each January, every August...

always when it is the week of Thanksgiving... 

and with every Cowboy Christmas Tree I see...

and again tonight, and so many nights, when I have just looked through pictures of her boys with their grins and girlfriends and new fiancee, and her daughters with their beautiful faces, beautiful hair and beautiful eyes...

I cry. 

I cry, I cry, and I cry.

You see...

many years ago I had a friend, a beautiful friend. She was good, and strong. She was determined, and worked hard to do what she felt was right. She was a good mommy and fiercely protective of her babies. She put up with me because I married her husband's best friend... and then as time went on, there came a time when she actually loved me for me, and was a friend as friends should be. 

And then, 

her heart broke.

How could it not? Her babies went to heaven and part of her heart went with them. 

But what she didn't know was that my heart was broken too. 

I loved her babies, I loved her children. I loved her, and didn't know how to help her, didn't know how to take away her pain. How could I? How could anyone? 

Nobody can understand the pain a mother feels who has lost a child until one of their own returns home to heaven's arms. And nobody could understand my friend's pain, for she lost three. 

And so, as much as I tried, I didn't help her. I couldn't help her. And the more I tried, the more I hurt her. The more I reminded her that her babies were gone, and mine were still here. The more I reminded her that she was hurt, and that there was no way I could know, could understand, or could ever be enough of a friend.

She had been there for me through some of my own tough times, and now she needed a friend and 

I wasn't enough. I couldn't be.

In fact by trying, I pushed her farther and farther away. 

Her memories are different than mine. She remembers I put my baby down in front of her, hurting her more, twisting the knife that was already slicing through her heart, searing her with pain. 

I remember I left my baby home, even arguing with my husband because I refused to bring the baby with us. He didn't think it would matter, but I knew it would. 

I didn't want to hurt her, and so I wouldn't bring the baby. 

But in her memory, my baby was there anyway. 

She remembers that I left dishes in the sink, laundry on the floor, and folded the towels wrong. 

I remember that I cleaned the kitchen counters, folded the baskets of clothes, and cleaned up after 

her baby was born.

She remembers that I upset her kids, ruined her mop, and was tempted to leave my marriage, my love.

I remember that I babysat so she could have a break. I held her little boy while he whimpered in pain with a tube in his belly, praying for Jesus to help him know how much he was loved and to ease the pain. I remember that I worked hard to mop the floors and have her house clean when she came home, so that she could rest some more before their family came over to barbecue.

I remember that I didn't leave, that I learned to love more, and that 

I never once gave her reason to be ashamed.

I can't change her mind. She never thought to ask what I remembered, why, or what I was thinking. 

It doesn't matter.

But it does hurt. Still. 

How can I change her memory?

How can I take away that pain?

How can I take heal those hurts? They are bigger than me.

I tried. Believe me I tried. I tried everything from talking to her, to not talking to her, to reaching out to her, to staying out of her way, and everything I could think of in between. 

And that seemed to work the best. To stay away. To just stop coming around. To say hi from a distance, if we happened to meet. To stay away from her memories, away from her pain. To leave her to her hurts, her healing, and her new friends. 

And she has healed. She is still healing. 

She still loves, she still aches, but she is happy.

She enjoys life. 

She enjoys her kids.

She is still a good mommy.

And still fiercely protective. 

She is healthy, and beautiful, and loved.

Jesus brought her peace. He rocks her babies, and holds her heart in His hands when it feels like shattering. At least, that's what I believe.

She still doesn't understand me, and still doesn't believe that I didn't bring my baby to the viewing. 

In her memory, I still taunt. 

I still represent pain. 

I would suppose seeing me brings back waves of emotion, but I know better. 

She is past me. Past my friendship, however weak and meager it may have been. 

But there is one thing I cherish. A card she gave me with a floral wreath 

made into the shape of a heart, before her babies went to live in Heaven. 

Before I caused her so much pain.

Inside, it simply says, "Just because I love you. Thanks for being my best friend."

And if there is one thing I could say to her still, it would be this...

"I love you too. 

Thanks for teaching me so much.

I am glad you are happy. I am glad you found peace, and smiles, and joy. 

 I miss you."

With love,

Your Friend

Things I Like About Me

On twitter today, a fellow tweeter posted a link that led me to another link that led me to another link.... you get the picture. Bottom line, I ended up reading a post that challenged others to write a list of things they like about themselves, to recognize the good in yourself and your life, and to realize that you are enough. It's so easy to feel like we aren't good enough, we aren't good enough mothers, we aren't good enough at keeping the house clean, we aren't good enough at ________ (fill in the blank.)   She challenged us to just be enough, and to write the list.

