Winter therapy

This delicious hot cocoa mix is going to get me through the long Washington winter.

Every winter I need a new gimmick, a new happy moment to make the dreary, rainy days more bearable.  When we first moved here five years ago I would turn on every light in the house first thing in the morning and leave them on all day.  Every. Single. Light.   And that somehow made me feel like it was bright and sunny, not gray and dreary.

A few years later I discovered "fuzzy socks." I think they are designed to be worn as sort-of slippers around the house, but during winter I wear them all day long, with and without shoes, out and about and everywhere. Every year I add a few new varieties, and my fuzzy socks keep my toes warm and cozy.

Then two years ago I found some fabulous super soft sheets.  They are still wonderful, and still make me happy all during the cold season. Which, in case you are wondering, lasts from October to July.

A few weeks ago I happened upon a big tin of  Starbucks Hot Cocoa mix at Costco, and with the very first mug I fell in love. The dark chocolate mix - prepared with milk - is rich, velvety, decadent, indulgent, and amazing. I have a mug of this cocoa every day, and I plan ahead to select a "cocoa time" when I can really focus on the chocolaty goodness. Every once in awhile I'll make a cup just after waking up, but at 5 a.m. I'm really not coherent enough to fully appreciate it. So, I usually wait until I get the last kid successfully off to school. Then I make my cocoa, breathe deeply, and enjoy my chocolate moment.  (I bought the Cocoa tin using a Costco coupon, and when I realized how magnificent it is, I raced back to the store to buy a winter's supply before it went off coupon!)

These are just a few of my winter coping strategies.

Healing

It has been 11 days since I injured my hand (but who's counting?)  I think it's really interesting to observe the slow healing process. I took a picture so I can remember what it is like at this point and compare to the way it looks a week from now, etc.  I would add this picture to this post, but I'm not sure everyone shares my fascination with healing body parts (or at least that's what my family tells me every time I try to show them my fingers.  "Ewwwww!  Gross!")

Over the past 11 days I've had some time to think about healing. Here are a few of my thoughts:

• First of all, I marvel at the regenerative abilities of the body. The body is an amazing and beautiful thing. It is remarkable that new cells can be produced, bones can knit back together, viral and bacterial invaders can be defeated by the immune system. I'm in awe.
• But I'm also impatient. Because healing takes time, and I don't like to wait. I like to be active, involved, hands-on. I like to do projects myself - not tell other people what needs to be done. I haven't enjoyed doing chores and activities one-handed.  
• Before this little accident I was on a roll with exercise. I had attended an exercise class at the gym five days a week since school started.  Now, I'm not supposed to pick up a hand weight or other equipment or touch the floor or anything else with my hand until it is much better healed. I'm not supposed to wave my hands around or clap my hands or anything like that (so there goes my favorite Zumba class for awhile.) My exercise rhythm has been disrupted, so instead of getting in exercise at the gym I am at home eating Halloween candy. Not a good trade.
• It is interesting to see how quickly we can adapt to weaknesses.  I can't use two of the fingers on my left hand and can't get the hand wet or dirty, but the other fingers of that hand and my right hand have gotten stronger and more dexterous, and I can do most everything (even type - which is quite a feat!) But, everything takes about three times as long. And sometimes that makes me grumpy.
• Isn't it true that you never appreciate being well until you are sick? Every time I have a cold and struggle to breathe normally I'm amazed that I normally don't even think about breathing.  It isn't until I have the stomach flu that I realize how my digestive system normally works just fine without my attention or consideration. It isn't until something isn't working right that I appreciate the fact that normally everything works great. I guess that's the meaning of the scripture which says that there must be "opposition in all things".  Without the sickness, we'll never appreciate health. Without adversity, we'll never appreciate peace.
•  I've also thought a lot about the physical challenges endured by many people I know. Their challenges are much more daunting than temporarily lame fingers, and I applaud them for overcoming the obstacles and functioning every day.
• I really am grateful for health. I'm grateful to have a body that serves me well most of the time.  I've really enjoyed exercising over the past few months, and it feels good to stretch and push my body and feel the strength and capacity in my body. I am grateful for my sore hand, because it reminds me to appreciate health and strength. And it reminds me to be very careful around power hedgers. 

Ouch!

