Sandy On My Mind

Yesterday was a long one.

I was glued equally to the internet and tv for most of the day

watching Hurricane Sandy's advancing waves to the

eastern US shores.

Growing up in Miami, Florida

and having lived in South Carolina thru Hugo,

and in Houston, Texas during Alicia

I know a little about the power of hurricanes:

if the water isn't the main concern

the wind certainly is.

Of course, my mind's concern and focus

was especially tuned into the force of nature this time

because of my girl:

who is serving a mission in New York.

I google earthed her apartment in Irondequoit

and found that she is surrounded by water--

less than a mile to the north is Lake Ontario

and on the east and west are both the Irondequoit Bay

and the Genessee River--she is less than a few blocks from the river.

All of those lakeshore areas had mandatory evacuations

and I kept checking the local news in Irondequoit for any news.

We got some information from her mission president assuring us

that our missionaries were all accounted for and safely tucked into their apartments.

I also got an email from Diana early in the morning,

here is a snippet:

Hey mom!

So we're allowed out of our apartment for just a few hours this morning to email and shop, but we're not allowed to work till wednesday. We're supposed to be the center of the storm, at least thats what we've heard. I've got my head light all ready to go, I bought a pair of cheap boots in case it floods and we made an early morning run to Walmart (6:30am...apparently Walmart doesn't open till 7 here! What the freak! So we stood outside looking like tired drowned rats till the doors opened) to buy some water and food. Apparently the electricity goes off all the time here when stuff like this happens. We're good though, there's just alot of rain.

That went along way to calm my heart, seriously!

But the reports coming out of New York and New Jersey
as the day went on,
were so dramatic,
that by nightfall,
I admitted to my husband that I was kind of a mess.

I went thru the motions of daily life
with a prayer in my heart
until bedtime and I
surrendered to my faith.

This morning came and again I flipped on the tv
to see the aftermath--
it is sobering to see the amount of damage up and down the east coast
and into the Appalachian mountains.
I checked online to see if Diana's apartment had electricity
or
if she too, is without power this morning.
When I pulled up the power companies' website map,
there, in the middle of alot of power outages,
her apartment shows that they have electricity!

And then,
we received this:

Dear Parents of New York Rochester Missionary

We did not see the predictions here in Western New York that were expected.  We had some rain and wind over night, cloudy and calm this morning.  Missionaries are all back to normal schedule.  We always appreciate all of your prayers and support.  We love our missionaries.

President Jack R. Christianson

Yes.

All is well.

We know that when a community where our missionaries are serving are hit with these kind of events,
they are called upon to get out and help wherever they can in the clean-up process.  I know my daughter will gladly put on those new rain boots and get out to work today.

And now, I will resume breathing on my own.

First World Problems

In an effort to keep perspective of the life
that is mine to lead and to own,
I have begun classifying my problems
as
"First World Problems".

Examples:

*We have our delicious hormone-free milk delivered
to our house
every Thursday morning.
It has been such since 2008.
And yet,
there have been heated discussions
in our home
about bringing the milk into the house
before yahoos leave for school.
Whose responsible?
Who did it last time?
Who did I tell to bring it in and they didn't?
And why oh why didn't I notice that two gallons of milk
sat in the little milk box
until mid-afteroon,
or worse--
until the next day
when it was surely sour by then?!

See?
First World Problem.

* Our icemaker in the fridge doesn't work.
Well, it actually does...
but then water leaks down into the fridge
when we turn it on.
This is a worse problem in the heat of summer
than it is right now.
But still,
now we must BUY our ice at the store;
which means we must REMEMBER to BUY ice.
There is currently in my freezer
Zero Ice.

*My ten year old people-movin'-Suburban
is a gas sucker.
It costs me $87 real dollars to fill it up
on Monday.

* Arianna's violin lost a tiny metal bit
that must be replaced
before she can play it in orchestra again.
I have procrastinated taking it into the shop
because
a) I don't feel like driving into town to get it done.
b) I drive a gas-guzzling People Mover.

*Mr. W's medicine for his arthritic knees costs $47.00
after insurance!
Forty-seven real dollars!
Outrageous!

*Remember when I had that surgery last April
and it was supposed to be the best decision of the 21st century for me?
Yeah.
That has proven to be Not So Much.
I have to go again and see "what else is about it?"

All of these things are First World Problems.

If I lived in a Third World Country:

*I would not even have milk. Much less delivered to my door come rain or shine or sleet or snow. Not ever ever ever.

*If I was lucky enough to have electricity, I am almost dead-certain I'd not have a refrigerator. What would I put in it? One would have to have water to have ice.

*I would not own a car.  We bought it brand new off the lot. And I had the money to put the gas in it, despite the cost.

*My child would not get free music lessons at her public school. Period.

* As expensive as the meds are, we at least have insurance to help us pay for the meds so Mr. W gets relief from pain.

Yes, I think this line of thinking does wonders for my psyche.

Just yesterday,
as I was being toted around by my friend, Nan--
we went to lunch and then she had a couple of errands to run
in preparation for her 10-day vacation to Maui
which she left for this morning--
and one of the errands was to pick up her extra supply of insulin
at the pharmacy.
There was a communication problem with the insurance company
and my friend had to fork over $280 for two small vials of insulin.
(For which she will be reimbursed.)
She was stressing out over the inconveniance of it all--
but then I said,
"You're having a First World Problem. At least you have the money to buy
the meds before you go on vacation TO HAWAII." 

It's true.
It makes a difference when you take a moment
and put your trials into perspective
of the grand scheme of things.
What we might consider
unfair,
inconveniant,
frustrating,
or costly,
changes when we step back
and think on how very different our lives
would be
if we did, indeed,
live in a Third World Country.

Actually,
if we just look beyond the end of our own noses,
we don't have to look far at all
to see others who have it far worse than us.

So the next time you are ready to crack under pressure,
try a different approach in your contemplation
and see if you're really having
First World Problems.


Now, if you'll excuse me
I GET to go heat up some egg drop soup (that I picked up from a Chinese restaurant)
for Arianna
because she GOT to go to the Dentist this morning
and get a filling and an extraction.

A Good Old-fashioned Stake Shake-Up

So remember two weeks ago,
when I lamented that our Stake had the
"Special Conference"
that turned out to be a little bit of nothing?

Yeah.
I've gotta hand it to our leaders;
they got the last laugh for sure.

