Dean's Storm

I should be sleeping.

At close to 3am, I sit here, wide awake with my thoughts.

my dangerous thoughts.

it's harder to control them these days, really.

Dark clouds trail me like the tropical storms I grew so familiar with,

as a child native of Miami, Florida.

We'd look out over our flat, flat earth for signs of a gathering darkness,

flashes of lightening in the distance...

and we'd count until we heard the rumbling thunder

one

two

three

four 

five

telling us when to run and take cover for the approaching storm.

I'm counting these days for different reasons.

One day without a crisis.

Two days without a call.

Three days without a meeting.

I haven't gotten past 7 days in months.

Reminds me of those workplace signs:

"Accident Free for _____ Days".

Dean's health continues to decline.

Last week we finally got a med change

that he started taking on Saturday.

We had a special day planned for Sunday

as our newly-returned missionary daughter was speaking in church

about her mission.

Our eldest, Danielle and her family flew in from Houston to share the day

and we had plans to have Dean come too.

But it didn't work out that we could see him until after church.

When we did see him

it wasn't good.

It was akin to flashes of lightening for me.

He was hunched over in the car, arms drawn upward,

eyes rolling around, unable to clearly focus or talk,

he needed assistance to get into our car--

and then he puked all over himself and the car and the street.

I wondered if we should take him to the ER--

he wasn't himself.

His HHPs attributed it all to the new med...

it looked like an overdose to me.

We cleaned him up and took him home.

That's the one thing he said clearly:

"I want to go with you, Mom."

Lightening.

We took him home

where he lay on the sofa for four hours

while we fed him small bites of food

and coaxed him to drink lots of water,

as he drifted in and out of sleep.

Danielle came to sit by him

while I excused myself, going upstairs to my room

and dropped to my knees in prayers and tears.

Crying because today was the likely the last time

Dean could've gone to church with the rest of the family.

The next time we're all gathered together at church

will probably be his funeral.

That thought made me sad.

What am I doing?

This is so hard.

Too hard.

What is this supposed to be like?

I've been reading "Joy Cometh in the Morning" by Fran Hafen.

And other articles on losing a child to disease, 

hoping for something I can relate to, follow, whatever.

Gathering my self,

I sucked up my fears, dried my tears

and got busy making the turkey dinner we'd planned.

The rest of the family moved Dean to the family room,

where he could see me in the kitchen and they all sat with him,

and to their credit

chatted as though nothing was wrong.

I made dinner and tried to hide the random tears that made their way

to the corners of my eyeballs.

I had conversations in my head about this whole situation.

I feel guilty for wanting his pain to be over.

I feel guilty for begging God to not take my son just yet because of my own selfishness.

I'm not ready, I tell Him.

Not yet.

How selfish.

Later that night,

after we've delivered Dean back to his HHP--

in better shape than when we got him,

we talk with the family about the lighter things of Dean's situation.

I asked Danielle with as much composure as I can muster

if she'll plan on doing the eulogy for the funeral.

We talk about which primary songs we'll put in the program.

And then we change the subject

because it's all too sad to continue with the topic.

I'm counting for thunder these days.

The storm is no longer just on the horizon...

it's in view,

I see the lightening afar off

and I'm counting

One

Two

Three

Four

Five....

the thunder's coming...
I can almost feel the earth shake--
 or maybe it's just the trembling of my own heart.

I'm trying to find joy in each day
to keep the dark clouds from squelching the goodness
that is Life.
We put on music and dance in the kitchen...
me and Mr. Wonderful
me and the kids
the kids and the dogs on hind legs...
we stay up late and play board games
and laugh until our sides ache...
we leave love notes for each other in random places.
There's alot more hugging and "I love yous" happening in these walls.

We understand, I guess,
that anyday, a phone call is going to change our lives...
that the storm will hit us front and center...
and heaven help us,
it's going to be really hard.

So we'd better prepare for it...
and the only thing that's strong enough to withstand a storm on a family
is
Love.

New Year and New Blessings

I have just a moment to jump in here,
scribble some stuff down and get on with my day--
so here goes:

My life has been incredibly busy--
last Fall was a blur,
Christmas lasted two minutes,
and I can hardly believe it's January 2014!

Diana came home less than a month ago,
and we've been busy getting her the medical care she needed
to be healthy again.
I was concerned for a couple of weeks
because she was so ill,
she wasn't eating much at all,
lethargic, yet not sleeping.
I took some time off work at the store
so I could monitor her, take her to Dr. appts.,
and in general just keep an eye out on her.

I am grateful to report that she is doing much better.
The color is back in her cheeks and she's adjusting being at home,
already making plans for Spring Semester at BYU-I.

IN addition to caring for Diana,
there is the constant condition of making calls, appts,
etc for Dean.
He was over for Christmas day,
and that was a gift for me.
I was worried he wouldn't be here and that he was,
is a blessing for me.
He is still struggling,
and there are daily phone calls, emails, appts., etc.
going on about his care,
but we are crisis-free going on Week 3 now.

Last Thursday,
we (me, Joseph, Arianna, n' Diana)loaded up the Sub
and headed north to Rexburg, Idaho
to take Daisie to BYU-I.
She had planned for this college experience in
the most minimal way possible.
It was as if she had barely thought of it at all--
without going into details,
girlfriend is like that--
flies by the seat of her pants!
Only when it was time to leave her there,
did she have a small emotional moment.
We offered prayer for her, gave hugs and scooted out the door.

Since then,
she has posted many things on facebook about her great happiness
being there...so I guess the lesson here is that not all of us needs to have
an exact plan, spelled out in detail, to be happy.

