Time Is On Your Side

I remember being young.  It really wasn't THAT long ago. I remember the fashions, the music (ESPECIALLY) the music. I can still recall the vehicles that were on the road and the "special effects" that were so AWESOME in the movie theater.  Jaws was SUPER scary.  ET was phenomenal and Star Wars was the COOLEST MOVIE EVER.  I rocked the Farrah hair and light blue eye shadow.

I now live with my kids making fun of my Farrah hair, my clothes, my movies.  Sigh.  At least they still like my music.  (I think 80's rock will forever rule the airwaves.)

I think about all I have experienced.  Some of what I went through, I really don't care to recall.  I don't necessarily speak of all I have experienced. There really isn't much to gain from recalling the ick in my life. But, I did it. I survived. I grew. I blossomed. I'm proud.

There are things I wish I could have done. I wish I had set myself up better financially. I wish I had gone to college young and without 4 kids ... I wish I had dabbled in photography at a young age ... I wish I could go to Europe and see all the art ... I wish I had been able to get a piano earlier and had kept playing ... I wish I had gotten braces YEARS ago. Yep ... I have wished.  I have wanted different.  Sometimes I even hoped for more.  I'm not unhappy with what I have. I have a life to envy. I am talented, strong, independent and I really am a great Mom. I know this.  No, my wishes aren't regrets, they're just wishes.

I have watched my kids go through some tough things. It makes me incredibly sad. Taylor Swift has a song called "Never Grow Up".  She talks about a time when "Nobody hurt you. Nobody broke your heart."  I wish I could give that to my kids. I want to line up the people that hurt them and smack them good and hard upside the head.  That would be TOTALLY AWESOME.

Instead, I try to understand something that isn't understandable. I try to soothe pain that is not sootheable, I try to fix what cannot be fixed, to mend something that should have never been broken.  Yet, I will never truly succeed in my efforts. The strength and power to overcome these things are built within them.

So, I tell them the lame words "hang in there".  Maybe what they don't know is that time is on their side. They have so much ahead of them that they get to experience. Don't waste time on wishes. Spend time accomplishing wishes. Knock your dreams out of the park and get out there and grab some more.

No, I'm not old (yet) but my time of wishes is more behind me than in front of me. That's not all bad. I find my wishes are more focused on my kids. My wish for Tyson is that his family stays strong and healthy. That he will know pure joy as his family grows.

My wish for both my older boys is to be able to rid themselves of the demons that haunt them. To know that they could not control the decisions that their friends faced. I wish I could erase the pain for them.

My wish for Goose is always to be the man I know he keeps locked inside. To always be honorable and strong, yet to make sure to look at the other side of the story and remember that most people are just trying to do their best.

My wish for Tanna would be to find peace in her life. To make peace with loved ones and to remember what she is made of. To not let the circumstances of her past rule her future.

My wish for Shelby would be to be vulnerable. To let her emotions show on the outside as they rumble around her inside. That she will find peace in the knowledge that some day the time will come when a boy will hear the song of her heart. And it's a great song.

My wish for Jaden would be the greatest of all wishes. He has the most time. His path in life hasn't be scarred with the pits and valleys of growing up. I wish for him to take advantage of the opportunities he can't even see yet.

Just as my past is my own, my future is my own. I hold the keys. I didn't get braces young, but I got them and I love my smile. I'll get a camera and dabble in photography now. I'll probably never be great, but I know I'll be good. I may never get to Europe to see the art, but I see as many plays, museums, art shows that I can find here in Utah and am inspired. I'll traipse through the rest of my life barefoot and full of wishes and hopes. Time is on my side.

I Am

I make sweatshirts for my family each year for Christmas.  The tradition began 4 years ago when we had absolutely NO money for gifts, so I came up with the idea to make the kids a sweatshirt. I did. They were a hit.  The tradition began and I spend many hours developing a design that will "one-up" the year before.  I mull over my ideas for several months before I decide what I want on the sweatshirts.  The story for last years' shirts goes as follows:


Goose is a wildland firefighter.  Not only is he a wildland firefighter, but he is a Lonepeak Hotshot. Goose worked for this. He worked hard. Goose had spent a few years wandering around Provo not sure what he was going to do when he "grew up".  He was working at laying concrete flooring. He worked in the weather and worked for a company that didn't value him or his work ethics. He spent the winter either working in the cold or collecting unemployment because the company didn't have enough work to keep him busy. He was a lost soul. He was unsure of what he wanted and lacked the confidence to pursue anything more than what he had.  He was driving me crazy. He had no money, and his future seemed hopeless.  I called Goose one day and told him that I was putting him in school. I told him that he was going to be a wildland firefighter, that he could change the degree if he wanted to, but he had to know exactly what he wanted to do and that he wasn't allowed to drop out for any reason. He agreed and his future began.


