Maybe Christmas Is...

Christmas used to be easy. The kids were small and the magic within their little hearts held the true Christmas spirit. Christmas Eve was filled with laughter and chatter and cookies and stories and songs and love. I would tuck them in, kiss each on the head and wish a good nights sleep so Santa could come visit.

I would then sit on the floor, watch "It's A Wonderful Life, sip hot cocoa and wrap the remaining gifts to place under the tree. My FAVORITE part was the arranging of the gifts for the perfect "Wow" moment. I would toss and turn all night with anticipation and excitement. I could hardly wait for 7:00 a.m. to roll around so we could start tearing into gifts. The kids knew that Christmas-present-unwrapping began at 7:00. Oh yes, they got up much earlier than 7:00. I would wait for their exclamation of glee. "Santa came!" and the shaking of the presents to start. I would hunker down under the covers and grin. I loved their excitement.

My kids are much much older now and starting families and traditions all their own. Gift giving is more difficult now that they are self sufficient and can buy whatever they want and need. 

In the past, Mark's mantra has been "Christmas is such a financial burden." I would get so mad! "Don't say that! I love Christmas!" Tables turned and I found myself the other day saying out loud to Mark, "I hate Christmas."

I expected this whole conversation about the evils of Christmas. The financial burden. The commercialization. The lack of spirit. Blah. Blah. Blah. Oh, I had all the complaints lined up and ready to spew from my lips.

Then Mark said, "That breaks my heart that you said that." I was astounded. Let me tell you, there aren't many moments in my life that I am without words, but that statement left me speechless. I didn't say a word and acted like I hadn't said such a blatantly ugly statement.

I instantly began evaluating myself. Why do I hate it this year? Is it really THAT BAD?

I watched the Charlie Brown Christmas Special. Frosty the Snowman. Rudolph. Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. I watched every show that I loved as a kid trying to wrap my brain around what it is that I'm missing this year.

Then the other night the doorbell rang. I had taken a hot bath to warm my bones and decided "Why not" and threw on my jammies. I was IRRITATED that Mark was in the shop and I had to be the one to answer the door. I flung it open, all the while, wondering who the crap was at my house that late (it was only 6:00 p.m.) and why they rang the doorbell. Nobody ever rings my doorbell. They just walk in. Don't they know that?

In front of me stood a smattering of youth from my neighborhood. I was handed a blanket and a mug with hot cocoa in it and they began singing "Jingle Bell Rock". They won't be awarded ANY trophies for their musical ability. However, it was the mostest bestest song that I have heard all year.

The message was huge. For standing in the cold, just doing what they were "told" to do, muttering some Christmas tune, was the Christmas spirit.

I squealed in delight and clapped ferociously. I shut the door and didn't share it with anyone. Mark will "hear" about it in this blog with the rest of you.

I will remember the joy of THAT MOMENT. I will lock away the cold air, the coats they wore, my jammies, the twinkling lights across the street, the color of the mug and the blankie folded in my hands. It was MY moment and for some strange reason I felt that sharing it out loud would somehow diminish the impact. 

I watched "How The Grinch Stole Christmas" (the cartoon).  I know you've seen the movie and quite possibly have seen little blocks of wood embellished with the quote from Dr. Seuss. You might even struggle with Christmas and finances and commercialism and the whole meaning behind it like I do. But, you know what? The Grinch was right. When his heart grew three sizes? That was his moment. He got it.

My family is pretty rock solid when it comes to worldly thoughts and needs. They are humble and good and kind and giving. They know the meaning behind the gift-giving well before they see the gift. They get oh-so-excited when we draw names and they think and plan and find the perfect gift for the family member lucky enough to be on the gift-receiving end. 

And that makes me proud.

And that, my friends, THAT is what Christmas is all about.

Love. Family. Kindness. Smiles. Simplicity. Giving. Joy.

"It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes, or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. "Maybe Christmas", he thought, "doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas... perhaps...means a little bit more!" ~Dr. Seuss

Merry Christmas to all.

The Circle of My Life

A few months ago, I was pulled over. I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. I have asked Mark over and over and over again to fix my seatbelt. Guess what? It's fixed now.

While explaining to the officer that my husband is a loser and that the seatbelt would be fixed, the officer asked why I was slurring.  "Are you on drugs?" "Are you drunk?"

"Um, no, I have a medical condition that affects my speech."

After talking with her for a minute, she slapped me on the butt with a warning ticket and sent me on my way.

I didn't think about it (much) until about a week later I received a letter from the Drivers License Division informing me that I had to get my butt into their offices, take a written test, have a physical evaluation, bring a Doctors note and perform a driving test.

WHAT?

I was beyond mad. Okay. Let's be honest. I was scared to death. I was so very worried that some random minimum wage employee was going to determine whether I could drive when I knew BEYOND certainty that I was fine to drive.

Ugh.

Test day came and I aced the written test as well as the physical evaluation. I wasn't worried NOT ONE BIT about the driving test. I can drive. Right? According to the Utah State Laws, I have a "signal when you're gonna turn" issue and they FAILED ME. My super up-to-date 1993 Jeep doesn't "click" when the blinker is on AND my signal switch needed replaced. (Sigh.) (Mark.) (Again.) So when the examiner took a gander at my dashboard, he didn't see a blinking light. Fail.

Upset. Crying. Gnashing of teeth. Seeing red. That was me.

Then depression set in. How am I going to handle the imminent loss of my independence? This soooooooo sucks.

Back in the day, we had a car that Mark and I lovingly called the La Bamba. Tanna and Shelby (not so lovingly) referred to it as the Loser Cruiser. They would come unglued if, while we were out and about, we happened upon someone they knew. For them, best case scenerio would be that their friends would be spotted BEFORE we rolled up and the extra time would enable my proud girls to slink WAY LOW in their seats so they couldn't be seen.

On the other hand? Goose and Tyson loved this car. They thought it was the coolest car that was ever built and proudly let EVERYONE share their joy in the 1974 Pontiac.

Goose was 13 or 14. He begged and bargained and petitioned and implored and desperately pled with me to let him drive. One day, I gave in. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. I'm weak.

Goose and I took off for a spin around the block. We got 3/4 of the way home when I looked behind us and saw the flashing lights. Crap. We were being pulled over and Goose wasn't close to a practice-my-driving age.

"Hi officer. I'm just out practicing driving with my son TYSON." Yeah. I lied. Oh boy. Goose just froze and didn't say a word. If I was going down, he sure as crap wasn't going with me. Thanks Goose.

The officer simply thought that I looked too young to be THE mom (I say that proudly.), checked my license and sent us on our way. Whew.

Time passed. Tyson became a licensed driver. Goose learned. Tanna and Shelby became official. I spent endless amount of time teaching the rules of the road. "Push the clutch in BEFORE you stop." "Turn your blinker on." "Change gears" "Shift." "Shift." "SHIFT."

Today the Linnette Deason pancake finally flipped. Things in my life have been beginning to come full circle. It officially started in New York when Shelby had to help me put my shoes on before entering the buildings. I swear my feet are claustrophobic and I kept having to take off my shoes.  I had (I do mean HAD) to get them off. Shelby used her BEST mom voice. "Why do you keep taking your shoes off?" However, she would get on her knees, slip my Converse on my feet, tie them and ALWAYS would ask "Is that too tight? How do they feel?"

