Years go by and we stay the same

 It's been years since I last wrote in this blog, but I feel the need to write again and work through some frustrations, thoughts, feelings, etc. This is the space I've always done that in, so why not come back to it?

I struggle with feeling good enough sometimes. We all do, I know we do. I struggle the most when I'm playing pickleball. Sometimes I play great, to the best of my abilities. Other times, I play not poorly, but not my best, and my mindset sometimes quickly spirals downward. "They don't want to play with me." "People think I'm bad at this." "People don't like being my partner." "You're too fat to play." "People are disappointed in you." Stuff like that. It's stupid, I know. I wish I could overcome it. Yes, I've read The Inner Game of Tennis. Once those thoughts creep in, they don't want to come out. Today at league was one of those days. I actually played pretty well today, but still, the thoughts came. I feel like I get left out a lot, not asked to play or join leagues. I suppose the only thing I can do is improve my game, and to hell with the rest of it.

Oscar is 8 years old now. He is the best boy.

His baptism was a few weeks ago. It was a happy occasion, the kind of happiness that feels extra transcendental. Many family and friends showed up for us, which meant so, so much. Andy and the kids. The Taylors. The Zechs. The Browns. Kevin Olson. Jean. Daniel and his family. The Zarbocks. The Lakes. My parents and Jeff's. Jana and Winona. Michael. The Briggs. I'm sure I'm forgetting some others. But it was so wonderful. I felt heavenly beings there, including Papa and Grandma, which my dad agreed with me that they were there. If there's one thing I love, it's feeling the presence of my family who's come before me. Brave women especially.

Sarah Porter played the piano. Emily Farr played the guitar and sang "I'm Trying to Be Like Jesus." Jeff, Oscar and I sang "When I Am Baptized." Oscar sang the first verse alone. He was so great. He had to go under twice since one of his big toes popped out of the water at the last second. Poor kid. I think that's all he will remember about that day, the trauma of having to be baptized twice.

Tom gave a nice talk about baptism. My dad gave a masterclass in the Holy Ghost, full of humor and testimony. He's mellowed out as he's gotten older, which I'm glad for. 

Jeff and I argued a lot leading up to it. We were both stressed about managing our dad's moods (mostly Tom's, let's be real). Everything ended up just fine. I am working on convincing myself that I am not responsible for Tom's moods, and neither is Jeff's, and we don't need to walk on eggshells around him.

I have much more to write, but for now, this will be the end. Hopefully it won't be five years before I post again.

I am happy because

I've been working with a nutrition coach since December. After Oscar was born, my stress went through the roof, I stopped exercising (for fear of losing what little BM I made), and didn't care what I ate. As one would expect, I gained a lot of weight, especially around my midsection.

I've made great strides this past 9-ish months, but I still struggle with stress. My mental load feels like more than I can bear most days. Working full time and taking care of a family is no joke. I'd outsource more things if I could afford it, but I'm not made of money, you know? (Anyone want to come clean my house)?

My coach told me I need to journal every day and focus on positivity. That used to be no issue for me (remember when "Happy Happy Joy Joy" from Ren and Stimpy was my M-O?), but these days I struggle to see the joy in adverse situations. When people ask how I'm doing, I glumly say, "I'm fine," or, "I'm well enough." How lame is that? Ew! No wonder people don't want to talk to me! No wonder the scale won't budge despite eating in a caloric deficit!

So today marks my first day of saying why I'm happy and taking stock of my emotions. There is ALWAYS something to be happy about, and it should be celebrated.

Today I am happy because, even though I didn't get to see Oscar before I left for work, I got to see him on the Ring when he and Jeff took out the garbage bins. Oscar looked really cute. So did Jeff. I'm happy because I have a great family and a great husband who (usually) shares the load evenly with me, or at least really tries to. I really appreciate that.

I'm also SO happy for the weight I've lost so far and for the muscle I've packed on. So much more muscle than I had before. I'm really proud of myself!

Hey blog

Long time, no blog.

It's been a busy year. Oscar is almost 14 months, crawling everywhere, standing everywhere, scared to walk. He eats anything and everything, usually, and is eating a ton. He's still a tiny guy. It's fun to watch this tiny little dude do all these big kid things. Plus he is the perfect size for holding.

Everyone says, "It's different when it's your own baby." Everyone is right. All those times I'd babysit as a kid and couldn't wait for the parents to get home, I don't really feel any of that with Oscar. I mean, sometimes I look forward to Jeff getting home, but mostly so we are all home together.