Two years ago, this would have been impossible for me to write. In fact, I remember being at a dinner party with friends and being asked what I was proud of. I was at such a low point struggling with postpartum depression that I couldn't answer. I couldn't verbalize anything that was good about me.

Now I can. I'm proud of it. I'm glad for it. I'm grateful for those who have helped me and encouraged me and taught me to start believing in myself as being good and capable again.

So, here's my list.  I'd love to see yours.

1. I see opportunities.
2. I am capable.
3. I am honest.
4. I care.
5. I love.
6. I laugh.
7. I learn quickly.
8. I am great at giving "under-doggies" when I push my kids on the swing.
9. I know how to shine my sink.
10. I can be meticulous and detailed when I need to be.
11. I understand the difference of when I don't need to be.
12. I can let my kids get themselves dressed, with their pants on backwards, and not be embarrassed about it at the supermarket.
13. I am a great teacher.
14. I am giving.
15. I am a great cook.
16. I make excellent Homemade Hostess Layered Cake.
17. I am a good wife.
18. I sing to my children.
19. I love to help others.
20. I have raised children that love to read and learn.

#41. I sometimes take good pictures.

21. I can forgive.
22. I am willing to help others, even at my expense.
23. I am protective of my children when I ought to be and can still let them learn independently and experience life when they have the opportunity.
24. I make amazing banana bread, though I have to acknowledge Ry's sister Barb for showing me how.
25. I have learned, have grown, and will continue to - even when it hurts.
26. I am not the same person I as ten years ago. I am wiser. I am more willing to look at myself.
27. Even if I have not always succeeded, I have always tried.
28. I allow myself to heal. I actively work to understand and let go of things that hurt.
29. I actively work to solve problems.
30. I love my Father in Heaven and know that He lives, that Jesus loves me, and that he hears my prayers. I know this, even when times are rough, when things aren't going my way. 


Ryan called in the middle of me writing this post and asked if he could help. I said yes, so the rest of this list is from Ry about me...

31. I smell good.
32. I have awesome kids.
33. Everyone can trust me.
34. I'm cute.
35. I make yummy grilled cheese sandwiches.
36. I make yummy pancakes.
37. I am awesome at selling books.
38. He likes it when I play the piano.
39. I make him laugh.
40. I help him smile.

He said he could keep on adding to this list of why he likes me, but that it would take the rest of the night.

I love that man!

So, what is something you like about you?

Baby K with his Dad

Though I wish circumstances were different for this baby and his parents, I fully support his parents in giving him the best life they can, full of love and nurture, involvement and respect. Brig - you're holding a little bit of innocence. Make the best life you can for him, brother. And let me know if there is something I can do to help you on your new journey as a Dad.

Love you, Rachel

Baby K

 Maybe it is simply the innocence of a newborn child, or perhaps it is that the love between a mother and a child is one of the strongest bonds of love there is... 

whatever the reason, a mother in love with her child is a beautiful thing.  

Quilla asked me to take some pictures of her with Baby K. 

She had some of him individually -- but no pictures of them together. 

Here they are Quilla... may you always gaze into your baby's eyes like he is brand new.

Enjoy the pictures.

 - Rachel

Bricks

It's no secret, I get depressed. Have for years. Had a hell of a time over the past couple years fighting it and dealing with it. You probably get sick of reading about it on this blog. Guess what. I get sick of living it.

I was diagnosed as "clinically depressed" 9 years ago. And for 7 years, I fought that diagnosis and fought the reality of what I was facing. I fought and fought and worked and worked and took the herbal remedies and the natural solutions and the vitamins and the oils and the homeopathics and the advice and helpful suggestions wherever I could. I changed my diet, I ate this instead of that. I cut out sugar. I ate protein at every meal. I balanced my electrolytes, my iron, my vitamin C. I got vitamin b shots. I took vitamin b drops. I pounded omega 3's, 6's, and 9's. I had lavender baths. I worked on the contributing factors where I could recognize them. I read books and took walks and worked out. I exercised daily, and put more miles on my stroller walking around the small town I lived in one summer than I did on my van.  I took supplements of this and supplements of that, vitamins and minerals and calcium and got lots of sunshine and breaks from the kids and took time for me. I sought help and solutions in every way shape or form I could find them, except for the drugs that the doctors offered.  I did mental reconditioning and surrounded myself with positive reinforcing statements and affirmations posted all over my house and even inside my cupboard doors.  I prayed and I prayed and I prayed and I read and I did everything I knew how to do. For seven years.

And then, I snapped.

