maybe I'm the only one

Am I the only one that wants to look older? Seriously, I just want to appear my age. I have always looked younger than I am for some reason. I don't know if it's because I'm so short, or because I'm still holding onto [all of] my baby fat, or if I act young and immature, of if maybe I should just get a hair cut. Whatever the reason, I've always been so annoyed that people think I'm younger than I really am.

When I was college it was, "oh, so are you with a high school group visiting the campus?". Or "You're not honestly getting married, are you? Aren't you still in high school?" When I was teaching it was, "you're the teacher? I thought you were a student (in an elementary school)." Now it's, "so, how long you been married? A year or two?" (Try eight).

Everyone always told me, "you'll like to look younger... when you're older." Bah. Hum. Bug. I'm older now. (ok, maybe you still think I'm still a spring chicken, but I honestly am older than I was before). By the time you are 30 you should be happy when someone thinks you're 23, right? Not me.

Am I the only one?

I would be thrilled if someone guessed my age correctly. I've always wanted to stop at one of those "Guess Your Age" booths at the amusement park. I am sure I could win all the stuffed animals there. At least then maybe I'd feel like something good came out of my silly predicament.

When we got married, I thought, oh, we'll just have kids and then people will know we've been married at least that long plus a year or so; then they'll know how old I really am!...  ha ha! That plan failed dramatically.

Now I have a vibrant two-year old. So, what do people automatically assume? That I am 21 or 22. Because that's how old all Mormon girls are when their first child is two.

WRONG! Obviously. On so many levels. Really.

I'm not really sure what I was trying to accomplish by writing this post. Maybe the Great Age Wizard will come give me some wrinkles in my sleep. Or maybe tomorrow I will wake up 100 years old and wish I looked 30. But, then again, when I am 100 years old, I probably will look 30....

I'm a mom

I feel like I have nothing exciting to blog about any more. And if I blog I have to take pictures, too. I have not been taking pictures. I guess I have been too busy to think about what to blog about. If you ask me what I'm busy doing I couldn't tell you. I guess I'm just busy being a mom.

Making bottles, cleaning up spitup, changing nasty diapers. Giving the baby a bath right in the middle of lunch when she's vomited all over herself, for the third time in two days for no apparent reason. Making lunch, whipping up a snack here and there, making dinner. Cleaning up the high chairs 5 times a day. Cleaning up after dinner. Putting kids to bed. Cleaning up more after the kids go to bed. Going to the store. Taking the kids to the doctor. Making sure the house is somewhat tidy. Driving the foster kids to and from visits. Going to the park when it's actually nice outdise. Getting a daily chore done. Putting up the Christmas Tree. Saying "no" way too often. Cutting coupons. Kissing boo-boo's. Breaking up toddler fights. Ignoring tantrums. Sitting on the couch for 30 seconds. And then back up again. I feel like I'm working 100% of the time but have nothing to show for it. In fact, the house is usually messier at the end of the day than at the beginning- even though I've been working at it all day. Yes, I'm home all day, but it's not like I'm relaxing. Maybe a 20-minute show on Netflix while I do the dishes if all the kids are asleep at the same time. But that's it. Well, I guess you could count a few minutes on the toilet. That's my quality "me" time.

So anyway, I do nothing all day. But, no, that's not true. I do plenty all day. I'm a mom.

in which I like BYU, steal a friend's phrase & brag about my skills

I have never been a very confident person. I think all women are that way. We know we're good people. We can list all of our good qualities and we think we're pretty average and that's just dandy. But, then there is a list a mile longer which includes all of our faults. It lists every quality we want to have, and listed next to each quality is the name of a perfect friend who does have that quality. Then we think about it and feel bad again.  If you're a woman then you understand. And, if you're a man you are probably not reading my blog anyway.

But that's not what I am supposed to be blogging about.

Once upon a time (10 years ago-ish) I was a student at BYU. I was actually quite lucky in the matter. BYU was the only school I even applied for, and I only ever wanted to major in Music, which is what I did- and never changed my major. But, on the other hand, that Music Major did just as much harm for my self-esteem as it did good.

When I got into the music program at BYU I was pretty excited because I definitely was not the best voice in the program. Nevertheless, I somehow convinced the right person to let me in. The majority of the vocal faculty didn't like me. They often told me I wasn't good enough and they made me feel like the dirt underneath the dirt. In fact, when I left BYU, one of the faculty members told me I shouldn't be able to even graduate because I was such a bad singer. He said that if he heard me singing in church and then found out I was a BYU vocal grad he would think less of the BYU vocal program. That comment still hurts me to this day. I know I'm not that bad. (Actually, I have gotten much better at singing since college. It's amazing how much more you can excel at something when you're not judged on it). In fact, oodles more people have told me I'm great than have told me I'm bad. I think that nutty professor must have been PMS-ing when he told me I was awful. I never want to see that man again. If I do, I will hide. And then I will shoot him with a bb gun.

