Do Overs and a Pony

Some days, don't you wish you could have a "do over?" Well, yesterday was one of those for me.


But then again, things like this (see below) make me wish other days would last forever. Wish that time could stand still, that I could hold each moment and savor it for hours and hours.

Time is my enemy right now. My kids are growing, literally, right before my very eyes. They are slipping through my fingers as I curse my dirty dishes, cry to my need-to-be cleaned bathrooms, hide from the piles of laundry and groan through my childrens homework. Can't you all (life's daily chores) just leave me alone so I can enjoy these precious moments with my babies? Please?!

Best thing about yesterday? Roo went to a friends birthday party, she turned four. You know who came to her party? To her house? A PONY! That's right. A pony. Right there in her yard, for all of her little friends to have a ride.

Maybe a pony would make things better for me.

I think I'll ask for one for Christmas.

The old me

Today, on the way out of “hip-hop” (say in your best attitude voice), someone asked me a question that I almost choked on. “Were you a dancer?” A flood of responses swirled in my mouth. “NO” or “I did a little” or “Why?” or “Uhh.” But what came out made me a little sad. “I used to be. A very, very, veeery long time ago. I can hardly remember, and I can hardly find myself under all of me now.” (oh, haha) This tiny, blonde, pretty forty year old says, “I used to be one, too. Isn’t it fun to dance again?”

To dance again. Yes, it is SO fun to dance again. But it made me think of all the things I used to do. Things I did long before I got older, and chubbier, and mommier, and wifier. Not that I don’t love this part of my life, I truly do. But, it’s true, dancing for me; makes my heart sing. I know there is something for you. Is it running? Is it singing? Skiing? Painting? Playing a sport? Doing math? Really doing your hair? You know when you walk into the environment that once consumed you? You know how you feel at home there, yet a little homesick? I get that way.

It’s the same when I walk into an art studio, for me. Dance and art where once my everyday life. Really, every single day I did one, the other, or both. Again; we move on. But underneath who we are, are the things that made us, us. I can’t wait for my kids to find in them, them.


What I realized today, is that I can foster just a little of who I once was. Just a bit; and so can you. Turn the radio up and dance while you do the dishes today. Sing on your way to work. Kick a goal in the yard with your kids, or shoot a hoop for fun. Really. Just that little bit of the old you, will make you a better you today. It will make you a better mom, wife, sister, or whoever and whatever you are. I was never real good at things I loved. But I was really good at loving them. And so were you.

So, whatever it is that you once lived for, just for a second today, live for it again. And know that joy is also part of the journey. A big part.

Listen Up

In the past few weeks I have been so misunderstood. I am not one of those people that went through my adolescence feeling like no one understood me. But lately, I feel like I am trying to catch up to the big kids, tripping on my untied shoelaces. “Wait. No, wait up. I’m trying to say something. Waaait. Please, just hold a on a second. Please.” But people just keep on walking, not wanting to hear. They see I tripped and fell, and have chosen to walk on by.

If only we could see what truly was in each others hearts. What the true intention of each and every person is. I think once in a while we would be saddened to know that people have ill intentions, but overall, warmed that others have our best interest at stake.

Words have always come easy for me. But I am learning that what these words are saying, are not always what I am saying. Many times in my life I have “heard” something, but chosen to “listen” to what I wanted. We are each responsible for how we internalize what we hear. I think, for me, new light has been shed on the statement, “look for them best in everyone.”

Obviously, the author learns the most from their writing.

In all of this confusion, I love feeling the simplicity of a three year old. Today, Ruby and I laid on her Cinderella pillow, and under her quilt I made for her when she was born. She covered our heads and said, “Let’s talk ‘bout HeeHaw farm, mom. That big pig was stinky. P.U.” “Yes he was, Ruby.” No misunderstandings here.

I hand make quilts because I believe that you can feel love under something made with love. Today, under this quilt, I felt love. Love from the simple, clear worded, non judging mouth, of a three year old.