Adjusting to motherhood was really difficult for me. I fell into patterns of crippling anxiety, couldn't sleep, and ended up getting on meds. It was the right decision for me. Within days, I felt almost like myself again. I'll start weaning off of them soon. I hope it goes well.

I think one of the biggest lessons I've learned since becoming a mother is to accept myself for who I am and focus on what is truly important. There are times I really don't want to do all the mom stuff, and that's okay. I weigh more right now than I have, perhaps ever, and that's okay. I'm not perfect, and I don't really try to be, but I do my best and accept that as enough.

I feel the urge to post again today. Something has been on my mind a lot lately.

I've had a good number of friends leave the LDS church in the past few years; or, if they haven't left, they are deeply conflicted by their membership in the church.

I get it. I am young women's president in my ward. I hate that anytime babysitting is needed, the young women are immediately volunteered by our Relief Society president. I hate that the Boy Scout budget is bigger than ours. I hate that church is the one place in my girls' lives where they will be told they can't do something a boy can do. I understand why, but I still don't like it.

I also don't like that the children of gay parents can't be baptized. I've thought about this in many different ways, from many different aspects. In some situations I can see how it would cause the child to be in conflict with his or her parents, and that it could create tension and discord in the home. I am not in favor of that. But overall, I am not at peace with the policy, I do not like it, and I mourn with those who are affected by it. I am sorry you are hurting.

What I do like are the doctrines of the church. I love my Savior, Jesus Christ. I love my Heavenly Parents. I love the light of the gospel, the light of the Holy Ghost as He speaks to my soul, and I love serving others.

A few weeks ago, my old journalism professor linked on Facebook to a letter to the editor he'd had published in the Salt Lake Tribune. His letter was about how the Trib unfairly references the LDS church with sarcasm and disdain, even when the church has done something good. I began reading the comments to his letter. One man commented that church members are really good at serving others, but only when they've been asked to do so by a leader.

He is completely accurate in saying that. It's not true of all church members, but it's largely true. We serve when we are asked to. How many of us were doing anything to help refugees before it was asked of us in conference? Jeff and I sent a baby carrier to a group that gives baby carriers to Syrian refugees as they arrive in Greece. But that's all we've done. I hadn't looked into anything local until after this last General Conference. Now our young women are collecting goods to bring to Interfaith Ministries of Greater Houston, which has been collecting housewares for refugee homes for months. I've decided 2017 is going to be our year of service. Each girl will pick some kind of service they want to do, whether it's for a family, an organization, whatever, and we will all support her in it.

I don't want to be a Christian, let alone a person, who just sits back and waits for opportunities to come to me.

My baby boy

Life has sure been crazy these past nine or so months. Oscar came home from the hospital on January 11, yes, the same day David Bowie died. Definitely no coincidence.

Crazy to me how he's grown. He now weighs right around 13 lbs and is almost 24 inches long. He seems huge. I was at my friend's house the other day with her and her 8-lb twins. Oscar looks gigantic compared to them. It's difficult to remember just how small he was, the size of a squirrel at first, maybe even smaller, and then a small puppy, and then a bag of rice, etc. His growth is astounding to me.

Oscar smiles now, he giggles, he holds his head up (for the most part), and sometimes (rarely) he remembers he knows how to roll from tummy to back. He eats a ton, he sleeps through the night, he LOVES being held and being with people.

We've been taking him to church for almost two months, and he does great. He basically sleeps the whole time in our solly baby wrap. If he's not asleep, he is very content to people watch.

Jeff and I are amazed by him, his growth and his health. He is a very healthy boy. Every doctor we've seen has commented on how rare he is, to be born at 26 weeks and have no problems. None at all. His only doctor is his pediatrician. We haven't had to see any specialists since his first month home, before he came off home oxygen.

Some things haven't worked out like we planned. I thought we'd co-sleep, and that was awful for us. I thought we'd nurse, but it was causing me a lot of anxiety to not know how much he was eating (so I'm still pumping, which is another story). I thought I'd never give my baby formula, but like many moms of micro preemies I don't make enough milk for him, and he had tons of formula in the NICU to help him grow. Basically, what I'm trying to say is that life hasn't looked like we'd planned, but it doesn't really matter. We have a healthy, happy, sweet, calm baby boy who loves being alive.

I never knew my heart was capable of this kind of love. But oh, I am so glad it is.

Baby Ward

After being on bedrest in the hospital for a week, Oscar Claude Ward was born at 1 lb 9 oz (710 grams) and was 12 inches long. Oscar is now 17 inches long and weighs 3 lbs 8 oz. He is so cute, is working on a third chin, loves his pacifier, poops a lot, and wants to cuddle all the time. I love Oscar more and more every day. He is the best baby in the whole world and I can't wait to bring him home from the hospital once he's done growing.

