Daily Gratitude - Day 19

Today was the day I was going to get Seth to seminary on time. Every day, it is 7:07 or 7:11 or 7:04 by the time we arrive at the church. Never 7:00. I hate feeling so disrespectful to the seminary teachers that I think those five to ten minutes aren’t important.

We left the house at 6:42 - a miracle these days as the mornings are darker and I’m determined to keep our 6:30 family scripture reading appointment with whomever is present. Seth and I drove down the mountain and as I neared the stoplight where the two highways merge together, I saw the wreck.

Two cars were seriously smashed up. It looked like a head-on collision or something close to it. There aren’t any first responders at the scene yet and I was reminded of Mr. Roger’s quote, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things, my mother would say to me ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”  It’s true.  There were at least a dozen people out of their cars trying to do something to help.

Because of the location of the collision, no cars could really go anywhere and this combined paralysis of traffic in all directions soon developed into a serious traffic jam. There was no way Seth was going to be at Seminary on time. Really, that was no longer the point.

We sat quietly and sadly watching the lights and sirens rush to the scene.  At least six police, two firetrucks and two ambulances were there within 10 minutes of our arrival. As they controlled the scene, the police who weren’t involved in the struggle to get the crumpled car doors to open started to manage the backlog of cars. At 7:04, we finally merged onto the main highway.

I feel like I say the phrase, “Please bless us to travel in safety,” quite often in my prayers. I know I remember to ask for the blessing before I go on a road trip. I also usually remember to be thankful for our safe arrival...again...after a road trip.

But, I spend hours, everyday, traveling. Three miles here.  Eight miles there. I travel through that intersection where the wreck occurred at least four times a day, usually more.

I’ve lived in this house now for four and a half years.  That’s 1643 days....ish. Four times a day means I’ve passed through that intersection about 6,570 times.  I know I haven’t been grateful for the grace that gets me safely through that many times.

However many times I've remembered to give thanks, today, that number has increased.

Daily Gratitude - Day 18

I am grateful for Advil PM. That is all.

Daily Gratitude - Day 17

Have you ever played Would You Rather? It’s totally my kind of game and I’ve played it my whole life, even before I owned a copy of the very silly board game. I recall spending many hours debating the merits of this vs. that and being spectacularly arrogant with some of my answers. Somewhere, in my tangled heap of embarrassing memories, I remember declaring to a date that of all my senses, hearing was the most important to me. It was during the 90s and I was probably wearing Doc Martens and sitting in a coffee shop and I give you that image so you can full appreciate the dramatic moment. I went on and on about how important music was to me and how I would rather lose my sense of smell, sight, touch and taste before I lived a life without hearing music.

For real. Oh to be 19 again (never!).

I haven’t thought about which sense is the most important in my life for a while but, today, my sense of smell wins the prize. My sniffer helped prevent Daniel from burning down the house.

Remember how I had that Christmas project that I really needed to focus on and finish and that I have poor multi-tasking skills? Well, I was working on that very thing today and really doing my best negligent parenting. The TV was on a morning cartoon...Daniel was somewhere...and I was at the computer working on a deadline (it had to be done today).

I didn’t hear the microwave open. I didn’t register the sounds of the buttons beeping or the microwave starting.  So much for my desperate dependency on hearing, eh?

What I did notice was when the overwhelming smell of smoke reached my nostrils. Then, my brain zoomed away from my project and my eyes noticed the smoky room. That makes two senses that I would normally prioritize over smell that sort of failed me. It was smell that saved the day.

I ran over to the whirring microwave and pushed the Open Door button.  More smoke billowed out of the small box stemming from a source of black ooze.  I hollered for Daniel, who was no where to be seen. It didn’t look like metal so that wasn’t responsible for the mess (we have dealt with that before as well.  Older boys have learned to take foil off of pizza if they want to reheat it). After taking out the circular tray and really inspecting the charred semi-solid pile, I deduced that it was a severely overcooked package of Pillsbury mini pancakes.  I guess Daniel was hungry.

He must have gone to the big freezer and pulled out the pancakes.  His older brothers do this all the time. He obviously put them in the microwave. Again, he must have learned this through observation. I don’t know how much time he put on the microwave but 26 minutes and 14 seconds were left on the timer.  The instructions on the packet say to heat them for 45 seconds. He was very, very thorough in the cooking of his pancakes.

The entire house smells like smoke. It is cold but doors and windows have had to be open for hours to try and mitigate this stench.  But, if it wasn’t for that stench, and the amazing ability of my body to sense it, who knows the extent of damage a two year-old and a little package of pancakes might have caused.

Take that, 19 year-old, Lucy.

Daily Gratitude - Day 16

Ward Conference was today and the talks all focused on the importance missionary work. I listened obligingly but it didn’t pierce my heart until the counselor in the stake presidency started talking about how he’s noticed throughout the years that when he makes a concerted effort to improve a quantifiable statistic, like missionary work or home teaching, by emphasizing its importance and our responsibilities to perform it, the numbers usually go down. That caught my interest. I admit I was tuning out before because...well...I’ve heard it all before. And I still have never been a great missionary or visiting teacher. This guy was going to to explain to me why he thought that was.

What he went on to say was not new. I’ve heard it all before as well. But I had a the-wicked-taketh-the-truth-to-be-hard moment when he suggested that true conversion needs to take place before we can expect the motivation to share the gospel and help others as Christ did. Am I not converted?

I thought I was. I think I am. So, why don’t I devote my life to sharing the gospel - both with the members of my ward I have stewardship to serve and with my friends and community? I’ve been trying to come up with a satisfying answer the entire day. I don’t know. I know I’ve said before that I lack the activist gene and while that is definitely true, I never feel compelled to convince someone else that what I think is right is what they should think is right, it is a weak defense. I’ve never invited anyone to church with me. I think I’ve given a copy of the Book of Mormon to one friend in my entire life. Anytime the missionaries ask me for the name of a friend, I say no names come to mind.  And it’s true.