Lastly,
my own business, UpStaged! home staging
is growing faster than I can keep up with it,
thus affording me to resign my position at Shades of Amber,
as a merchandiser and devote more time and energy to staging.
I am grateful for this so much.
Mostly because I am so dang tired.
I know that any extra strength I have is purely from heaven,
as that has been the consistent prayer of my heart--
to have the strength to meet the demands of my life.

I have had to cut back most social activities,
pick and choose what/who I will exert energy into--
and mostly keep my focus on the big things around here.
That alone, has benefitted my well-being:
doing what I can, when I can,
slowing down or eliminating what I can't do,
conserving my energy where possible...
circling the wagons, as I like to say.

Last week, as I drove hundreds of miles
in a car full of mostly sleeping/texting/ipod-wearing teenagers,
I had some time to think
as the ribbons of grey highway rippled under me--
I counted my blessings,
I counted my challenges,
I reached for heaven's grace to fill in where I cannot.

Those prayers are being answered.
I feel gratitude, hope and clarity.

Feelings of inadequacy are not fruits of the Spirit.
We were sent here to learn from the vicissitudes of life--
not be crushed by them.
Next up:
Declaring our New Year's Family Motto!
Let me remind us of last years:
"We Seek After Bacon"
and the year before's:
"Don't Suck".
One can only hope 2014's will be just as inspirational!

Our Missionary is Home

Our missionary is home as of Wednesday, December 18th~!

We have missed her so much--

I've sat on the end of her bed countless hours since then,

listening

listening

listening

 

 

She has learned so much,

been loved by so many,

given all that she had to give + some

 

 

as her mission president said,

"She left it all on the field."

 

 

She came home a brilliant light-filled young woman--

and we are so grateful for her willingness to go and serve a mission for her Savior, Jesus Christ. 

 

 

 {sweetest moment~}

So good to get my arms around my girl!

 

As hard as it was to let her go,

to know of her trials and challenges while away from us--

it was worth every moment.

 

I can't think of anything else in the world,

any other experience,

that could've done what a mission has done

for my girl

and my family.

 

What a great Christmas present to have her home!

 

 



Bad Things Come In Threes?

You've heard the saying that goes "Bad things come in threes", right?
Hold on while I google where that came from...
nevermind, what I read doesn't make much sense except to say that
human kind has alot of ridiculous superstitions and this is one of them.

Still.
We hit #3 this week.

I as waiting for something else to happen--
it's weird, I know this.
A defeatist, pessimistic view
no doubt.
But, I was indeed waiting for #3,
holding my breath if you will.
On Monday night,
the phone rang and there it was:
our missionary daughter, Diana,
who is just SIX weeks away from coming home,
had spent the entire day in the ER
far away in New York.
She'd been sick since Thanksgiving--
vomitting to the point of dehydration and malnourishment
and passed out at home.
Her companion, unable to revive Diana,
called 911 and she went via ambulance to the hospital.

They gave her an IV of fluids and anti-nausea meds,
ran some tests, an EKG,
and sent her home.

The Mission President's wife came to the hospital,
as well as other local missionaries,
to be with her and help her along.

We didn't get the message until later that evening
of the days' events.

When the call came,
I felt dazed.
Overwhelmed.
"Is this really my life?"--
we've had three children taken via ambulance to the hospital--
for different reasons--
in as many weeks.

What the heck is going on?

We were told by the Mission Nurse that they'd follow-up Tuesday with me.

I didn't sleep well that night, as you can imagine.
I woke up at 2:30am and didn't go back to sleep.

The sun was a welcome break.
But then something clicked while getting dressed for work--
"That's number three. We'll be good for awhile."
I felt relief.
There it was.
One, two, three.
Dean, Ari, Diana.

Dean passed out from seizures at the restaurant,
Arianna had such a bad migraine at school,
lost vision in one eye, numbness/ weakness on the left side of her body,
slurred speech and awful pain,
that the EMTs were called and we were told she had symptoms of a stroke!
And now Diana.
It seemed alot to take in, honestly.

I've since been in touch with lovely, caring members of the church there
that are watching out for our girl in NY
and she's doing better.
Homemade soup, gluten-free cookies, warm fuzzy socks,
and a sofa to nap on while her companions continue to work.
I couldn't ask for more.

But.
Another sad thing happened that I didn't see coming at all.
A very sweet blogger-friend,
whom I had the chance to meet in real life,
lost her six-month battle with cancer.
I will write more about her when my brain can fully wrap around that.

So, no, bad things don't happen in threes at all.
They just happen.
Whenever.
And right about now,
I'm at a loss to see a pattern or explanation of God's Timing.
Ever feel like He has more confidence in your strengths than you do?

Yeah. That's where I'm at.
I know things will work out--
I believe things happen for a reason.
And having faith in God includes having faith in His timing...
so I can be patient.
I can wait to see where all this goes--
imagining that I'm floating with the river
instead of trying to walk against the flow of it.
I can be patient and try to figure out what is to be learned from this chaos.
So far,
what I've learned is I'm not alone in it.
That's what gives me courage to hang on--
and to be OK should #5 come along.

Gratitude Is Best Served with Cool Whip

In case you live outside of the US,
one of our biggest holidays is coming up this week:
THANKSGIVING--
from my earliest memories
it began with white construction paper shaped into a pilgrim's hat
or
construction papered Indian headress assembled with Elmer's glue.

Back in the Olden Days,

THANKSGIVING was, as far as I knew,

based on the kindness of native Americans to the New World Pilgrims

who were seeking freedom and liberty from the Old World.

It was all very simple.

It even tied into The Golden Rule...

treat others as you would want them to treat you.