There were definitely a lot of contributing factors. As much as I did to try to reverse the situation and make sure that with each baby I wasn't going to have to deal with postpartum depression... in the end, real life kicks in. The icing on the cake, of course, was the new baby and all that came with him.  And while it helps to define the factors involved, the end result is what I have to deal with on a daily and consistent basis. This new me. This me post-baby-number-seven. This me post-mental breakdown.

I was forever changed.

I needed help. I knew it. I could feel myself at the edge of a cliff and knowing that if I didnt' get help soon there would be no more Rachel. There would be no more me. At the time, I was inexplicably terrified of driving, or I would have gotten in the van, drove off, and never come back. I don't kno were I would be. I have no idea. And I don't ever want to find out.

I couldn't handle the baby. I couldn't handle the kids. I couldn't deal with the stress. I was shutting down more and more and more. Like quicksand, it was surroundg me, pulling me farther in, and every effort to not surrender to it sunk me farther and farther.

My last ditch effort to have Ryan finally understand where I was at, was a miracle that at that point I could even express it to him adequately.  I knew that if I didn't get help, I would die. I knew I was cracking, splintering, and that if I didn't get help I would be in a million pieces on the floor and there would be no way to fix what was wrong. I had been bad off before, but this was nothing like I'd ever experienced.

I remember just bawling and bawling and saying over and over "I need help." It was three in the morning, I think, before he realized the extent of what I was saying. And to his credit, he got me help. He drove me to the doctor's office the next day. He filled my prescription, and held me as I went through the rollercoaster from hell that comes with getting on, and off, those drugs.

He has been amazing, and I rely on his strength and fortitude. It is no wonder I miss him so much when he is gone working.

Now, it's two years later, and I still hate the drugs.  I worked hard, and with the help of my husband, my family, and my friends, and especially with the help of beautiful priesthood blessings, I was able to get off the drugs and stay off of them. It has been 11 months since I last took my prescriptions, and I'm proud of it. But I still can't throw the rest of them out. They are expired, and I don't ever want to take them again, and yet I can't throw them away. I panic.

Partly why I panic is because of days like today. Days when I should be fine, when there is nothing "wrong", and definitely nothing to be crying about. And yet I do. Even more than crying, I sit, with a weight upon my back, like forty tons of brick pressing down on me. I curl up and tears stream down my face and my head swirls round and round.  I can't move. I can't vocalize. I don't function.

What I've found I have to do is label the bricks. Try to identify them. And visually, forcibly, remove them from my back, off my shoulders, out of my lap, and set them down. Sometimes I can set them aside. Sometimes I don't know where to put them, and I have to give them to Father in Heaven and ask Him to take care of them for me. I have to recognize if I'm carrying the bricks that belong to someone else, taking on their stress or responsibility.

Sometimes the bricks are fragile and whe I go to pick them up, the bricks in that particular pile will break apart and fall back down on me, and I have to pick each piece up carefully and set it aside gently, because those feelings are so real and so raw.

And if someone comes along and asks "how are you?" I smile cheerfully. I answer the phone as though nothing is wrong. Even if they could see the bricks, they would not recognize what I was doing. I just try to shrug and make it look like there is nothing wrong.  I'm quite good at it actually. There probably isn't anyone I came in contact with today that realized just how much I was struggling. 

At least, until Joe called. Somehow he could tell, even before he called.  Maybe he read my last post, maybe he was just prompted.  I don't know. But I hope he also knows how much it means that he did call. That he does care. That he listens to me and doesn't make me feel bad for being weighed down by my load of bricks today. That he doesn't remind me it's all just in my head. That he doesn't make me feel like I'm just wrong for how I feel.

Thank you Joe. And thank you Father, for a brother who loves me so much. And for helping me to know...

I will be okay. One brick, one day, at a time.

As you walk through the front door of my house, the window will rattle as the door slams shut, which is the only way it will close is if it is slammed. The dining table has sticky handprints and oatmeal crumbles left from breakfast. There are bowls of half eaten ramen noodles left from dinner (the third or fourth time the kids have had ramen in the past week). On the side table, there is a case of marinara sauce that has been sitting for a while now. Looking off to the left you'll see a big blue couchbed thing that has been in my family room for the past two months, waiting to be hauled downstairs. Walking into the kitchen you would think that the dishes haven't been done for a week or so... not true.  They were done yesterday morning. At least I think they were. Still, the counter is full of stacks of used cereal bowls and the sink has a collection of unwashed forks, spoons, and pans.

The little breakfast room has a random and unsettling collection of grocery odds and ends yet to be put away.  Cans of soup, a large package of noodles, and three number ten cans of refried beans dot the table and although you can tell we aren't starving, the question begs... why hasn't all this been put away?