And yet, anyone who knows me knows what religion I am. I go to bookclub and I don’t drink the wine and I don’t swear and I answer the inevitable questions about mormons that come so I think I’m being a good member of the church and setting a good example. If only that were enough. I am definitely one of those that hopes that someone will know me....respect me and my lifestyle...and want to take the missionary discussions. I swear I hear these conversion stories all of the time and I wonder, “Why doesn’t this happen to any of my friends? Is it me?”

After that talk, I’m thinking it’s me. So, I’ve got some work to do. On my own conversion. Or something.

Tonight, we fed the sister missionaries dinner. They are awkward and I admit I dread the appointment a bit but after they left my home tonight, I had an about face. These two young women (I think they are both only 20) are spending 75 percent of their work day knocking on doors in an attempt to find the people whose souls yearn to hear the gospel of Jesus Christ. Most people don’t yearn or aren’t ready to yearn yet.  I know that’s part of the reason I’m hesitant to share what I believe.  I’m so certain that everyone I know is fine and happy with their own beliefs. After all, I am. But these missionaries have committed 18 months of their young lives to share the gospel.  I envy them their singular focus.

I want to be converted. I want the Lord to know that I am. I want to be an instrument in blessing the lives of others. In the meantime, I’m grateful for the missionaries who work and serve and take up the slack in my own effort.

Daily Gratitude - Day 15

Thank goodness for vaccines and healthy children. What an incredible time to live, when diseases that have ravaged populations for millennia can be prevented with sniff and a shot at a Saturday visit to a clinic, with free lollipops to boot!

Unfazed by shots. And definitely determined to handle it better than his older brother. 

Daily Gratitude - Day 14

It's been a day. Not a bad day but just one of those days that has a lot of...circumstances. Daniel has some sort of stomach bug which doesn’t make him act sick or whiny but has had 4 episodes of diarrhea, which is pretty messy when dealing with the newly potty trained. Not very fun for mom to clean up but I feel for the guy. He still felt happy enough to sing this sweet ditty right before his nap.




I started working on a Christmas project that is going to take many hours to complete but I kept finding ways of interrupting myself.  I am not a good multi-tasker so the only way I tend to get things like that done is to focus, ignore all the other to-dos, and work until its done. It's not a very pleasant or efficient way to accomplish things but it's how it goes. Next week is so busy that I'm nervous I'm not going to get it done unless I can sort of neglect things one day this weekend and hopefully finish.

I'm getting some new furniture for my living room delivered on Monday so I'm finally utilizing the
“sunroom” of my house (a room behind the kitchen that has walls of windows on 3 sides that I’ve basically used as a storage and workout room for the past 4 years so there is quite a bit of stuff to transfer to a new place. Or get rid of.) and converting it into an additional family room by moving our current living room furniture into it. I'm also putting an additional TV in there in the hopes that this will become the sort of go-to hang out room for my kids.  I constantly battle them bringing food into the living room when they are watching sports and I don’t want the battle over spills on my new furniture. My point is, that a new TV required another Direct TV genie receiver which required an installation from a Direct TV service guy which required me dealing with a stranger in my house for over 3 hours because whoever originally wired this house did it weird. Every service person that’s ever come to work on anything (plumbing, electric, cable) has said it. Three hours with a stranger is  a lot of discomfort for me. I don't know what I'll do if we ever remodel because I sort of dread anyone in my house.

My replacement phone from cracking the screen on my iphone was also delivered. I purchased Apple Care with my phone which is kind of dumb when you don't live near an Apple store. I could barely make out text on my screen it was cracked in so many places (I dropped it in the church parking lot several weeks ago) but they have this deal where they will send you a matching refurbished model and you send back your broken phone. It sounds easy but it wasn't  I had no idea about the SIM card, because I've never had to know about it before, so I had to have a lengthy conversation with verizon technical support when I couldn't figure out how to activate my replacement phone. This all happened while my kids started trickling home from school and while strange Direct TV guy kept asking me questions I didn't know the answer to while cursing about how confusing everything was in my house.  Oh...and earlier....while I was showing him how to access all of the cable in the crawl space, I found a dead, decomposing mouse I had to discard. I wanted one of those Ebola hazmat suits but had to use what I could find which was some tongs, a lot of paper towels to make sure my skin didn't come close to any of it and a large paper bag. Blech.

I realize that I am being obnoxiously melodramatic about what are undoubtedly first world problems (except for the diarrhea and dead rodent.  Those are legitimate grievances by any world standard). But, yeah, wah wah about having to get new furniture and TV and phone. Poor me). Thankfully, because I am not trying to audition to be a Real Housewife on a reality TV show, I wasn’t grumpy or anything, just not relaxed or really not wanting to deal with much more before I did have a stress meltdown. It was probably not the best day, then, for Henry’s playdate with his friend, Owen. Unfortunately for Owen, I had promised and arranged for him to ride the bus home with Henry so now I had another extra person in the house (Direct TV guy is STILL here) and it’s raining and cold and there is no working TV and....and....and...

I was fine because I knew I had a night out with Jay ahead of me. Before he left for work, he had left a cute note on the kitchen counter asking, “Will you go out with me tonight?” with a box for yes and a box for no.  I checked “yes” and looked forward to it all day.

The Direct TV guy finally left after 3 hours (he had to reinstall cable through the entire house. I have no idea why), Owen’s mom came to pick him up, I went into town and got Seth who was playing basketball with friends at the Rec center and picked up Burger King for dinner for the gluten kids. I made a quick broiled roast beef and cheese sandwich for Sam and, finally, Jay and I went to the 7:00 show of Interstellar. Our dinner was popcorn, diet coke and milk duds but it was fine. It’s all fine. I’m with him.