The Thanksgiving Feast was the cumulative "Celebration"--

to be shared by family, neighbors, friends.

I remember food drives in school--

to make sure none of my classmates missed out on the biggest food holiday 

of the year.

My mother used to tell us kids how,

growing up in Florida, in a family of ten kids,

her brothers and sisters used to go pick citrus fruit

for their local church to make Thanksgiving Gift Baskets--

they'd work at the orchards all morning,

and soon after,

discover a Thanksgiving Basket on their own doorstep.

Hearing that story from my mother made me feel grateful

that people were good even way back then.

Growing up in a huge family--

we usually made two stops on Thanksgiving Day--

one to my Granma Guy's house in Miami.

The little three bedroom, one bath house on the corner

with the humongous rubber tree plant on the side,

and bougainvillas on every corner of the house,

the hand-laid kaleidoscope  tile walkway and porch that my Grandaddy made himself.

All or most of my Aunts, Uncles and 20-something cousins fit into that little red brick house

for Thanksgiving--

I still don't know how we all fit in there 

around the small round dining table--

I remember most of us kids sitting outside on the porch eating.

All of the Aunts brought over their favorite dishes,

while Granma made the turkey and stuffing.

And pies--my mom made a great pecan pie, served with Cool Whip.

The second stop we made was over to my father's only living relatives--

his Aunt Mary and her sister, Aunt Emily--

their home was huge compared to my Granma Guys' house.

They had a built-in pool right off the livingroom...

and a diningroom table that everyone could sit around

plus some.

Aunt Mary usually made something from Uncle Habib's Turkish background--

stuffed grapeleaves were my favorite.

Aunt Emily was always in the kitchen wearing her well-worn apron

with the pink rickrack trim and her house slippers,

her curly gray hair barely touching her sweaty neck

because the kitchen air was so hot.

She'd shoo us kids out from under her apron strings.

It's been decades since I've spent any time with any extended family.

I miss those cousins, Aunts, Uncles, pecan pies and Cool Whip.

Thanksgiving was never about Black Friday Shopping,

staying up all night long to get the "best deal" on Christmas gifts.

Somehow,

I don't know how really,

being grateful for one another was Enough.

A little turkey, 

a bit of dressing,

a spot of cranberry sauce,

devilled eggs,

pecan pie with Cool Whip

served up with family and friends--

whatever you do,

whomever you share the day with,

May your Thanksgiving Day be a memorable one.

November 12, 2013

Auto-Pilot.

That's what I'm on these days.

My goal is to stay in the moment.

Not project to the darker days

that are surely ahead.

Wild thoughts tempt my emotions,

the pleading of my heart ringing in my ears:

"I'm not ready. Please. I'm not ready."

Quickly, I dismiss those thoughts--

banish them from my present. 

My presence.

I will live for today.

Work is good.

Staying busy is good for the soul.

I've cleaned out closets.

The fridge in the garage that has needed it

for so so so long.

I fight the urge to toss out everything that requires

more energy to hold onto,

to care for,

than I want to expend.

I fight the urge to want to control my world

in ways that are unhealthy.

Does anyone understand this?

A friend came by last night;

she said she "admires the way" I am handling my life.

Using words like "example" and "inspiration".

I told her I am completely clueless and totally winging this--

I can't see how I'd be an example to anyone.

There are scenes playing out in my head all day long--

from running far far away in any direction

as though I outrun the coming dread,

to curling up in a ball,

or wrapping my arms around my son so tight

that death cannot take him away

because of sheer willpower and mother-love.

Example?

of what?

a hot mess.

This place I'm in demands answers.

I feel them come in those fight-or-flight moments.

A calm warmth settles on my shoulders.

A blissful thought whispers and suddenly

I am me again.

I see things clearly

comforting

peacefully.

The world slows down.

I quiet my Self.

The wild fears that crowd my mind

leave without a fuss.

I mentally plan a funeral--

who will sing "I'll Walk With You"

and who will sing "I Know That My Redeemer Lives"...

Dean's favorite songs.

Who will tell Dean's story?

I have to get his Special Olympic medals out...

he has had some remarkable accomplishments in his life.

No college, no marriage or career...but still.

He's lived and been successful with what he came with!

I look over old photo albums and see his face with different eyes.

Does this even make sense?

How pre-mature are these feelings?

How ready do I need to be?

I feel guilty even having these thoughts.

I purposefully slow down.

I will not get out old photos again,

not while he's still here.

Will I regret that?

I will not think about a funeral for the next hour.

If I'm not, will someone else come help me when it's time?

I will think about spending time with Dean.

I will think about Thanksgiving and Christmas and Nana's homecoming.

Do I need to call a grief counsellor for me, for my children?

When do I do that? Is it too soon? I am grieving already, so maybe it's not too soon?

How are we going to get through this?

I pray for clarity.

I pray for peace.

I search my husband's eyes for answers--

he's lost both parents and a dear older brother.

He rarely speaks of how he dealt with those losses.

I need him to tell me how on earth I am going to do this

very hard thing.

But the words don't come.

I don't wanna know. really. I don't want to know. 

I know the "why" this is happening.

I understand that.

But. BUT.

Today, I will be grateful.

I will speak to my boy and listen to his voice and make plans to see him later.

And he will hold my nose and say, "I love you, Mom."

I will touch his nose with my finger, "I love you, Deano. Always."

We'll smile at each other with our knowing smiles and see into each other's eyes

the secret we both know...

that time is running out and the next chapter is a page away.

Dean, November 9th, 2013

It's November 9th, 2013.
IN Colorado Springs, it was unusually warm--
a light jacket or none at all was good in the afternoon sun.