A few weeks ago, I fell. My face was dirty and my pride was wounded. Tanna went and got a wet cloth and oh-so-lovingly washed my face.

Tyson periodically kidnaps me and takes me to lunch or to a movie. He gets SO MAD if I try to pay. Half of the time, I don't even bring my purse with me any longer.

EVERY SINGLE TIME Jaden hears me come into the house or stumble around in the kitchen or walk down the stairs or mow the lawn or carry a laundry basket he asks if I'm okay or if I need some help.

When I eat, I'm telling you that no matter how careful I am, I end up wearing my food with my make-up. Mark is forever grabbing a napkin or a towel or his bare fingers and cleaning my face for me.

Goose took me to my driving test today. He sat in the passenger seat while I gave his car a whirl and adjusted my driving skills to power steering. He giggled and gave advice (most times unsolicited) while I practiced parallel parking.

And a few things crossed my mind.

I have really, really, REALLY good kids. I'm going to be okay when I can't do it "all" any longer. I'm so fortunate to be in the "now" with my family.

I remember when the book "Love You Forever"  by Robert Munsch came out.

The synopsis by Wikipedia is:

"The story details the cycle of life by chronicling the experiences of a young son and his mother throughout the course of the boy's life, and describing the exasperating behavior exhibited by him throughout his youth. In spite of her occasional aggravation caused by her son's behavior, the mother nonetheless visits his bedroom nightly to cradle him in her arms, and sing a brief lullaby promising to always love him. After her son enters adulthood and leaves home, his elderly mother occasionally sneaks into his bedroom at night to croon her customary lullaby. However she gradually grows old and frail, and her grown son visits his feeble, sickly mother for the final time. He sings an altered rendition of her lullaby in reciprocation of the unconditional love that she had shown him; vowing to always love her as she dies before him. After returning home in a scene implying the death of his mother, he cradles his newborn daughter and sings his mother's signature lullaby for her, implying that the cycle will continue."

I remember reading this book over and over to my kids. I thought it was cute. It struck a bit of a chord in my heart. However, it was simply a good book.

That book is on my mind. Heavy. Today, I learned the truth behind the circle of my life. For the first time EVER? I'm okay with it.

P.S.  I passed my driving test.

It's A Small World

There is a time in our lives where the world is huge. People enter our lives through work and school and neighborhoods and friends of our kids and parents of our friends and "regulars" at the Pepsi store, the gym, the grocery store.  Then as we age, our world begins to shrink. People we love leave and absolutely CANNOT be replaced.

Max was one of those people in my life. Max had a way of finding beauty in the small things. If I said he loved nature, your mind would wander to the mountains and the trees and the wildlife that comes within the "huge-ness" of our world. He did love nature as you might define it. However, when I think of Max I think of the beauty he found in the simpler nature. He found form and intrigue in rocks. In a wooden stick. In a pine cone. He would think and plan and work and form a piece of art that was useful and aesthetically soothing to your soul.

Early this morning, Max Peery passed away. Max is Aunt Shannon's father. Shannon was lucky to be with him and her mom when he died. Last Saturday Shannon found out that Max had recently been diagnosed with leukemia. The poor family didn't have time to wrap their brains around something so horrible, when his kidneys began shutting down.

Max and Gabe live in St. George, Utah and Shannon left Monday to go see how she might be able to help. I am so grateful that she was lucky enough to see her dad, hold his hand, fluff his pillows, and let him know in action and word that she loves him ohsoverymuch.

Max enjoyed thinking outside of the box. He was kind and gracious and giving. Yes, it's a smaller world now.

Take that minute to hold those you love close. Discover your unique-ness.  Learn from Max and embrace the beauty in the small gifts that are placed on our earth. Be loving and kind and give what you have. Envision potential in all that you see. Think outside of the box and challenge those you love to do so.

The Other Mother

There was a time in my life when it was necessary for me to find daycare. I was oh-so-fortunate to find two daycare providers that I lovingly called "the other mother". Calleen Adams was one of those gals.

I loved that lady immensely. When I needed a good back-up plan, she was there. She took the kids when I worked, when I went to school, when I was sick, when I needed to escape from reality.

She fed them. She read to them. She cooked for them. She bandaged skinned knees, wiped tears and offered free, unencumbered hugs. Trust me. There were many, MANY times that I was on the receiving end of wiped tears and huge hugs.

The earth wept yesterday as Calleen left our lives. Her sweet Sheldon, Tyler, Jenni and Chris will forever mark Tuesday, October 27 in their hearts with mourning and tears of sadness.

Selfless.
Kind.
Funny.
Weird.
Smart.
Beautiful.
Charitable.
Compassionate.
Generous.
Honest.

How lucky was I to have known and loved a person like that?

It's been a long day without you, my friend  

And I'll tell you all about it when I see you again 

We've come a long way from where we began 

Oh, I'll tell you all about it when I see you again 

When I see you again 

~Wiz Khalifa

Bagging a Trophy

October in Utah is hunting season. Rifle hunting season. Typically my guys do the bow hunt or participate in the black-powder-swirling-in-the-air muzzle loader hunt for deer or elk or whatever it is that makes them feel manly and outdoorsy.

Goose can't really go hunting anymore. The wildfire season is right in the middle of the muzzle loader hunt and bow hunt. So this year it was decided to rifle hunt so Goose could go. Planning began MONTHS ago. The cleaning of guns and organizing of the trailer, gathering of hunters orange and sighting in the guns were all completed excitedly as the time to head up the mountain drew near.

Then Goose was called to a fire. In Idaho. I swear to you that I thought Mark was going to bawl like a little school girl. "My hunt is ruined."

Thank you LonePeak Hotshots. They saved the hunt for Mark and sent Goose home. Hoorah.

Much to the dismay of my family, I opted out this year. October brings harsh weather to the mountains of Utah. My walking is painful watch. Painful to experience. And the cold exasperates these struggles. I wasn't up to the task. 

The food was packed, hunting gear gathered, warm clothes found and last Friday they all took off amidst grunts of excitement and every I'm-a-mighty-man hunting sound that they could muster.

Tuesday night was the planned night for Marks reluctant return to home life, work life and everything that he endures to get to the next hunt.

Mark rolled in around 7:00 pm. "How was today?" "Did you get anything?"

"I bagged a trophy."

"What?"

Then lies spewed from my mouth. You know - that's so awesome, good for you, ohmygoshthat'ssoexciting kind of comments. Really I'm thinking "Oh man I don't want the mess" "Blood is going to be everywhere." "I have to go get butcher paper and supplies." "Why-oh-why is he an accurate shot?"

In 1981 Mark went hunting with his Dad. It was a LOOOOOOOONG time ago and I think I went with them, and Mark THINKS I went with them, but truly we aren't sure.  He, however, DOES remember a nice four point buck wandering past and shooting at the big guy. And missing. And shooting. And missing. And shooting. And missing. (You get the idea). Four shots. Four misses. Buck runs away. Mark is mad. Come to find out something was wrong with the gun. I don't remember what he said it was. 

Anyhow, he pulled out his knife and carved Mark + Linnette 1981 in a tree. 

Every once in a blue moon, the missing-the-four-point-buck story comes out and it always, always ends with "And I carved our names in a tree."