Goose rocked school. The family spent countless hours quizzing him, testing him, helping him research and typing up endless quizzes and papers for him to study. We each held our breath on test days, sometimes waiting up late so he could call after class and let us know how the testing went.  We counted out push-ups and sit-ups. We timed runs. We each gave heart and soul to the success of Goose. Graduation came and he graduated with a solid A-.  As the saying goes, the crowd went wild.


Alas, our joy was short lived as the struggle to find work began, and Goose was consistently passed up for employment. It made me physically sick. I don't do well when my kids are disappointed/hurt. We worked and worked at finding him employment, but to no avail. He just wasn't going to be hired.


Enter Brett. Brett is a friend of ours. He is a wildland firefighter and was hired to work on a crew in Salt Lake. As fate would have it, there was a member on Brett's crew that was moving to another crew which left an opening on Dromedary. Brett told his boss about Goose, the boss called Goose. We got the job.


When you certify to be a Wildland firefighter, you receive a Red Card. When Goose earned his Red Card, he came to the house, walked up to me and handed me his Red Card and said, "Here's your card Mom, you earned it."


That was my "light bulb" moment. Right then, I realized how our family is not made up of individuals. We are who we are because we support each other and believe in each other. It is this support system that we each rely on when we face tough times. And we as a family form a bond together that cannot be penetrated.


Each of us are part of a fraction that make a whole.  Because Shelby dances, I am a dancer. Because I create, we all create. We not only share the good, but the heartache as well. If there is loss, disappointment, pain...we each share that as well.

So, I made shirts. I used words that I have heard describe a family member at one time or another. I am a whole person because Mark, Tyson, Diana, Goose, Tanna, Shelby, Jaden, Hailey, Bill and my soon-to-be-daughter-in-law Daulton make it so. We are Deason. And I say that with pride.

(The shirt front.)

(The shirt back.)

The DNA Of My Heart

I remember when Keith died.  I remember the day his whole body died, but mostly I remember the day his brain died.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember where I was exactly.  I remember the dog under my feet.  I remember the sound of the phone ringing, the smells in my house and the noises outside.  They are forever locked in my mind.  They aren't vivid and bright images.  More like that after image you get when you look at something and then close your eyes and can still see the negative for a fleeting moment.

That effect makes it seem surreal to me.  Almost like I saw the events unfold through someone else's eyes.

The days following that phone call have a buzz to them.  I have bits of memory.  Pieces of images that float up out of my heart.  Some memory.  Not alot.  I spent countless hours and what energy I could muster to focus on giving Keith a funeral that would make my boys proud.

We did, you know.  We sent him off in the best way we could.  There were no regrets.  We told stories of Keith.  We laughed about all the quirky habits he had.  We shared happiness and joy in the knowledge that he was ours and that we loved him.  The day of the funeral was a beautiful gathering.  The church was packed.  Standing room only.  It was filled with love.  I've always found funerals to be such a contradiction.  You are so sad at the passing of someone dear to your heart, but it's such a reunion to see so many friends and loved one's together sharing a common bond.  I remember Laurie calling me to check on me after the funeral was over.  I think she expected tears, but at that moment I was filled with such joy.  We had several kids here and we were watching a slideshow of pictures of Keith and we were laughing and sharing stories with each other.  It was a brief respite from the bone crushing pain that we had all experienced.

I loved that boy.  I loved him like my own.  Sometimes I drive down the street and I see someone walking with a ball cap on and I catch my breath - and then I remember. I still can't talk about it without crying.  I still can't listen to my kids tell stories of him.  It is still so hard. I miss him in the silences between every heart beat.