Yesterday,
we went to Church thinking it was just
another regular Sunday
but it wasn't.

It was the Ordinary Sunday that wasn't,
if you get me.

Our sweet Stake President came
and announced most of the changes
we were expecting--
with zero hoopla.
None.
It was actually very nice
and un-fussy.

So,
here's the deal:
Our ward had a little chunk taken out of it,
as did a couple other wards
while one ward was completely dissolved
and all of the members in those areas
were brought together to make a brand new ward!
Some more rearranging was done
and two more wards were created as well.
And the new meetinghouse was at least
acknowledged and spoken of,
as much-needed for the great growth
we're experiencing in our stake.

The only big gasp came
when our new meeting time was announced--
8 am.
That. was. funny.
It's only an hour earlier,
but the groans mixed with laughter
woulda made one think we'd been asked
to make bricks without straw.

Once the new boundaries' map was passed out,
we were asked to stand up with the rest of our
"new ward"--
more than 3/4's of our ward stood together
and looking around,
we could see clearly our members that would be part of the
other "new ward".
It was at this moment
that I got a little choked up:
I saw way in the back,
Joseph's scoutmaster, Brother Alcorn.
He wasn't standing up with us.
I quickly glanced over at my boy
and saw his head in his hands,
his little chest trembling under his Sunday coat,
his bottom lip trembling.
He had seen Brother Alcorn's family sitting too.

My son,
who at 12 years old,
wears a size 13 in men's shoes,
is nearly 6 feet tall,
was sucking up his sudden feelings of loss
for a quiet, gentle leader.

Tears filled my eyes for him.
I looked to Mr W, who'd also taken notice of
our boys' reaction to the changes
and his eyes too were welled up.

When you see that kind of emotion in your child's eyes
for another adult,
it does something to you.
It's hard to watch.
The words don't come--
what can we say, really?
Dad put his arm on Joseph's shoulder
and patted him softly.
Joseph didn't look up,
just kept wiping his eyes
to hide the evidence of his overflowing heart.

Brother Alcorn isn't a big loud personality.
He's an experienced father of boys,
Eagle Scouts,
and yet is a strong presence when he's needed to be.
Mr. W has alot in common with him;
they've been to alot of scout camp-out with
a dozen 11-12 year old rascally boys
and survived to live another day!

In fact,
just this week the scouts are taking off for a 3-day Front Range Trek
along the base of the Air Force Academy rampart range.
Joseph being the "Quartermaster" of the troop
has spent most of the weekend
helping prepare his troop for the trek.

Brother Alcorn uses his work vacation days
to serve the scouts.
Does that say enough about him?
His wife and kids let him do that.
How cool, hunh?

Now, I know that whomever gets called to take his place
will be a good man...
we have those in abundance in our ward--
but he will have a big pair of hiking boots to fill.

I love and appreciate that my children have been blessed
by the calibur of adults they've had as teachers and leaders
in the church their whole lives.
As hard as it is to go thru the changes that growth demands,
it is always a blessing to get to know and support
the new people who come in and do their part too.

So that was the Stake Shake-up of 2012.
We go thru this about every two years,
no kidding.
***

Oh,
and a big P.S.!
Nana is doing alot better!
Thanks for all of your love and prayers!

When It's Hard to Be A Missionary Mom

See that brilliant young woman on the left?
Her sweet pink argyle sweater and awesome black name tag?
That's our girl.
Our Nana.
Posing with her lovely Texan companion, Sister Clark
in the Palmyra Visitor's Center.
From my house to hers it is 1651.71 miles
according to mapquest.
Yes, I google-earthed her place.
Totally.
Thank you inventor of Google Earth.

Anyway,
our girl loves
her companion,
the people, the place, the mission.
But right now,
she is super sick.
Her mission president's wife called last Sunday to let us know
just how sick our girl is,
and what's being done for her.
She has a bronchial parasite,
plus another virus,
had a PCOS episode where a cyst burst,
and in general is feeling awful.
"But, her spirits are up!"--reports the MP's wife.

Now, I know my girl.
And she is a good hairy-faker.
She wouldn't want anyone to make a big fuss over her.
Not even a little.

This is one of those times
when being a Missionary Mom tests my will.
I want to be brave, faithful, true and courageous.
I also want to
hop on a plane and be at her side in 3 hours
to check her out with my own eyes.
I want to wrap my arms around her soft shoulders
and squeeze her up in a fleece blanket,
kiss her cheeks and make my not-really-famous chicken noodle soup
for her and her companion whose been taking care of her.
I want to do her laundry,
and wash their dishes,
dust the house and mop the floors.
Stock their fridge and feed them their favorite treats!
I want to sit and listen to her tell me how awful she's feeling,
but also hear all of the things I have missed out on since she
became a Sister Missionary on August 8th...
I want to hear it all,
the good, the bad, the ugly, the awesome.
I want to hold her always-soft-as-silk hands,
and just tell her how proud of her we all are,
in person..
all that boob-ish, non-brave stuff.

But
I am here.
1651.17 miles away.
One thousand six hundred fifty-one long miles away.

I'd settle for a phone call,
because as my friend DeNae says,
it's not like our missionary kids are hostages, right?
(Thanks for that, DeNae, btw)
I could just dial my girl right up
and check on her;
but I'd have to pretend to be a bright and shiny Momza
just calling to be sure she's doing okay
and there'd be absolutely no allowance for boobish tears.
No crackling I-miss-you-so-much-noises in my voice.

She gets her hairy-faker act from me.

So there will be no three hour flight
or even a phone call--
not today anyway.

Instead, we've followed the MP's wife's advice--
we've written long letters full of encouraging words,
hand-drawn doodles all over the envelopes
and a goodie package with vitamin drops and lip balm,
her favorite Orbit gum (sweet mint) and a Cadbury Fruit & Nut bar,
and a little get well card tucked inside.
We've fasted and prayed with the whole family for her health to return quickly,
and sent our love out into the Universe for our girl
so she can get back to doing what it is she loves doing so much:
being a Servant.

I should check Guinness's World Records to see the record
for how long a Missionary Mom can hold her breath.

I bet I've beat it already.

Gossip is Alive and Well, Pass It On

So,
way back in August,
an announcement was made in Church
that the whole Stake was having a "Special Conference".