A few years ago, fire swept through the canyon that held our tree. Mark told me about the fire and followed it with "I'm sure our tree was burned down." We were sad. But what could be done? It was gone and with it gone forever was our link to the past.

Monday brought full time jobs for Tyson and Diana and school for Jaden and the kids. The camp cleared out leaving Mark and Goose to fill the freezers.

Because he hikes and camps and trudges through the mountains 6 months a year, Goose is equipped with some pretty cool gear to get-the-job-done with as much comfort as can be gleaned on a mountainside. Mark and Goose decided to backpack through the canyon and get to where the deer FOR SURE would be.

The TRUE purpose had been discussed with all in camp. Yeah. They were going to see if they could find my tree.

It was snowing. They slept under a tarp to try to stay warm. They hiked and climbed and fell and cussed and looked and looked and looked.

And just when they were giving up? They found it.

Mark and Goose bagged my trophy. My sweet husband brought me the gift of a lifetime. We both wept. We NEEDED this link. And now it resides in my front room.

Shelby's Song

Shelby turns 24 today. How lucky am I to be able to say that? She brilliantly conquered 1,2,3,....(you get it) and she will be a marvelous 24. I'm sure of it.

I almost didn't get to witness Shelby turn 24. 

Mark and I divorced when I was expecting Shelby. I was wrought with distress. I already had three kids. How could I possibly take care of four? I was sad. So sad. I was depressed. I was lonely and broke and stressed and.... you get it. 

When Shelby was young, my aunt convinced me to go to college. My self esteem climbed and I was able to see the "old" Linnette in a different light. I took a creative writing course and so began my love for writing. I learned a long time ago that I needed to write what I know. And what I know is me. So that is what I write about.

For one of my term papers, I had to write an essay that would evoke emotion from the reader. After much contemplation, I chose a subject that was extremely difficult to share. It was so personal. I am human...filled with self doubt, wrong decisions, bad actions, pain, guilt. Yes. I have these thoughts, too.

I wrote and edited and edited and edited. I submitted a rough draft and my teacher was thrilled with my attempt. She wanted to publish my writing. However, remember self doubt was my friend? I would not give her permission to move forward.

The letter is fictional. It was suggested to me that I use this style to gain more emotion. Here is what I wrote:

Dear Veronica,

Thank you so much for inviting me to lunch. It has been so long since we have been able to sit and chat about the things going on in our lives. Isn't it amazing what can happen inside of a few years time?

I still remember us together as teens dreaming what our lives would be like. I guess neither one of us truly knew that each would be faced with the ultimate test of divorce.

I recall my divorce as if it were just yesterday. I have experienced every emotion you are challenged with. You are not going insane. The emotions you feel are a part of the process of learning and growing.

A long time ago I locked all these feelings away inside of my heart. I vowed to never release them again. Because of you, I am taking this opportunity to relate the story of my divorce. I realize that no single divorce is the same. However, many who have gone through this impossible situation have experienced many of the same things as I.

I remember talking with other women about divorce and thinking that they really couldn't relate to what I was experiencing. They could not have loved their husbands as much as I loved Mark. Their hurt could not have been as intense as my own pain.

On the flip-side, there were also those who have never gone through a failed marriage. Their support was appreciated, but seemed to fall on deaf ears. How could they possibly picture life as they know it abruptly ending and changing forever? As I listened to you share your saga, my mind began to drift to so many years ago when I was in the exact situation. Every word you said seemed to grip my heart like a vise. If I can buoy you up in any way by sharing my story, that is all I can ask for. The rest will come in time. Please listen with an open heart and mind.

I was pregnant with my fourth child. Life consisted of housework, diapers, bottles and band-aids. I viewed my marriage as something that needed remodeling – not realizing that the foundation had crumbled and at any given moment the walls would come crashing down. Nothing had prepared me for the words, "I want a divorce."

However, the words were spoken and the walls gave way. My world went spinning out of control. Instantly I was faced with issues of necessity. Where to live, how to live, and more important, why to live were constant companions in my mind. These children were depending upon me to get them through this physically, spiritually and emotionally. I had no time for tears of self-pity or loneliness. The only thing I could focus on was survival.

Can you see how much our stories already seem to intertwine? You refused to show anger or pain yesterday. But, I could see it in your eyes. I remember! The only side I would show to the outside world was strength. I would not tell anyone how many hours I spent screaming into my pillow. How could I tell how often I beat the walls, my bed or my couch until I was overcome with exhaustion. Then, there was the time I sat over three hours on the bathroom sink and wrote "I hate myself" over and over again in red lipstick on the mirror. There was tremendous pain involved.

Chaos was setting in. It was controlling each of our lives. The kids were miserable. I was miserable. I was still screaming into my pillow every night.

One morning, my rope snapped. I woke up and decided I had had enough. Self-pity had won. I decided I could not support the ones I already had. The guilt was too much to bear. I could not look into another set of questioning eyes and attempt to answer the very questions I was asking myself.

I placed a call to an agency. I found out the process of giving my unborn child up for adoption. It hurt inside my heart, but I could only focus on the better life I was giving to one of my children.

I worked my fill shift in a daze that evening. I kept trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing. Wasn't this a true act of love? My sacrifice would bring peace to this baby growing inside of me.

As fate would have it, I went into labor that night and the next morning at 8:35, Shelby entered this world. What a miracle! As she was placed on my belly, still fresh with childbirth, a revelation came to me. It was my own personal revelation that I was meant to raise this baby. For the first time in my entire life, I felt complete.

As I have heard other women tell their stories of divorce, it seems to me that there is a specific turning point for each of them. I thought this was mine. Was I in for a surprise!

In the past, I had time to treasure the joy of bringing a precious spirit into the world. I spent hours rocking my babies while crooning my self-made lullabies.

With Shelby, it seemed I had no time to relax and just hold my baby. I couldn't quit wondering when I would be able to go back to work. I couldn't afford to miss a single day. My paychecks were barely enough to survive on as it was. I had no option. Three days after Shelby was born, I went back to work. Oh! How I envied the mothers who were able to at least take maternity leave.

I was exhausted. I did not want to be working. I wanted to stay home forever and simply be Mom. I dreamed of another life so long ago spent as a family with a Daddy. It was so unfair!

Post-partum depression set in and with it came an entire year of bottled up despair. I cried and cried. Just when I thought I was in control, I cried some more. I was angry. Very angry. I was scared, lonely and in need of releasing these feelings.

When I cried, the kids cried. We held each other many nights and sobbed ourselves to sleep. Many hours were spent with each child helping to release pent-up feelings.

We learned it was okay to cry. It was okay to be angry. It wasn't okay to bottle up all the emotions that come with a loss and pretend they would go away. Therefore, the kids and I talked about everything we felt when we felt it. If laundry didn't get finished, that was okay. Housework would be there tomorrow. We were healing.

I began to revise my life of values and priorities. My family consisted of individuals. Somehow, I needed to make us whole. It was important to keep my job for financial security. Yet, I believed that family security was my primary concern. I concentrated on the kids and myself in full. I no longer brought the frustrations of a full-time job home with me. I began to separate my two identities. 

My healing began. I had a stronger foundation that would never falter again. I was still scared. I was still angry. I wasn't alone. I began to see this as a "together" kind of thing. Together we could accomplish anything.