Keith wasn't my own.  It has been argued that I don't "really" know what it's like to lose a son.  Maybe those people are right. I haven't lost Tyson, Goose or Jaden.  I lost Keith.  I can testify that it's pain that takes hold and never, never goes away.  You just work around it.  And when it's too much to bear, well you bear it anyhow because there really isn't anyone who knows enough to share the agony with them.  The pain and the loss is so personal.

I have many, many, many kids that call me "Mom." I like to think that they view me with that kind of love, but regardless, I love with them with every inch of my being. I celebrate their victories and secretly cry at their pain.  Not many of them know this. I think I would freak them out.  Keith was most certainly one of those kids.  If you were to check the DNA from Tyson, Goose, Tanna, Shelby or Jaden you'll get a perfect match.  To match it with all my other kids...take the DNA from my heart.

Yeah...What She Said....

Shelby wrote on her blog last night.  shelbydeason.blogspot.com

I had an inkling it was for Tanna.  It was hard for me to read.  Bawled like a baby.  I'm babysitting Bill, I was crying so hard it upset him and we were both howling.  It was awful.  I'm mad at her for writing it. I'm mad that I have to feel what I'm feeling.  I'm mad that it hurts so much to love someone.  I'm mad that it's hard to mend wounds and heal the hurts that are in a family.  I'm mad that we hurt people that we love so very much.

I'm mad. I'm mad. I'm mad.  And...I miss her too, Shelby.

The House That Built Me

The first time I heard this song I teared up. It's a pretty song sung by a pretty girl with a pretty voice. It struck a chord deep inside me and stuck.  It's on my Ipod and I sing it ferociously each time it plays. At times, I repeat and repeat and repeat and repeat the song.  I like it that much.

It makes me think of MY home.  I want to believe it's how my kids will feel whenever I become rich and famous and move on to the mansion that is waiting for me.  But until that day arrives, this is my home...our home. 

I remember the very first time I noticed this house. Tyson had a paper route and this house was one of the homes we delivered to.  The first time I saw it, I loved it.  I remember thinking that it was such a pretty house and I thought through the "if only's".  You know... "if only I had such a pretty house like that for my kids."  "If only I had such a large yard for them to play in."  "If only I had a garage to park my car in." If only...if only...if only.  

Time passed on and I found myself in the market to buy a home.  I looked and looked for a house that wasn't a "cookie cutter" home.  I wanted a home with a yard, in the boundaries of the school that my kids were attending.  Nothing struck me.  Then while out looking I passed this house and saw it was for sale.  Too good to be true.  Long story short, here I am.  In my "if only" home.

I have raised a family in this home. I have memories oozing from the pores of the walls surrounding me. There has been laughter and tears, hope and disappointment, life and death...and more love than any human has a right to.

There isn't a room in this home that I haven't brought to life with a vision.  I have painted, nailed, ripped carpet, refinished floors, refinished cabinets.  My family has helped immensely.  Sometimes with blood, sweat, and swearing, (Goose and Mark)...and at other times quite simply by staying out of the way.  : )

Sometimes I think of moving on and it's too hard to swallow.  The next owners won't till the garden or mow the lawn and think of the animals that are buried beneath.  They won't laugh when they remodel the upstairs bathroom because how will they know about my best friend, Laurie, falling through the floor while removing the oh-my-gosh-it's-so-ugly-wallpaper and ending up with one leg dangling in the garage and me beside her screaming like a crazy woman because I thought her leg was broken...and the kids all yelling "cool" and running to the garage to check out her leg and Mark coming to see what all the ruckus was about and then only shaking his head in dismay while walking away without lifting a hand to help.  

How will they know that the reason there are flowers painted on my back porch is because my dear friend Denise died and her favorite flowers were poppies and that I missed her so badly and the ache was so immense that I painted them as a reminder to always tell the people you love that you love them.

Or the reason I have a back flower bed is because Mark chained the dogs to the trees and how he and I fought about it because I knew they would kill all the grass around them (and they did) because they were ALWAYS running back and forth attempting to reach the kids.

Or that the hole in the stairway is from Ernie making a quick U-Turn on the stairs and slamming his butt into the wall with Shelby laughing hysterically on the phone while telling me the story while I envisioned a little hole only to come home to a gaping cavern in my wall.