But that's not what I'm supposed to be blogging about, either.

I'm supposed to be blogging about the fact that I like BYU. Which I do!!! I loooooove BYU! I definitely have blue blood and I'm very proud of my alma mater. I had a great education!

And now I will praise the Music Department. Though I had a less-than-stellar experience as mentioned above, the BYU music program was awesome for my musicianship. This is where I will brag about myself-------> Because of BYU, I have a really great foundation of music theory and I am quite good at it. Also, I was a really good elementary music teacher for 3 years after college, having learned my skills from BYU. And lastly, I have some mad sightreading skills. I know my do re mi's better than I know my own mother. I hear solfedge (do re mi's) when I listen to songs on the radio. I can look at almost any piece of music and sing it for you because I have such mad skills. Seriously. I don't like to brag, but I really am pretty darn good at it. And now you might think I'm a pompous brat. And that's okay. Because I'm not.

So.... why do I bring this up (and after 4 neverending paragraphs?)? I bring it up because it is something I actually excel in and something that makes me happy. My musical skills help me find solace in a world full of strife and heartache. You see, I joined this incredible community choir called the Mapleton Chorale. And it has been so wonderful. (Props to my husband for letting me leave him for 3 hours every Thursday night!) My soul has really needed a musical outelt, and I am so glad that I have one. This choir is a lot of work. We have to memorize a new piece of music every week which is not an easy task for a busy mom. However, my mad sightreading skills really help me accomplish that goal (see it all coming full-circle?). Also, because of my mad sightreading skills, I get asked to sing different musical parts all the time in choir, because the director knows I can read anything. It makes me feel really happy. It makes me feel like I still have some skills besides changing 11 poopy diapers in one day. It makes me feel like I didn't just throw my expensive education out the window; I am still using my education!

So... maybe there was really no point to this post after all. I just felt like venting about my BYU experience and also felt like saying how happy I am that my BYU experience led me to be able to enjoy my musicality again. Church choir just wasn't cutting it. Now I get to be in a choir with an amazing conductor and we get to sing beautiful, inspiring, faithful music which warms my soul.

So, thanks, BYU.

(oh, and the phrase I stole is the phrase "in which I..." in the title of my post. My lovely girl friend over at Pensievity pretty much owns that phrase, and I should probably be sending her a check for $600 just for borrowing it).

life thoughts

I really wish I could show you all pictures of our little foster kids. Seriously, they are so cute and funny. Especially the baby. It's so easy to fall in love with a baby, and this one is just so darn stinkin' cute. She's got these buggy eyes that are always wide open,and she smiles like nothing I've ever seen. Her head is ginormous. The sounds she makes when she's eating, her weird grunt and her gibberish. She's so sweet and cuddly and always has the funniest look on her face. And her laugh? And the way she kicks when she takes a bath? Oh man, I don't want to give her up.

The boy, he's a cutie, too. Granted, I have found it harder to love him but I think that's because he's older and already has habits that drive me crazy. And he whines all day long. But, when he's happy he is SUCH a cutie. He's got a precious little smile and he's such a sweetheart. Every night when I put him to bed, when I'm hugging him and singing to him, I just want him to feel loved. He always wants hugs, and wants food even more. We surely would keep him, too, if that were an option (which it is not).

I wonder how these two kids got so unlucky. It just makes me so sad that they have the life that they do. To them, I'm sure it's normal, because they're not old enough yet to know that they don't deserve the junk they've been through. Living at our house, then being at their parents' house, then back to our house, and all these random adults. Who's who? Who is really mom? Who is really dad? Why do I stay with these people and then go stay with these other people? Why do I have different rules in this house than I have in the other house?

Well, maybe they're not thinking that hard, but I still feel sorry for them. Why were they given the circumstances they were given? It really bothers me sometimes. Megan was born into poverty, but then given to us to have a more comfortable life. Lucky Megan! Meanwhile, little T & B are born to a mother & father who... without divulging too much information... should not be able to parent them. Yes, little T & B will be going home soon. What's up with that? It's just not fair to them. They should be in a loving home with parents who are capable and will keep them safe. I can only hope that their parents will be better parents than they were before. But I have no control over that. It just kills me that these sweet, innocent, little children of God have no choice in the matter.