I am still in love with my husband. Of course, I love him, because I know that love is a verb and we have so many sacred shared experiences together that I can’t imagine not loving him. But I am also in love with him. He is my favorite thing. The other stuff becomes funny side stories when I get to spend an evening laughing about it all with him.

I know this is basically two days in a row of Jay gratitude and I thought of leaving out all of the annoying commentary about an ordinary day and just being grateful for dates and time with him but it’s more than the date and it’s more than the time. It’s him. It’s the promise of him. No matter what happens, I know he will be the yin to my yang and, the salt to my pepper, the twinkle to my star. Forever. I am blessed.

Daily Gratitude - Day 13

I’ve tried to come up with a less personally intimate statement but none come to mind so I’ll just say it.  I love taking baths. They are restorative to my soul.  For the past three weeks, I have been missing the sanctuary of my tub. Like faucets tend to do over time, the tub faucet had developed an annoying drip.  Not being handy or very smart about these things, I just kept trying to turn it tighter so that the dripping would stop because it isn’t very relaxing to listen to “drip...drip...drip” for an hour which is the approximate normal length of my bath time.

Handles will only turn so far, however, and when I tried to push that boundary, I broke it right off.  Drat.

“It’s an easy fix,” said Jay. I hesitated. Jay is incredibly handy and I’ve been quite impressed with the  his ability to both fix and learn how to fix (he claims you can learn how to do anything with a Youtube video) but he’s also the kind of guy that doesn’t have a lot of spare time. The lawnmower doesn’t work and you can get it running again when you get around to it? That’s fine. I can wait. Let the lawn grow overlong. The bathtub might be out of commission for a few weeks.  WTH?!?

Actually, I’ve been very supportive and patient. On the outside. Inside, I’ve been dying. Every day off Jay has had, he’s worked on getting it running again. It was complicated, I guess.  He’d think he was almost done and something would go wrong...it would be too late to go to Home Depot...he’d get to it on his next day off.  I smiled, always offered to call a professional plumber and then pine for my hot soak when Jay assured me he was quite capable of finishing the job himself.

It may be ugly but it’s such a comfy tub! Oh, how I’ve missed this burgundy beast!

Today was the day he proved himself true! With almost the same amount of pride the astrophysicists must have felt landing their spacecraft on a moving comet after 10 years, Jay glowed with pride when the water came out of the faucet with no leaks anywhere.  Hallelujah.  Of course, with three weeks of Home Depot runs, it looked like a construction zone.  I didn’t care. I scrubbed down the inside of the tub, filled it up with really hot water and the soothing bubble bath sent by my sister, Sarah, and took a bath at 4:30 in the afternoon. It felt like heaven. Balance was restored.

So, I’m grateful for baths, obviously, but I’m also grateful for my smart, multi-talented hunk of a man who seems to be able to do anything he sets his mind to do.

Daily Gratitude - Day 12

Today has been a bit of a whirlwind. I'm tired in that satisfying wow-I-got-a lot-done-today way. So, to give my brain a well deserved night off, here's a list of things I'm grateful for....today.

• Washing machines
• Dryers
• Blendtecs
• ammonia
• clean sheets
• kind emails
• apple care
• sisters
• drive-thru banking
• drive-thru library returns
• the internet
• businesses that allow me to schedule things online so I don't have to talk to anyone on the phone
• businesses that allow me to chat with service people online so I don't have to talk to anyone on the phone
• my comfy car for the many, many, many, many, many hours in which I spend driving, dropping off and generally waiting for others to be done with something.
• Zia Taqueria and their delicious wahoo fish salad bowl
• efficient grocery store checkers
• buy one get one free sales on meat
• vacuum lines
• scrubbed clean toddlers in footed pajamas
• family prayer

Daily Gratitude - Day 11

You know...I sort of thought doing this daily gratitude thing would make the month seem full of hearts and rainbows. Isn’t a happy heart a grateful heart? Well..yesterday, in spite of lasagne tasting better fully cooked, the day was quite awful. I wasn’t feeling grateful at all.

Mondays are early-release day from school so the boys were home early, around 3 o’clock. Fall sports have finished and Winter sports not quite begun and so there was nothing for us to do or be in town for. I thought it would feel nice to be home and not be running around in the car.

Perhaps I should have sent them outside. Perhaps I should have organized a board game. Really, other than the 2 year-old, I don’t feel the need to keep an eye on my kids while they play. And when the older boys are home, my eye frequently leaves the 2 year-old as well. With nothing planned and no where to go, they went to play in the basement. Unsupervised, calamity struck.

Literally. Into the flat screen T.V. downtairs that is only a year-old. A mini-football helmet was errantly thrown or accidentally batted into (the story isn’t confidently told) the TV and the screen is cracked. The TV no longer turns on.

I heard the “oh no”s before I knew what caused them. I closed my eyes, prayed for patience and went downstairs. My blood felt like boiling.

Weak excuses. Mea culpas. I tried not to lose it.

“Go upstairs. I don’t want to see any of you. Start cleaning something and get your homework done. I feel so, so mad.” I quietly and probably scarily seethed to them. I was proud of myself for not screaming but I think my low, growly, batman threat might have been equally as scary to them.

They scurried upstairs to their bedrooms and I just got more and more mad the more I looked around.  Messes. Food that doesn’t belong downstairs. Xbox games left out. That awful cracked screen.

Even though Seth wasn’t downstairs when the accident occurred, he had actually broken his phone earlier so he knew that his own irresponsibility contributed to my dark mood. He wisely disappeared too.

It was only 5 o’clock and already mostly dark outside.  Jay wasn’t home yet and after texting, I knew he wouldn’t be home for hours. I decided to teach the boys something about perspective.

We’re so comfortable. So blessed. We have the things we need and a lot of the things we want. Our home is large, surrounded by space and trees and we all get to do so many things that cost a lot of money. They have iPods and video games and bikes and nike elite socks and none of it seems to mean that much to them. At least, they don’t seem to understand that a lot of kids aren’t nearly as fortunate.