It seems (at times) that I get in the way of my own happiness.  I have wasted time wanting more.  When Miranda sings "I got lost in this old world and forgotten who I am".  I think of these times.  I think of the wasted time lost in the "if only's".  I don't want to do that.  I want to embrace the life that I have. I want to remember the very moment when this house became mine.  I am the blood, sweat and tears in the corners of these rooms.  This home has sheltered me through heartache and sorrow, through times when it hurt too much to stand.  Yet in these walls this family has built laughter, strength, courage and hope. 

This is the house that built me.

It's Not What You See

I own a fridge. I know that statement alone isn't anything special. Most people own a fridge. In fact, mine is small. There isn't a cool ice maker, cold water dispenser. It's not an awesome stainless steel designer fridge. In fact, I can guarantee that there aren't many refrigerator's on the market that you can purchase for less.  But you see, it's not the fridge that matters to me...it's what's ON the fridge.

Many years ago, my grandmother, Elizabeth Adamson, gave me a magnet.  I was in High School and it sort of kicked around in the drawers of my dresser for a few years. Somehow, after I was married, that magnet made it to my fridge. I still have it. At the time, (sadly), it didn't hold much meaning for me. My grandmother's passing has upped the value significantly.

Time has passed and through the years, I have purchased a magnet here and there to memorialize a trip or a special occasion. No magnet had any express value. I had a few that were "space fillers" and held no meaning.

A few years ago, a friend of my boys' came and spent the weekend while his grandparents went to California. When Grandma came and picked him up, she brought me in a magnet. She related to me that through the years when she would come to pick Josh up, she would sit in the driveway and from that vantage point was able to see my fridge and the menagerie of magnets I had. She thought she wanted to give me something that I would use and would remind me of how grateful she was for me to be a part of Josh's life.  Little did she know that she would begin a tradition.

My fridge is COVERED in magnets. I can tell you who gave me each one. I have magnets from all over the world.  They come from friends, family, kids' friends, the girl at the Pepsi store, neighbors...you name it. I may not be able to go to the countries, cities, states, etc.  But a part of the experience is given to me in magnetic form. I love to hear the stories of the experience of the trip, but my secret pleasure is the tale behind the search and purchase of the magnet that they (whomever it may be) thought would be best for ME.

I know where each magnet is placed. In fact, the standing joke is to turn them upside down and see how long it will take Mom to notice.  Yeah, about 1 minute....  The proper placement is in my heart. It's a constant reminder that I am important.

And that, my friends, is why I'm known to say... "You're in the family if you make the fridge."

Yep! That's A Deason

My first grandson was born three days ago.  His name is Bill.  Although my father's name is Bill, baby boy Bill is named after Tyson's favorite football team...the Buffalo Bills.  That's what happens when you leave a man in charge of something as important as naming a son.

I remember when I was pregnant with Jaden.  We didn't cheat and find out what we were having.  (Note: I didn't cheat with any of the 5 kids.)  Anyhow, Mark was golfing, came home and informed me that he had a name picked for a girl.  Callie Taylor.  I was quite impressed.  I thought it was super cute.  He proudly announced that it was after two golf brands - Calloway and Taylor Made.  Wow.  Hold that thought...I'm not done with our proud bonding moment...He then informed me that if we had a boy he would be named after his favorite club.  You guessed it - Ping.  Imagine my horror at that statement.  I promptly cut a deal that he could name the girl and I would pick the boys name.  No compromise on that one.  I must admit that I am thrilled that I can tell my child that HE is named after my grandfather and Uncle and that I'm not the parent explaining that "Yes, darling, you're beautiful name is after Dad's golf clubs."  Wow.

It's so fun to see bits of yourself run a bit further down the line.  I still love watching my kids and finding things that they do or say that reminds me of something Mark or I have done or still do.  I love to hear how much my kids look like me or sound like me or yell like me or sing like me.  How they run like Mark or work like Mark or smile like Mark, love the outdoors like Mark.  It's those things that will keep Mark and I in stories for some time to come.

So, we welcome Bill.  We'll teach you to protect those you love.  Be true to who you are.  When you do something good...when you do something bad... It's a Deason thing!