The Scale

I talk to my scale. I pull it out from beneath the bathroom sink, and say “Okay, now be nice.” This is usually followed by, “Why do you hate me?! I’ve never been anything but nice to you.” And a quick throw back under the sink. Or, once in a very blue moon, “Oh, you do love me.” Xoxo. And I get back on, just to see that number again and double check. Mind you, these are numbers that 15 years ago, I would have jumped out of a moving bus if I had seen on the scale. But for now, a little progress is, technically, progress. Right?

Today, my faithful (four times now!) workout friends and I tried a new class. These girls, by the way, we’re both female “jocks” in high school. (meant in the nicest way) One played, and still does play, soccer. And the other is a beautiful 6’1” volleyball player. As you may or may not know, after my ever famous “synchro years,” I turned to dance. Ballet, jazz, modern and anything else I could get my hands on. Now, again, I’ve never been even near to a super model. But I LOVED it, and still do. I danced from 7th grade, through my freshman year at college. While being chubby, I still found that this is where my natural abilities lie. It comes easy and I like it. (this really is going somewhere, I swear) It has been a good 15 years since I have danced at all though, and then, mainly for fun.

So as we walked in to the gym today, my girls say “the only class offered right now is Hip-Hop.” So I quickly say, “let’s just walk the track then.” “Oh, no. Let’s try it.” They say. So here again, let me remind you that they are sporty. I tried Jenny’s spinning class, so now she will try dance. (We did spin again yesterday, and it was better. But I still had to complain, A LOT. I asked the teacher, as she was telling me to spin faster, “Please Kill Me!!”)

First of all, as I stood, so familiarly (4x a week as a kid) in front of the mirror. I said, “Who is that hefer staring back at me?” I seriously could hardly recognize myself. Eeek. So, instead of looking at me, I reminded myself, look at the teacher, not me. And we were off…

I actually had a really fun time. Fortunately, I am someone that can totally laugh at myself. With all the jumping, gyrating, hip thrusting and strutting, believe me – there was a lot to laugh at. As for my girls? By about half way through, they were sitting it out.(they gave it a good effort, though!) It is tricky, I’ll admit. But fun. And I’m not saying I was any good, believe you me! I think I was just more familiar with choreography and what the instructor was talking about. Overall; Fun time. I don’t know if the girls will go again, but I want to. Even if my ginormaty made everyone feel uncomfortable. Sorry, folks. If you don’t move "it", it’s not going to go away. That’s why we’re here, right?

So as for the scale today? We’re friends. I love him. Three weeks ago yesterday I made my final resolution to wean Chubbles and get serious about my health. Today, I was down a total of 14.2 pounds. Can’t complain about that, now can you?

Sisters

When I first started my blog, I told you briefly about Stephanie and Christian Neilson. Nearly two months later, my friends and family have more information and memories about myself and our life than I have ever recorded. Thank you for reading and your compliments; It helps me keep it up. I really want to remember this time in my life. Each day goes so fast, and I can hardly remember what day of the week it is. These times are precious, they are fleeting, and they are priceless.

Click here. This is a beautiful article about their story. Peter finds me crying about this, and doesn't seem to understand. I can't explain, maybe he will read this and start. I have been thinking so much about my own sisters. Would they say sweet things about me? Or, I about them? Would we run to each others rescue?

Of course we would!! We have before, and we will again.

I cannot imagine my life without my sisters. I have held their hands (except Krista, who doesn't like that kind of thing (haha)), cried with them, held their babies, stroked their heads, and loved them. And they have each done this for me countless times.

I'll never forget Krista, crying her heart out for our (very righteously) unavailable mother after the birth of her third child. She just wanted her mom. So I moved in for a week. I had no children of my own yet and I could be there. I saw her beautiful baby girl come into this world, and my dear sister was in need. In need of what, I could not say, but she needed me. She needed her dishes done, beds made, laundry done and her other kids taken care of. She needed someone to take her to the doctor, to rock her baby and someone to just be there. The baby slept in the room with me, and I would take her to Krista to nurse. This was a privilege that not many without children of their own have. To spend this precious time with one so fresh from heaven is miraculous. Through the days, I sat with Krista and loved her the best my not-yet-a-mother self could.