The collection of coats along the pathway to the stairs leading up to the kids' rooms suggest we haven't needed them for a few days, which is true - the weather has been lovely!  We won't discuss the kids rooms, or my room.  Suffice it to say they could use a bit of straightening. The laundry room? Frightening.

The taxes are halfway finished, will require a long day of concentration plus one semi short visit to an accountant, and hopefully I can have them wrapped up before too long. Are they done yet?  No.

Meals at my house have been haphazard at best, though Ryan did make Root Beer Pork on Sunday and our weekend guests didn't go home unfed. If the trail of half eaten bites of hot dogs leading to my bedroom or the breadcrumbs all over my bed have any tale to tell, they'd say the kids are eating well enough for now at least. The mashed berries I wiped up off my carpet today say they are getting a variety of food besides ramen too, so I won't feel too guilty, yet. Still, it's time I put together some real meals.  Did I get them made today?  No.  Of course not.

So then if the taxes aren't done, the kids are making their own meals, the house isn't clean, and the van still hasn't been washed or vaccumed,  what DID I do?

I'll tell you.

I slept in til 6:30 and then took Ryan to work in St. George. I enjoyed breakfast with my kids and curled up in bed, chilly and apparently still exhausted from yesterday. I slept, slept, and slept some more.

I rocked my baby Jonnie, who isn't much of a baby anymore, until he fell asleep in my arms. And then, I rocked him some more. I talked with Braelin while Jonnie slept, helped Ty log on to his schoolwork online, and popped onto Facebook for a bit too -- lame, I know.

I walked to get the girls from school. I talked with Tyler as we walked. I played with Jonnie on the slide.  I laughed with my girls while we happily walked home. Taliesin showed me the homework he was working on, while Mercy flopped down on the blue couchbed thing to take a much needed nap. I sang the Monkey Song with Braelin. I got Jonnie some milk in his cup.  And then, I went to pick up Ry and spend some time with him.

We talked, I cried. We shared Cafe Rio on the patio, and watched a movie afterward.  When we came home, the kids were already sleeping, curled up in bed on time for once - just like I'd asked.

The house will get cleaned up, tomorrow probably. The groceries will get organized in the pantry, and the dishes washed and put away. I'll throw something in the crockpot before I go to work, and Ryan will make sure they get dinner when he comes home.

For today, I'm glad I didn't clean. Glad I didn't cook. No taxes got done. Instead, I enjoyed my babies... and my man.

Life is good. Sometimes messy, but life is good.

There's No Place Like Home...

I woke up yesterday in a tiny town on the west border of Kansas where the cattle outnumber humans 1000 to 1. I'd been staying with Ry for a couple days while he worked. He drove home to Utah for Thanksgiving, and then I drove back with him to Leoti.  It was wonderful to see him, and talk and laugh with him.  We definitely needed the time together. While I may be used to having him gone for long periods of time, it is an understatement to say that I am certainly not cut out for a long distance relationship.  Alas, all good things usually come to an end, and so after eating breakfast together, I drove home yesterday without him.

Driving long distances doesn't bother me, in fact it I actually like driving alone for long distances as long as the roads are dry.  Give me a great audiobook, a roadmap, a pack of gum, some snacks and I'm good to go.

Vail pass was icy and snowy when Ry and I drove out on Wednesday night so going back, I decided to take Highway 50 across Colorado.  Sayanora Dorothy.  See ya later Toto.  Goodbye Kansas.  I miss you already Ry.

The drive went well and the roads were dry. The long, flat roads out of Kansas pass by peaceful fields of dry, brown sunflowers with drooping heads bereft of their fullness. Tall grain silos and small clusters of farm houses and aging barns along the way gave a feeling of warm, rich life in contrast to the silent, empty fields. I found my self wondering about the people who lived and worked there, what patterns their daily living followed, and the fabric of their family's lives.  I also wished I had my camera with me.

The cool weather turned warm as I sped across southern Colorado where the once straight roads now twisted and curved as they began to wind along the Arkansas River.  As I climbed up Pauncho Pass, snow appeared along the sides of the roads, and ice crackled over the bluish-gray water.  The car followed the curving road up and then back down the San Juan mountain passes, the wind whipped and the sky began to darken with sullen clouds. Sunlight faded, and inky darkness prevailed.

It was cold, dark, and windy when I stopped to refuel in Grand Junction.  I looked forward to crossing into Utah where the silent mountains formations that make up Central Utah would surround me as I traveled across to I-15, and then finally south, and home.

It was refreshing to me to just be alone for a long time. Perhaps I'm a bit odd that way, but driving alone calms me. No expectations. No requests from kids. No dishes or laundry staring me in the face. Just me, my thoughts, and the open road.

