New Beginnings

Life gets tough sometimes. Adversity is part of our experience.
Sometimes good things happen.

I have lupus. It's been in remission so long the doctor suggested I try going outside a bit again. Now this doesn't mean I get to go crazy. I go out in the early morning and come in before it even has a chance to get hot.

I dig around in the dirt, pull out weeds and water stuff. My yard is starting to look ok again just from the little bit of time I put in every morning. I'm starting to feel okay again too, just from that little bit of time that I can commune with nature. It's remarkable. People weren't meant to stay inside all the time.

There have been fruits of my labors. Literally. I've had strawberries, sweet cherries, raspberries, sour cherries and now peaches. Nothing tastes like sun ripened fruit straight out of my own yard, weeded, watered and cared for by me.

When tough things happen, I like to go outside and work in my yard. I can't express how grateful I am to have this outlet opened back up to me. Being sick is no fun, but having an important coping mechanism removed at the same time makes it almost unbearable. For me doing nothing but sitting in a chair outside is paradise and one I hope will never be taken away again.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I do like others. I like Christmas, but I have five kids and Christmas is a lot of work. Thanksgiving is different.

I put out a couple fall things, gather family - who are my favorite people to hang out with - I'm really blessed that way. And I cook a turkey. Is there anything easier to cook than turkey? Really? You wash it off, stick some onions and celery in it, put it in a roaster and... that's it. When the meat thermometer says it's done - it's done.

Everyone else brings the sides, dessert etc, etc. I'm just making turkey, potatoes, gravy and a couple baked dishes. What could be easier?

Then I get credit for going through a bunch of work I didn't do.
Honestly, washing the dishes is more work than cooking the meal.

Aside from the ease of it and being with family, I love spending a holiday being grateful for stuff. It puts life into perspective and gives a moment of calm before the storm (Christmas).

Here is a short list of things I'm grateful for. (Oh boy! Lists!)  

1. A loving Father in Heaven who helps me every day.
  
2. A husband I adore.
   
3. Five of the best children ever.
   
4. Parents and Grandparents who keep me grounded and help me know who I am.
   
5. Siblings - I have nine. There's always someone to talk to.
   
6. Friends who don't judge.
   
7. Nieghbors - I live in a really great neighborhood. Maybe I'll write a post on that someday.
   
8. Pets - Bunnies and fish. It's wonderful to me how much joy a pet can bring into each day.


9. Our beautiful world. I love nature. I love the outdoors. I love feeling the wind and digging in soil and watching things grow. I can't get enough of it.
10.  Creature comforts. The argument can be made that I live in the lap of luxury. I have a roof over my head, clothes to wear and food to eat. There are many, many people who cannot say that.

What is on your thankful list?

Happy Thanksgiving every one!

Beautiful Utah

People wonder sometimes what it's like to live in Utah. If you ask me, it's a beautiful place to live. (But don't ask my siblings or parents, they'll tell you different.)

I went up American Fork Canyon last month and I thought it'd be fun to post some pictures, a little sampler of what's up there.

We went on a couple hikes.

And had a picnic.

There were wildflowers, trees, streams and rocks. Lots and lots of rocks.

I can't think of a better way to spend a day.

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When Life Gets Rough, Do Chores

There is a point to mundane tasks.

My children act like anything, including dying an excruciatingly horrific death is preferable to everyday boring tasks.

But when life gets really rotten, there's nothing like a stupid chore I've done a million times to keep me going. There is comfort in doing these things.

I know in fiction it's popular to illustrate the trauma people are going through by having them vomit or go into shock or a catatonic state or some metaphoric flight of fancy in an effort to show the depth of their pain.

I'm not saying those are not legitimate reactions to traumatic events, but I am saying I'm feeling under-represented. What about those of us who keep going no matter what because we don't know how to not go on?

What about the Samwise Gamgees in life that move forward one step at a time by doing simple everyday tasks? In doing the small, the insurmountable becomes possible.

We're fully aware that these little jobs won't save the world. We know they aren't going to fix anything, but they are baby steps toward action, toward doing something that will make a difference.

They are positive action rather than negative no matter how small they are.

In the midst of crisis and trauma and pain we must continue to move forward however small that movement might be. The mountain of hurt must be climbed and gotten over but the beginning steps are small and almost insignificant.

We are not able to laugh yet. We are in deeper depths of sorrow than we are able to express, but we move forward doing tiny things because that's all we can manage, but we do something.

We do what is neccesary. We are the Elinor Dashwoods. We are the Melanie Hamiltons. We are the Matthew Cuthberts.