So, although I was irate and wanted all of their annoying-breaking-things-selves away from me, my decision to make them go without dinner wasn’t just me being cruel. I wanted them to be hungry. I wanted their perspective to include the thought that maybe they shouldn’t take all of their comfort and material possessions for granted. Maybe, if they were hungry for one night, they would remember to take care of their stuff and stop breaking my and Jay’s stuff. Maybe, in their want for food, they would be humbled. Look at me playing God.

They stayed in their rooms the rest of the night. I heard some giggling here and there and Sam let me know there was some stealthy gathering of all of them in his room for Halloween candy and I made them a big bacon, eggs and hashbrown breakfast this morning and all is well but do you want to know what really changed over night? Me. My perspective. Some sleep...perhaps some elevated hormones approaching more sane levels got me remembering that things are things and people are people and my kids are my beloveds. Maybe they’ll be more careful with their stuff. Maybe not. They are boys and they are so wild sometimes so I know things will continue to be ruined and I will continue to lose it and be mad and dole out my punishments. But, today, I’m so grateful for nights’ rests and boys who are sorry and anger gone from my body. I hate feeling angry. I love feeling peace.  Everything has its opposite and anger and peace are definitely opposites. So, I suppose I’m grateful for anger even though I hate it. Because, I love, love, love peace.

Daily Gratitude - Day 10

Even though my mother is an excellent cook, I never learned how to cook until I was married. I lived off of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches pressed with my handy snack master at college and never really thought about meals until...well...I had to think about meals.

It has taken years, lots and lots of years, to feel confident in the kitchen. My staples for the early years of my marriage were things like Hamburger Helper and Suddenly Salad.  Anything that came in a kit or only required the dumping of a few cans together were my go-to meals. Jay’s diagnosis with celiac disease over 7 years ago really changed how I felt about my role as the main preparer of food. Once easy meals were no longer easy because I could no longer use certain ingredients and restaurants were no longer an easy option because most don’t have gluten-free food and those that do are prepared in a way that rarely made Jay feel confident that what he was eating was actually gluten-free. As much as I’m sure we all wish for a cure or even drugs that could reverse the effects of eating gluten, his and later, Sam’s, diagnosis had one unintended benefit: I became a decent cook.

It’s still not something that I really enjoy doing, from the thinking of what to make, the shopping, the prep and the clean-up, but I love having family dinners together and I love hearing my boys say, “I love Mom’s enchiladas/mac-n-cheese/salmon/chili/roast/salad/etc”. It brings me joy to know that something as mundane as a meal is making a happy imprint on their childhood. Perhaps because I have so many of my own favorite from my childhood (Mom’s rolls, her wilted salad, her fruit salad, cheesy potatoes, homemade pizza, creamed corn, stovetop chocolate cake), I feel somewhat accomplished in learning to do something that does not come naturally to me.

While I do still try new foods and search out recipes for variety, I have some go to meals that no longer require my looking at recipes. Sunday’s lasagne was one of them.

I added all of the spices and seasonings to a pound of ground pork to make a sausage. I chopped an onion and browned the sausage along with some ground beef. I added chopped garlic. I added tomato sauce with other spices and seasonings and let all of that yummy goodness meld together on the stove. In a blender, I put in some chopped green onions, cream cheese, ricotta cheese and an egg until they became a smooth, white cheese layer. I layered these things with gluten-free rice lasagne noodles  and topped it all with asagio, romano and parmesean cheese, because those taste better than mozzarella to me. Because my boys have bottomless stomaches, I also made a salad, jello, and had gluten-free baguette for Jay and Sam and a regular one for the rest of us cut up. With confidence, I set the table for what I knew would be a lovely, Sunday dinner with my family.

I’m not sure where my brain was that day but I way undercooked the lasagne. The noodles weren’t fully cooked and the ricotta cheese layer hadn’t set and it was...well...gross.  Thank goodness for the jello, bread and salad. Everyone left the table happy and full but I was still so disappointed. Mistakes like that don’t create, “I love my mom’s lasagne,” memories.

Because there was literally 3/4ths of a large 9 X13 pyrex still full of lasagne, I decided to put it back in the oven. It cooked for another 20 minutes, I took it out , let it cool and then put it into a bunch of different tupperware containers for left overs.

I had one for lunch today. Jay took one for lunch for him. It was soooooo much better fully cooked! He texted me his agreement and I thought, “I am so grateful for second chances.”

Whether it’s about something as silly as undercooked lasagne to some of my more horrible foibles, I truly am grateful for do-overs and forget-about-its. I love knowing I can improve and learn even while making mistakes. Sins require repentance. Unkind words and actions require apologies. Faucet handles can’t just be turned tighter and tighter if there is a drip (this post will be coming up). And lasagne definitely needs a full hour to be cooked through. Hooray for second chances.

Daily Gratitude - Day 9

I can’t decide which is worse. Being in the rinky dinky ward choir or leading the rinky dinky ward choir. Without a doubt, I enjoy singing more than I enjoy conducting. However, I also enjoy having a say in the musical programming (what songs are being sung when) so it’s nice to have control over the choir music. None of it is very fun when five people show up for choir.

Because of our low, low numbers, I have curtailed ward choir to a seasonal thing. I’ve learned that most people don’t enjoy being at church for an extra half-hour to hour, even if they enjoy singing. Besides that, ever since I have been the primary music leader, I’m rarely in the mood to cheer lead another music session. So, ward choir will learn something for Easter, usually something for the summer, like Pioneer Day or Fourth of July and then, of course, music for the beloved holiday season. It’s not asking for a lot of extra time. Still, there are usually only about five people that come - three of them frequently relatives of mine. It’s disheartening.