Miracle on Lisa Ward Street

Last week I thought twice about something that's happened a fair amount during the bleed portion of my pregnancy, i.e. gushes of fluid. I've never thought much about them; I figured they were part of the bleed rearing its head. But last week as I felt another fluid gush, I thought twice.

I went in for another ultrasound Monday (I'd had one the week prior) and was called Tuesday afternoon saying I needed to come in Wednesday. "It's not an emergency," they said. "So can we talk about it over the phone?" I asked. "No, you need to come in." Blurg.

The next 24 hours were pretty excruciating. Tuesday night I focused on our brand new Drexel Declaration buffet (thank you Craigslist - p.s. this is not our house), and Wednesday I stayed focused at work. I asked God Wednesday morning that he might let my brave women (my spirit world angels) be with me all day, that they might be instructed to whisper kind things to me all day, that they might say things to build my confidence and assurance in the health of my baby.

The drive to the OB's office felt faster than usual. As always, my blood pressure was high. It always is when I go there. Dr. D. saw me right away and launched into it.

Based on Monday's ultrasound, the baby was measuring two weeks behind. Amniotic fluid was low. The placenta is detached in multiple places thanks (no thanks) to the bleed. I took the news calmly. I could feel my brave women with me, helping me. He explained some things; luckily I have researched all the possible side effects of a hematoma, so I was well aware of everything he said. Baby might be in distress and his kidneys might not be functioning well, so his fluid production is lessened, etc. A bunch of hypotheticals.

Dr. D. referred me directly to the perinatologist department at the neighboring hospital for further evaluation. I figured I'd have to wait a week. To my surprise, the office called and said come over now. I hadn't even left Dr. D's parking lot yet.

I was immediately seen by their senior-most sonographer, who has 30 years of experience. She looked at the baby's organs, his limbs, she measured him, she measured his fluid, she measured the bleed, she looked at the placenta. It was a long ultrasound. She updated me on most things as she went. The perinatologist came in to review the report. I didn't know what to expect; I just hoped Dr. D's sonographer (who I love and trust) had been wrong.

She was wrong about a few things. First, baby is measuring right on schedule. He weighs 1 lb 11 oz. His vital organs were all functioning normally, including his kidneys which produce the urine which is amniotic fluid. That said, his fluid is lower than we thought, 6 cm of fluid (normal is 8-18 cm). The cause of that is undetermined. They couldn't find a rupture in the sac membranes. The bleed is now small to medium in size, is inactive, and is located behind the placenta, so the placenta is detached where that bleed is. It's also detached in other places where the bleed once was. She measured my cervix, which had been measuring short for weeks, but she measured it above 3 cm, which is normal.

My baby and I are walking statistic breakers. There's a 1% chance of having a subchorionic bleed, and an even smaller chance of it never going away like mine. There's a 1% chance of detached placenta, about a 5% chance of shortened cervix, a 0% chance of a cervix thickening. Dr. D. told me, reassuringly, that every patient he's had that's had a bleed as large as mine as early as I did in the pregnancy ended up losing their baby. It really is nothing short of a miracle that I still have mine and that he is normal.

I felt my brave women with me all day and all through my appointments. People often look at me like I'm crazy when they ask about my pregnancy and I tell them all these horrible things. They are indeed horrible things, and I should be a basket of nerves and tears. But I'm not. I know this baby will be okay. I am learning so much more about the Lord's love, the Atonement, and how they apply to all the things we go through in life. I've wondered, How does Christ even understand what I'm going through now? He has never carried a child. But, Christ has given life to the dead. He experienced the same worries and fears and uncertainty that I am experiencing now. He can empathize with me, and that is enough for Him to know how to succor me. He has sent my brave women to me to succor me. I have been told they know what I am going through and they know how to help me. I have felt their healing hands upon me and know they are there for me when I call upon them. I love them, my brave women.

Brave Women

No one ever told me pregnancy could have this man ups and downs. This pregnancy has caused its fair share of worry.

Yesterday at work I started cramping and bleeding. After about two hours of that, I ended up passing a huge blood clot, about 7 cm x 5 cm. Like I said, huge. And disgusting. And eerily cool. I stopped by my midwife's office to check on the baby, just in case, and it was there in all it's 158 bpm glory. Go Baby Ward!