Having lived in this area for most of 14 years,
we've learned that when these
"Special Conferences" are called,
it's usually because our membership has grown so much
that adjustments are made to our boundaries,
new wards are created,
etc,. etc., etc.

This is enough fuel all on its own
to fill the pools of speculation
by all the hens in the henhouse
and a few of the roosters too,
if you get me.

The rumor mill was buzzin' to capacity
though
especially because The Church (as in Salt Lake),
bought 18 acres on our end of town,
and in case you're wondering,
that's enough land to build
a temple,
a Seminary building,
and a new Stake Center upon.

And it's about 2 miles from our house.

The chatter was loud and in unison that the
"Special Conference" was going to be a
Big announcement regarding that land.

It got a little ridiculous, actually.
One of our missionaries read a text outloud to us
that he'd recieved from a member,
"Can you tell me the dates when the new temple in Gleneagle will be built,
so we can plan on attending the open house? thanks."
Ridiculous.
Mostly, because the missionaries wouldn't know that kind of information
before the rest of us.

So, the weeks went by
and the chatter was flowing like melted butter on a hot bun...
"the new stake will be
The Flying Horse Stake",
"the temple will begin being built in December"
"this ward will be part of that ward"
"that Stake will be meeting in that building until the new stake center is built"
yada
yada
yada.
Endless.
And I'm a sucker for this kind of stuff, okay?
I would LOVE to have a temple closer than 65 miles away!
Love. It.

I was already daydreaming about going there every morning
before the yahoos got up for school,
n' going with my sweetheart for dates
every weekend.
Full-blown-high-def-surround-sound-fantasizing, ok?

SO.
The Big Sunday came.
We wanted to get a good seat in the chapel,
so we went to church 2 hours early.
And no,
we weren't the only ones there--
we weren't even one of the first families there.
Other folks had gotten there even earlier than us,
and within 15 minutes of our arrival,
the chapel was almost full.

The meeting was being satellite-broadcast to the other meetinghouses
in our Stake--
exactly as has been done in other "Special Conferences", ok?
So we're sitting there,
two hours early,
nervous energy about to spontaneously combust,
and all big smiles as the General Authority,
Walter F. Gonzales enters the chapel.
We also knew that Elder Holland was in the area,
as well as another G.A.--
so we're thinkin'--
"tem-ple. tem.ple. tem.ple. ooo yah ooo yah!!!"

I know it made no sense.
I know they don't announce new temples like this.
Okay, I know it.
Sorta.
That's what I've been told anyway.

So the meeting begins...
we  first hear a couple of talks--
one from a gal whose family has read the Book of Mormon this year
and her testimony of it,
and another one that I can't recall.
Then, our beloved Stake President stood and spoke of the glorious work in the temple.
This is it, I thought.
N' like coaxing a puppy to drop a sock,
I'm thinkin'
"C'mon....c'mon...drop that sock. tell us about the changes! Temple! Temple! Temple!"

But he didn't.
Hmmm.

Next the G.A. stood up to the podium.
Oh yeah, he's gonna be the messenger on this great day! Of course! It's only right."

So, I listened.
I listened with my ears,
and my eyes,
all my fingers and toes
and all the hairs on my head
were tuned into every.single.word.
comin' outta that man's mouth.

He was lovely. Inspiring. Equally touching and humorous.
And finished.

Nothing else.
Nothing about a new ward, new stake, new temple,
new-nothing.
Nothing, Nothing.

I looked over at Kent,
who shrugged his "I-wasn't-buyin'-all-the-hype" shoulders.
Talk about a let-down.

We pouted our way out to the car
and headed home.
Joseph said,
"They coulda emailed that stuff to us." to express his disappointment.

And yeah, I know,
it was just an absolute privilege to get to sit at the feet of a General Authority.
And that's exactly right.
The build-up was to blame for the let-down, no kidding.

Now, I forgot to share that Dara was not with us.
She didn't want to go two hours early.
She thought it was too early.
So she wasn't ready when it was time to go,
so we left her at home.
Even writing this now,
forces me see how stupid that was.

(live and learn, right?)

Okay so on the way home,
a brilliant light clicked on in my noggin:

WHAT ARE WE GONNA TELL DARA ABOUT THE MEETING?

Seeing as how the other two yahoos were with us,
I wondered how much I could get away with, ya know?

So,
I test the waters:

"Wow!" I said outloud in the car.
"We're gonna be in the new Stake That's so exciting!" I continued.
"And a temple! Can you believe it?!" I said raising my voice.

From the backseat:
{silence}

Okay, so the yahoos that were with us at the meeting,
didn't have a rebuttal, nothing.

Mwahahaha....

So
we get home,
change outta our Sunday clothes and sit down for the
crockpot dinner I'd begun the night before.

Daisie (Dara) comes upstairs and asks
"Well? What was the big announcement?"

"Oh, Day, you shoulda been there. It was awesome.
All kinds of changes are comin'.
First, we're in a new stake; the Flying Horse Stake,
and there's gonna be the new temple, stake center, and seminary building
just like everyone's been sayin'.
Oh and starting next Saturday at six a.m.,
all of the youth will be going to the temple site
to start clearing the land for the temple.
The Young Men will be digging the hole for the temple basement,
the Young Women will be using these screen things to sift the rocks outta the dirt,
the Primary children will scrub the foundation cement once it's poured,
to clean it before the flooring can go down--to keep it clean, right?
Of course, the Relief Society's assigned to feed everyone
and the Preisthood will be in charge of building the actual temple."

"What time do I haveta be there?"  Dara asked.

"Six a.m. Saturday."

"For how long?"

"Until it's finished, I guess." I answered.

"Hmmm. That's cool."

She turned to the yahoos, Joseph and Bee. "Is Mom right?"

Joseph and Bee just shrugged their shoulders.  (I was equally disturbed and happy at them: disturbed because they hadn't been paying attention to the meeting, and happy because they couldn't refute my big whoppin' tale."

Satisfied with her siblings response, she again replied, "Cool."

Now, I haveta say, it was SO STINKIN' hard to not crack a smile and confess the truth.
But, looking over at Kent whose face revealed nothing,
I just smiled and did not correct myself, yet.

Until.
Until later that evening as we were preparing for scripture study and family prayer.
We gathered upstairs in the loft,
and as if on cue,
Joseph asked, "Are we really in the Flying Horse stake, Mom?"

Finally!
I laughed and gave away my secret.
Dara's eye widened and she glared at me,
"You're ridiculous, Mom!"