This is what my hand looks like today. It's not too painful, as long as I don't use it. Our put pressure on the fingers. Or basically do anything that I need to get done today.

This is the story . . . . . . .I'm not sure why, but I decided about a year ago that I wanted to buy a new hedge trimmer. Our old hedger was at least 15 years old and couldn't cut a blade of grass. When it was time to trim the big bushes, we always just used manual clippers. Which, as you know is slow and time consuming.  I had visions of myself with our new Black and Decker 18 volt cordless Hedge Trimmer, sculpting the landscaping in no time flat, to the amazement of all of our neighbors.

So last week I bought this very model at Home Depot, and I plugged in the rechargeable battery, waiting for time to use my new toy. I might add that I have never actually used a hedge trimmer. But it looked really cool, and I really like power tools. They make me feel powerful and . . . . . well, I guess just really powerful.

So, Saturday afternoon we had about a zillion things to do. We had just returned from Joseph's soccer game and buying supplies to make food for a church potluck that evening. We had also picked up a friend to play with Joseph. As I ran back and forth, cleaning, laundrying, mothering, dish doing, I noticed my super cool  new hedge trimmer just patiently waiting for me in the garage. The sun was out, so I decided to whip the back yard into shape. I ran inside with the tool and clipped off the tags and plastic.  Dan, who had just sat down to watch the BYU game, commented, "You look dangerous."  I walked outside, revved the motor, and giggled, "Yes, I AM dangerous."

And then I started trimming. And it was a beautiful thing.  I made short work of an overgrown forsythia and a big butterfly bush. Then, in the back of our raised bedding area, I noticed the tall rose-like bush which was sorely in need of a trim. And I remembered what a pain it is to cut the branches, because they are covered in super sharp and long thorns.  So, I thought, it makes much more sense to attack it with my power hedger.

To reach the bush I had to lean in as far as I could reach and then I had to hold the hedger over my head to reach the tall branches.  My right hand was on the trigger and my left hand was where it was supposed to be on the handle, which apparently is designed to help you control the tool, but which also keeps your hand out of the way of the moving, sharp blade. And then . . . . the long rose branch I had cut above my head began falling right at my face, and my instinctual reaction was to reach up with my left hand to keep the thorns from hitting me. Except that when I reached up, I ran directly into the moving blade of the hedger.

Man, it hurt!  I threw down the hedger and ran into the house, spurting blood everywhere. I had only been outside trimming for maybe 5 minutes. Dan was still watching the BYU game and didn't look up when I entered. I could hardly talk, but I alerted him with a strangled, "Hurt . . . .hand. . . . .help."  I tried washing off the wound in the sink to assess the damage and I saw that the wound on one of the fingers had laid back flesh all the way to the bone.  And I couldn't stop the bleeding.

And so right then the focus of our day shifted.  Everything else we had to do went out the window. Bailey, who was waiting to be picked up for a church activity, grabbed towels for me to apply pressure and Dan threw Joseph and his friend into the van. We careened down the street and Dan hustled both boys into the friend's house. (Later the mom of the house, my friend Kristen, reported that Joseph said, "I think my Mom cut off her finger or something. And she was crying. I didn't know that Moms cry.")

When we arrived at Urgent Care there was a long line and a lot of people waiting. It was one of their busiest days ever, they said. But, it turns out that they push you to the front of the line when you are bleeding all over the check-in counter (good to know).

The nurse poured some numbing liquid into the wounds, which brought some serious relief. The doctor assessed and then stitched me up. The worst wound was the pointer finger, which was cut to the bone. Another finger was sliced, but not as badly, and my hand required some stitching as well. By now the pain had subsided, and I found the stitching process really remarkably interesting. I have never, ever, in my 41 years been injured and required stitches (Neither have any of our kids! And, for the record, I've never broken a bone either). 

I was really lucky. This could have turned out much worse. It would have been easy to lose a finger. Or, at the very least, sever the tendon in my finger, which would have required a hand surgery. Skin wounds will heal quickly.

After we got back from the doctor Joseph scurried around helping me and making me special get-well things (both girls were gone at activities).  He gave me a tray with a flower and a note and a slice of pizza.  "But," he said,"I'm not giving you a knife."  Good, idea, Joseph.  Apparently I can't be trusted around sharp things.
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So, here I sit on a Monday morning with a million Monday morning things to do. Laundry, dishes, house cleaning, food preparation, shopping.  None of which are very easy to do with one hand. So, our house might be a mess (until my family comes home and cleans it), but today I'm a little wiser. I have developed a healthy respect for power tools. And, I think I needed a reminder that I am not invincible!