How could I have ever known that I would be strong – that I would rebuild my shattered existence into a formidable fortress. I thank God for this opportunity to see my life with renewed eyesight.

So, my sweet friend, cry. Scream. Yell. Stomp your feet. Release everything inside of you, then pick up what is left inside and start over.

I will do it with you. Together we will rebuild your fortress. You are strong. I can see it. You are not going crazy. You are feeling everything experienced in the loss of a loved one. The only difference between death and divorce is you cannot see the one you love and run to his arms to be held forever. The ghost is forever there, yet is no longer yours.

You do not need to validate your existence according to this man. You have a purpose here upon this earth. Find that purpose and set your sights now.

I will close this now. I love you. You deserve to be happy. I will help in any way I can, but your happiness depends solely upon you. Life is meant to be lived. Live your pain now and get on with life.

The greatest thing I can give you is my unconditional support and love. The greatest gift you can give yourself and your children is a strong foundation that will forever stand the test of time.

I hope that sharing my story with you will somehow help you trudge through the steps ahead of you. If I had known then what I know now...

Linnette

Shelby saved my life. Does that sound dramatic? Maybe. However, it is true. As you can tell, I was pretty sad. In fact, suicide was considered every single day. I would drive to work and watch the trees and poles whizz by. I would begin doing the math on how fast I would need to go and at what angle I needed to hit a standing object in order to kill myself. The kids were at a day care with a wonderful "other mother" Diane. She loved the kids. They loved her. They would be okay. However, I was pregnant and I couldn't murder my child. That alone, saved me.

After Shelby was born, she wouldn't eat. What little she did eat, her tiny body refused to process. She lost weight and was dying on me. She was diagnosed with Failure to Thrive. This innocent baby did not have the will to live. And it was my fault.

One evening after work (I was working Swing Shift when my kids were young) I drove straight to the hospital and held Shelby. While we rocked and sang I was overcome with the immense desire to verbalize how much I needed her, how important she was to our family and how much I loved her. Adored her. Treasured her.

And that's what I did. I talked and talked and talked to my sweet girl well into the night. I cried and begged her not to leave me. And she began to eat. And grow. And thrive.

An angel was given to me. And I'm a better person because of it.

When The World Stopped Turning.

I was standing in my kitchen trying to make sense of the fix-the-breakfast dishes and Mark-needs-a-lunch mess. Jaden was just over a year old and toddling around my feet when my phone rang. It was Mark. "Turn on the news. A plane just hit in the World Trade Center." "What?" I said. 'Ohmygosh. That's HORRIBLE." And I turned on the television in Goose's room.

I sat on the bed and watched in horror as ANOTHER plane hit the other tower.

I called Mark. Freaking out. I couldn't comprehend what was happening. I sat mesmerized by the news when the towers began to crumble. I don't think I could comprehend the horror that was developing before my eyes.

I watched with rapt attention to the interviews. The statistics. The pleas for help. The magnitude of fear and dread that filled the television screen enveloped me. And I wept.

I didn't turn my television off for three days. I watched endlessly as responders searched in vain for life. I cried at the still images of those left behind to mourn their loved ones. I prayed for those still searching and felt a sense of overwhelming dread at the "Help Find" posters hung throughout the city.

On day three, Denise called me. We were supposed to meet on some labels. We didn't meet. We sat in silence on the phone, neither wanting to break into the despair the other felt, until Denise finally said so lovingly to me "We can do this, Linnette. Our country is strong and good and proud."

I turned off the television and have not watched the news since.

I tire of the horror. It sickens me that our news is filled with death and pain and sadness. And I want no part of that emotion. Ever again.

Laurie called me. "I remember when I was in New York and toured the Trade Centers. I was in the gift shop and there was this cute little gal that helped me. Do you think she's okay?"

I loaded Jaden in his car seat and drove to the sell-a-flag-store not too far from here. I wanted a flag. I wanted to do "something" to show my support of our nation. I walked in. I must have carried the horror I felt because the sales clerk walked up to me and said "You are here for an American flag." Then this perfect stranger held me while we both cried.

Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?
Were you in the yard with your wife and children
Or working on some stage in L.A.?
Did you stand there in shock at the sight of that black smoke
Risin' against that blue sky?
Did you shout out in anger, in fear for your neighbor
Or did you just sit down and cry?

Did you weep for the children who lost their dear loved ones
And pray for the ones who don't know?
Did you rejoice for the people who walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below?
Did you burst out with pride for the red, white and blue
And the heroes who died just doin' what they do?
Did you look up to heaven for some kind of answer
And look at yourself and what really matters?

I'm just a singer of simple songs
I'm not a real political man
I watch CNN but I'm not sure I can tell
You the difference in Iraq and Iran
But I know Jesus and I talk to God
And I remember this from when I was young
Faith, hope and love are some good things He gave us
And the greatest is love

Where were you when the world stopped turning on that September day?
Were you teaching a class full of innocent children
Or driving down some cold interstate?
Did you feel guilty 'cause you're a survivor
In a crowded room did you feel alone?
Did you call up your mother and tell her you loved her?
Did you dust off that Bible at home?

Did you open your eyes, hope it never happened
Close your eyes and not go to sleep?
Did you notice the sunset the first time in ages
Or speak to some stranger on the street?
Did you lay down at night and think of tomorrow
Or go out and buy you a gun?
Did you turn off that violent old movie you're watchin'
And turn on "I Love Lucy" reruns?

Did you go to a church and hold hands with some strangers
Did you stand in line and give your own blood?
Did you just stay home and cling tight to your family
Thank God you had somebody to love?

So I Do Nothing

I was a mother for as long as I can remember. I was made to be a mom. I looked forward to it and when I first found out that Tyson was on the way? Ecstatic doesn't even fit in the realm of how I felt. I was giddy with excitement.

The moment my kids were born, one of the first things that entered their little ears was the sound of me singing:

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine 

You make me happy when skies are grey 

You'll never know dear, how much I love you 

Please don't take my sunshine away. 

As time marched forward, that song became a staple in the Deason household. I would sing it in the car while I held their hand. I rocked it when they were happy and would croon it when they were angry, hurt, sad, or tired. 

It worked out MOSTLY in my favor. However, Tyson decided he had had enough of my off-key-simple-minded vocals. He would reach up and press his toddler-fat finger to my lips and say "Shhhhhh Mommy". And I would shush. Reluctantly.

As I sang, I stroked their hair, rubbed their back, tickled their leg, massaged their hand and I would whisper a promise to never, ever, EVER allow anything to hurt them. I would do WHATEVER I needed to do to protect them. No questions. No worries. No doubt.

I have discovered that it was an arrogant promise.

Hurts came. Broken hearts happened. Friends died. 

And there were times that my kids forgot to stay on track with their inner compass.

I love to mow my lawn. I can't wait to get out in the sunshine. Barefoot. Hair in pony tail. Tank top. Shorts. The only make-up I wear is the pure joy on my face.

Some of my "deeper" thinking happens when I mow my lawn. As I wobble back and forth in perfect line behind my mower, I think. And think. And think. Sometimes I even think out loud. I contemplate my life. My marriage. My finances. My dogs. My kids. My family.

The other day when I was mowing my lawn, I thought about how I miss my "little" kids running around with reckless abandon. Laughing. Shouting. Happy.

And I thought about my promise to always do what is necessary to guarantee my family the complete, unadulterated happiness that they deserve.