"I know!", I hung my head.
I know.
And a little bit awesome.

Rocky Mountain High in Colorado...

We took to the mountains last weekend

 to catch our breath

to slow down for a moment

and 

just Be.

 Nature did not disappoint.

 We grabbed our coats, packed some food 

and started driving

without a plan,

no expectation.

Colorado mountains are beautiful

north and south

so we could fly by the seat of our pants

and our souls would still end up 

wonderfully

dilirously

fed...

 I felt my cares ever so gently being lifted off,

the golden aspens demanded attention

from all of my senses.

Fall + Aspens + Mountains= Euphoria

Welcome to the Cathedral of the Aspens...

let go,

come sit a spell,

find your "you" again... 

 As Mr. Wonderful and I sat on this ridge,

I felt the first emotional release rise in my throat

and sure enough,

tears well-up...

 I squeezed my man,

"Don't ever take me away from here. I love this land too much."

 These trees,

these glorious symbols of god's perfect design in nature,

open my eyes

and fill my heart with 

gratitude

for the blessings I have been given.

 These yahoos have to endure a life with a sentimental mother

who directs their eyes to look for the

wild beauty

and be grateful! dang it!

 These kids who've been at each other's throats 

since school started,

actually laughed and embraced 

welcomed each other back into their sphere...

 That's what happens when the Aspens call out to you...

all the good stuff that's been tucked away

under school schedules and team practices,

homework and house chores

pile up and squish your guts.

 Yahoos "photo bomb" one another's special pictures...

 And complete happiness wiggles right out of you....

 so that mom only gets one "good" picture for our missionary whose far away in New York.

 With the fall weather so mild still,

the boys packed their flyfishin' gear

 Is it really October already? In Colorado? 

 Give that boy a fishin' line, Pa.

 Pretty sure this boy's got the world by the tail right now....

 The Platte river was movin' slow and so low in places, 

this man-child could sit in it and fish...

seriously, 

cool.

 Little girl had to try the weighters on herself...

she waded out in the water,

took a tumble in,

got a little wet,

but when she decided she was alright,

she had a blast!

 This teenager is smiling,

definitely under the spell of the Aspens...

 She completely surrendered to the call of the wild...

A Colorado girl at heart, through and through...

If heaven has a church,

 nature leads the way to get there.

 NO reservations necessary,

but these heavens 

are only open for a season,

so grab your family,

your best flyin' pants

and take a trip 

to 

the Cathedral of the Aspens.

My Diana's Early Missionary Days

So.
I like starting sentences with "So" because
it feels like I'm just continuing on with a
conversation that started in 2007.

So.
Diana, my sweet missionary girl, has been gone
since August 3rd--
first to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah
for a month,
and then on September 3rd,
she flew to her Mission in Rochester, New York
where she'll be until February 2014.

The days leading up to her departure were busy, busy, busy.
Even the day she popped out of the car
and onto the curb at the MTC,
was a busy day,
no-time-for-cryin'-kinda day.
We smiled, we hugged, we yelled out the car windows
as we drove away,
"WE LOVE YOU, SISTER JOHNSON!"
And then we were outta there,
leaving our girl to begin her own Adventure.
I captialized "Adventure"
because a mission of this sorts
deserves an "A".

We got weekly letters from Nana while she was in the MTC.
We wrote several letters--
she reported that out of all the missionaries in her "zone"
she received more letter than anyone else.
Booyeah!
Well, you know, we have an enormous family
and this ain't the first time we've sent out a missionary,
so we know how important contact from home is to new missionaries.
Plus,
it helps us to not miss her so much.

So.
While she was at the Salt Lake City Airport,
she got to call home.
I didn't sleep the night before...
well, I finally went to bed at 2am
but was lying awake by 5am
waiting for the phone to ring.
So was Mr. Wonderful.
We whispered our excitement
in those early morning hours to one another.

Finally,
RING!! I sprung up like a jack-in-the-box
to grab the phone--
"Nana?! Is that you?"

"Mom?" she answered.

And then, because our throats closed up with emotion,
and eyes filled with tears...
and we forced words to come out.
Words like,
"You sound so good!"
"I have missed you do much!"
"Are ya doin' okay?"
"Do ya need anything?"
"I love you so much."

And the ugliest, most awful thing:
"I only have a few minutes, Mom. There's a long line of missionaries right here
waiting to call home too."
I replied laughing and selfishly, "I don't care." 
Nana said, "Their moms are waiting too. I'll call you on the layover in Detroit, ok?"
So she spent a couple more minutes talking to Joseph and Ari and Dad--she couldn't even wait for us to wake Daisie up, but promised she'd talk to us longer in Detroit.
And that was it.
Over in just minutes.

She did call back about 4-5 hours later
when we got another 20 minutes
to chat.
It was so short. Too short.

We are the biggest boobs on the planet.
I'm sharing that now,
just in case anyone thinks we're this awesomely brave family.
We. Are. Not.
We are sad saps to the nth-degree.
Hearing our girls' voice went right to the soft spots of our hearts.
I was equally teary-eyed and miserable,
and elated and grateful
for the rest of the day.

Later that evening,
the phone rang and it was Sister Christianson,
the Mission President's wife.
She said they'd picked up our girl
and she was "lovely and delightful"
and they're so glad to have her.
N' that Diana was already asleep for the night
after a very long day that began at 4am, Utah-time.

I honestly don't recall anything else she said.
My heart was just relieved to know our girl had arrived safely.

So.
We've been getting emails and letters home every week;
beautiful scripts filled with love and gratitude
and witnesses of faith and growth.
Diana is the happiest I've ever known her to be;
she is serving with a Sister Clark from Texas
as her companion,
whom she loves and adores.
And also a Sister Thomas and another sister from Italy
who is learning to speak english.
Diana is serving at the Church's historic sites
giving tours during the day,
and teaching the gospel in the evening.
She met a small family of three,
that are very humble.
The mother is in a wheelchair,
and has a deteriorating brain.
The first time the sisters went over,
they noticed that the home had just one room--
wherein there is a bed on the floor,
one chair
and one small table.
The mother apologized that the only place to sit
was the floor,
but she herself, had bleached it in anticipation of the sisters visit.
Diana was so touched,
she asked if she and her companion might return over the weekend
to offer service.
Here is a portion of the recent email Diana sent home this week:

Anyways last week we asked if we could serve them...they have NOTHING. So saturday morning sister clark (who I now love and adore) spent 2 hours on our hands and knees cleaning their apartment. Mom it was so bad....so so so bad. It was also so so so humbling. We have so much. By the time we left the house was white again. I have bruises on my knees still from scrubbing the floors just how you taught me to.
I loved this because it is easy to see that my girl is truly serving,
in the most sincere ways,
people in need.
That's what we as parents, hope missions teach our children.
To see beyond the end of their own noses,
and act on their own accord
to do what they can do to help.