Oh, blah. I just wonder sometimes why some of us seem so blessed in life, and others seem so unfortunate. What did I do to be born into a wonderful family, to have the Gospel in my life, to live in the USA, to have a great husband, to have a comfortable home, to be able to go out to dinner every once in a while? And why are others born into poverty? I need to be more grateful for what I have, and I need to pray for those who don't. Usually I just don't think about these things, though. When I think too hard I just get sad.

I especially will be praying for these children and for their parents. I just hope they can all be happy and healthy when they return home.

And then we will move on.

anguish and joy

One year ago I blogged about the events of the previous year. In particular, flying out to Virginia to love on a baby boy which we didn't get to take home with us. But, if you know our story, then you also know that this baby boy was not the first baby we were supposed to take home with us. In fact, he was our fourth. (Read the story here if you desire).

Honestly, these days I don't think about those four children too often. I guess it's just that I don't have time. But, part of me wants to think of these four children. At a moment in time, I strongly felt that each one was ours. Of course, I know that this brokenhearted road led us to Megan, and that without all our heartbreaks we would have never found her. But... I still wonder. They are all turning 2 or have recently turned two. I wonder if they are such a ball of fire as our Megan. I wonder if I would love them as much, if they would end up having such stunning looks, and such a delightful personality as our Megan. I wonder, if we had any of those other children, if they would melt my heart the way Megan does.

Sometimes I think I should just get over it. I mean, it's the past, right? I know that we needed those experiences to help us find Megan, and I know that Megan is meant to be in our family. However, when I think of all the pain we went through to find her, my heart starts beating and the tears start rolling. Maybe I am not crying for those lost children; maybe I am crying because I remember the pain. Oh, the pain was awful. I don't like to think about it. I don't even know why I am bringing this up. Maybe I just feel like crying today.

Anyway, so it's been two years now since were were in Virginia. It was in Virginia that we lost one little boy, but heard the news that we would gain a little girl. And, that little girl was Megan. The Agency was saving Megan for a family that had been through a lot, and we became that family. I am just so grateful that we went through all of that anguish because it led us to Megan. All of that anguish is something I need to remember. In the moments when I am fed up with Megan's antics, I need to remember how special she is. When she is hitting her foster brother or getting into mischief I need to remember how much we wanted her. When she falls on the floor in a fit of rage, screaming because I won't let her color on the wall, I need to take a moment to remember.

I remember waiting in the hospital parking lot for hours, wondering if this was really going to happen. I remember sitting in the back of the car on the way home, looking at my beautiful child, not believing she was mine. I remember her little newborn sounds. I remember lying next to her on the floor, telling her I was her mommy. I remember the instant love that flooded over me when I first held her. I remember going to church and bawling my eyes out in front of the congregation, so thrilled to finally be a parent. I remember writing up my first blog post about Megan. I remember the sleepless nights where I slept on the floor of her room. I remember being so tired, but so happily tired because it meant I was her mother. I remember the newness of it all. I remember the excitement, the generosity of others, the kisses with which I smothered her body. I remember how tiny she was on the changing table.

Now things have changed. Megan will be two in a few weeks and she is full of spunk, personality, and rebellion. The hugs have depleted, the kisses are fewer, but the love has grown tremendously. Life has changed so much in the past two years, and it will continue to change for years to come. I don't know how many children we will foster, and/or how many children we will adopt. I don't know how many years it will take, and I don't know why things are the way they are. Every child we adopt is based on another person's agency. We have no control over anything. All we can do is trust in the Lord, and that's our goal. If we do that, we will be taken care of and we will receive whatever children the Lord has in store for us. The future is daunting. I am just so happy to have Megan as a constant child in my life. I know that sounds strange, but as a foster parent it doesn't seem strange to me at all.

Megan is ours and always will be. And that's the way I like it.

my band-aid

Today I was asked by a friend to share my experiences with inferility. When I look back upon those horrendous times, I feel like a stone. When I write about all the things we did to figure out what was wrong- the surgery, the trials & errors, the different things we tried- it's all kind of like a blur. I don't really have any emotion when I speak of those things.

The emotion comes in when I start to talk about our precious Megan. When I think of everything we went through and all the pain we experienced in the years previous to her coming to our family, I start to choke. I choke because she was worth every heartache, she was worth every penny. Our little slice of heaven. She is worth the world and I would never change anything we have done... because it led us to her.

Megan is my little band-aid. She makes everything better. When I think of what the future holds- that this Foster Care thing is going to be difficult, that we can't just go make another kid like all my friends get to do- I get a lump in my throat. Our desire to have more children is going to be just as hard as it was to have our first child.