Staring at walls and withdrawing within ourselves and ignoring a world that keeps turning is not our option. It's not what we're made of.

We are just as real and just as hurt as those who can't find it in themselves to go on. But whether it is a blessing or a curse, go on we must.

Phillip or Phillipina?

My son and his friends found an abandoned duckling down a sewer drain.

What is it about kids who think mom can fix everything including motherless ducklings?

So it's eight o'clock at night, I've already called animal control and gotten the after hours dispatcher, the police station called to let me know the best chance for the little thing was to keep him at least overnight.

We looked online to see how to take care of him and learned returning it to a water front meant almost certain death. We put him in a bucket with some hay underfoot and a water crock with clean rocks in the bottom so he wouldn't drown and made a cornmeal mush for food and set up a heat lamp that was purchased years ago for a science project.

And then I prayed. A lot.  A long sleepless night ensued.

Next day was full of doctor appointments. Because going to doctors all the time is the unpleasant reality of our lives. In between, I've got to figure out what to do with this little duck.

He's not looking so good. He's so lonely I don't know if he's going to make it.  He keeps languishing and wants someone's hand by him constantly.

I set my son the task of calling all over to see if there was an organization somewhere who takes in baby ducks while I'm dealing with doctors.

Animal Control did not, everywhere he called did not. Is this little creature going to die on my watch?

My children are so sure we'll find a solution. I love that about them.

We own bunnies. When they have problems we take them to an exotic vet. As I look at this little fluffy one who is cuddling up to my son's hand it occurs to me to call our vet.

They take ducks. They have a duck rehabilitater! Suddenly I love my vet! They are the most wonderful people on the planet. I can't believe they haven't achieved sainthood.

We pack him up and my son comforts him on the ride there. If he moves his hand away the little guy peeps at him to come back.

We get to the vet and they welcome him. They tell us it's a good thing he is there because they have another little duck who needs a friend. I love the vet even more. They have a friend for our little guy.

They share an incubator cuddled together.

With this ordeal behind us my kids finally decide he needs a name. We won't have him anymore, but I realize by naming him, they know he will live. We can all feel that. So they name him Phillip. After a moment's thought I say, 'Or Phillipina.'

What Kind of Mom are You?

Mother's day is often a day of guilt for moms. It ought not to be that way.

I saw a video online wherein a woman was explaining there are all different kinds of moms and whatever kind of mom you are, it is just right for your kids, that God gave you the skills that are unique for your kids. I kind of smirked and rolled my eyes, but then, I thought, maybe there's something in this.

I asked myself, what kind of mom am I? And I answered, I'm 'suck it up and do it anyway' mom. It's true and I don't apologize for it. It's what my kids need. I'm also 'silly' mom, and they need that too.
I could go on and on about all the stuff I've done wrong. I could tell you all about the horrific mistakes I've made and what makes me believe my children will need therapy the rest of their lives, but I choose not to focus on that this Mother's Day.

As I've mentioned before, I started writing books and blogging because I get sick a lot and get bored and need something to occupy my down time. Unfortunately, before I fully understood the nature of my health and all it's implications, I had produced five children. Yep. Five.

Long story short, each of my kids also has multiple health problems. I have a running health history for each one and each year something else gets added to the list. Who knows what condition they'll be in by the time they reach 50? Budgeting energy as a precious resource is a common topic of discussion in this house.

Yes, in some ways I wonder why God gave me five children before I knew what my genes would do to them. But then, he also equipped me with some unique skills.

The biggest life skills I have to offer them are twofold. The first is to have faith. Believe that life is beautiful and live life fully, regardless of circumstances.

Showing them chronic illness isn't the end of the world is a big goal of mine. Multiple chronic illnesses are not the end of the world. There's plenty to do and experience regardless of our limitations, and a way around those limitations, and divine help to make us better than we are.
Perhaps I should feel sorry for them, but I do not. There is no room for pity when my child may be dying and needs life saving surgery - even if that surgery is going to have an unpleasant recovery.
There is no room for pity when my child is turning blue and can't breathe. There is no room for pity when we are rushing for the ER. There is no room for pity when my child sees life so bleakly they don't know if they have the courage to move forward.

My children do not need my pity. I would be doing them a great disservice to offer it to them. They need faith, they need hope, they need action and care. And then, when the crisis is over, they need a sense of humor.

That's the second life gift I have to offer. The gift of silliness is a great one. Something that can make a smile appear and laugh burble up from the soul -- how important that is!