A very talented musician in the other ward and I have become good friends and two years ago, I helped her put together a musical fireside for Christmas. She did most of the work but I had our choir perform a few numbers, I sang a solo and I accompanied a string ensemble on the piano. I can’t quite remember why we didn’t do it last year but we decided to do it again this year but have it even more combined. We’re going to combine our two rinky dinky choirs into one small but stable choir and add other numbers to enjoy the wonders of Christmas music. Our first practice was right after church today.

There were only seven people there. I know we’ll get more trickling in for our next three rehearsals but it’s still so frustrating as a director because you can’t really ever do much more than teach parts when you have new people showing up each week. The great thing about this exercise in gratitude had me searching for the good, however. And I found it listening to Henry’s wonderful, off-key, enthusiastic young voice.

There used to be an unspoken (well...it was probably spoken. I’m sure Jay did some vocal encouraging) rule that my family was in the choir. They were there anyway and I wanted other families to know that choir certainly wasn’t limited to only the adults so for the past few years, all of my boys have sung with us. Henry often didn’t as quick speech and quick singing are so hard for him but as he’s gotten older, and he’s become a solid reader, he’s become the most eager to sing, by far. In fact, Seth and Sam have reached an age (Sam earlier than Seth because younger brothers are so heavily influenced by their older brothers) where no amount of persuasion really can get them to sing with me anymore and I would never force it. So...Henry and Jay were it from our family today. Henry  (and any child) really should stick with singing the melody but he sits with his father and, truly, whatever he sings is usually in an endearing and loudish monotone so he learns the men’s part. As I went over the part a few times for Jay and one other young man from the other ward, I looked over the top of the piano at Henry, sitting on a chair where his feet couldn’t touch the floor, glasses sliding down his nose, hands struggling to hold the music open and singing of Christ’s birth, my heart nearly burst from love and pride.

Henry is who he is. He has no real guile. He is charming and friendly and innocent and unique. There really is no one quite like him. For years, I haven’t quite known how to handle this curious person sent to our family. He is not always easy to handle but I know I can learn a lot from him. When I watched him enjoy each “Gloria In Excelsis Deo” and my brain connected the dots between teaching everyone the notes and Henry reminding me about the spirit and joy of the phrase, even with only seven singers, I felt grateful.

Daily Gratitude - Day 8

Being able to play the piano brings me enormous pleasure. I’m no concert pianist and I’m a teensy bit jealous when I hear someone play with that kind of technical skill, but, mostly, I just feel lucky, pleased and grateful that when I see a sheet of music, I can figure out what it sounds like. I can read the rhythm and the notes and not only enjoy this blessing in my own life but use it to bless and enhance the lives of others.

There are so many things I can do because I studied piano in my youth. I think of music almost like a foreign language: everyone can appreciate the sounds and cadence of a piece of music but when you can read it...play it...hear it fluently, then the language is useful tool in communicating with others and enhancing life. I love being in choirs. I love accompanying musical numbers. I love teaching music. I love hearing and recognizing musical theory.  I really attribute a lot of my musical confidence to understanding the language of music.

Sure, I could have learned how to confidently read music from other types of lessons (guitar...violin....oboe...didgeridoo) and participating in choirs definitely had a part in helping my brain interpret the sounds and little black notes on a page but I think piano, with its 88 keys and multiple staffs, is most like a master key to that musical lock. It’ll get you into any musical door!

I guess that’s why I just felt as pleased as punch when my boys played in their recitals today. Sam, who I can learns music the way I did, was a lot better than his duet partner (today. Normally, he plays his part better) and I was happy with his polish. Henry, whose brain can read more advanced music than his uncoordinated fingers can play, is progressing every day. I love sharing this language with them. I love knowing that with each lesson...each recital, they unlock more and more doors into this joyful, musical world.

Daily Gratitude - Day 7

Jay will sometimes joke with me if I’m really into a book and ignoring him, “Hey...how’s that passion  of yours coming along?” or something along those lines. You see, we’ve had more than one conversation where I compare myself to him, a man who absolutely invests, commits and enjoys his own passions, and complain that I have none of my own.

“You love reading,” he usually responds in an attempt to soothe my self-loathing. Is it fair to compare reading 50 or so books a year to someone who gets up at 5 am, everyday, to train for marathons? Or, someone who meticulously studies the genetics of cattle, going so far as traveling for an artificial insemination course in central Utah so that he won’t have to hire anyone to do something he figures he can do just as well.  Heck - it’s not about saving money - he enjoys it! It’s all part of the passion that brings balance and fulfillment to his life.

We enjoy the fruits of his passions as well. He is hard-working and dependable and interesting and handy and so very much fun to be with. I think it’s a good thing to admire your husband, yes? I do so admire his passions.

And, so, if the incomparable act of reading books really is my passion, is it as worthy of admiration? What do I accomplish other than having that greater empathy I mentioned a few days ago? I am an excellent contributor at book club. I am usually quite reliable to be able to recommend a book or two or three off the top of my head should anyone be desperate for a recommendation. Oh...if only reading a book burned calories! Then my inevitably svelte body would certainly garner some praise.

“But how do you find the time to read?"

"It’s just a matter of priorities. An hour or two a day is all anybody needs.”

These are just a few of the quotes I found on pinterest about being passionate about fitness, which, I think is a passion that gets more kudos than most:

“Excuses are for people who don’t want it bad enough.”

“Fit is not a destination. It is a way of life.”

“What have you done today to make you feel proud?”

“Stop waiting for things to happen.  Go out and make them happen.”

(Great. Now I just want to go work out! Those motivational posters really work!)

I just finished Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies and it’s not Pulitzer literature but it’s more than dumb chick lit. I really have a lot on my mind right now from reading it. Like, the appearances we put on for others vs. our real selves. The power of words - all kinds of words - from gossip, threats, confessions and testimonies. The competitiveness and insecurity of parenting. How genuine friendship can heal wounds. I really enjoyed reading it. I really enjoy reading.