And I realized that I can do nothing.

I am learning that happiness - PURE happiness - comes from within. Although the work can be difficult, draining, painful, and scary, the reward holds a sense of knowledge that there isn't an obstacle that can get in your way. I mean NOTHING. 

Sometimes it takes a miracle. But I KNOW that miracles can happen. I was blessed with five true miracles and I know the power of each.

So pull up your bootstraps, my darling children, and get working on your happiness. Set your compass in that direction and get out there and get 'er done. 

I'll believe in you. I'll hope for you. I'll cry for you. I'll celebrate for you. And I will love you. Endlessly.

Facebook Said So.

Yesterday Facebook blew up with back-to-school pics that everyone shared. Cute kids. All smiles. Super excited to head back to school. I smiled for my Facebook friends and then? Bawled like a baby for me.

I warned you that I hate the end of summer. Okay, let's face it. Hate isn't a strong enough word. I despise it. I want to yell at it. I want to punch it in the face. I want to kick and scream and swear and blubber at it until it yields to submission. Sigh. I say it all the time. No one listens to me. Therefore, summer ended and school began.

I dropped Jaden off to school and came home and cried. Inconsolably.

I know. I know. It's not such a big deal. It's good that he's growing up. I'm lucky that he is smart and handsome and rocks school. Whatever.

I want him home. I miss him when he's gone. I hate my empty house. I despise the silence.

There. It's said. And I meant every single word.

Yesterday afternoon I scrolled through my Facebook feed and someone had posted results from a test they had taken.  True confession. Every once in a while I take these tests. I don't "share" my test taking very often. I don't know why. But I don't.

This test would list my weaknesses. I was all geared up to answer a bunch of questions so Facebook would be able to get a clear picture of who I am. I sat in my recliner. Turned down the television so I could FOCUS on the enormity of the forthcoming questions and prepared myself to embark on the intense test at hand.

I clicked on the link. A little round circle chased it's tail for a few seconds and the test was done. What? No questions. No deep dark thoughts. No truth-be-told answers. Nothing.

I'm:
100% outspoken
95% impatient
94% overly emotional
79% too honest
38% confused (Facebook spelled it confussed. Ha! So much for intelligent testing.)

First of all, how in the crap does Facebook know so much about me?

I had to laugh at the "overly emotional" statement. Ya think? I'm ALWAYS being told how emotional I am. Maybe it's because I'm 79% too honest. I tell how I feel until I can tell that nobody really gives a crud how I feel. Then I blog about it.

So. School has started. I miss Jaden. I cry EVERY SINGLE YEAR on the first day of school. I'll probably bawl even when I don't have kids at home simply because I hold on to the fact that I hate the first day of school.

I hate the end of summer.

I'll miss ice cream nights.

I'll miss sitting on my porch swing.

I'll miss working in my yard.

I'll miss walking barefoot in warm, sunlit grass.

Name something about summer. I'll miss it.

Okay. Okay. I'm proud of each of my kids. I'm happy that they are growing into epic human beings. I love that we share movies and books and thoughts and opinions and dinners and gifts and lots and lots of love.

I adore being a grandma and that couldn't have happened without Tyson growing up and moving out. Right?

I love being a mother-in-law.

I love hot soup with fresh, homemade rolls.

I love cozy sweaters.

I love curling up with a fluffy quilt and reading.

I love watching the snow fall.

I hate. I love. I'm emotional. It's all true. Facebook said so.

Random Kindness

Let's face it. I'm not the get-excited-about-the-end-of-summer gal. Since Fall is looming, school begins soon, schedules must be adhered to, the cold is just around the corner and my house is about to echo with silence, I stay in bed extra long in the mornings. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I log onto Facebook and see what friends/family are up to and what excitement is going on. Today was a Facebook day.

I scrolled through postings this morning.  I read about a teacher in California who was in WalMart buying school supplies for her upcoming classroom. Notebooks. Crayons. Pencils. Things necessary in a classroom, but not supplied to our teachers who, more often than not, reach into their own pockets to purchase these items. A gentleman in the store offered to help this gal load her cart with the needed supplies and appeared again at the check out, offering to pay for the supplies for her class. Not only did he offer to pay for what was in the cart, he ran back to the school supply aisle and grabbed another box FULL of notebooks and more crayons.

Made me feel warm and fuzzy.

I kept scrolling.

I came across another post where a girl helped someone in need pay a light bill so the woman could get her lights turned back on.

Made me think of the help I have received over the years.

I kept scrolling.

I came across a picture of some beautiful flowers that a friend of mine received.

Made me smile.

I kept scrolling.

I saw a post from a girl thanking someone for saving her life. Literally.

Made me think of the angels among us.

I stopped scrolling and began thinking.

I thought about all the acts of kindness that had been shared. I thought that at times we don't REALLY live in a selfish and ugly world. I thought that I'm grateful to have friends that share the good in their lives. I thought about how I could contribute positively today. I thought about my most favorite quote. Of all time.

I Can.

I've worked very hard to maintain a brave face in my every day activities. I used to stagger from bed and begin my day feeling like I was walking in a pool of water. I struggled through each step. However, I felt that I conquered brilliantly. I arrogantly thought "I got this. No big deal." I would flippantly say "I'm grateful that I don't have to take a bunch of medication." or "I'm lucky there isn't a bunch of treatments that I need to endure."

Wrong.

I WISH that the doctor would have said "Oh! This is NO BIG DEAL. Here is a prescription for a medicine with no side effects that will kick this in no time." Ugh. She didn't say that. I didn't hear those words. Nope. Didn't happen.

Lately, I describe my every day life as RUNNING through water. All day. Every day. I go to bed exhausted. I wake up tired. Things that used to be NO BIG DEAL now require tremendous effort and - let's face it - tremendous skill to accomplish.

I was at the library today. I was walking toward a computer to renew some books that I haven't finished when - don't ask me why - I decided that I wanted to use a different computer. I changed directions to head across the room. HUGE mistake. Somehow my legs got tangled. My arms started flailing and flapping in an attempt to steady my tipping body.

No go.

I fell. Hard.

Humiliation holds no boundaries when you screech, fall, and then BOUNCE along cement floors. Do I need to add that once my falling is complete - in all it's glory - it's an incredible sight to see me attempt to stand up again? To say that it is difficult for me to get on my feet is an understatement. I begin to roly-poly around to gain enough momentum to get on my hands and knees. I stick my hine-y straight up in the air and, with my arms straight out in front of me to counter-balance my bottom-heavy-so-modestly-elegant lower-half and I SLOWLY stand. I'm telling you, this takes so much effort, I secretly wish to hear whistles and cheers of admiration so I can holler TA-DA while bowing graciously

Instead, I gather every ounce of dignity I can muster (which, believe me, isn't much) and make my red-faced-humiliation-filled exit as quickly as my wobbly legs can move.

Crap.

So I've been on a pity-me-bull-dozer-train that doesn't seem to ever stop changing indignities. I conquer one problem just in time to face another complexity.

Then phone calls began.

My friend, Annette, buried her beloved father. And then lost her oh-so-young-neighbor too quickly to cancer.

My cousin who is a mere 28 lost her husband of 4 years leaving behind a very young widow and daughter.

My oh-my-gosh-I-love-her-SO-much friend, Sunnie, is dealing AS WE SPEAK with the passing of her husband.