I watched the gauge showing the outside temperature climb as I dropped down past New Harmony and into Toquerville, and then into town. It was about midnight when I pulled in the drive, parked the car, and carried in my bags. Mercy was stretched out on my bed snuggled next to Jonnie, and as I put the bags down on my bedroom floor, I noticed a package and a handmade card sitting on my nightstand.

Rachel,

I hope you have a great birthday. 
It has been fun getting to know you and your cute family. 
I have enjoyed your friendship. 

Happy Birthday!

Camille


Inside the box was a beautiful "WillowTree" figurine, a brown haired woman breathing in the aroma of the bundle of flowers in her arms.  Graceful, simple, and perfect.

My eyes misted as I read the card, but when I opened the box, I sat and cried for 20 minutes. How did she even know when my birthday was?

Thank you Camille, more than you know.

And thank you to all of the rest of you who sent me such wonderful birthday texts and messages as I drove.  I had a nice birthday chat with Danielle and Mom, and one with Joe the night before. Plus Amanda sang me a Happy Birthday song on my phone messages, and Mercy, Alex, and Kenzie sang to me as well.

The kiddos must have missed me too, because before the morning light filled the sky, there were four  of my kids in my bed, and I had to get up and move to one of their beds to get any sleep!  They showered me with wonderful homemade cards and notes this morning when I awoke, and later Amanda and my sweet friend Sheila both gave me gifts as well.

Thank you all for being a part of my life, and for touching my heart.

It was definitely a Happy Birthday.

As a child

My heart is filled with gratitude at the un-ending mercies and grace of God in Heaven above. When I get done being in emotional upheaval and just focus on what is good and right and remember the many prayers that have been prayed and sit in awe of the many prayers that have been answered, my heart swells and my eyes weep.

It's so easy to feel like there are so many things I can't fix right now, so many worries that I don't know how will ever turn out, and yet with one blink of an eye or motion of the hand HE can make everything work out. Too often, I forget. Too often, I rely on myself instead of on Him.

I am still His child and I'm not sure I ever want to grow up. I love His warm embrace when I run to Him. I still need His arms around me when I hurt. At His feet I kneel to pray. It is His loving face I always want to see when I look up after the tears, and He is there for me. It is eternal hope in Him that I trust and rely on. How can he be so gracious and kind, when I am just me? I can breathe when I feel the burdens lifted on my chest, after finally remembering who is in charge.

He is my Father. I am His child. I am blessed.

Mother

A mother’s love, it knows no bounds
And yet it’s selfish in its rounds
A hug, a kiss, upon the cheek
A palm apress the forehead, weak.

Each day she toils for her brood
She works and struggles, if only they knew
Her heart she gives with worries worn
Her life is riddled, wounds open, torn.

And yet a joy and peace prevails
Her struggles, sorrows, and travails
Are yes, a labor, long of life
But with them comes her breath of life.

She hurts and yet, there is no pain
When once they succeed, joy doth reign.
Her children fill her heart sincere
With love and gratitude that she’s here.

Her job is light, her step is quick
When their arms fling around her neck
She smiles and bright the sunshine rays
When their smiles lighten up her days.

She makes mistakes, she has regrets
Her love is not perfection yet
But while she labors, while they grow
Endeavors fruits will not yet show.

When they embrace the grownups’ land
When the enchantress finds her man
When they become fresh parents new
When they realize their mistakes anew

Appreciation grows within their breast
Their hearts may not be put arest
But as the seeds of understanding lie
Beneath the shadows of their life

They’ll grow in love and gratitude
And temperance fan their hardened mood
They’ll one day sit and watch anew
Their memories of her now reviewed

Will see the efforts, some in vain
Will see her life, see past the pain
Her heart may yet be beating still
Or ‘haps she stands hid by the veil.

Her tears now stream down cheek and cheek
Her joy filled heart no longer sinks
Her memories of those toil worn days
‘Haps enveloped with understanding’s rays.

And as the new babe b’gins to grow
From tooth to tooth, then to lasso
Mistakes afresh they too will strew
And ample tears, frustration through

Their paths will be one circling round
Their feet will walk a trampled ground
Of parents near and parents far
All trying their best, all baring their hearts

And in the softened time worn frame
Where love entwined with children reign
The babe will reap the love unbound
Of parents’ love, perfection unfound.

But at the Master’s piercen feet
They’ll all be met, they all will greet
Aft long review of each their lives
Their judgements, efforts, and their strifes.

The Saviors love and grace unbound
Will encircle them around
They praise and thank, humility shown
Their Savior while knelt at His throne.