We woke up this morning, grateful to be home
after a long night in the ER with Dean again.
We'd picked him up at 5:30-ish to go to dinner in town.
At first the plan was just to have him come over for dinner,
but because we live so far north of where he lives--
and that he was supposed to be staying in respite care this weekend
with a gal named Cecelia and her family,
I made a last minute decision to just pick up Joseph and Arianna
on my way home from work,
and head into town,
fetch Dean and eat wherever he chose.

He decided he wanted Del Taco.
I hate Del Taco.  (French fries with tacos?? ugh)
But. It was his night to chose so be it.
We ordered and took a seat.
Kent called just as our food arrived
and at first said he was too tired to meet us in town
so he'd just go home and scavenge up a meal there.
I understood his tiredness--
I've been tired for months now,
so I told him to do whatever he needed and we'd see him later.

Dean's HHP had texted me the day before to say that Dean
has been going to bed earlier and earlier recently.
Keeping that in mind,
I thought that once dinner was over,
we'd run him to C. so he could get into bed on his own time.
Well, I texted C. once we got our food
and she texted back to say that she and her family were at
a sit-down restaurant and it would be at least an hour
before they were ready for Dean.

OK, I thought, well, we'll eat and because it's Friday night,
it will probably take us at least a half hour or more to get to the east side of town.
"Things will work out."

Kent changed his mind shortly after the first phone call,
called back and said he was on his way to meet us.

#1 tender mercy.

Soon after Kent arrived,
Dean was finishing up his hamburger and turned to me,
looking very tired--
and said, "I'm ready to go."
Patting him on the shoulder I said,
"OK, buddy, as soon as we're finished eating, we'll leave."
He barely nodded his head,
then looking straight at me,
his eyes rolled back and he had a seizure,
slumping towards me.
I held onto him, got Kent's attention ( he was sitting on the other side and talking to the kids)
and he stood and helped me hold onto Dean so he wouldn't fall out of the chair.
He started to come around, but had another seizure and another and another....

I don't recall every detail after that--
I ran out of the restaurant to look at the street sign as I called 911--
the workers at the restaurant were of no help at all...
just a bunch of teenagers.

The dispatcher kept me on the phone--
helping me to describe what I was seeing with Dean
until the EMT's came.

I led them to Dean,
who was still passed out
and suddenly,
felt a tap on the shoulder--
I turned around to see a friend I know from church.
That was tender mercy #2--
Brenda wrapped her arms around me and I can't tell you what she said,
but I felt so loved and cared for in that moment.

Dean was loaded up in the ambulance
and headed to Memorial North for the second time in 3 weeks.
Kent took the kids home in his car
and I climbed into the Sub, alone,
following the ambulance.

I don't remember much of the drive.

I got to the waiting room, gave my name and Dean's name--
he was not yet in a room so I had to wait.
IN that time,
I texted Dara, whose in Seattle for the weekend
as part of her journey home from Alaska.
Told her to let the other kids know.
Then I texted my visiting teacher, Lynnel--
told her what was going on and asked for her prayers
and others' too.

It wasn't long before I was back in Treatment Room #6
with Dean--
they'd given him ADDAVAN for the seizures
so he was awake but drowsy and non-verbal.
I held his cold hand.
"I'm so sorry, buddy."

Kent arrived a few minutes after that.
The attending Dr let us know that there were blood tests being done
and such so it would be awhile.
I don't recall a single word between Kent and I.

Then suddenly,
Bishop appeared at the doorway.
Tender mercy #3.
I didn't expect him.
Hugs and tears all around.

He then told us that our beloved home teacher,
Patriarch Christianson and another brother from our ward, Brother Ellsworth
were in the waiting area, (tender mercy #4)
as they'd only allow one person at a time to come back.
I wanted Dean to have a priesthood blessing,
so I volunteered to leave the room so Kent and Bishop could
administer a blessing upon Dean.

Walking out to the waiting room,
I was so happy to see our sweet friend, Brother Christianson.
He is old enough to be my father. We love him.
He too, gave me a great hug and so did Brother Ellsworth.
They asked me about Dean and then asked me how I'm doing--
"I'm a hot mess." I replied.
Then they asked if I needed a blessing.
Yes. Yes I do.
Brother C. asked a nurse and soon we were given a small room to go into.

Now, I had no expectations of this blessing.
I just needed the peace that comes with such a gift.
But, in this instance,
28 years after the birth of my son, Dean,
I feel like the heavens were opened and I was gifted with the most precious knowledge
that could've been given to me.
I do not feel it proper to share this here at this time--
but suffice it to say,
I am Dean's Mom because my Heavenly Father loves me and trusts me to be--
a decision that was made long before this life.

The blessing did reveal that Dean's time here is limited.
I knew that. I've known that.
But to have it confirmed was also a gift.

I will leave the rest of the blessing private.

They finished, we all hugged and I returned to be at Dean's side.
 Bishop left moments after that too.

I'm gonna skip all the rest of the hospital stuff--
the docs basically increased Dean's seizure meds
and then sent us on our way.

We came home,
tucked Dean into bed,
then ourselves.
It was a long restless night for me
as I checked on him throughout the night.

This morning we made a nice breakfast
and spent the whole day with Dean.
He held my nose several times and told me
"I love you Mom."
Then he held Arianna's nose,
"I love you Bee."
And he held Joseph's nose,
" I love you, Joseph."
November 9th, 2013 was a good day.
We had to get some new meds for him,
then we went to lunch as a family, (Dean tipped the waiter $1)
then we walked around the little mall in town.
He picked out some new sneakers and a hoodie--(he paid $2 of his own money)
we went to the Dollar Store where he purchased a Christmas elf felt hat--(another $1)--
and we finally came home.
Dean likes paying for his own things. It makes him feel responsible and grown up.
I love that about him too.