She is becoming a Disciple of Christ.

So.
That's how it's been with her gone.
She's busy doing and being
and
I'm at home doing what I always do--
running a household the best I can,
and trying not to miss her so much.

It has been six weeks since we drove over the Rocky Mountains
to drop her off at the "trailhead" of her Adventure...
and until yesterday,
I had not even once,
gone down to the basement to her bedroom.
But yesterday, I was already in the basement putting away
some home staging accessories on a bookcase,
when I looked over at her door.
"It's time", I thought.
SO,
I poked my head inside and walked over to her bed
sat down,
looked around at her photo frames,
wall collages,
and desk all tidied-up.
Nothing out of place.
And then the biggest wall of emotions hit me
square on.
I cried.
O I cried.
I miss her.
This sacrifice of sending our kids out into the world
without us,
and not being able to talk to them but twice a year
is not easy.
I wouldn't have her doing anything else,
truly.
It is SO good for her--
for now and for later.
But, wow.
It is a hard thing.

The other night at the dinner table,
I had had a particularly sappy few moments of missing Nana,
and I turned to my 11 year old, Arianna,
and said,
"YOU do not need to plan on going on a mission. I simply cannot bear the idea of sending you away."
To which my fiesty girl responded: "OH, I'm GOIN'! That's how we escape! You only THINK we're on a Mission! Nana's actually on a vacation."
Yeah. I'm definitely gonna miss this one in 10 more years.

So,
when you see our sweet missionaries in your town,
or if they happen to come to your door,
will you be kind to them?
They have a mother at home
who would give anything to see their smile today
and who is on her knees praying
for their safety and well-being.
You can be the answer to her prayer.

This Doula Has Limits

When I was contacted about being a doula
for that young mom whose husband is deployed
and is due around Thanksgiving--
I met with her;
we talked extensively about her expectations
and ideal homebirth plan
that would include her two young children.
Then just days later,
she changed her mind about a homebirth
stating simply that she didn't care for the way
the midwife interacted with her other children.

I'm guessing the midwife saw what I saw--
two very wiggly little ones with lots of energy to spare.
Even so, I agreed to be a "sibling doula" for them
so the Momma could have them at the birth.
But, the plan changed.
The new plan was to go to a birth center in Denver.
In November.
That's an hour and a half away,
with always the chance of snow during that time of the year.
I said "yes" to the New Plan...
which included me picking the whole family up and driving to the birth center
once Mama was in labor,
tending the little ones during the labor and delivery,
packing Mama and the little ones up two-three hours after the birth,
and then driving back down to the Springs,
unloading the new family at their home
and getting everyone settled in
before I would leave to come home, shower, eat, get some rest,
and then head back within 4-6 hours
to continue on with Post-partum care.

I was on board with all of that.
There was just one more thing I wanted in place--
that another person be at the house
whenever I wasn't in the first 24 hours
to keep watch over Mama and baby.
She insisted that she didn't need anyone else there
in my absence,
that she would just take it easy and all would be well.

I shared experiences where, sadly,
that supervision was not given
and tragic outcomes occurred.
She said she'd think about it n' get back to me.

She did.
She said that because of my concerns,
she was going to get a different doula who would honor her wishes
and her birth plans--
someone who would trust her instincts over their own.

And that kinda stunk on ice.
It's a mix of unfamiliar rejection
and straight-up concern for an ignorant mother.
Aside from my own births (7 of 'em),
one of which resulted in hemorraging to the point of passing out
and having to receive blood,
two hours after a birth;
and attending home births as a midwife assistant,
and attending hospital births as a doula,
I KNOW there is liablity for a caregiver/health professional
to stay with a new mother at least 24-48 hours.
It would be irresponsible to do otherwise.
Just a flat-out dangerous risk I'm unwilling to take.

It may sound like I'm complaining about being replaced
but that's not it--
my limits are
based on training and experience.
And I know that we live in a
"have-it-your-way" culture,
but reason has to trump ego sometimes
for safety.
And the saying "better safe than sorry"
was borne from necessity,
I'm sure.

Doulas are guardians, advocates, encouraging presences
passionate about the miracle of motherhood and birth.
We are partners and educators.
We have a responsibility & commitments to keep childbirth
as safe as possible.
Anything less is unacceptable.

So, if you're a doula
know your limits.
Stand up for them. Abide them.
And if you're thinking about hiring a doula,
learn what a doula's role is in childbirth
and respect her experience and knowledge.
Trust is essential on both sides.
The miracle of birth is just that--
a miracle and demands respect and awareness.
That said,
I love being a Doula!

Riley's New Farm Life AKA My yahoos were traumatized this weekend

So remember when we adopted the best freakin' dog in the world?
Last July, we got a sweet 5 year old golden retreiver named Riley
as a companion dog for our wingnut 3 year old black lab, Dakota.

Well, I'd never adopted an adult dog before,
so I had very little expectations,
but some of them were unrealistic anyway.
Riley had been very well trained--
he would sit when we said "sit"
he'd stay when we said "stay"
and he would come when we called him.
Already,
he was far and way better trained than Dakota.

But, she hated him.
She bit him
harrassed him
growled and snipped at him
all.day.long.
" Jealousy thy name is Dakota."

And, from Day One, Riley dug holes under our fence
to get out of the backyard.
All. the. time.
Our kind neighbors would bring him back
or call us, since our info was on his dog tags.
Not only was it annoying and destructive,
it was dangerous.

Twice he was found trotting down a busy road
one street over from us.
The thought of him being run over by a car
concerned me,
so he ended up inside the house most of the time.
Which ain't no fun for him.

I decided last May to place an ad on Craigslist
for him to be adopted.
The response was tremendous,
for an AKC intact golden retriever with good manners,
just as I knew there would be.
The yahoos revolted and weren't ready to let go of
the Best Dog in the World.
I wasn't either, I admit it.
I love goldens and he's a charmer through n' through.
So I sat on the adoption.