And this made our bond even closer.

Or when Mindy called me, desperate in need of help with a marital problem. I jumped in the car, handed off my little ones and did what I was told. My heart raced as I acted on my call to action. I prayed and prayed and prayed. “Please let me help my wonderful sister. She deserves all the blessings of the world. Please help her little family, and please help me to help her.” In the days to come, (again: parents unavailable) I would welcome her little family into the house in the wee hours of the night for peace and protection. I would listen to her cry, “Why me? I only ever loved him. I loved him so much.” I can see her sweet babies lying in my parents’ bed, and her being so brave (I can’t imagine how brave you really were). I was at her house as often as I could. I did laundry, made dinner, cleaned the house, answered the phone and snuggled her kids. I never, ever want to hear another seven year old say, sobbing through his tears, in response to “Daddy won’t be living with us anymore”: “I’m too young to not have a dad.”

And this made our bond even closer.

When I heard that my oldest, and in my childhood – most worshiped sister, was on the plane to Utah, to be admitted to a de-tox program here, my heart sank and was elated and relieved at the same time. Her addictions were ruining her, killing her. But the fact that the beginning of the end could be soon, I was so very happy. My baby girl was four months old. I had to be brave. I had to visit my sister. My sister who made me an aunt at 13, who taught me how to be a mom, and who, in fact, was practically a mother to me. So, with strength in numbers, Mindy and I went to UNI. And I saw what remained of my beautiful, strong, lovely sister. Her skin was yellow and she couldn’t stop shaking. But she was happy to see me, and I her. She wanted to hold my Ruby. I have to admit, I was a little worried. But I know that the love of a child can heal, and their comfort is not to be found anywhere else. And that is just what happened. She held her, and began to heal. Not right that second, and not just because of a baby, but because she wanted to, because she had her own babies, and because the Lord needed her to get better.

And this made our bond even closer.

I tell you these things not to tell what I have done for them, but to tell you that by them allowing me to serve them – I am a better person. I have learned lessons from them that cannot be taught in schools. I am a better mom, friend, daughter, aunt and sister; because of them.

Being the youngest, the lessons which they taught me are more than I can even begin to tell you. I am who I am today, because I was raised by three older sisters. They taught me to read; they taught me to roller skate (and break my arm). They taught me to write, to sing, to dance, how to do my hair, what clothes to wear, and how to shave my legs.

Mindy bought me my first bra and taught me how to use feminine unmentionables. She taught me how to be soft, how to really show affection to my children. She taught me that it’s okay to cry. She is who I climbed into bed with when I was afraid, or lonely or sad. She is who has wiped so very many of my tears.

Krista taught me how to love after giant fights; and how to forgive. She taught me about nursing babies, and always knows the answers to any medical problem I have. She taught me to serve and to be happy no matter what life throws at you. She taught me that I can mother my kids better than anyone else can; that I can do anything for them, no matter how hard it may seem.

Elise taught me to work hard for my family. She was always working. She cooked and cleaned and loved, non-stop. Her kids are older now, but she still does it all. She put her family first. She was a very young bride and mother, and it hasn’t always been easy, but she made this choice and has battled her way through it. She fights daily for her children and her life. She is strong.

I have been blessed with sisters.

Oh, yes, some days I might choose another word other than blessed, but I truly am that. We have times of great closeness, and some that aren’t. But in the end we are here for each other. They make me meals when my babies are born, they watch my kids so I can go on a date, and do my dishes when I can’t get out of bed. I guess another thing I better add to my “reasons I like Utah list” is, that two of my three sister are here. I hope someday we can all live close enough to love (and yet far enough away to still love). We are not ideal and we are not perfect.