We came home and decided we could all use a nap!

An hour later, we got up, had left over pizza
and soon after that, Dean said he was tired and going to bed.
It was just barely 6pm.

I tucked him in, turned off the light and shut the door.

If I have another November 9th with Dean,
I will be so dang happy! so blessed! so grateful!

I love him so much.
He is my boy.

An Alaskan Homecoming

My fearless Alaskan Explorer
has packed up her bounty
and is en route home tonight.

Calling from the Juneau Airport this morning,
her voice was giddy and warm:
"I'm so happy that I'm comin' home, Mama."

Words, I think she is surprised are coming out of her mouth.
These are not the words she had been saying
over and over and over
just a few months ago
when she was a high school Senior.
Nope.
The words she most commonly used in my direction
sounded alot more like,
"I can't wait to get out of here."

Sometimes, adding a [bite] on the end
to emphasize just how much she meant them.

I tried to smile through those bites,
and return the same with my own two cents:
"Me too.", I'd say.

Good times.

Of course, it wasn't that I wanted my daughter to leave my life,
I just wanted her to use up her knowledge
that had been accumulating all eighteen years of her life, dontcha know.
She was a virtual plethora of knowledge!
Everything I said to her was responded to with,
"I know, {eyeroll} Mom. I know."

That's when I knew it was time to give her the boot
from the nest, as they say
and let the little chica test her wings.

It was a clean month before she ever even called home
after she left.
I'd get a text now and then,
but it was a clean break--
there was no fretting, no fussing, no mention of "home fires burning"
on either end.

I blessed her Grand Adventure with a hug and a kiss
with hopes that this would be the beginning of an exciting life
for my fifth child
who has been a happy Wonderer since she learned to walk.
The plan was that she would work and pay her own way--
her room and board,
her entertainment and other needs
(except for medical--she's still on our insurance)
and just see up close and personal
what this Life has to offer in a small Alaskan town.

The friend we knew in Alaska provided a landing place,
but not long after arriving,
they decided it wasn't a good fit
so Dara moved in with a family from church
that understood what it means to have a teenager
in the house--
their home had some already!
Dara fit right in and continued her journey
without skipping a beat!
My child who hates getting up in the morning,
GOT UP in the morning to catch a bus for work.
This child o'mine who used to thumb her nose up at dinner time,
made a confession during her first phone call home:
Momza: "SO, what are you learning in Alaska, Day?"
Dara: "I miss someone cooking dinner every night, Mama."

yeah.

There it was.
That was worth the distance itself.
 Kids take for granted the everyday things Moms do,
until they're out on their own and nobody cares of they are eating
healthy three squares a day every day.
She said she missed having someone to nag her into doing the things she should be doing--
noone cared if she was late to work,
had clean clothes to wear,
stayed up all night on Pinterest,
she learned what we all learn
the first time we leave home.

We learn that home is where the heart is...
there are little comforts there that are not found elsewhere.
That's what makes it HOME.

But the most important lessons are those she has learned about herself.
She's about to go off to college in January--
live in a social situation filled with ridiculous young adults
who don't understand much of anything,
immature, self-centered, insecure boobs--
who are anxious to put value-judgements onto their peers
without having a clue about themselves!
I want my daughter to know her Self--
her strengths especially,
so that when those knotheads try to pigeon-hole her into something she is not,
she doesn't believe them.

I hope she goes to college with a stronger identity now
than she would have,
had she stayed home since graduating high school,
being spoon-fed her daily life,
one bite at a time by us parents.

So that's what I hope this adventure has given her.
Confidence.

You can't give someone confidence.
Encouragement, yes.
But confidence? --no, that has to come from inside.
And once you have that awesome thing,
it's yours.

Day is spending the weekend in Seattle
with some kids from her stake in Juneau as they attend the temple there,
and do some siteseeing,
then she's heading down to Boise to spend a few days with David Scott and Tisha--
we'll see her happy shiny face on Friday night!

Getting my arms around my Explorer will feel so good--
there's nothing like a Homecoming.

A Very Rustic Luxe Christmas Finale

Play this first. 

Okay here we GO..... 

Ahhh  the up-cycled pergola with a gauzy scarf and blinged-out chandelier--also chalkpainted in Paris Grey with a silver gilding wax + german cut glass glitter finish...totally works!

  The dresser was painted specifically for this display: ASCP French Linen base w/ Old White wash.
The antique door was painted in Milk Paint, again specifically for this display. Did you know that in France, a blue door is a sign of hospitality? 

I am very fortunate that my bosses at Shades of Amber

fully supported me

and gave free reign to create

the Christmas Room of my dreams.

It was a little bit of inspiration on my part

and a lot of perspiration on theirs.

Fifteen Years

Time is so weird.

It's both scientific and EmOtIoNaL.
I comprehend the passing of time by "events" in my life,
don't you?
Memories thread together the passing of time...

My earliest memory is the sting of red ants crawling up my legs,
and my mother scooping me up and running a waterhose over my legs
to wash off the ants and their terrible stings.
I asked my mom long ago if that really happened
and she said it did when I was three years old.

I don't remember being three,
but I remember those ant stings.

See what I mean?

When I was twenty, I married.
Years that are recalled by memories:
Those were the school years,
the years enveloped in diapers,
and broken-down-cars years,
miles-away-from-family years.

I happened to marry the wrong person.
We were married fifteen hard, long years
before the kids and I cut him and made him the
"free agent" he still is today.

I remarried Mr. Wonderful the next year
and soon we will be celebrating our 15th Anniversary.
Same amount of time,
totally different experience.