Until last Friday,
as I was pulling up into the driveway
after being gone maybe 15 minutes,
I caught him again escaping the backyard,
headed for who knows where.
And I knew,
I just knew right then,
that it was time to place him for his own good
in a more suitable home.

One of the responders I got was from a gal up in Greeley, Colorado
who, together with her husband owns a land and cattle farm.
She wrote that she already owned 4 goldens and was looking for another male
to breed.
I liked the idea of the farm,
but not so much the breeding.
I don't know why the idea bothered me,
as we've bought all of our dogs from breeders,
except Riley, who had been adopted from a breeder
by his previous owners.
But it did bother me
so I kept looking.
We got many repsonses from families like ours--
they wanted to adopt a sweet mannered golden
to live with them.
But I knew that was not going to be ideal for him--
he didn't really bond with us--
as evidenced by his escaping behavior.
Dakota never left our yard,
even with a gaping hole in the fence
as Riley would leave it.
She is attached to us.
We belong to her and visa versa.

So to put him into the same exact setting
wasn't going to work;
we needed something different.

After alot of careful thought,
I emailed the farmer's wife and asked if she were still interested.
She was excited to meet him,
so we drove 2 hours yesterday up to Greeley
to check out the place.

It was out in the middle of farm country--
they had horses, cows, sheep, pigs
and a zillion rows of corn.
By the house was the large fenced area for her goldens,
and also on the property were two white Great Pyrenees
guarding the place from coyotes,
according to the farmer's wife.

We introduced Riley to her
and of course he won her over.
He is such a gentleman.
Her other breeding dogs were going nuts!
The male was quite defensive--
I think it's because Riley is so much more handsome
than he is,
and he had two females in heat with him,
so he' was protecting his romantic interests, yeah?

This is where our Sunday in the country
proved a bit much for our citified
yahoos:
first, Riley was chasing a horse, who was chasing a cow,
and just as I knew it,
he got kicked in the chin by the horse.
Riley didn't even yelp,
he did learn his lesson though
and got out of the corral ASAP.
The kids were very concerned that their pet just got kicked by a horse,
as they'd never seen anything like that before.
It gets worse though.
While we were down by the feed barn with the sheep,
two little teeny kittens came tumbling out to greet us.
Dara, who is the family pet-lover,
scooped them both up and asked if they were For Sale--
to which the farmer's wife offered them up right then
to us
for Free.
I shook my head and reminded Dara we weren't there for kittens,
and besides, Ari and I are both allergic to cats.
So Dara carried them around for a little bit
until we got to the backporch of the house.
Then she set them down to play.
Riley saw them both,
sniffed them, even licked one,
but went on his way.
Told you, he is the best dog!
The farmer's wife was surprised at how gentle
he was with the kittens
and remarked about it.

So between the porch and the fenced-in dog yard
with the 3 goldens in there,
we had parked our Suburban in the driveway,
so that you couldn't see on the other side of it.
Joseph and Ari were over at the fence,
while Dara, Kent and I were at a table on the porch,
filling out the AKC paperwork and Bill of Sale for Riley.
We had agreed that in exchange for Riley,
instead of money,
we would like a female puppy sired by Riley and
a British cream female there
named Duchess,
to be delivered sometime in 2013.
Just as the paperwork was being signed,
a huge fuss of barking started,
and Joseph yelled out,
"the dogs are eating the kitten!"
Kent and Dara ran over
but in those three seconds,
the dogs had ripped the kitten in peices.
My heart sank.
I looked over the car for Ari
who looked to be in shock, walking to me,
eyes filled with tears.
She couldn't believe what she'd just witnessed.
One of those sweet tiny kittens had waddled over
to the fence,
and a dog grabbed her by the head and pulled her to him,
then another dog came and they did a tug-of-war on the creature
until it was in pieces.
Dara stood there,
waiting by the fence, hoping the farmer's wife would come and
"do something" to help the kitten,
until we called her to come away.
She scooped up the other kitten
and with tears flowing begged me to
let her bring the kitten home with us.
That was hard.
I wanted to. I so wanted to.
But that was not practical for our family.
Our lab, Dakota doesn't like cats,
so what would we do with it?
And we couldn't keep it inside because of allergies.

So I put my arm around her,
and we walked back to the feed barn
where the kittens had tumbled out of,
and she placed the black and white kitten back in a corner.
Immediately,
the kitten jumped over hay bales and feed bags
until she landed next to my feet,
looked up at me and "meowed" with her small blue eyes.
This is too hard, I thought.
Again, Dara picked her up and put her further back into the barn
and we both hurried back to the house,
while Dara just sobbed.
Heavens,
my own heart felt wrenched and eyes teared up.

My kids had never seen nature be so cruel and unforgiving.
The farmer's wife was equally touched,
but she offered just a few words,
"Kittens don't last long on farms, I'm sad to say."

By this time, she needed to go fetch the remains of the kitten
out of the dog pen,
and then, it was time to say our goodbyes to
the best dog in the world--
who I haveta say,
was having the time of his life running around,
exploring all of the different animals and corn rows,
he even licked a toad!
I was looking for a good reason to say "No thanks. We'll just take our dog and go home."
I really was.
But, this trip wasn't about US,
it was about this sweet dog,
so despite the kids' pleas,
we left him there.

Tears flowed on the way home,
and into the evening,
as the kids relived the awful scenes they witnessed
compiled with leaving Riley.
The trip home was emotional to say the least.

I don't know what my expectations were for a breeding kennel set-up...
I was thinking it was like a buncha sweet dogs all hangin' out,
makin' puppies and runnin' around,
happy as larks.
Hunting dogs bred to be hunting dogs,
kept in dog pens,
eatin' kittens,
wasn't even on my radar.
I did tell the farmer's wife that Riley is a housedog, a family dog--
not a penned-up dog,
which she could easily see.

The kids all hung out with us in our room last night,
and we talked about getting a new puppy next year
and what we'll name her and teach her.
And the fact that we'll get to see Riley again;
all happy thoughts.
By bedtime,
we had two girls who needed extra loving
and Ari even got a blessing by Dad to help her sleep away
those scary memories.