My beautiful-wonderfully-fabulous friend, Debbie, and her family just buried a brother, son, husband, father.

And I'm grateful to slog through my running-through-the-pool days.

I'm grateful that I was able to go to the library today.

I'm grateful to feel humiliation course through my body.

I'm grateful to be writing. And singing (off key). And dancing (even if it's in my mind). And cleaning my toilets. And feeding my dogs that bowl me over in their rush to be fed because they must be STARVING. And watering my yard. And sitting at the pool with my girls. And reading a book. And watching a movie. And making sun tea for my guy. And wobbling. And falling. And slurring my words. And not taking medicine to fix ANY of this.

I'll embrace it all and simply be grateful that I CAN.

I Might Need More Coffee Cake

Yesterday was my anniversary. One of them. Mark and I married on June 15, 1983. Later we divorced. A few years after that we married again. In Montana. On stage. In a bar. By a member of the band where Mark was a guitarist.

I think that we are the ONLY couple in the entire universe that fight over the date of our marriage. We were married right before the countdown to the New Year. You know - five...four...three...two...ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR! Cheers. Whistles. A big kiss from my new husband and the band plays "Should auld acquaintance be forgot..."

Mark says that it was technically New Years Day and therefore our anniversary is January first.

We were married in Butte and (at the time) they registered our marriage license in a HUGE leather-bound book and promised to send us a hard copy. Alas, no mail was received from Butte, Montana and I have NO official record of the date that we were wed.

So we celebrate at midnight and - POOF - it's over.

During the divorce, I HATED June 15. I cried. I pouted. I felt oh-so-sorry for myself. On June 15, 2000, Jaden entered our world and healed my thoughts. I now ADORE June 15th again and at times we celebrate our long-ago-anniversary as well as the birth of my youngest.

Last week Mark and I took off on the motorcycle. I have longed to see the Grand Canyon and set my sights on visiting this year. Mark and I talked about riding to the Grand Canyon and he always filled in the what-else-should-we-do-on-our-get-away with visiting Tombstone. In my brilliant, compass-lacking, mind I thought the two were close together. Guess what? They aren't. Not even close. However, since I thought it was a given that we tour both, that's what we planned. And executed. Brilliantly.

Before we left on our big adventure, Mark, Goose, Daulton, Uncle Ron and I loaded up on the motorcycles and rode up Provo Canyon. I love the motorcycle. I love the wind in my face and the sun on my shoulders. Except my legs didn't want to cooperate and I struggled getting onto the bike and struggled stepping down from the bike. I mean struggled.

I began to worry about our trip. I worried that I couldn't handle the ride and that I would wimp out and disappoint Mark TREMENDOUSLY and end up detouring our trip and spending the duration of our vacation a few miles out of town in Nephi.

Little did I know? Mark was worrying as well.

I have been a huge believer that the only way to truly love someone is to serve them. Sometimes service comes in the form of simply being the listening ear when life provides hiccups. Sometimes it's financial aid. Dinner. A get-away-drive. If you have it. You share it. If it's not good enough for the people you are loving? It's on them.

This trip love was given to me in the most unusual form.

Mark and I developed a system to get me on and off the bike. I stood on solid ground beside the motorcycle. I held my right leg as high as I possibly could, which - let's be honest - was only a few inches. Mark would then grab hold of the bottom of my foot and throw my leg over the seat. I would scoot and slide my leg across until my foot would land on the riders foot peg. Then the wiggling and shifting began. I wiggled and scooted and maneuvered my way onto the seat. Whew! Mark would VERY EASILY (show off) swing his leg across the seat and we would ride off. When we came to a stop, the entire sequence was repeated in opposite form.

My ABSOLUTELY FAVORITE thing that Mark does while we ride is reach behind and tap my leg. It's his was of showing that he likes me tagging along and wants me to know it. We were gone for a week. 2,062 miles. I got tapped often.

Along with the getting-on-the-bike system, we had to come up with a plan to help me don my biker gear. Our new routine was developing. I can't zip my chaps. No more. Nuh-uh. Can't do it. Doesn't help that when I bought my chaps many, many, MANY pounds ago, the fitter-guy put me in XXS chaps.

To manipulate the zippers that run down each leg, Mark (no lie) had to use PLIERS. He huffed and puffed and swore and laughed as he attempted to close up my chaps.

While visiting the Grand Canyon, we hit a snack shack. Hungry is not a strong enough word for how I felt. Keep in mind that there is NO snack food if you are on a motorcycle road trip. Chocolate melts. Chips disintegrate to the texture of sand. Everything makes you thirsty and there is not a convenient spot to keep any sort of food. So we hit the snack shack where our choices were pre-made sandwiches, cold burritos (they did have a microwave) canned/bottled soda, muffins and coffee cake.

I HATE mayo so the sandwiches were a NOT EVER for me. Mark grabbed me a chicken/green chili/oh-so-wonderful burrito and a can of Pepsi. While waiting in line, I began eyeballing the coffee cake. Laced with cinnamon, the sweet cake became more and more appealing to me and as the line shortened, I stated "Yeah. I want coffee cake." Mmmmmmmmmmmm. It was so, so, so, SO good.

After dining on our to-go food, we wandered the area in search of the perfect shirt that would scream that I had visited the Grand Canyon. We couldn't find what I wanted, so I made Mark move to a different area. We found the PERFECT shirt, a magnet for my fridge and reluctantly decided it was time to get on the road.

We were parked in a busy-to-and-fro lot when it hit me. Crap. I need my chaps on. I easily buckled the waistband and waited patiently while Mark attempted to zip the legs. No go. He had to get into the pouch where the repair tools were kept and retrieve the handy-dandy-let-'er-rip-pliers, grab hold of my zipper and pull MIGHTILY.

I began to laugh hysterically. I'm sure we were a sight. I KNOW people were watching and wondering what the crud he was doing. I said "I think I might need more coffee cake." Mark had been huffing and puffing. His face was red and I swear to you - sweat was dripping from his brow. He blew the air out of his lungs and began heaving with laughter.

That was the moment that I realized the extent of the love my husband has for me.

Yep. I'm a lucky girl. Because of this man.

My Minds Eye

About a month ago, Mark and I watched "The Theory of Everything". The synopsis of the movie on Imbd is:

This is the extraordinary story of one of the world's greatest living minds, the renowned astrophysicist Stephen Hawking, who falls deeply in love with fellow Cambridge student Jane Wilde. Once a healthy, active young man, Hawking received an earth-shattering diagnosis at 21 years of age. With Jane fighting tirelessly by his side, Stephen embarks on his most ambitious scientific work, studying the very thing he now has precious little of - time. Together, they defy impossible odds, breaking new ground in medicine and science, and achieving more than they could ever have dreamed.

I did have a hard time watching the movie. I lost a dear, dear, DEAR friend to Lou Gehrig's disease (ALS) and as I watched Stephen's decline I was constantly reminded of the struggles Denise faced. However, as per my norm, my thoughts turned towards my own disease. Interestingly, many of my symptoms run parallel with ALS and I find myself constantly being reminded of the fight Denise had to face and drawing on her strength and wisdom in the eye of the storm.