22 years

Yesterday I was talking to Bailey and looking at my planner when I realized . . . . wait - STOP - something very important happened on October 19th.  And I was right - 22 years ago yesterday Dan and I were engaged. In honor of the occasion, last night Dan and I sat down with our wedding scrapbook and looked through the pictures and memories of our engagement.  Aubrey cuddled with us on the couch, apparently enjoying all the mushy lovey talk and stories from the past.

This is how it happened on October 19, 1989 ( a page from my scrapbook):

And so we we began a whirlwind engagement. We flew to Arizona to see Dan's parents, and they took hundreds of pictures and introduced us to all the Arizona relatives.  And we tried to focus on finishing up the semester of school while planning a wedding for December 28th.  (Well, I'm not going to lie. Our parents did most of the planning and arranging.  We just picked out a few things and agreed with everything that was suggested.)

I have never regretted saying "yes" on that beautiful October night 22 years ago. It was the best decision I ever made!

Star of the Week

What could be cooler when you are 1st grade than the designation of "Star of the Week??"  The perks of this honor include: getting to choose the story at storytime, getting to "cut in line," wearing a special "star" sticker, and time every day to sit in the special "star of the week" rocking chair and share something special from home. Joseph agonized each evening over what he should bring to class to share. (The rest of us were relieved when the the week was over because the stress of choosing the perfect sharing object was just too intense!)  This is what he chose to share: a lego helicopter he built himself, a picture he drew of a Star Wars character, trading pins from Disney World, and a few assorted toys which were awesome enough to show the class.

 Joseph and his good friend Alex in front of his "Read All About Me" poster.

We just got his school pictures back. They were taken the first day of his "star" week. Apparently Joseph would not take off the special star of the week sticker for the picture, so it is forever immortalized on his shirt in his 1st grade picture.  At first I was slightly upset, thinking this ruined the picture, but then I wised up and realized that it makes the school picture even more authentic and . . . . better. 

These are the things he wrote on his star of the week poster:

When I grow up I would like to be: a policeman.
I show others I care by: sharing with others.
I am a star because I like clining (sp) the floor.

I like to play outside, I like soccer, I like to ride rollercoasters

These are a few of my favorite things:

Color: red
Animal: tiger
Food: pizza
Book: The Magic School Bus
Sport: basketball
Thing to do in school: recess
Thing to do at home: play with legos

Thought provoking day

I had some thought provoking interactions yesterday. 

First, I was leaving the gym after an exercise class. I've become friends with another woman in the class - Madeline.  As we were walking through the parking lot Madeline asked me how long we have lived here.  I told her we've been here 5 years, and before that lived in Utah.  Her eyes lit up.

"Really?  We used to live in Utah. For two years we lived in Draper!"

We compared notes and realized that we had both moved to Utah the same year, and we lived less than a mile from each other.  She lived really close to my parents, right next to a great Catholic school which her daughter attended.

Then, in a matter-of-fact voice Madeline said this. "We are Catholic. We moved from Utah after two years, even though we loved so many things about living there - the mountains, the skiing, the job, the great school.  But it was just too hard to be a religious minority and be excluded."  She said that most of the kids in the neighborhood were LDS, and very few would play with her children. Their family was excluded from many events. Madeline said she had one Mormon neighbor who was friendly and they would go walking in the mornings, but she had a hard time getting to know most of her Mormon neighbors.  She loved going to the "Super Saturday" homemaking meetings at the church, and said that sometimes she found plenty of people to visit with, but sometimes the women at her table asked her which ward she was in and when they heard that she is Catholic they didn't talk to her for the rest of the activity.

She said, "I really liked that older, sweet man who was your leader (President Hinckley) and I heard him give a talk once. He told the members of the church to include others around them and be friendly to their neighbors, whether or not they are members (I remember that talk!).  And I used to think, 'why don't you people listen to your leader?'"