These have been the teenage years
which are punctuated by
driving lessons, graduations, dental braces,
proms and dating years;
the career-move years--
moving to Boise, Idaho and back to Colorado years;
The hey-our-bodies-are-falling-apart-years--
doctor appointments, knee replacement surgeries and
other bodily things that noone talks about in polite company.

Mr. W came along when my oldest yahoos were in their early teens--
he could've run down the street like his hair was on fire
to get away from the eye-rolling-death-stares,
the flippant sarcasm and/or apathetic posture that teens work so hard to perfect
when they're being rotten teenagers.
He didn't bow-out when cars were wrecked,
curfews were broken,
and grocery bills were as breathtaking as
the mountains of weekly laundry;
and he didn't let me run-for-the-hills either.

In fifteen years,
we have raised five children to adulthood.
Sent off kids on adventures and missions,
planned weddings and baby blessings.
And we brought two more yahoos to the marriage--
so on top of teens we had pregnancies (and a miscarriage),
AND diapers n' spit-up n' teething fevers n' all that goes with
toddlers and babies and teenagers.

What else?
We've had unemployment and disappointments.
Just a good mix of life-moments.
In other words, it ain't been easy!

But that's not where my memories are tied to this passing of time--
we have had opportunities to rejoice in the midst of trials;
times to laugh our guts out at and with our children;
tender moments of tears and love and gratitude
for the sweet blessings that have come along too.

It's kinda interesting how "time" is reflected in our minds, isn't it?

It's the difference of waiting in the DMV line for forty-five grueling minutes
and waiting at your favorite restaurant for the same amount of time...

Scientifically, forty-five minutes is forty-five minutes.
There's no shortcut around it.
And yet, depending on whom you're spending that time with,
makes all the difference, doesn't it?

When the best part of my day is the moment
Mr. W walks in the door,
I know.
I am one lucky woman.
And fifteen years is just a blink of time
in the speck of eternity.

A Rustic Luxe Christmas: Sneak Peek

I have been working on our first Rustic Luxe Christmas Room,
getting it ready for the "big reveal" next weekend.

My Staging Partner, Kelly, came in and helped me get the tree up,
and the rest of the team at work are helping
to bring my plans (scratched out on a piece of paper)
to life:

Here's a Peek:

 Artificial White Flocked 7 1/2 ft. tree

Burlap and newsprint garland

Variety of poinsettias

Large metal reindeer in center of tree

Two metal-tiered christmas trees on lower l and r bottom

Glittered "Merry Christmas" sign

Assortment of glittery birds

Floral picks and stems for the top

Rumpled paper balls in 3 sizes (fillers)

We added 450 additional lights to the Pre-lit tree

Plastic metallic-painted acorns and pinecones

 A small variety of large ornaments 

Jingle bells in gold

Burlap fabric as tree skirt (no sewing, please)

Blinged out Nativity

Oh and one more thing:

No Bows.

Not even one.

You're Welcome.

My Beloved Boy

It's Monday night a million days ago since I last wrote about faith and God's ever-reaching arm.

My faith is being tested.
Not that I can abandon it,
but I'm swimming in deep water here
and these past 72 hours have found me at times gasping for air,
looking
begging
for God's arm to reach down
from His heavenly spheres
into my small life and remove this
desperate pain from my heart.
Once again, I am in my own Gethsemane Garden.

Last Friday,
instead of going to Time Out for Women in Denver
I chose to take Dean to our ward's
Trunk R Treat.
You will never meet a boy who loves
Halloween more than my boy.
He longs to be more than he is,
more than his disabilities allow him to be--
Halloween provides those moments for him.
In years past,
he has been an alligator, a doctor, a Phantom of the Opera,
and on and on...
he loves dressing up.

So I gave my tickets up to someone else
for Dean's sake.

We arrived at the Church just before the event started--
meeting his respite care provider, Tom for the first time.
After I parked the car,
I was searching in my purse for a notepad and pen
so that I could get Tom's number
to call him when it was time to leave.
We'd already said we'd drive Dean to his house afterwards.
I finally found a pen
and as I walked around the back of the Suburban over to Tom's car,
I passed Dean as he made his way to the sidewalk,
I patted Dean on the back and said,
"Hey, Buddy." and kept walking towards Tom.

I heard a thump behind me
and looked to see Dean sprawled out on the pavement,
face first.
I ran to his side,
he was unconscious.
I kneeled down next to his face
and saw a fast stream of blood
pouring out of his nose and mouth
and gutteral sounds from his throat.

I lost it.
I yelled for someone to call 911.
And yelled again for a someone to get a doctor--
we have alot of doctors in our ward
and I wanted one right. now.

We rolled Dean over,
still unconscious, blood covering his face,
his brand-new Clown costume shirt,
and I cradled his head in my lap.
Cars were pulling into the church parking lot,
but were diverted around us,
by I don't know who,
and finally a dentist and a doctor came over to check out Dean.

He started to come around,
only to have a seizure and pass out again.
I was beside myself.
Apologizing over and over to Dean--
I hate seeing him hurt more than I can even say.

The EMT's got there pretty quick--
I was trying to explain to them that Dean has cerebral palsy,
that his cognitive age is between 3 and 8 years old--
that he doesn't register pain like we do.
One EMT asked Dean if his face hurt,
to which Dean uttered "un-unh" (no)...
as they loaded him on a backboard,
he said outloud,
"I love Halloween." and then had another seizure and passed out.

The EMT's loaded him into the ambulance,
and as I got into the Sub with Kent,
I finally asked about Bee--
was she OK? Who was with her?
Someone said they'd taken her into the Church because she was cold
and upset.
Bishop said his family would take care of her for the night and not to worry.