The cramping continued into the evening when I passed another large clot, though smaller than the morning's clot, and then two more quarter-sized clots an hour later. If you've never passed a blood clot through your lady parts (if you have those), it is a very weird sensation, like a ball sliding out of a tube. Passing it doesn't hurt, but trying

The cramping and bleeding continued well into the night. As I laid down to sleep, I realized the cramping was coming and going. I soon clued into the fact that I was having contractions. Strong ones. I don't know how they compare to labor contractions, but these were strong. Enough to reduce me to tears a few times. I breathed through them, using my yoga breathing to inhale the pain and exhale it out. Thank heaven that worked. I frequently got up to pee and pass more blood. Around 1 am I couldn't take the pain anymore. I hadn't slept a wink and neither had Jeff. He gave me a blessing and Heavenly Father had one simple thing to tell me: that I was surrounded by brave women who were attending to me in my time of pain of weakness. They were there to calm me and support me through this time. Shortly later I fell asleep between contractions and slept until the sun came up.

My friend Ashley has an ongoing #webravewomen movement. I thought of the brave women in my life who support me in my times of need, and I thought about all the brave women who have given me life. I always think first to my Grandma Betty, who will never be replaced in my heart. She taught me how to unconditionally love and serve. I thought of Great Grandma Marie, who joined the church in St. Louis as a teenager, then raised 13 kids on a farm in Delta, Utah. She would later lose one of them to a horrible tractor accident. Later she developed Lou Gehrig's disease (of ALS Ice Bucket challenge fame...**shudder**), and communicated by blinking her eyes a certain number of times to indicate each letter she wanted to say. I thought of my Great Grandma Rosina, who, with one child out of wedlock, immigrated with her mother from Germany to Utah. She later met my Great Grandpa Walter. They were married and had four more children, one of whom died young. As immigrants, they were usually poor, but they got by. Then one day Great Grandpa Walter didn't come home. For a few days, he didn't come home. Then Great Grandma Rosina saw a notice in the newspaper about a John Doe who'd been hit by a drunk driver and was killed instantly. She knew that man was her husband. She went to morgue where her worst fear was confirmed. Now destitute and with five young children, she moved her family to the wrong side of the tracks. One night the police came and busted up a moonshine racket in the house next door. The police threw crates of moonshine into the streets, the bottles and wooden crates breaking everywhere. Rosina gathered up the wood to create a haphazard wood floor to cover their dirt floor. My Papa Walter used to gather old produce from markets and wander around town trying to sell it in his little wagon, as a five year old boy.

As I lay there in pain, in my comfortable bed, with A/C on, a full bank account, warm blankets, food in my fridge, loving and forlornly helpless husband at my side, I thought about all the brave women in my life who endured so much more with so much less. I love them. I deeply appreciate them. I have gone through a fraction of what they endured. I hope they will teach me to be like them.

the good news and less good news

The good news is that the ER ultrasound tech and interpreting MD were fools. The baby is right on schedule, maybe even a little ahead! HOORAY! I cried genuine tears of relief and let out a sincere "Praise the Lord" when the ultrasound tech told me that.

The less good news is that the clot is still there, though I've had no symptoms of it in over a week. I did the math, and the clot is basically about half as long as my uterus currently is, I think. That seems pretty good to me. I also learned that the clots aren't necessarily touching the placenta, which is even better. Of that 25% area where the clot is, maybe only 25% of the clot is actually touching the placenta. In other words, a small amount.

Most women with clots, even large ones, go on to have normal and healthy pregnancies.

Thanks to everyone for offering their faith, prayers, and good vibes that Mr. Clot will see himself gone soon.

Thanks to my midwife Holly for texting me all the time, even when it's her day off.

Thanks to Sara V. for giving me more midwife advice and being such a good, supportive friend.

Thanks to Jana N. for telling me success stories about other women who've had large clots and for buying my baby a dress. Even if it's a boy, he will wear it.

Thanks to John Denver and Nick Drake for writing music that helps me stay calm. No one ever told me emotions are so heightened during pregnancy. I haven't felt anxiety, joy, love, and calm like this since I was a teen with out of control hormones. It's actually pretty cool to feel so alive again! But I will be happy when my emotional levels are temperate again after the baby comes.

be patient in thine afflictions

Some people are people of faith, and others aren't. I am a person of faith. Sometimes I need my faith more than other times, but its strength does not waver. I have seen the hand of loving Heavenly Parents, felt the redeeming love and grace of the Savior, and heard the sweet guidance of the Holy Spirit too many times to deny Their existence. This knowledge is the essence of who I am.