We had a great talk. I told her I feel terrible that they were excluded. I tried to explain some things, although as I pondered our conversation later in the day I could think of much more clear ways to explain my thoughts.  This is the way I wish I had explained my feelings to Madeline:

President Hinckley gave that counsel about reaching out to non-Mormon neighbors because sometimes that is a problem, as you experienced.  We Mormons get so busy with our church responsibilities and callings families and so complacent with being a "majority" in some areas of the country that we exclude others, perhaps intentionally, but more likely out of benign neglect. This is wrong. Christ's gospel is not about all the meetings and programs and planning and decorations and ward parties. It is about loving people, all people. And if a non-Mormon can live in our midst and feel unacceptable because of her religion, then we are forgetting to truly live our religion.

That's the way I wish I had said it. As it was, we had a nice talk and she made it clear that she bears no grudge against Mormons - in fact she admires many things about the Mormon way of life (clean living, missionary service, the welfare program and service, youth programs for the teenagers, etc.).  She just couldn't have her kids to grow up in a place where they would never be accepted or included by the majority.

I've been studying D&C and church history lately and we recently returned from a trip to NY and Ohio, where the early members of the church lived and were unfairly persecuted for their "minority" beliefs. It is so poignant to follow the struggles of a people who were repeatedly rejected because they didn't believe the way their neighbors believed. It was so hard on the early Saints that they had to move from their homes to try to find peace.

After talking to Madeline I had an "aha" moment. How sad it is if we Mormons, who historically were unfairly persecuted and excluded because of our beliefs, now find safety and complacency in numbers and choose to exclude non-Mormons around us. If we have really learned from our history of being unfairly treated by neighbors, then we should be the kindest, most loving neighbors possible.  I know that I haven't always done this perfectly, and I resolve to do better.


My next thought provoking interaction happened in the evening at a bridal shower for a childhood friend of mine. It was held in the home of a woman in her ward. As I was warmly welcomed by the hostess and looked around her lovely home I made an instant assumption about her - without even realizing it. Her home absolutely exuded warmth and happiness and was filled with objects which reflected the things she believed and valued. She had such a kind, gracious way of interacting with everyone and seemed to be content and happy. My unconscious assumption was that this was a woman for whom life ran very smoothly. That her husband and children were probably equally sunny and peaceful and faithful. I could just imagine her and her family of (likely) grown children and grandchildren gathered and being happy together. How's that for an instant assumption?

I would have never challenged this assumption had I not had an enlightening conversation with the hostess at the end of the night. Somehow we got on the topic of family and she mentioned briefly some very intense challenges she has faced for most of her married life and the incredible challenges they have had with their three adopted children, who are all grown and all making some less-than-stellar choices. And now several of the grandkids who are being raised in the homes of these children are making similar choices. The things she was telling me were not at all what I expected from this happy, singularly peaceful woman.

And this is when I had my "aha" moment. This woman doesn't have a "perfect life and perfect family" (who does?), but that has not changed the way she interacts with the world. Her demeanor and home reflect who she really is and the person I would assume that she always intended to be, and this does not seem to be affected by the actions of her family. Her family has made some different choices, but she is still happy with her choices and chooses to find peace, even as she worries about and grieves for them.  Before I even knew her story I was affected by the unique spirit and peace in her home, and my limited understanding of her challenges taught me an important life lesson I will not soon forget.

Saying goodbye to books

This was a conversation between Joseph and me the other day.

Joseph: See all these books on my bookshelves, Mom?  I need to take out the baby books. There are too many little kid books in my room.

Mom: Well, okay.  Which books are you talking about? (Joseph starts piling books off his shelf into a pile). Wait, what are you doing?  Oh, you can't mean Molly Lou Melon or Seven Silly Eaters or the Little Critter books. What?  King Bidgood's in the Bathtub is an awesome book. And Love You Forever and Guess How Much I Love You and No, David!  Surely you're not ready to give up these books yet, Joseph? They're so wonderful (Mom sinks down to the floor and starts thumbing through her favorite books).

Joseph (in a very patient tone of voice):  Mom, I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm six. And I need big kid books in my room now.  Chapter books and books about science and sports and jokes and stuff. Can't you give the babyish books to someone who is a baby?

And thus it began. After almost two decades of gathering the best children's books for our home bookshelves, we now have begun thinning out the books. Because there is no one left to pass down the books to in our family.