We are sisters. We talk WAY to loud, and laugh a lot. We are jealous and petty. We fight and nit-pick. We argue and hold grudges. We are sisters. We love and we cry. We are there for each other. We do the best we know how. We are sisters.

Tomorrow my sweet Ruby will turn three. The day I found out she was a girl, I cried and cried. There were many reasons. Some of which I have mentioned in this blog… Girls. But my biggest reason was about sisters. You see, Ruby was the first girl that a male in my husband’s family had in 42 years. They don’t make girls. And while everyone told me how lucky I was, all I could think was, “Yes, but the chances of anther girl are almost none.”

And, what would she do in this world, without a sister?

Lazy October Afternoon

Today I had big list of things to do, none of them got done. But that’s okay.

I did more important things.

This morning I danced in the kitchen with Chubbles. I have the perfect floor for dancing, don’t you think? And Samuel took a picture of our beautiful Aspen trees during breakfast.

Later, I watched the big one play football while daddy and Si were at the game when the Cougs beat UNLV. (kid swap at half time)

And of course, my Cos in training loves his new "hat."

Then I took a nap with Roo, and awoke to my favorite house lighting time of the day. The sun filters into my apple trees in the back yard and reflects onto my bedroom window. My walls are my favorite color right then, and I love my white bedding and the different shades of color everything is. You know you have a need to capture a moment when you actually get out of your bed from your nap, while two babies are sleeping, and get your camera. Photos really don’t do it justice. You’ll have to take a lazy, fall afternoon nap at your house, so you too, can enjoy the light at this time of day.

On a side note, I hope Nie gets to wake up to light like this. I think she would like it.

And, just for the record;

Chubbles is officially weaned and I am officially on a diet. (boohoo for both)

Goodbye, Hider of Hooters

Before Spacebags.

This is pretty much every piece of clothing that has, or will fit one of my children. Ever.

Another fine part of fall break is the cleaning, AKA “dunging out” that gets done. We totally cleared out our storage shed, re-evaluated our food storage and rearranged the whole shebang. This meant I spent ALL of Saturday sorting through clothes; past, present and future. Eeee-gads!! Because I cannot yet say that I am 100% done having kids, I still feel the need to save for babies. (note: someone will be getting a really nice loot of infant clothing, boy and girl, if we don’t have anymore) So I sorted, and folded and sorted some more. Then I packed them in the greatest invention ever: The Spacebag. LOVE these things. (I like to say them like "Piiigs Iiiin Spaaaace" from the Muppet Show. But I think they mean space, like more room. Not like, you can take them to the moon.) You can take, like two tubs of clothes and “poof” they are now one! I think they work better if you just shove things in there. But I’m worried that if I die before they are inflated, the relief society sisters who sort through all my junk will see that I shoved-not folded. Oh, how horrific. I think I heard my poor friend Jenny squeal and run for her life as she passed through the “sorting zone.” (Sorry Jenny.)

After Spacebags. Now off to the bins and into the shed. Adios!

If you have seen me in the last nine months, I have most likely had this beauty with me. I made it just before Chubby was born. I wasn't sure I would like it. Like it?! I LOVE it! I have no idea how I nursed three other kids without one. Good-bye, my trusty friend. Thanks for keep everyone safe from my milk jugs, I know they are a little too National Georaphically scary. You were great. Until we meet again...(maybe) Goodbye.



I packed one VERY important item away this weekend. “Farewell, oh hider of hooters. You have done so well by me. Farewell.” I am officially weaning Chubby. I hate to do it, but the time has come. He will be 9 months this week and due to some of my own health issues, I must. (These health issues are also known as: hefer-itis, chub-a-rella, boom-baba-ness, and holy cow! What happened to you?!) I HAVE to go on a diet. I really am, really, I swear…Oooh, is that an onion ring? Onion rings are veggies, right?