Last night I started bleeding, really bleeding, from you know where, with some intense pressure in my lady regions. This wouldn't be an issue except that I'm 16 weeks pregnant (or so I thought. I'll get to that). Anyone knows that bleeding during pregnancy isn't really a good thing. After bleeding nonstop for a good 30 minutes, we hopped in the car on a strangely deserted rainy Houston night to head for the ER.

I was taken back right away. My decision to see a midwife and avoid the hospital was confirmed throughout the night as I was poked, had blood drawn, was hooked up to an IV, had tape ripped off my arm, had to sit in a bed on a puppy pad, and was forced to get the worst of all pokes...a catheter. Thank heaven that was only a 30 second experience (the most miserable 30 seconds in recent memory).

We thought it was a late miscarriage, but right away the ultrasound tech gave us the good news that she found a strong fetal heartbeat, 153 bpm. Later the doctor told us some not as good news. The fetus is measuring 11-12 weeks, not 16. We may have miscalculated the date of conception, or the fetus might just be small, or there might be a problem. The main problem and source of the bleeding is a subchrionic hematoma, a big one at 5 cm. These hematomas are hemorrhages that sit between the placenta and uterus. Usually they clot and go away, if they're small. Big hematomas like mine could also clot (get to work, little blood cells!), or they could cause a placental abruption, or they could cause an all out miscarriage. It's really anyone's guess.

But there were miracles yesterday, creeping up throughout the day. If I was a missionary, I would have been tipped off to the fact that something important was right around the corner, but I just figured I was having a lucky day.

Yesterday morning, the a/c was off in my office building again, which is no big deal (despite the 100 degree heat), so I brought my work home.

Then our company controller called saying the company would possibly be willing to give me a $1,000 monthly stipend so I could get on Jeff's insurance. It would mean we could upgrade off our high deductible plans. Fingers were crossed for this stipend as I called his provider and they verified that the enrollment period was still open.

It was Jeff's first day back at school, and luckily, he decided he wanted to celebrate with a legendary Barnaby's chocolate brownie. Barnaby's is just up the street from our house. And that is when the bleeding started.

Jeff administered a blessing of healing when we got home, and he spoke those sweet words that calm the mind and heal the soul. All will be well, whatever that is, but it will work out for the best. It always does.

By 7:30 am this morning, my boss had approved giving Jeff and I the insurance stipend, thanks in large part to this scare. On our new plan, my prenatal care will be 100% covered. Now, if only I could back date the enrollment date one day... :)

I know my Parents and parents love me and watch over me. I felt my Grandma Betty, my guardian angel, with me through the night. I felt my Papa and my great-grandpas who I've never met help Jeff give me that blessing. I know what I know, and I am so grateful to know it. I feel like the worst isn't over, but if it is, that's fine with me!

2015 is here

Hey, old friend. This little blog of mine that I frequently forget about. Here you are, just waiting for me to come back, and here I am.

With Jeff working full-time and in school (again) for his second Masters degree, I'm alone a lot. A lot. I'm alone most of the day at work with a boss who's too busy to chat (literally). Then I might teach a piano lesson, or I go home. It can be lonely at times, but it's my life and I don't care to change it.

I took a silkscreen class last month at the Museum of Printing History. What a great class. Maybe sometime I'll show you what I made.

Jeff and I got a dog in October. Her name was Grace. We took her back after one week. I couldn't handle being a dog parent, at least not right now. My life revolved around her too much. Taking her back was one of the hardest things we have ever done, and definitely the hardest thing we've done since we've been married. We still miss her.

I went home to California in November to hang out with my mom for the weekend while Dad was out of town. We had such a good time.

My sister Katie is getting married in two months, so of course Jeff and I are going. I got a flight for $136 roundtrip and I still can hardly believe it.

We spent Christmas in Dallas and then went to DC. We met up with Jon, my old editor/friend from The Daily Universe at BYU. It was sure good to see him.

I went to Florida last week for my annual company meeting. I missed Jeff a lot. I was upgraded to a corner suite on the 34th (out of 36) floor. It was a great view. I missed Jeff a lot.

Our stake at church was split last Sunday, so I am officially released as stake camp director because we are no longer in that stake. I don't know whether to be sad or relieved, but I lean heavily toward the latter.

I have read many books lately, my favorites being My Name is Asher Lev and its sequel The Gift of Asher Lev, by Chaim Potok. Last summer I read Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier and that was also a fantastic book. I've read a few others, but those were my favorites.