Joseph and I worked together and reached a middle ground we could both agree upon.  I told him we could take out all the board books and Winnie the Pooh and Sesame Street and early reading primers, but our favorite great classic children's books just had to stay somewhere accessible for now.  Joseph agreed, as long as we brought into his room all the chapter books, science, sports and joke books we own.

So this was the end result:

We filled a total of three boxes (not all pictured) with books that we are holding onto for someday (and made three big piles of books to give away).  It's not like me to hold onto stuff. I gleefully get rid of outgrown clothes and toys and extra household stuff.  I get a "DI high" every time we drop off a load of donation. I love to get rid of stuff, but books are different. They are special and meaningful and I love them. So, for the next who knows how many years we will find a way to store my boxes of books, and then someday I'll pull out the boxes when I'm a grandma, and maybe the kids will want to take some of their favorite books to read to their own children. 

We organized the two bookshelves in his room by category (Berenstain Bears, superhero, chapter books, science, Magic School Bus, Dr. Seuss, etc.).  And we are both happy. Except I'm just wondering who told my baby that he was allowed to grow up?

"I like Conference, Halloween, and Christmas"

What a great General Conference weekend!  In our house Conference weekend is equivalent to a holiday. The day before Conference Joseph helped me set up all the goodies and activities and he said, "I like Conference, Halloween, and Christmas."  Now, I am aware that he groups these three together primarily because each "holiday" involves lots of candy. He has very sweet associations with Conference, specifically because all rules are suspended for the day and he can consume lots of M&Ms and Skittles while doing Conference Bingo (at which he cheats shamelessly).

Like Joseph, we all like Conference for lots of reasons. We like all being together. We love to hear the counsel from the general authorities of the church. We like turning our family room into one big cozy nest. We move couches, bring down the beanbag chair, and pile blankets everywhere. Each family member snags their favorite Conference watching spot.  For Joseph this time it was a super cool fort with an opening so he could see the TV (it reminded me of when the people set up their tents with the door toward the temple to listen to King Benjamin in the Book of Mormon).

 

 

 

And then there's the food. I went a little crazy this time. I am writing notes to myself to remember to use a little sense and moderation when I plan the Conference menu again in six months. I like to cook and bake, especially on a weekend when everyone is hanging around enjoying being together. So Bailey and I put together a huge menu of delectable favorites. Except it was a little over-ambitious and I cooked for most of the day and well into the night (until 11 p.m.) on Saturday. It felt like Thanksgiving!  Here are some of the things we ate over the two days:

Homemade broccoli cheese soup
Apple crisp
Cinnamon Rolls
Homemade Tomatillo salsa
Cowboy Caviar - double batch (a super yummy dip)
Cafe Rio fixins', all from scratch (cilantro-lime rice, black beans, creamy tomatillo dressing, sweet shredded pork, verde sauce for the top)

I think we used up every sprig of cilantro in all of Vancouver to pull off all the Mexican dishes, but it was worth it!  We are still eating the leftovers.  Yummmm.

We were lucky to have my friend Rachel and her fiance Gordon with us on Sunday.  And the kids followed their tradition of pulling each other around the hardwoods on a blanket between sessions.  It was a great weekend!

Me Time

Me Time. Who knew it existed?

For the last 19 1/2 years I have enjoyed having at least one child home for most of the day.  The last three years I have had at most two hours of "free time" during kindergarten or preschool to race through Costco or the grocery store.  I have made the conscious choice to be physically and emotionally present when the kids are home, so I was always "on" and busy all day.

I can remember many times when I had really young kids when I wondered if I would ever have a free minute to myself again. Time to read a book, time to use the bathroom by myself, time to think an entire thought.  And then there was that year when we first moved to WA when I was entertaining one-year-old Joseph all day while living in a hotel and hunting for a house and home schooling both girls. Whew. Talk about a lack of "me time."  There have been some really busy seasons of my mothering life. 

This is the beginning of a new season, as Joseph has started 1st grade and no children are home from 9 a.m. to 2 p.m.  It is SO quiet. I don't even want the TV or music on most of the time. I just like to feel the quiet while I work through my "to do" list (which actually gets done now!). I have no excuses anymore - I have time to exercise and read scriptures every day, and even time to read for pleasure for awhile. I can stay reasonably on top of the house and the business of keeping the family running, but I still feel like I have time to breathe during the day. 