There was a point in the movie that a wheelchair-bound Hawking, with the assistance of a voice synthesiser, was asked to attend a lecture in America where he would be receiving an award. While on stage at the lecture, Stephen sees a student drop a pen. There is a moment that he imagines getting up to return it and the movie plays as if he can. He stands, walks down the stairs off the stage, stoops down, retrieves the pen and gallantly hands it to the young woman. The movie slams back to Mr. Hawking still bound to his wheelchair. His emotions are very clear as he struggles with the fact that he cannot do as he wishes.

That scene plays over and over and over in my mind.

On May 24, I attended a fantastic, wonderfully, beautiful wedding of a "little" girl that I love so very dearly. Alissa and Cody had a never-empty-dance-floor set up. I love music and love to dance and found myself on the floor swaying to the music. I miss dancing. I miss it so much. However, I am not able to get to the dance floor without aid and certainly could not be left to my own resources once getting to the floor. I found myself saying "Don't let go of me". ALOT.

That night I had a dream about running. I was running and jumping and laughing with glee. Then I woke up. And was hit with the realization that, yeah, I can't run. And I never will again. I can't jump. And I never will again. I can't dance. And I never will again.

And I was so, so, so sad.

My mind isn't ready to admit defeat. So I keep stammering and stumbling forward and try so very hard to maintain a smile on my face and to treasure every movement as if it might be my last.

When Stephen Hawking spoke at Cambridge he said:

However difficult it may seem, there is always something you can do and succeed at.

I've learned that my own successes are measured in small increments and certainly do not fall in the same category as "normal" successes.  However, they are mine. If a "good day" is achieved by getting out of bed, putting on make-up with shaky hands and making sure that I smile widely to the gal at the pepsi store? That is a good day.

Once again, Stephen nailed it while addressing Cambridge:

I might just dance after all. Even if it's just in my mind.

Defying Gravity

Each year for Christmas, I gather pictures that the kids have taken throughout the year and I put them to music.  I make a movie for us to watch Christmas morning. Much time is spent picking the song that fits the year that we are placing behind us. I then make sweatshirts to go with the "theme" that I have established.

I really don't know how much the family is endeared to this idea. I've learned that (of course) it's all about me and I do this because I love it and it gives me time to pause and think of events throughout the year.

I lost Pat this last year and the play "Wicked" is seared in my heart as "ours". So when the time came to pick my song, gather pictures and begin the movie-making process, I went to iTunes and found the song Defying Gravity and began my project.

I try very hard to find the part of the song that I want to "underline" in my creations, and this time I landed on the lyrics:

If I'm flying solo at least I'm flying free.

I don't know if this statement "fits" with the rest of the family, but it sent a beacon to me. And I followed.

On August 19, 1984 I became a mother. And I have never looked back. I haven't been one to give "worldly" gifts to my kids. Nor, have they been raised to give much credence to the trappings of living a lifestyle that invokes power and wealth. From the beginning of time, they were raised to respect the people that surround them and to spend their energy and finances to help those in need.

My children were taught to be independent.

As I grow older, I question what the crap I was thinking.

I should have raised children that would never leave my side. They should be needy and dig their claws in while they cling to me with desperation.

Sigh. They're not.

Because of their strengths, I'm learning to stand alone. I'm learning to dig inside for confidence and self-worth; to pull out my own strengths and leave my weaknesses sitting on the sidewalk unnurtured.

Buddha said:

"You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection."

I'm learning to fly solo. And it's not so bad.

Making It Count

I love that my facebook page is full of moans and groans from the peeps my age turning the dreaded big 5-0. I feel the excitement shared through the posts filled with pictures of new grandbabies that are coming our way. I love to see the "kids" I know having babies of their own and secretly stalk each one of them to make sure that they are on track to be great parents.

Last week we celebrated Uncle Mike's 50th birthday. As I pondered what gift would hold any meaning for this epic event, I ran across this statistic:

According to USA today, the life expectancy for a female is 81.2 years; for males, it's 76.4 years. 

I did some math and came up with these figures:

A woman has (give or take) 4222.4 Saturdays in her lifetime.

A man has (give or take) 3972.8 Saturdays in his lifetime.

I've turned 50.

That means that I only have 1622.4 Saturdays remaining and Uncle Mike is held to the statistic of 1372.8 Saturdays left to hunt, fish, mow lawns, repair household items, clean vehicles, watch kids play soccer, read magazines, hike trails, fight with spouses, argue with kids, paint kitchens, make spaghetti.

I decided to give some perspective to our situation. I went to Hobby Lobby, bought a large Mason jar along with some river rock and counted 1373 of those rocks and placed them in the jar for Uncle Mike.

And that's what I gave him for his birthday.

It was interesting to count the rocks out. As I was counting along, it struck me how quickly time passes. We all say it. It's a blink of an eye, and your kids are grown and making memories all their own. You gain weight, lose hair, hide grey hair, curse wrinkles, wear reading glasses, listen to "classic" music, own antiques that are simply remnants from your youth, begin statements with "I remember when....", talk with disgust about "this generation" and THE WORSE THING EVER? Talk about your dog like you used to talk about your kids. AAAAAAUUUUUUGH! 

I don't have many Saturdays left. I, for one, vow to spend more time at the pool, sit on my porch swing every day this summer, go to the park with my grandbabies while I still can, read a few more books, sip some lemonade and make sure that those I love know of the feelings in my heart.

I think that is a nice bucket list. 

Just A Little Bit Of Magic

Yesterday Shannon and Bayley kidnapped me for a couple of hours and took me to see the new Cinderella.

There has been some heart wrenching, gut churning, sleepless night kind of stuff that is going on in the Deason home. It didn't take long before something struck me and I spent the rest of the movie contemplating what lies ahead.

When Cinderella's mother was dying, Cinderella was told "Have courage, be kind." She was told "Where there is kindness, there is goodness. Where there is goodness, there is magic."

I'm not gonna lie. I can use some magic right now. Remember kaleidoscopes? A kaleidoscope is made from mirrors with bits of glass along with beads and/or pebbles. When you look through the opening of the kaleidoscope, light reflects on the mirrors and colorful patterns are created.

That's how pain and stress feel right now. What I see are the shards of color that represent each "feel" that I am feeling and I am not able to see the final image. Beauty is beyond my scope right now.

Sigh. That sounds so dramatic, doesn't it?

Pain is an interesting thing. It encompasses all thought. It takes on a living form and shrouds all that is good. You eat pain. You sleep pain. Days become weeks that become months that become years and before you know it, it feels like a lifetime of pain.

I don't have courage anymore.

I imagine I'll "pull up my bootstraps" and get it all together again. However, right now, I want my fairy godmother to wave her magic wand and with a "bippity-boppity-boo" mice get turned into horses, pumpkins become beautiful golden carriages and my tattered dress becomes a beautiful gown fit for a princess.

Cinderella was prompted to:

“See the world not as it is, but as it could be if you see the world with care and kindness and just a little bit of magic.” 

I hold my own magic wand. Right?

And The Angels Close Their Eyes

It's hard to take responsibility for our own choices, isn't it? I hear the blame game constantly. Victim. It's not an honorable title. Isn't it more inspiring to hear the story behind overcoming abuse or neglect or molestation? We all carry hurt on our shoulders. It's not permission to act on that hurt. It's a license to state vehemently that "the cycle ends here".