I felt guilty not being able to comfort her after she had most certainly witnessed at least
the beginning of this mess.

Still, we had to get going and follow the ambulance to the hospital.

We got there before it did...I don't know which way they had to take? but we sat in the waiting room
for a few moments before the clerk called us to go to the ER room where Dean was waiting.
I walked in to see Dean still strapped to the backboard and a neck compression brace on...
he was trembling, so I asked the nurse to bring us some warming blankets.
He didn't know why he was there, or what had happened.

Pulling a rolling chair over, I sat next to him and talked to him,
trying so hard to control the tears.
I HATE that this happened to him.
WHY?  Why would this happen to him on the one day he has been looking forward to all year??

It didn't make sense 72 hours ago and it still doesn't make sense today.

His nose is bloodied and bruised.
His front teeth are loose, one is jaggedly broken.
His lips torn up, bloodied and swollen.

Why??  Such a little joy in his life, this holiday, and this.

For the next five hours,
through the stupid waiting games of the ER,
and staff shift changes,
Dean went in and out of consciousness.
Never complaining.
Never demanding a thing.
Completely helpless.
And I cried and prayed for the outreached arms I longed for...
long for.
I texted the older kids right away;
Danielle called Dara in Alaska and told her.
They both called while we were in the ER.
Dara told me she'd sent flowers to me that morning--
she didn't know why, but felt "impressed" to do something nice for me.
(I rec'd them on Saturday afternoon...a tender mercy? yes.)
Danielle put our names on the Houston temple prayer roll.

Our Bishop and his wife and the Relief Society President all came to the hospital
 for a little while out of concern of course and to comfort us.
They don't know my amazing Dean.
I shared how much we love him
and how very brave he is...
while he laid there bloodied and bruised.
I told them what a privilege it is to be his mother.
Trying really hard not to cry.

The ER doc came in and said the test results showed
--he was severely dehydrated (thus the passing out at church),
--he has another cyst/tumor on his brain
--no broken or fractured bones in his face or mouth.

Our visitors left and we were getting ready to go,
as the nurse removed Dean's IV,
he had another seizure so then they had to give him a shot
of addavan,
and watch him again for an hour.
Finally ready to go,
two of the nurses shared personal feelings with me,
of how meeting Dean had blessed them and they sent us away
with hugs and prayers for a quick recovery.

We brought him home with us.
There was no way I was going to let anyone else take care of him
in this condition. No way.
We got home close to midnight,
and tucked him into bed with pain meds.
Just as I got into bed,
we heard a loud thump--
ran to his room
and found he'd fallen out of bed...
he was sweaty from head to toe--
I think he'd had another seizure,
as that is one of the things that happens.

Gave him a drink of water,
tucked him in again--
and watched him go back to sleep.

I didn't sleep that night.
I rested.
I cried.
I prayed and begged for understanding.
But I didn't want to go to sleep.

Dean spent the rest of the weekend with us.
He slept almost all of Saturday.
Waking up just for some food and drink and potty.
Never complaining.

Sunday he came around a little in the morning,
and asked to go to church.
We sent Bee but didn't go ourselves.
Kent had to work (ugh!) and Joseph stayed home to help me.

Dean took several naps off and on again,
waking up for soft foods and lots of water and juice.

He sat next to me on the sofa,
holding my hand
and my nose (his sign of affection since a baby)
and saying to me over and over,
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."
"I love you, Mom."

This morning, he was feeling a little better;
Asking if he could go to his day program (he couldn't),
and he had a dental appt which his HHP was going to meet up with us
and take him to, since I am an emotional trigger.
Dean sensed something was up,
and got anxious, even taking a swing at me in the kitchen.
While it was disturbing, I knew it wasn't about me.
He's scared. Heck, I'd be scared too.
I went upstairs and took a shower while Kent (who stayed home from work to help)
watched over Dean until it was time to go.
We met up with the HHP,
gave hugs and promises of meeting up again this week.

Watching Dean climb into the HHP's truck sucked.
As they pulled away.
my emotions got the best of me and I just sobbed..
for Dean. for me.
I sat in the car and just bawled.
Kent hugged me,
said he doesn't understand what the point of this whole ugly mess
is for any of us.

How is it that the child that needs me most,
cannot live with me??
I want nothing more than to be Dean's caregiver.
Why is it that he cannot live with me and be happy?
I don't understand it.

I just don't.
I want that part of his brain to be healed so that we can
be together.
I am my best self when he is home.
I love this special young man with my whole heart.
I hate missing days with him.

I love cooking for him.
Cleaning him up for the day.
Putting conditioner in his hair.
Trimming his nails.
Teaching him how to cook eggs and toast
n' seeing his big smile lights up my life!

I would gladly do this for him every day for the rest of my life.

His days are not long. I know this. And I am mourning already.

I am in Gethsemane again
and my voice is raised to my Heavenly Father
and His Son--
heal my beloved son and me.

God Doesn't Forget

God has a perfect memory.
He doesn't forget about His children like I forget about mine.
He won't forget me at the Bus Stop.
He won't forget my shoe size or my favorite color.
He remembers the last time I ate.
The last time I cried.
And what I cried about.

He won't forget that I asked for a blessing on my children
that are hundreds of miles away from my reached out hands and heart.
He isn't limited by time zones and distance.

He doesn't lose track of time like I do.
He isn't distracted by others things or people.
He has His eye on those in the eye of the storm that is churning in the deepest seas,
as well as His hands on the shoulders of those in the hospital
down the street from me.
He hears the prayers of that soldier in the submarines far beneath
the ocean's surface
and the prayers of those in jets and F-16s zipping across the world
faster than the speed of light.
He can keep up!