We were all a little traumatized.
Life is like that sometimes.
We see things that we shouldn't see,
or wish we hadn't seen
and somehow, I hope,
there's a lesson in this experience that will do my kids
some good.
Maybe it's as cliche as
"life is fragile"
or
"be aware of your surroundings"
or something else I can't think of right now.
But I hope something good comes of it,
whatever it is.

You can bet that Dakota is being loved on a hundred times more,
and she is lovin' it.

{sigh}
I am doing the best I can.
Somedays, though.
Wow.

P.S. Got an email from the farmer's wife this morning; she said, and I quote:
Thank you so very much for riley, he slept with me last night he is sooooo sweet! I am sorry abt the kitten i got angry and it is nobodys fault but the kitten. Thx again

Mondays, Fridays, Doula Days, Thanksgiving Days

It's Friday.
I love Fridays like nobody's business.

Mondays used to be my most favorite day of the week
when the yahoos were younger--
that's when my true appreciation for
school teachers was in full bloom.
I love sending my yahoos off to a secure environment,
less than 5 minutes from the house
for that heavenly 8 hour span of learning.

Now, though, with the brood down to just three yahoos
at home,
Fridays make me happy--
they are such great lead-in days to Saturday.

So I met the prospective doula client--
and her little girls the other day.
This is the gal that is due on Thanksgiving
and will be having a homebirth
without her currently-deployed husband.
I waited until I had a chance to meet with her
to decide if it was a good fit for both of us.
So we met,
we chatted,
and while I doubt she will actually deliver her baby
on her actual due date,
I felt and still feel,
that it is the right thing to do to support this little family
in whatever way I can,
even if it is on Thanksgiving.
Heavens, her husband's career makes it possible
for my family to even have a Thanksgiving, right?
It's the least I can do.

Speaking of Thanksgiving,
the high temp in the Springs today is supposed to hit 65o...
the yahoos actually grabbed their hoodies on the way
to the bus stop--
which is directly across the street from us.
I love that.
I can keep an eye on them from the sofa.
Anyway,
I think I'll drag out my fall decor this weekend
and make some of the goodies I've snagged on Pinterest.
Fall is where it's at, you know.
Fall is
warm soups,
sweaters tied around the waist,
socks,
golds and rusty reds,
cinnamon and nutmeg,
early evenings and football games.
I'm ready.
Bring it!

My PC's having an out-of-body experience

It's truly touch n' go around here.
I haven't been able to post anything
in days and days...
this ancient COMPAQ is about to
float towards the light
and I'll be forced to call
T.O. D. before I know it.

But the Intel Processor heavens
have opened tonight
and poured out some mercy
so that I might
get some blog-worthy thoughts
out into the www-Universe.

I have more to tell than I have time to tell it--
which stinks in a way,
because my brain is, like, ON right now.
But it's almost 11pm
and the Brain Fairy is likely
just at the edge of my fingers
ready to flip the switch on my memory
and leave me hangin' in the dark here.
So, I gotta get ta sputterin'
at lightening speed.

OKAY
First,
our missionary safely arrived in Rochester, New York
late yesterday,
as her Mission President's wife,
Sister This-Woman-Has-A-Mother's-Heart Christianson,
actually CALLED me to let ME know
our girl was there!
I slept like a baby last night,
whereas the past few nights
insomnia was my constant companion.

We even got to talk to our girl
as she had layovers in airports on the way.
Yesterday morning just before 6am
the phone rang!
I picked it up and said,
"Diana?"
"Mom, is that you?"
And then we both cried.
It was so wonderful to hear her voice!
And SO hard to have to hang up after just a few moments.
Ugh.
She's doing great though and is happily excited
to get to work!

Second,
Arianna had a severe reaction to her first set
of immunizations last week.
She actually got the measles.
Head to toe rash,
fever, sore throat, aches and pains,
the whole "it's very rare to have side-effects" deal.
I normally don't have my kids vaccinated
while they are young...
not until they're 20, at least.
But my doc assured me the formulas used today
"are so much safer" blah blah blah
that I gave in at the start of school
to just a few shots.
I wish I hadn't.
She is feeling better,
still not sure if she'll go to school tomorrow though.

Third,
Joseph had his first Cross Country meet today
a Air Academy High School.
Three things that stood out:
1- There was a big pile of fresh bear scat on the trail from the parking lot
to the stadium and I thought, "Cool. Only in Colorado."
2- IN the middle of the meet, while the last group was actually running,
the PA system came on, and played the American Anthem. This prompted
the entire crowd to stand on its' feet, place our hands over our hearts, facing the US flag on the field and wonder what the heck was going on?  So weird, wonderfully American.
3- As I was approaching the bleecher that Joseph was on, a woman in the crowd yelled out, "DAWN!"  I turned to see a familiar face, though I could not, for the life of me, remember her name or where I knew her from! She asked, "When did you guys get back?" I answered, "2008."  "Oh, who are you here for?" STILL not recalling who she was, I pointed and replied, "Joseph."  "Oh, he's so big!" "Where does he go to school?", she asked.  AND THEN, as I told her which school he goes to, I remembered exactly who she was/is--our family even had a nickname for her family: "THE MEAN NEIGHBORS"!  And all I could think of was "The Mean Neighbors! The Mean Neighbors! Must. Get. Away!"  SO I smiled and excused myself with a "heyyyy, it's good to see you, take care."
When I got home, I told Mr W about the chance meeting and he said they were never really mean to US, it was the neighbors on either side of them--one neighbor they tried to kill their collie by throwing chocolate bars over the fence to kill it. (No kidding) and the other they continually harrassed over where their teenagers could park, claiming the asphalt in front of their house was THEIRS and THEIRS alone.  We just kept our distance. Altho' when Joseph was about 3, he did build a catapult in our front yard and launch a few rocks towards "the mean neighbors house". He was 3. The rocks landed on our sidewalk. But, the intent was there.  I just can't believe this lady was so nice to me. I have schizophrenic feelings here about how I reacted...should I have been equally nice once I realized who she was, because she was clearly happy to see me, OR was my instinct to get the heck outta dodge the best one?  I dunno. But it made me laugh later on.
What else?
*I have another doula appointment tomorrow. There's a slight dilemma because the mom is due November 23rd. The day before Thanksgiving. And her husband is deployed. And she has two little ones who will need a little bit of care (that would be me) while she has a home birth.  The timing is crummy though. I'll let you know what I end up doing.
*On Friday, Kelly and I are staging another house in the Broadmoor area. Super excited about that one.
*Mr. W says he's gonna start his own blog: "I Married a Chupacabra"...if he does, I'll definitely share the link.
*September 23rd marks the beginning of Fall...I'm thinking I want to do something special for la familia...any ideas/traditions you wanna share?