When my kids were young, I tired QUICKLY of lame excuses for bad actions. I found myself saying "What were you thinking?" or "What the crap happened?" or "Why did you do that?" but what really threw me into a tailspin was knowing that they knew better.

They DID know better. I had told them over and over and over from the beginning of time not to do something, touch something, say something, be something. So I knew they knew. Dumb kids, right? It didn't take me long to figure out that I needed to change my tactic. I went with "Tell me what you did wrong and what you're going to do to fix it." As they got older and able to write, I would make them write an essay on that subject. Oh man. To say they hated that punishment would be an understatement.

It was my belief that if they knew that I knew the specifics of the whys and hows they wouldn't get away with trying bad behavior again because I KNEW that they knew better. They told me so.

The other day I was at the High School to pick up Jaden and Tim McGraw's Two Lanes Of Freedom was in my cd player. The song Number 37405 was playing.

He turns in them prison clothes, and stands there at the fork in the roadAnd mama prays and waits while he decidesAnd the angels close their eyes...

I think that angels are closing their eyes right now. I believe that they are waiting for our world to step up and let humanity prevail. Simply make the change in your own life. You'll be surprised how it changes your world.

Keeping Focused on the Middle

It came again. My birthday. This wasn't just ANY birthday. I turned 50. What? FIFTY? I thought I was fine. I thought I was handling it. I thought all the right things. I was OH SO WRONG.

When I think about my life, I actually enjoy my age. I love the freedoms that are placed at my feet. I still have opportunities and choices and plans and dreams and desires. And now they are more grounded to me and my beliefs.

After I was diagnosed with OPCA I hit a brick wall for a "minute". I'm unsure what the disease is going to bring. I won't know what "really" will happen to me until it happens. I have biological family that has this disease, however, they have decided that it is in their best interests not to know me. This leaves me with nobody to communicate with about what to expect. Resources are limited and I have yet to even find a forum online to provide me  with any knowledge of what my future holds. The medical tracking of this disease is pretty sparse and I find myself worrying and wondering about what lies ahead. I found myself saying quite often that "I feel like my future is filled with everything I have to do and not with much of what I want to do." I don't want a new house without stairs. I LOVE my house.  I don't want a new vehicle. I LOVE my jeep. I want to run again. I want to wear high heels again. I want to walk without clenching my hands with sheer concentration in order to walk "just a little wobbly".  I want to do crafts and garden and remodel my house with my own hands and speak clearly and paint my own nails and go back to college. Whew. There. I said it.

Yes. I want to turn back time and do those things again, and memorize the freedom.

Dawn gathered all the girls for a surprise get-together the Friday before my birthday. She and Shannon took me to dinner (of course I had crab. Duh. Who turns 50 and doesn't have crab?) and then (after Dawn got us lost and Shannon was left to stand in the cold with me while I shivered and stumbled and NEARLY DIED from frostbite and Dawn ran to the end of the block to see if she could see which way Main Street was and coming back to us CLUELESS and we had to ask directions from a guy who, I'm sure, thought we were nuts and pointed EXACTLY the way Dawn had just come from with Dawn proclaiming LOUDLY that "I looked one way but it was the other way.") we went into Keys On Main in Salt Lake and ALL of the girls waiting for mom. We danced and sang and laughed and hollered and held hands and hugged and had an ABSOLUTELY perfect night.

Super Bowl is my most favorite day of the year. I love the anticipation. I love the food, the smack talk, the cheering, the commercials. We have a HUGE gathering every year with more food than Thanksgiving. We keep both televisions on the game and my house roars with each touchdown, flag thrown and funny commercial. Sigh. Incredible.

There are years when my birthday actually falls ON Super Bowl Sunday. But whether it's that day or not, my family always has a cake with candles for me to blow out and I pretend that the whole gathering is just for me and not for a bunch of guys in tight pants throwing pigskin around.

True to the past, my family had the party for me. They brought me gifts and sang ferociously for my benefit. Tyson and Shelby bought me a new MUCH NEEDED computer chair. Tyson came and put it together for me and Haily came busting down the stairs to ask me if I liked my new wheelchair. Thanks Hailey.

All this leads me to Monday, February 2, 2015. My birthday. Jaden had an appointment with his orthodontist in the morning. After we made our way home, I went upstairs to the couch and Jaden hit his room to game and "get the heck away from mom" time.

I sat on the couch contemplating "What's ahead." And I got myself worked up about the unknown. I was so busy with the worry-ing stuff that I forgot to focus on the anticipation stuff.

This is my reminder that you don't have to run or craft or garden or remodel to experience joy and happiness and peace.

I received MANY facebook birthday wishes. I LOVE my facebook birthday reminders. I love that people I know took a few seconds of their day to tell me that they are thinking of me. I love the messages and good wishes and tributes and thoughts and pictures and smiley-faces and exclamation points. I love the surprise I get when my phone shows the little red number by my facebook icon exclaiming that I have a message or notification.

I love when my grandbabies wrap their arms around me and tell me how much they love me.

I love Diana's little scream when she gets excited or scared.

I love the random texts that Tyson sends with thoughts or pictures.

I love phone calls from Goose to share his excitement over the "little" things in life.

I love the determination that drives Daulton to excel in her marriage and work and in anything that is thrown her way.

I love that Shelby calls me every day to touch base with me and tell me all about her day.

I love that Tanna will go with me to do my errands and turns my mundane into an adventure.

I love Jaden's wit and humor and I LOVE his laugh.

I love Mark's ability to make me smile or laugh out loud even when I'm in my "funky-est" moments.

Yes, the future holds the unknown. But these things will hold fast until the end of forever. The things I love most will stand the test of time and make themselves visible in my darkest moments.

Beginnings are usually scary, endings are usually sad,  but it's what's in the middle that counts. 

~Hope Floats 

Here's to keep on wobbling toward the middle ground.

Jordan's Landing

It has always been my belief that if we provide our children a safe and sturdy foundation, no matter how much they flit, fly and at times flop around, they will always land on that foundation.

I've seen soaring angels and bore witness to many belly flops as my kids have flown from the cuckoos nest. However, fly as hard and as high as they might, they have always landed safely right back in my arms.

A few weeks ago, I watched a graceful, dynamic landing by a dear friend of mine.

Jordan has been a friend of my boys for many years. In fact, it was so long ago that I don't even remember the how, when or why to their friendship. He was always one of "my" kids. Always has been. Always will be.

Jordan dabbled in alcohol and drugs. Jordan became addicted. He did things that were "out of character" for him. He went in and out of jail. Periodically Jordan would land at our house and I would see the fear mixed with self-loathing in his eyes.

Jordan wanted to do better. Jordan longed for a life complete with happiness, but he could never quite pull it off.

In November, I sat with the Brown family and cheered wildly as Jordan graduated from drug court.

I'm awed at the strength shown by my friend. I know this has been a tiring, difficult journey for Jordan as well as his friends and family.

I know people don't understand addiction. I'm not an addictive personality. Lucky me. I'm surrounded by friends and family that are enslaved by substance and have made a stand to spit in the eyes of their fears.

I'm proud of those that find the strength to overcome addiction. I applaud the friends and family that allow change. Addiction touches everyone in one way or another. Thank you to the addicts that have shown us that belief and love are a stronger force than substance.

So...build foundations. Stand on those foundations with arms wide open so that those that fly in the face of a storm know right where to land.