God knows me.
He knows my name and my birthday.
The things that give me joy and safety
and the things that bring me pain and sorrow.

I must be careful not to attribute my human limits onto His
omniscient, omnipresent Godly abilities.
He is limitless.
And I belong to Him.

Diary of a Home Stager

Last week surprised me.

It's October in Colorado and we got 5 new home listings to stage.

I thought selling season was over, but apparently,

as is often the case,

I was wrong.

The luxury home we staged in July sold finally--

in case you didn't already know this,

luxury homes take longer than regular homes--

not everyone wants  can afford a $700,000 home.

With that home sold,

we were able to get in and un-stage it

just as these other homes came to us

in full need of our inventory,

much of which was in that huge 7000 sf home.

Now, this is where I share that we nickname homes

as we stage them--

just as you probably did when you were house hunting

before buying the house you're in--

stinky cat-litter house becomes "Stinky cat house"

Oddly painted house in Air Force Blue, becomes "Air Force House"

it's a science really

as you can see.

Last week, I did an initial consultation on what is now known as

"The Poop House".

Let your mind follow the nickname and all that conjurs up in your wildest imagination.

It was, in fact, a house full of poop.

A home that I am not returning to until it is emptied.

Then, there was the "Kansas House"--

it's not really in Kansas

but, for all intents and purposes 

it might as well be.

It's sixty miles southeast of me--

heading towards Kansas

in the middle of a beige-colored prairie

off dirt roads and tumbleweeds.

Calamity Jane (CJ) is running the place.

Actually, for the first few minutes,

I couldn't tell if I was talking to a woman or not.

Awkward.

The "modular home" did not have a fleck of feminity in it.

Nothing.

Think "Bachelor Pad On The Prairie"--

in the front living room

off to the side by a green plaid loveseat--(circa 1986)--

a large mysterious square thing sat

covered by beige blanket.

"CJ" unveils it to reveal it's just a wood-burning stove.

She emphatically declares that 

"NOONE IS TO KNOW ABOUT THIS STOVE. IT WILL NOT BE IN ANY PICTURES.

NOR UN-COVERED FOR SHOWINGS."

unhunh. ok.

Turns out she/he's worried the home will be burglarized 

while at work

by. her/his. neighbors.

Okay then, we nodded our heads--

"we know nothing about nothing about a stove in the livingroom."

There was though, a beautiful Young Chang piano in a back bedroom

with work-out equipment!

I could go on and on about the "Kansas House"

but that'll do.

Next, we have the "Japanese House"--

tagged so because all the beds in the house

are on the floor, or nearly on the floor.

The masterbed is an IKEA bed--

the frame is maybe 8 inches off the floor

too small for even dustbunnies to gather,

probably just right for a hobbit.

Then there's a bed with a Japanese bed frame--

actually an inch or so of wood between the mattress

and the floor.

Thus, the "Japanese House".

We have a "70's House" coming up--

and we're stoked for that one.

The owners want to stage it in a 70's vibe--

using oranges and a bohemian theme-ish.

Groovy, man.

So, here's my parting words for the day--

if someone were to come to your house 

what would they nickname it today and why?

WANTED: An Island for 13 Year Old Boys

Wanted:
An island to accommodate the basic needs of a thirteen year old boy:
*A Bed, no, make that a hammock. Beds need to be made once in awhile, so a hammock would be better.
* Fully-Stocked Fridge of gatorade, chocolate milk, cheese sticks, go-gurts, ketchup, mayo, lunch meat, ice cream, corn dogs, hot pockets, pizza rolls, ranch dressing (to go on everything, naturally), and leftover fried chicken.  That is all.  Oh and leave the door off the fridge, it won't be shut anyway.
*WIFI
*TV
*Wii

Please send details of availability to this Momza's email. Thank you.

Behind the Scenes

"Mom, can we go to Fox Run to take some pictures today?"

"Sure."

Outfit#1(black knit dress): "How's this?"

"Nice."

"No, I can't find shoes to go with it." {pout}

Outfit#2: (jeans and pink plaid shirt): "Does this look 'fall-ish'?"

"Yes. Looks nice."

Outfit#3 (blue plaid shirt and jeans): "How's this? I didn't like the other one."

"That's cute."

Outfit#4 (final one): "I like this one."

"Oh, yes, that one's cute too."

***

"Ok so let's just take a few n' see how it goes, k?

Joseph, no heckling."

"Mom, tell Joe to shut-up."

"Joseph, be kind."

{his mouth keeps running...I have no idea what he's saying because I stopped listening.}

"Mom! Tell Joe to go away."

"Joseph, what are you doing? Go take a walk around the pond for a minute. Be nice."

{he doesn't leave.}

"OK, let's get some of you then. 

Stand over there.

No, over there. The aspen. By the edge. Just stand there. Cross your legs.

No, it's not weird. Fix your shirt."

"Smile."

{waiting}

"Smile?"

"No smile?"

"Fine."

{noticing his suntan lines from his glasses--

he went on a 15 mile hike the day before.}

"Are you going to smile? Wait. I'm not done."

nevermind.

"Yes, Ok Bee. Go ahead and stand right there too.

Shoot. outta focus."

Where are you going?

"Stand next to each other n' act like you like each other.

Put your arm around her. No, really. Just. Just. Put. YOUR. ARM. Around HER."

"guys.

Guys.

GUYS--

c'mon!"

"Can we just get one normal looking picture

of the two of you together?

OK, let's just have you sit down together.

Can we do that?"

Whew. OK.

One more?

Wait. 

 Ok. Done.