Okay, the PC needs some rest. I don't want to use all of it's grace up in one sitting.  Who knows when I'll be able to post again, but I'll take what I can get!
 

Missionary Mom's Waiting Game

It's late morning here in the Springs;
I've already cleaned here
and gone over to a post-partum momma's house
this morning.
I've made phone calls and written emails.

But, like the other years my oldest kids
were off serving missions,
on their P-days
I tried to keep close to the computer
so I could get their emails
hot off the press
a it were.

I walk away and come back
checking my email
over and over
all morning long.
(checked it, nothing yet.)

It's not that I think my sweet Sister Missionary
has something life-changing to share;
even though she is having some amazing experiences;
no really,
all it means to me is that
she is breathing
able to get to a computer
and if all she had to say was
"I'm Alive, Mom"--
as she does in every email
because she knows me so well
and watched me
watch the email with her older brother and sister
when they were missionaries--
if all she had time to write was those 3 words,
it would be enough.

This experience of being a Missionary Mom
is wonderful
but the part that is hardest is not being able
to hear her voice every day.
That is hard,
I"m not gonna even try to fake that I"m ok with that.

I didn't cry when we left her at the MTC,
or on the way home from Utah.
IN fact,
it wasn't until about 6 days ago that I really had a good cry
for missing her
when I was alone in the car one day by myself.
 (checked again, nada)

I mean,
I get why we can't talk to these
newly called missionaries:
they need to focus on the calling and all that.
I get it.
It's the right way to do this.
But man alive,
it's pretty stinkin' hard to do.

Every letter we get from her is overflowing with JOY;
with her companion,
her district,
her testimony and all that she is learning.
It is all we hoped for her and more.

She is training on Temple Square this week
before leaving next Wednesday
for New York.

New York in September.
I've heard it's beautiful.
(checked again, nope.)

So Nana may not even be near a pc today,
because of her training in Salt Lake City.
All I can think of is that it's a good thing
I live on this side of the Rocky Mountains
cuz' ya know...
I'd haveta be restrained from taking a jaunt over to
T-square
hide in the bushes if I had to,
or wear dark sunglasses and a ball cap to hide my appearance,
just so I could get my two eyeballs on my girl.

Yeah.
I know I sound like a loon.
I blame my kids.
They did this to me--
this business of having my heart
float around outside of my body
stinks on ice.

Since I am stuck over here on the east side of the Rockies,
I must wait
and
wait
and
wait
for a little note to pop up and say,
"Hey Momza! I'm Alive!"
(just checked again. nuthin')

This is gonna be a long day.

She Blew Dandelion Wishes

This is my favorite kind of writing to do...
a Birth Story.

I got a text early Friday morning:
"Just a heads up: it's looking like today's the day."
-from Composed Mama A.

I love getting those kinds of texts and phone calls
when a momma is ready to have a baby.

I went ahead and got ready for the day
and got the yahoos off to school,
ran over and checked on
the other Post-partum Momma
I've been working with the past couple of weeks.

Composed Mama A. and I were in constant contact
and she knew to call me when her body said
the time was nigh to go to the hospital.
Three hours later, another text:
"I'm terrible at timing ctx and I'm getting really erratic times,
but the ones I am feeling are long and getting intense.
Do you think we should head to the hospital?"

I responded with a simple, "Yes."
And then quickly finished up what I was doing--
which was making eggs for two little ones
at the other Momma's house,
and headed over to meet Mama A. and Papa M.
I was their doula just over a year ago,
and shared their first birth story over here.
So, I was and still am,
honored
to be asked to attend another birth.

Mama A. was much the same disposition as the first birth--
composed, focused, relaxed.
She didn't move around hardly at all--
content to sit on the bed,
legs to the side,
and quietly breathing
in through her nose
and out through her mouth,
eyes closed,
and a heavenly peaceful look on her face.
It was hard to tell she was in active labor.

IN fact, she was already dilated to 6cm upon arrival at the hospital,
she'd gone through early labor
in the comfort of her own home.

In between contractions,
we would engage in small talk,
but follow her cues
as another wave would present itself
and she calmly let it go through her;
surprising her attending nurse with
her quiet responses and relaxed demeanor,
which perfectly matched the calm August morning.

Mama A. drank some ice water,
took a small bite of a rice cake,
and rested her head back on a pillow
between contractions.
Papa M. ever near her side,
whispered treasured words
for her ears only,
and lightly glided his fingers over her limbs,
to relax and comfort her.
There was never a wasted word between them.
They were thoughtful and respectful of one another
and in every way showed a mutual gratitude
towards the other.

Her labor progressed very quickly,
and we only knew of the increased intensity
when Mama A declared,
after quietly breathing away another wave,
"That was really intense."

I looked at my watch and timed the next few contractions:
they were lasting nearly or just over-- two minutes
and allowing only a 10 second rest between.
Her body was working to capacity.
Just a little over 10 minutes later,
she said what we all love to hear:
"I feel the pressure to push."

I went out and got our attending nurse, Farrell,
to come and check Mama A.'s progress.
At first check,
Farrell determined Mama A's cervix was at an 8--
and two contractions later,
she was checked again
and was complete and ready for delivery!

( I love this part!)

The Doc was just outside the door,
so he just walked right in,
sat down and within just a few minutes,
he was prepping for the delivery.

By this time,
Mama A began to push,
and we were her cheerleaders!
I didn't get the exact count,
but I would say it only took
five good pushes
and Baby girl C. came out
a chubby little thing
at nine pounds, 13 ounces!
Almost ten pounds!
I got out the camera and snapped a few pics,
and then went to the "broiler pan"
while the peds nurses and docs checked her out
and Papa stayed next to Mama
for the rest of the delivery.

All of this happened in less than 3 hours.
Three!

It went by so fast,
that before we knew it,
while Papa went with the Baby to the nursery,
and I sat with Mama A alone in her room,
while she drank some juice,
and recovered awhile.
I asked her about how she was able
to stay so composed--
What did you think about while you were in labor;
while you were breathing?
I asked.

Mama A smiled.
" I imagined blowing
dandelion seeds and wishes for her."

Indeed.