Houston is cold right now, anywhere between the 30s and 50s, and next week will be in the 60s. I am fearful of the heat already and it is a few months away. The heat here is so relentless, so suffocating and intense, that it drives me to madness, to genuine insanity. We plan to spend the better part of June in Utah and Colorado.

I am proud of my Jeff and all of his hard work at work and school. He is a good teacher and he is a good student. He is also a good husband and I love him so very much.

Unbroken and weird dreams

One of the books I'm working on is Unbroken, a biography about Olympic runner and WWII POW Louis Zamperini. Amazing story. My jaw hangs aghast and my mind explodes as I read about the atrocities he experienced. So you know, it lends itself well to bedtime reading, because who doesn't want to fill their subconscious with feelings of paranoia and horrifying thoughts (of things that actually happened)?

One of my "Zamp" dreams came to me last night. I was in front of my parents house, right down at the mailbox, when suddenly a white Honda Civic came barreling around the corner of the cul de sac and ran me right over. Fully conscious and in no real pain, I contorted my body upward to see who had run me over. It was an old high school boyfriend of mine, his wife, and a few other kids from high school in the backseat. There were six people total in the car. Baby Ghosts was playing on the radio. They were oblivious to me for a time, until Jeff came running up and told them to move. Then I think I died, or at least the dream faded away.

Here's a pretty good song for your weekend. Also I want to be the singer, or at least have her hair. I got my hair cut in Utah last week, and I said I wanted Debbie Harry hair. Next time I need to bring pictures. I love my cut but it's not Debbie Harry hair.

The Way We Were

Watching Babs on Jimmy Fallon prompted me to listen to her new album, "Partners," on Spotify. When I was a kid, I was so sick and tired of Barbra Streisand because whenever I went thrifting for vinyl, all I ever found was a near-complete collection of her myriad albums, i.e. nothing I wanted! I thought her vocal style was so cheesy and overly emotional. She was awful to me.

Then I watched "What's Up Doc?" and I realized she was amazing, an incredible comedic actress and outstanding vocalist, with more control than a remote.

So I'm sitting here on this typically dark, rainy Houston day listening to "Partners," an album on which Babs duets with many prominent vocalists. It's good. I feel a little like a cat lady, at least how I picture a cat lady, sitting home depressed with all her cats on a rainy day. Maybe I'm a new age cat lady because I'm blogging. Maybe I will one day turn into a cat lady.

Speaking of cat ladies, last night I met two dog ladies. I stopped them on the sidewalk on my way to mutual at the church because they were walking their dogs and I am strongly considering getting a dog (also BARC has $20 adoptions this weekend, so that is enticing). I say I because Jeff wants one already; I would be the dog's primary caregiver. So I asked one harmless question--how their dogs do while they're at work all day--and after 6 minutes of feigning interest, I had to abruptly end their rambling and head on my way. They both had shih tzus and tattled on about the breed way too enthusiastically for me to still consider them normal people. Sorry guys! I'm over it!

I started writing about Babs and ended talking about shih tzus. Somehow that seems appropriate. I bet Babs likes shih tzus.

PS Last night I accidentally locked Jeff out of the house, then went to sleep. I felt really really really badly and I still do. The fact I sleep with earplugs in didn't help anything while he called me half a dozen times and rang the doorbell without stopping for ten minutes. A thought came to his mind that maybe he had a spare key in his car. Luckily he did. I try so hard but always come up short! That's life, that's what all the people say.

Love when you're far away

A week ago tonight, I came back from my trip to Utah.

Meg and Scott's wedding was so very beautiful. I haven't been to a civil marriage recently that wasn't a Catholic ceremony (if you know what I mean...). Theirs was so unique, so full of love and beauty. I loved watching from afar as Meg walked up the hill for her and Scott's "first look." My heart fluttered remembering the first time Jeff saw me in my wedding dress and it really hit us that we were getting married, that we would belong to each other. Meg and Scott's day got better and better. I felt so honored to be there, to be welcomed so fully by her family and to be part of the beginning of the rest of their life together. Scott sang Meg "Here, There and Everywhere". They had the perfect mom/son, dad/daughter dance songs. Everything was perfect. Weddings are so wonderful.

I reflected a lot while I was in Utah. I spent time with good friends and compared my current self with who I was when I lived in Utah. I have grown a lot, for the better I think. I used to hate Utah and Utahans. I still don't understand some of the fashion choices made by Utahans, but I don't understand a lot of things. I love the mountains. I love the fact that people can walk downtown just as I walk to church. I love how nice people are in Utah and how clean it is. I love all the old buildings. I love that I randomly ran into at least 6 friends. Mostly I love the family I have in Utah. I classify all the friends I have in Utah as family because they are that to me.