At any rate, I hate weaning my babies. I have some weird thing about nursing. In the beginning of each childs life, it practically kills me every time, but I insist on doing it. And then when it’s time to quit, I hate it. I am sad, depressed and feel like I am letting down my little chubbles. But I have got to get a grip on my body, ASAP. I mean, it’s a lot of work to get back into super-model shape. They won’t renew my contract if I don’t look sweet in my bikini before the sports illustrated shoots, I mean really. Juuuuust, kidding. But, I do have a lot of work to do. And so, I must wean my little one. I, very unfortunately, am not one of those horrid people who “just can’t seem to keep any weight on” while I am nursing. I am the “every, single, gawl-derned calorie must permanently move in and plaster itself all over my body” while I am nursing, kind of person. So I swear, I really am going to get serious. Really.



But not until I mourn just a little more. And every time I nurse Chubby I say, this is the last day. And then, okay – now, today is the last day. I know I’m a nut-bar, but I just love that quiet time together. (many of you know that I have been saying this for months now) There are always SO many things going on in a busy house like ours, that just to sit and hold him while he eats means so much to me. He pats my face, and puts his hand in my mouth. And I kiss his terribly fat cheeks. Oh, he’s so squishy and lovable. But alas, the time has come.

Date Disclaimer

I've noticed that my last post was viewed by a lot of people in my home town. I hope you all laughed at the story, I know I did. Let me say that, if I write about something, enough time has gone by and things are all written in fun and love. I would never write to be mean spirited. In refernce to "a little nerdy," you must know that it's not like I'm saying I was super cool or anything. Okay, kind of cool. :) And I must add, that both of these boys grew up to be very nice men. They are married and have wonderful families. "Hi, boys. Thanks for all the good times! If I wouldn't have been bothering you, I probably would have met Peter in high school, and heaven knows - we would have never gotten married after that." (LOL) Ah, Bothell First Ward. There was certainly a theme with me and boys from that ward...but we wont go there.

911

Interesting how 9/11 is “911.” Emergency, the State of the Union, September 11, 2001.

Today brings back a lot of memories, I’m sure it does for all of us. We live in such a peaceful time, here in the United States, that when I picked Simon up from school today I didn’t even know why the flag was at half mast. (peaceful or I live with my head in the sand? Thanks again for the 411, Minky!) The sun is shining beautifully on the Rockies, and I can hear kids playing outside. It is because of this that I wanted to post a memory today.

On February 22, 2006 a dear friend of ours was killed in Iraq. We were, to say the least, shocked. I remember telling Peter on the phone, he was back East for work. He asked me several times if I was kidding, then said he had to go and hung up. The shock and sadness that we felt wasn’t even measurable compared to that of his own family. Many of you have heard me talk about Greg before, we all loved him dearly. But today, I wanted to remember how I felt during these sad weeks. I want to remember because if we forget why our soldiers are there, all of this freedom we have here is in vain.







I had the honor of making the program and remembrance book, hence all the photos. For three days I did nothing but gaze into his eyes. I happened to be listening to a new CD at the time, and I cannot hear that without thinking of him, and his beautiful family. There aren’t that many things in my life that I can recall clear as day in my mind. My wedding day, the births of my children. But I can replay the long drive to the airport cargo area, where we met his with his family. Ruby was four months old, a couple of weeks older than his youngest. She came with me, Peter was gone again, and the comfort of an infants soul, I found very welcoming.

I can still see his beautiful casket being rolled out of the hanger, for the family to see before it was taken in the hearse. His brother, also in the military, had accompanied his body home. I can see the other soldiers faces to this day. And the very personal emotions of his wife and parents. After a beautiful service the next day, we followed them to the cemetery. Boy Scouts were everywhere along the route, waving their flags, mile after mile. In fact there were so many flags that day, in my memory, that I have never seen one so beautiful again.

There are so very many more personal memories. Of seeing his children, wife, parents and siblings. There are not many times in my life I find myself “speechless.” But there truly are no words to say thank you to him, or them.