Which is good, because the minute the first kid walks through the door we are running for the rest of the night . . . lessons, activities, homework, chores, piano practice, dinner, scriptures, good night stories, tuck in bed, collapse and set the alarm for the 5 a.m. to help Bailey get ready for Seminary.

I thought I would mostly be sad when my last child was in school all day. Certainly I mourned the end of a season. But I'm seeing the beauty of this new season, too. There are some things I have put off or have always wanted to learn, waiting for the right time, the right season of life.  With about five hours a day of "me time" I'm taking time to think about those things and make some plans.

And right now I am enjoying the chance to be Tiffany for a few hours every day before I am Mom again after school. Mom will always be my favorite job and title, but it's good to have some balance.

Porter Summer Tour - Hiram, OH and a long flight home

Whew . . . it has taken me a month to finish this journal of our summer trip. For the sake of our family history, I'm glad to have the stories and pictures together in one place.
On Friday, September 2nd we drove from Sandusky to Hiram, Ohio to see the historic Johnson farm.  For one year (from Sept 1831 - Sept 1832) Joseph and Emma and family lived in the Johnson home, which is about 40 miles SE of Kirtland.   The Johnsons were a very well-to-do family with a prosperous farm. In the spring of 1831 Elsa Johnson had heard about Joseph Smith.  She found him and asked him to heal her rheumatic arm, which had been lame and unable to move much for years.  After the blessing her arm was healed completely, and the Johnsons subsequently joined the church.  Two of the Johnson's sons, Luke and Lyman Johnson became members of the original Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and their daughter, Marinda, married Orson Hyde.

The home in Hiram is the original, and it has been restored to look exactly like it was when the Johnsons lived there, right down to the elaborate "feather painted" woodwork, painted designs on the floor and bright colored trim throughout the house.  I could tell I would have liked Elsa Johnson - this was a woman who wasn't afraid to take a paintbrush and change the look of her room. One room had orange trim, the next yellow, the next turqouise, etc.  I loved it!

While staying at the Johnson farm, Joseph received 16 revelations which are now part of the Doctrine and Covenants.  He and Sidney Rigdon saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in one of the upstairs rooms of the home (it's in the 76th section of the D&C).

This is also a place where Joseph and Sidney and their families were greatly persecuted. One night both men were dragged from their homes on a freezing night and beaten, abused, and tarred and feathered. It is thought that Sidney Rigdon suffered a brain injury which haunted him the rest of his life after being dragged across frozen ground by his feet. Joseph and Emma had been sleeping in this room with their 1 year old twins, Joseph and Julia Murdock, who were sick with the measles.

After Joseph was forcibly removed from the room the door was left open and in the chaos the twins become very chilled. Joseph Murdock later died of complications of the exposure and the measles.
The Johnson farm was a fascinating last stop on our church history tour.  After our visit we drove to a highly recommended Amish restaurant in a nearby town. Hiram is in the heart of Amish country. We loved seeing all the horses and buggies, hitching posts in the parking lots, and other fun things like this stop sign by the restaurant:

We thought the food at the restaurant was over-hyped, but the pies were extraordinary. Maybe the best pie we have ever eaten!

 

After eating we started the long drive back to Buffalo, where we stayed in a hotel near the airport. By this time we were getting really tired of hotels and fast food. We were ready to go home and think about starting school!

The next day our flight left on time from the Buffalo airport and landed for a on hour layover in Chicago. We bought ourselves another Chicago pizza and settled in for a short wait. But, I felt a portent of impending doom when I saw lightning strikes and black clouds outside the terminal. Sure enough, all flights into Chicago were re-routed to different airports, and planes were grounded for hours. We finally got on the plane four hours later than planned.

The wait was boring, of course (especially for Joseph, who spent the hours making nonsensical videos of himself on my ipod touch), but was especially disappointing for Dan. He is the new deejay of the multi-stake youth dances, and there was a big dance scheduled for that evening. He had worked for weeks to find the best new (and clean) music to play for the kids and had prepared some prizes and activities.  Had our plane been on time or even a little delayed, he would have been fine. As it was, we dropped him off for the last 15 minutes of the dance ! (Luckily a different guy in the stake was willing to cover the deejay duties for him.) Oh well!