It's odd how you don't often realize how badly you miss someone, or how much someone means to you, until you reunite with them and your heart does a funky dance and you can't imagine how you lived without them in your daily life. That goes for places too, I suppose, because when I drove out to Vernal one day I felt like my heart was on the verge of cardiac arrest. You guys, those mountains through Park City and Heber, they are magical. They speak to my soul.

I felt a lot of anxiety before leaving Houston. Jeff has been so swamped and stressed between work and his MBA, and I don't see him much. I've worked hard on taking over all the house duties and serving him selflessly. Most of our marriage, we have shared house duties, but I feel so much more endeared to him and grateful for him the more I do for him. It's been a valuable lesson to me. I love him so much.

Houston, oh Houston. Sometimes I really loathe you as a place. As I type there's a fantastic thunderstorm outside (just had a 7-second rumble of thunder), and this is how I like you best. You have great storms.

The night after I got back from Utah, we had a Relief Society activity to finish up our service project from Girls Camp. We made washable hygiene/menstruation kits for girls and ladies in Africa. I feel passionate about this project, and it was so awesome to work on it with the girls at camp and with my sisters in my ward. I may not like Houston, but I sure do love my people here. I have learned a lot of lessons here, and I keep learning more lessons, some easier than others.

My young cousin Wyatt killed himself last Friday. He shot himself. Craig died almost a year ago, Andrew died six months ago, and now Wyatt. Each of their deaths have caused me to reflect deeply on how I live my life, how I reach out to others. Craig's death was not his choice; he made such an impact on the youth in our ward and stake. With Andrew and Wyatt, they left deep valleys of sadness for many people in choosing to leave the Earth. I remember my own feelings of clinical depression well. I am grateful to be healed from the darkest times; I am grateful to have felt those deep feelings of despair, loss of control, and desperation, and to understand well some of the emotions they may have felt. I pray they are freed from those feelings and are healing through love.

If it's free, it's for me

Does anyone else remember when Blogger wasn't owned by Google? I barely do, back when I started writing this sorry blog.

I just read this opinion piece  and it made me think of all the things I get for free in this world without even batting an eye. I, like the writer, listen to spotify all day long. Artists make very little money off of me, despite the fact I listen to their albums ad nauseum. Vinyl attracts me for this very reason. Jack White's new album "Lazaretto", which I'm currently listening to via spotify, features hidden tracks accessible only on the vinyl copy. Were I a bigger Jack White fan, I wouldn't hesitate to pay $25 in exchange for a unique musical experience. Jeff and I paid almost $100 a few weeks ago to see Jimmy Eat World, a band whose only album I've ever purchased was "Bleed American" (back before it was re-branded post 9/11), but who I listen to regularly on spotify and Pandora (they happen to be our favorite band to train to). But then when Parquet Courts came and played for $10/ticket, I couldn't be bothered. I regret not going. I was tired or something.

We are accustomed to free things in this day and age. Even our cell phones feel free, despite the fact most of us pay $150 to use two smart phones any way we please. I was talking to a friend and youth leader in our congregation yesterday, and she remarked that none -- literally none -- of the working-age girls have jobs this summer. What do they do all day? Beats me. I can't remember a time over the past 15 years when I haven't had some sort of self-earned income.

Nothing good can come from all the free things in the world these days.

I forget sometimes

Sometimes I stumble across my blog after months and months away from it, and it reaches out to me like an old friend. I am so glad I kept this blog. So many things have happened in my life that I have completely forgotten about. I feel like I should write in this blog more. Maybe I will.

My life is so different now than it was in college and in high school when I consistently wrote on here. I loved college. I loved having so many friends to love and care for, who loved me and cared for me. Life now is much more lonely. Which isn't to say I'm lonely. I'm not. But my circle of friends is much smaller and more constrained in their ability to go do things. We have jobs, some have kids, our time is not quite our own like it was during school. I'll never forget in my Media Literacy class, fall semester 2007 (my very last class to graduate), and a kid in my class lamented to Prof. Cutri about an extra assignment he'd given us. "We don't have the tiiiiiiime," he said. Cutri threw his head back and laughed. His words ring in my head. "You will never have this much time for the rest of your life." He was so right, and I don't even have kids yet!

Girls Camp was a success. Exhausting, but a success. I have worried for months about the girls hating it, or leaders sitting around sipping lemonade and talking about how they could have done better. Luckily none of that happened (to my knowledge at least). I truly feel that what Heavenly Father wanted to have happen at camp did happen, that is, the girls felt His and the Savior's divine love, and they gained a deeper understanding of the Atonement and its reality. That was my goal. That was His goal. I think it was accomplished.