Maybe it’s a passion. It’s just not the adjective usually associated with reading. Avid...yes. Really, have you ever seen a more overused adjective to describe someone who likes to read? “So and so is an avid reader.” Thesaurus says “ardent, devoted, eager, fanatical, fervent, hungry, impatient, insatiable, keen, PASSIONATE, ravenous, thirsty, voracious (o.k. That one is also used a lot), zealous, rapacious, greedy and intense are all synonyms of avid. So, I’m an avid, voracious, passionate reader. The other ones all seem a bit...violent. No wonder they aren’t used.

O.K. Here goes.

Reading a book is not a destination. It is a way of life. 

Too tired to read? Enjoy that mushy brain. 

No book gets read just book looking at its cover. 

I wanted to read that book...I wanted it bad. 

Oh! The power of motivational quotes!

I love books. I love thinking. Reading gets me thinking.

I’m a reader. And, today, on this 7th day of gratitude, I’m glad to have something in my life that I enjoy so much.

Daily Gratitude - Day 6

We live in Jay’s hometown. That’s how I’ve thought about it for so long. I am from Montana. Jay is from here. We live in Jay’s hometown. A hometown that consistently seems to make the ranks of some “best of” list. And yet, I’ve grumbled.

So many people think living here is the definition of fabulous and I constantly poop on the party (can you reverse that saying like that? It’s kind of gross) with my “yeah, but”s.  It’s too expensive. The tourists take over all the great stuff. It’s too far away from my family. There’s no Target.

When I hear people gush about how they can kayak on their lunch breaks or backcountry ski from their yurts, I think, “I am not like these people! I shouldn’t be here!” Perhaps, that feeling of “one of these things is not like the others” is what keeps me from fully embracing the D in D-town. I’m sort of embarrassed about living here and not really living here.

Even though my roots are shallow and could probably be dug out with little effort, they are forming. I’ve lived in Colorado for 10 years now and in this particular spot for 6 of them. That’s a quarter of my life. So, while Montana still claims my heart, these mountains that surround me and are my constant view feel like a welcome anchor. The sounds of the river, while not listened to from a top a paddle board or inside a raft (very often), sound familiar and necessary to me as I walk along the river trail. The restaurants are excellent. The people are kind. The Subaru drivers are so annoying with their under-the-speed-limit constraint but I’ll take their determined-to-be-fuel-efficientness over freeway congestion any day.

Today, this was my view at the turn-around spot of my walk.

Then, I saw this sight as I was walking back up our driveway.  Jay, borrowing his father’s tractor to level out some gravel laid down on the road to the barn. Daniel, in his father’s arms, living this adorable country life.

And the roots from a reluctant heart inched down into this spot of earth just little bit more.

Daily Gratitude - Day 5

I have never mourned aging. I still don’t think I’m mourning but as I approach 40, there are some very annoying things I wish I didn’t have to deal with. At the top of the list: grey hair.

I kind of want to be one of those women who just lets it go grey and sports the Birkenstocks and puffy vest (why do I have this image in my head? Oh, this makes me remember the funny description of Seattle women in Where’d You Go, Bernadette? Have you read it?) but as cool and comfortable as they look in their own skin....they look older than I’m sure they are. And, I don’t want to look older than 40. I’m not trying to look 20 but why rush things?

So, I color my hair. Every time I make an appointment, it seems like I have to ask my stylist to cover more and more grey. My main problem areas are the hair that grows right beside the sides of my forehead. If I didn’t color my hair, I could sort of be the female version of Mitt Romney. And, as handsome as he is at 67, again...this is not really the look I’m going for.

Isn’t it nice, though, that in a matter of hours, such a silly grievance can be completely redressed? If only all of my problems could be fixed by siting in a chair, sipping lemon water and reading a magazine.

The magic is happening...

Poof! No more grey temples!

Daily Gratitude - Day 4

A while ago, I read an article that reported research finding that people who read a lot of fiction have more empathy than those who do not. I don't know how it was measured or what the method of testing was but I remember thinking, "Hey...that makes sense. I read a lot of fiction and I have a lot of empathy." The best kind of truth is when it is self-validating, right?





When I saw this Caitlyn Connolly print titled, “But if you look at it this way,” I immediately bought it because that’s what I want to do. I feel it is so important in almost every area of our lives (marriage, parenting, religion, politics) to at least try to see things from other perspectives. I don’t have to change my mind or think like someone else but I want to know not just how other people view the world but why. Sometimes this makes me feel wishy-washy and I get that there are times when a person has to take a stand but I can usually see both sides of any issue and it makes it impossible to be a hard-liner. Because today is election day, this personal failing or wonderful blessing (depends which way you’re looking) is something I’ve thought a lot about. I rarely choose one political party and their candidates consistently over another. If I was forced to choose, I would probably choose more conservative candidates and issues but not always. What makes me so curious is the absolute certainty a lot of people claim to possess about what is right. Really? Always? For everyone? I see a lot of truth and goodness as well as a lot of perversion and corruption within both major parties. I’d vote third party but I’m not anti republican or democrat.  Besides, some of those candidates are often..well...kind of crazy. Just watch the Vermont governor's debate. What do you do when those kinds of candidates are your alternatives?



Today is election day and during tonight's choir rehearsal, I was sitting next to a woman who kept checking the election outcomes on her phone whenever she could. Without any provocation or encouragement from me, she would lean over and say, "At least so and so is ahead. That other guys is an idiot," or "What is wrong with the people in our state? Why don't we care about what's in our food?"  I never knew what to say. If I nodded, she would just keep going but not saying anything was sort of like nodding too. Why would she assume I felt the same as her about these things? Because of my gender? My age? My skin color? My voice part?

I voted my conscience, as best as I could with the candidates and options available and it was kind of all over the place.The only person I've told how I voted is Jay because he loves me regardless...even when I sometimes cancel out his vote. I feel so blessed to have the privilege and right to vote. I never want to abuse it through negligence or apathy. It matters because the alternative is so much worse.