I am re-posting something that Peter wrote at the time:

I Know a Family of Heroes
This last Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006 a dear friend of ours was killed while on patrol in Iraq. His vehicle was attacked with an improvised explosive device and all four soldiers inside, including Greg, were killed. The tough part is that Greg leaves 3 boys (ages 10, 5, 3) and a baby girl of 3 months. Luckily, Greg was able to bless his daughter and be with his family just a short time ago before deploying to catch-up with his men. Greg—he could serve his family, serve the Lord and serve his country, all in one stride. Greg was a righteous husband and father, a priesthood holder who loved the Lord, and a man truly like unto Moroni.
As I look at pictures of his little family (who live outside of Ft. Campbell, KY), it hurts to imagine the things his sons will miss. I’d bet that like most boys, their dad is their hero. In the end, this is their price that contributes to our way of life, and it is their suffering that affords me the ignorance that freedom allows.
Regardless of political views and whether or not you feel we should be in Iraq, I wanted you to know about Gregson G. Gourley. Greg willingly made the choice to risk giving up that little family, or should I say, risk having them give him up, to accomplish something that for the most part won’t ever be seen or understood by us. This was his second tour in Iraq, his third trip to the gulf and he was 38 years old – a man who knew what he was getting into. More than the young kids that chase dreams, it’s guys like Greg that really make me think about the things I take for granted. I’m so grateful that someone is willing to step forward and echo the words of the greatest leader of all, “Here am I, send me.”
In preparing for Greg’s funeral, we came across a letter he wrote near the end of his LDS mission in Pennsylvania, in which he remarked, “It’s a real strange feeling coming home, my emotions and feelings are so mixed. My mind wants to go, my heart wants to stay.” I can only think that similar thoughts and emotions have surfaced on this, his real journey home.
So thank you, Greg. The world will never know the meaning of your sacrifice, and I suspect that’s why you made it, ultimately. That your children, our children and all of us will never have to know what frightening sum events might total if you hadn’t been there, with the long line of those before you and those that will undoubtedly go after. I hope and pray that I may not only bless my own family, but somehow, some way in the future, I will find a way to bless yours, Greg, that they may know a little less the gap that is left from losing their friend, husband and Daddy.

Wednesday Wedding Day: Here comes the bride...

Here comes the bride. Lately, I find myself feeling so sad when I “do” weddings. ( I have a little “business” doing cakes and flowers for weddings.) I LOVE it. It really is one of the greatest times in a persons life to be involved in. So why are you sad silly? (More on why I love it, later.) I feel sad because I am seeing this very intimate scenario up close and personal. I hear the moms reminisce of their own weddings, and talk of what their daughter has always wanted. I hear the girls oogle over their grooms and talk about how cute they’ll look in their tuxes. I see moms pinning up their daughters hair, and sisters holding elaborate wedding dress trains. I hear the excitement in the voice of the bride, and the sorrow in the mothers.
At a recent reception I asked the dad, “are you ready?” He said “We woke up early this morning and went for a walk, just Em and I. After returning home, I gave her a father’s blessing. And I just lost it, I cried like a baby.” To think of that last time with your daughter, as yours. The excitement that surrounds weddings is contagious, but I keep seeing the other side. I quit going to wedding receptions a while ago. I don’t like seeing the plastered smiles and their bridal party pooped. I like seeing the beauty and joy that culminates as the day approaches. I like seeing these sweet moments shared with their loved ones. I love to see sisters snuggling and picking out clothes, and grandmas and aunts hovering around the food table, making it “just right.” I love to see the groom with his glazed over eyes, not knowing what to do next. (just smile and nod, honey) And the dads slapping other men on the back as final touches are made in the reception hall.

I feel sad because I see my one sweet daughter in each of these events. I see her milky white skin, soft rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes and her strawberry red hair – all grown up. I love being married and I wouldn’t change it for the world. But I only have one bride of my own, and I will be forever sad to see her grow up and get married. I know that this must be, and I know in my heart it is best. But for now, I think of her crazy hair, pink pajamas, stinky pink blanket named “bewbow” and her saying, “Mom, can you skuggle with me?” Of course I can skuggle, Roo. I always will.