There was a moment in the middle of the week. I was sitting alone in my room about midday. I'd just fought off a panic attack. I looked heavenward and said, "Father, this is the hardest thing I have ever done. Harder than the hardest moments of my mission." Now I had some hard moments on my mission. But being stake camp director honestly trumps them all. First because I am not nearly as close to the Spirit as I was as a missionary. I felt the Spirit work through me often as camp director, but not in the same way as a missionary. Second because I don't really like Girls Camp. I went for three days my first year and never went back. I'm glad some girls enjoy the friendship and all the LOUD singing, crafts, etc. I can't really say I do. Maybe I would have at my camp had I not been running around like a chicken with my head cut off all week. Alas, one does not relax as stake camp director.

I am going to Utah for my best friend's wedding (no, not like in the movie) in a month and I CAN'T WAIT! First, to see her so beautiful in her dress, second because it will be my FIRST TIME EVER being a maid/matron (gross) of honor!!, third because I will be in Utah which has MOUNTAINS! I will save why I love the mountains for another entry.

what I need

My problems are hardly worth complaining about, but I'm going to do it anyway because they're problems we all share.

I've got people breathing down my neck wanting stuff for camp. Stuff I don't have. I have a website to finish. A logo that won't design itself. Forms that need to be generated and re-designed. Meetings multiple times a week. My hands are tied on half of what I need to do for camp because the stake hasn't called my requested person yet. I spent eight hours of my days at work. Then I teach piano lessons. When I finally get home, I attempt to cook dinner but usually end up getting a Costco chicken or forcing some sort of leftover down my throat. Then Jeff gets upset because he's eating the same thing again and I don't blame him.

I'd like to say that five more hours in a day would solve all my problems, but I would prefer to have two clones of myself. Or maybe I would like to invent a nutritious, affordable meal that cooks itself and tastes like whatever you want it to.

And then I think about what life will be like when I'm a mother, working, and stake camp director. I don't see how it can all be done. How do women do it?!

(Of course, all of this seems so much worse because my menstrual cramps feel like daggers in my back).

Hats off to women everywhere! #whitepeopleprobs #mormonprobs #menstrualprobs

rant on motherhood

I see more and more often on the internet divergent points of view on stay at home moms and working moms and why one is better than the other, and I tell you what -- I'm sick of it.

Why aren't we praising mothers for being mothers? Why do people feel the need to praise being either a stay at home mother or a working mother? Why don't we all support each other in the great magical role of being a mother? A woman is a mother whether or not she works a job in addition to working in her home raising her kids. She's still mother to her children with all the validity a stay at home mother has. Both are working women who have made well-thought out sacrifices to become mothers and to spend their days where they do, and both are mothers. We, especially us women, need to quit defining types of mothers as if one is worth more than the other. Just the word 'mother' alone should say it all.

End rant.

fish out of water

Almost three weeks ago now, I was asked to serve as our stake's Girls Camp Director. I said yes. I said yes?! What am I thinking? I went to Girls Camp twice, once for three days and once overnight. I will never forget my first camp meeting. Because the leaders switched what determined one's level, they told me my first year that I was actually supposed to be a second year. Over to the second years I went. Those girls were not nice. I received a few dirty looks and a few mean remarks and then told the leader, "I do not want to be a second year." Let me sum up my entire five days at girls camp by saying I didn't like it. I didn't feel comfortable. I didn't want to be there. A girl from my ward spat up her soup all over me at dinner. If I ever hear that elbows on the table song again, I swear I'm gonna.....

I get a do-over! This is definitely one of those callings where I don't feel like my skill set qualifies me very well. I don't craft, I don't camp, I don't feel comfortable in church leadership positions. But, I do love. I love my sisters, I love the Savior, I love His gospel. "Now remember, faith, hope, charity and love, with an eye single to the glory of God, qualify [her] for the work." (D&C 4:5). These are the prerequisites for any calling in His kingdom.

I don't have a theme just yet, but I'm getting there. All I know is that this is going to be the coolest looking girls camp ever. We're going all out with hip graphics and well-fitting t-shirts.

If you have any memories of girls camp (favorite activities, horror stories, advice), please, send it along!

(Also, I'm going to see Polica tonight! Yay!)

Do you realize?

A good friend of ours died suddenly last night. Just died. He was 29.

RIP Craig Ruggles. There are a lot of people on Earth who are going to miss you tons.