Book Review: The Handmaid’s Tale

I just got on to the computer to finish this book review that I started writing three weeks ago and it was gone.  A window closed by someone other than me....erasing thoughts that I don’t really want to rethink. I have lost my habit of writing book reviews but I wanted to jot down my thoughts about this stunning book and be as articulate as I could because this story really affected me. I’m annoyed that I have to try and remember passionate reactions that have dimmed each passing day but hope that by writing this, I will be able to converse about this book in the future - a feat I am only able to do if I take the time to write about it. Here’s my take two!

First of all, I think this book qualifies as amazing. That is why I gave it five stars on Goodreads.  Not because I loved it and not because I learned something I didn’t know before but because the plot caused me to reflect on my gender, my religion, my politics, my government, my beliefs and my world. Furthermore, I believe my experience with The Handmaid’s Tale was enhanced by listening to the audio version narrated by Claire Danes. I just so happen to also be watching Season 2 of Homeland on Netflix and Claire Danes’ character in that series is brilliant but also suffers from bipolar disorder. Her voice, not a soothing one but filled with panic and confusion, absolutely lent credence to Offred, the handmaid in this tale, and her fear and paranoia about who she could trust in her instinct for survival. In addition to the effectiveness of Danes’ voice was the fact that, essentially, this story was given orally.  Most of the book is narrated in first person until the very last chapter, which is an epilogue of sorts. In this final thought, the narration switches to third person where an academic lectures to an audience about his study of a collection of cassette tapes discovered and believed to have been reordered during what was known as “The Gilead Era.” The cassettes were transcribed into “The Handmaid’s Tale” and he added context, history and theories about who might have made them and what might have been her fate. So, I felt like I was actually listening to those recovered audiocassettes. It worked really well.

I’ve wanted to read something by Margaret Atwood for years as she is a favorite author of a highly esteemed friend but I didn’t really know anything about her books or style other than I’ve seen The Handmaid’s Tale and Blind Assassin on several modern classic lists.  Luck of the draw or fate or what have you led me to this book at just the right time. You see, I’ve been thinking a lot about women lately- our roles, our rights, our responsibilities - and Atwood’s dystopic look at how bad things could become as well as the conditions that existed in the society before it got to that point blew me away.  Because more than any other book I’ve read that warns or imagines the way life could be....if....Atwood’s tale of subjugation based on ideology seems so possible.  At least, it doesn’t seem so science-fiction-y or futuristic that it’s too difficult to glean the here and now similarities. That doesn’t mean I think women are eventually going to wear red habits or winged hats that limit their vision to straight ahead or even that I think Christian fundamentals are a dangerous threat to America but if Atwood’s Republic of Gilead could be placed in other parts of the globe, then it’s already happening.  There are places, particularly those places in the news right now, where a woman’s right to education, personal style, marriage, economic independence and belief is dictated by someone else, usually a man. I just read an article yesterday about Boko Haram’s announcement that the more than 200 school girls his radical group kidnapped in Nigera back in April are now all converted to Islam and married to soldiers. I want to cry. These women are not valued beyond their gender and reproductive capabilities.  As a woman who is grateful for my uterus, respectful of its powers and disturbed by so many’s casual disregard of it, still, I know that I am not my uterus. I am me. Influenced by my gender, certainly, but not contained by it.

Segregation between the roles of women and men was certainly a major theme in Atwood’s novel but it wasn’t exclusive.  Women were further segregated into “Aunts” (trainers and enforcers of other women - a governmental role), “Marys” (cleaners and cooks of households), “Wives” (elite but infertile) “Handmaids” (undecorated women given to a husband and wife for the purpose of conceiving a child) and the even less fortunate who were sent out to an area known as the colonies to clean radioactive waste and die. It was interesting to me that one of the tools to successfully isolate women was to pit them against each other. Don’t we do that a bit now?

Another major theme in the book was the time it takes to transition between lifestyles and how this particular generation of handmaids felt sad because they could remember their former lives but that the next generation, conditioned to believe what they were doing was noble and best and not having knowledge of anything different, would have no regrets. I wonder if that is true. Certainly we can be conditioned to believe certain things but history has shown time and time again that there is an innate hunger for personal liberty and emancipation from oppression. Indeed, from the perspective of the epilogue, we see that this extreme society of Gilead did not last. It’s still shocking to me that there are some who would want to try.

If I had any disappointment with the book it is that towards the end, the story got a little too caught up in the sexual needs, corruption and dysfunction within the society. But, who is to say that that actually wouldn’t happen when it is so unnaturally regulated? I suppose what I missed was Offred’s earlier voice that was used so effectively to explain the past to present. By the end, I felt like the story was hyper focused on her relationships with Nick and the commander.

That disappointment, however, felt minor compared to the big picture ideas presented within Atwood’s storytelling.  The slippery slope of governmental control.  Personal rights vs. what is best for society. Religious persecution and perversion. What it means to be a woman. What it means to be human. All brilliantly and accessibly told by Atwood.

My immediate comment upon finishing this book was that I was “gasping from amazement and fear.” A month’s passing has stopped the gasping but I’m still amazed. And I still fear.

Daily Gratitude - Day 3

Today, I spent about an hour and a half at the high school for parent teacher conferences. Other than attending sporting events, I haven’t really been in the high school much and definitely haven’t seen the building the way that students do. As I walked up a set of stairs and meandered down a hallway to find Seth’s science classroom, I saw posters advertising various clubs for all sorts of lifestyles, posters with information about bullying, notes left on bulletin boards with innuendo and lots of students in various formations: alone to large, rambunctious groups.