Believing that if their life ends, they will still be loved and cared for on the other side is important.
But it also takes great courage to live, to go on facing a life of pain, discomfort and continuous doctors and procedures and surgeries. It takes courage and a sense of humor to really live, despite that.

The good Lord gave me illness, but he also gave me the skills to cope. I am all the better and the stronger for it. And someday, my children will see themselves that way too. This is my hope.

Baby It's Cold Outside

I'm freezing.

Freezing.

As in, the frozen tundra of the arctic has nothing on me.

I'm wearing so many clothes I can't move.

I'm piled under so many blankets I can hardly breathe.

And I'm still freezing.

And yet....

I'm alive. I didn't sign up for a life of comfort. I'm here for the full experience. The good stuff. The bad stuff. And everything in between. I want it all. Before the 'here' of this life maybe I envied the ability to feel cold, to feel anything. Perhaps I should embrace the diversity of hot, warm, cold, comfort and discomfort.

I take a moment and notice things. The prickles of cold on the backs of my hands. The crisp air that moves in and out of my lungs. The goose bumps on my arms. It's sharp. It's harsh. It's life. Would I fully appreciate being toasty without it? Would I have run around in a warm, balmy climate and never realized the beauty of the thermal air that engulfed me? 

This is cold. I breathe it. I think of it. I embrace it. I fully experience it.

Okay. Enough of that. Let's move to Ecuador and never leave. 

Give Thanks

Yeah, I know. A lot of people  object  to  Thanksgiving.

There's  controversy  over the origins. Some people  view it as an inappropriate  celebration  of white dominance  over indigenous  peoples.

Some people  see it as a day of disgusting  gluttony.

And others see it as a day of hideous  carnage  of animal flesh.

While some see it as a waste of time.

You also get those for whom it is just plain painful due to loss or lack of loved ones. Or from abusive or prickly family members .

I see it as a day to take a pause and be grateful. Life is hard, but it's  also beautiful. In the midst of sorrow  there is also joy. It must be actively  sought-after  or it will escape our notice.

What could be better  than a day set aside to do this?

Regardless  of its  origins. Regardless  of how its  celebrated and whether  we approve  or not, can we set that aside for a moment and take some time to pause and reflect  on what's  good  in life?

We live in a world of controversy. Must we also argue about this? Can we just listen  to  the  name of the holiday and base it on that?

Thanksgiving. Give thanks and be quiet, please. You'll  enjoy the holiday  much better  if you do.

Joy in the Morning

It's the little things that make life so nice. The soft fur on my bunnies as I pet them, the taste of ripe fruit, the smell of lilacs, the color of my peace roses when they are in bloom, a really comfortable place to sit, a good book to read, my kids, time with my husband. Little details throughout the day add up to happiness. A huge house, a large bank account, professional acclaim, none of those things can bring what nature and companionship can.

This morning some quail with their tiny offspring was a source of joy. I ran from window to window to get a good look at them without disturbing them. There are only six this year. But what a miracle those six really are! They'll eat my strawberries, cherries, raspberries and peaches until the babies are full sized and the adults are rippling with fat for the winter but it seems a small price to pay to be able to watch them run in and out of our bushes and for the occasional treat of seeing these teeny little ones scurrying around with their parents. How grateful I am for the little bits of nature that come into my yard and gladden my life!

Ahhh... Those Enchanting Summer Mornings... Almost...

There's something about waking up on a summer morning to the sound of the birds singing outside my window and I hear the faintest swoosh of wind that promises a green, lush day and I feel a smile spreading across my face before I open my eyes in a state of sleepy utopia.

This morning I was startled awake to the bong of a bird that flew into my window because it thought the reflection of the sky it saw in the glass was real.

Well, you know me; I can't let an interesting analogy like that go untouched. I was reflecting on it this morning and started to wonder if this will be a singing bird day or a bird bonging day. Unfortunately, I foresee a potential train wreck in my near future regardless of my efforts to avert it and despite this keep humming and singing songs in my head - am I trying to induce some sort of delusional attitude here or am I simply being optimistic? 

And what's wrong with being optimistic anyway? If I'm hopeful about my life one of two things will happen. 1. My expectations will be fulfilled and my hope was for good cause. OR 2. My expectations will not be filled, but I felt positive and hopeful before they went downhill and I prevented a lot of needless worrying and grief - up until the last minute anyway. Either way I see it hope is a win-win situation.

Besides, I've noticed from personal observation there are more birds singing in the mornings than there are birds determined to maim themselves on my windows.