Instead of feeling any sort of nostalgia for this time of life, I couldn’t help but almost shudder at how confusing and hard it is to be a teenager. As I met with teacher after teacher, trying to understand the expectations of Seth’s teachers and how I can help him best, memories kept drifting to my own mind from my own freshman year of high school.  Memories of standing in front of a bathroom mirror, trying desperately to rat and tease my bangs and the hair along the sides of my face to volumes that my fine strands refused to go.  Memories of shopping in a mall, wishing I could wear the expensive guess jeans like the cool, skinny, popular girls wore. Memories of feeling tired from early morning seminary, embarrassed about the required post P.E. showers, and an almost desperate crush on a senior that I never, ever talked to.

I think that crush and the many others that followed dominated most of my teenage thoughts. Somehow I got good grades but they were definitely not at the forefront of my personal goals or effort. I have forced myself to remember this fact as I have wished for that very reversal of priorities for my own son.

I’ve had to parent today. The tough kind of parenting. The kind of parenting I hate. It’s made me grateful that I’m no longer a teenager who is constantly distracted by hormones and crushes.  More importantly, it’s made me eternally grateful that the mistakes I made as a result of those distractions and crushes could be forgiven and that the exact same opportunity and blessing is available to all.

Daily Gratitude - Day 2

About a year ago, I first noticed the pain. I remember my arm hurting after leading the primary program and using my left arm for ward choir when we were learning Christmas music. I also stopped working out with my personal trainer because I felt like it was a waste of money to pay someone to “go easy” on me because of the pain. I figured it would go the way of other random body aches - away eventually.

It hasn’t.  I am not in constant pain but I would say I have periods of intense pain or discomfort several times a week. In May, I had an expensive MRI that revealed a small lap tear in my labrum (shoulder) and that was relevant to some of my shoulder pain and limited mobility. But, the most debilitating pain was often more localized to an area right underneath my collar bone and neck which would cause tingling and numbness down my arm and into my pinkie finger.  The physical therapist quickly diagnosed the source of that pain as a bulging disc in my neck. I don’t have the imaging to prove it but from what I’ve read, it seems like an accurate diagnosis. I never know what will set it off but after unsuccessfully trying to treat it with ice, heat, stretching and physical therapy, I have figured out the quickest way to stop the pain is to lie down flat on my back.  It only takes 10-30 minutes of just lying still until I find relief.

It stinks because it really does affect my daily life.  I can no longer lift weights or do weight bearing exercises like pushups or planks (darn). Sometimes, blowdrying my hair or taking off a shirt is a lot more difficult than it used to be. I always use my left arm to put anything away that goes into an upper cupboard and I usually have to fall asleep on my stomach, with my right arm down along my side. My formerly preferred side sleeping makes my shoulder throb and I’ve never been able to fall asleep on my back.

I don’t keep a detailed log about when it hurts and when it doesn’t but there are times when I think it’s getting better.  This morning was one of those times. I was blow drying my hair with absolutely no pain or stiffness and thinking, “I think I’m getting over it.” Then, a slow throb started on the side of my neck during sacrament meeting. By the end of the meeting, I knew I needed to go home.

My darling sister-in-law, Patty, was sitting behind me and quickly offered to do primary music for me. I left feeling so grateful for her help.

And, then I felt so grateful for Seth and Sam, and their capable care of Daniel (Henry stayed for primary with Patty).  As I was resting, my good friend, Kayla, called because she was concerned that I looked so uncomfortable when we spoke briefly in the hallway. She offered to bring me over dinner but I assured her I was feeling so much better.  While I was fixing dinner, my bishop called to see if I was o.k. Really, these obnoxious and random flare-ups have been going one for so long but I guess this was the first time that it happened early enough during our church block that other people noticed. Members of my ward really are so good and kind. I don’t really feel comfortable being on the receiving end of service and worry, but I’m so grateful for people who truly practice what we preach.

Daily Gratitude - Day 1

Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy.  Things I would never let my children get away with, I actively allow in my own life. I suppose it’s easier to see and enforce what’s best for others than impose those same undesirable rules on myself. This is especially true for my current health and fitness woes.

Once lofty exercise goals have been reduced to a daily 2 mile walk. That’s it. That’s all I tell my brain I need to do. And yet, my indomitable idleness still often wins out.  If I have time to do something non house or calling or child related for myself, I will almost always choose to do something other than exercise.  I will read. Or take a bath. Call a sister. Online shop. I hate that I consistently treat my health and body as a lower priority to almost everything else.

A few weeks ago, I decided that I have to do better and that I could no longer solely rely on my erratic intrinsic motivation to get my 2 mile walk in. I needed some external influence. A moment of inspiration came that I sat on for a few days. I knew once I announced it, I would actually have to abide by it and my life and current habits could continue on, uninterrupted, if I didn’t say anything.  But, I said it anyway.

“Sam. I know you hate practicing the piano but you know I expect you to practice five days a week. You are not allowed to play the Xbox or computer or watch TV before you practice. You obey this rule and I enforce it because practicing is necessary to develop the talent that you have.  I choose the battle, knowing you would prefer to not practice, because I know it’s good for you.  But, I am not being fair because I am not expecting the same things from myself.  I need to exercise more. I need some accountability. I need to get my “practicing” done before I do the other things that I would prefer to do. I propose that if I do not go on a 2 mile walk...you do not have to practice the piano.”

He looked at me waiting for the catch.  “So...if you don’t walk, I don’t have to practice? But, if you do walk, I have to practice, which I already have to do anyway?” He couldn’t quite grasp what was in it for him.

“Yes,” I replied. “This won’t make you have to practice any more.  I am hoping my desire to have you practice the piano will eventually become my own desire to exercise.  At least, it will help me get into a better habit because I will panic if you never practice.  I think knowing you won’t have to practice if I don’t go for a walk will get me out the door everyday.”

“Um...ok,” he said.

It hasn’t worked perfectly. There are days my stubborn, willful and disobedient self decides not to care.  I can tell Sam feels sorry for me on these days although he happily accepts his day off.  He is getting to a level in piano where daily practice really makes a difference so I think about the consequences of not going on that walk. Every day.

Today, I walked. He practiced. And, I’m glad.