But, like I said, Megan is my little band-aid. All she has to do is smile, and mommy feels better. She knows just when to give me a hug or a smooch on the cheek. Her laughter melts my heart and I know that the Lord sent her little soul to us. She is such a pure child, full of spunk and truth and beauty. My little band-aid of love. I am so grateful for my little band-aid; she mends my soul.

Coupon Craziness

For the past 5 years or so I have been telling Jared that "someday I'd like to try doing that couponing thing."

Well, a few months ago Jared took me up on it. I went to a free class and the girl showed us how to easily organize coupons- which, by the way, is not a lot of clipping- and how to find the deals. I am using the website http://www.grocerysmarts.com/. Basically, you use coupons and buy things that are already on sale so that you are paying cents instead of dollars. I now get 5 copies of the Sunday newspapers so I can get 5 times the good deals. I don't care so much about the news as I do about the coupons.

The class was very exciting and I could not believe how easy it all seemed. Well, I finally had enough coupons this week to give this coupon-shopping thing a try. It definitely seems to have paid off, as evidenced below:

I paid about $14 for all of this, which costs at least $85 to your average shopper. (If you can't tell, that's 6 boxes cereal, 24 rolls TP, 5 packs fancy women's razors, one men's fusion Gillette razor, 1 toothbrush, 1 toothpaste, 1 box bandaids, 1 deoderant, 1 sunburn lotion). I could have gotten at least $36 more of free stuff, but the stores were out of them.

Though I got such great deals, it did come with a price. The price? My time. I spent easily 5-6 hours this week figuring out what I was going to buy and where I was going to buy it. (It shouldn't have taken so long but I am a novice). Then I spent at least another 2-2.5 hours traveling to stores, only to find that all the sale items were sold out. It seems that unless you get there at 4:00 a.m. you're not going to get the free stuff- even if you go on the day they get the shipments in.

I learned my lesson and I'm not going to try and get free stuff all the time. It's just not worth it. I'm going to shop when I shop and if they have the free stuff, great. If not, I'll still get great deals. Plus, I'm making sure to only buy things that my family will actually use, so I'm not going to be one of those people who takes home 85 bottles of free mustard. That's just rediculous.

Is all of this worth it? Probably. I'm sure that this will get easier for me. I really DO want to save money for our family and I'm going to try and make it work. I have a one-year subscription for the newspapers so I'm going to give this discount shopping thing a year's try. Then I'll re-evaluate.

And, I promise, this is not going to become a blog where I just tell you all the great deals I got. I merely wanted to say that I am now trying this new thing and it is taking up all my extra time. That is all.

Happy shopping. (or, stressful shopping, if you're me!)
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a lesson learned

So. When I was a kid I thought my mother was pretty. darn. embarrassing.

But, that's what your mother is for, right? You adore her until you're old enough to see that she is old and doesn't know anything about life. Then you grow up and realize she always knew everything and you were dumb for not soaking up her wisdom.

[My mother. Amazing woman. If you know her, you'll know what I'm talking about. Most selfless woman alive. Most generous and thoughtful person you've ever met. Her organizational skills are something to be admired. But, I digress.]

Unfortunately, when I was a kid I didn't see all of my mom's wonderful-ness. I saw other stuff. Like, "oh-my-gosh-she's-so-crazy-I-can't-possibly-be-seen-with-my-mother-while-she's-doing-this" -type stuff.

In particular, I couldn't stand going shopping sometimes. She would put groceries in the cart, and then open something and feed it to the baby before she paid for it!! I thought for sure that the Store Police were going to put her in jail, or at least that the important-and-mighty cashier would scold her about buying things before she uses them. I mean... come on, mom! Were you born on a bus?

(FYI- Mom wasn't born in a bus. She was born in a hospital.)

Well, kudos to my mother. She has taught me a life lesson I never realized until recently. Lesson is this:

Sometimes you just have to open up the Goldfish. Or the raisins. Or even the M&M's. It's just as easy to pay for a half-eaten carton as it is to pay for a full one.

I totally get it now, mom. And guess what? I've seen other moms do it, too. I guess you're not so crazy after all (and neither am I). ________________________________________________

If I Had a Billion Dollars

If I had a billion dollars I would do a few things:

1). Tell my husband that I have a billion dollars. I think he might want to know.

2). Pay off all debt.

3). Buy a big house. Lots of bedrooms.

4). Adopt children. Start with one from every continent. And I'm talking the ones who live in orphanages, or who aren't even lucky enough to live in an orphanage. Then, adopt more.

5). Use the rest of the money to take care of said children.

6). Oh, and I'd have an massage every week, too.

Yep, that's what I'd do... I'd be rich.

boycott

During Girl Scout cookie season I treat my family to a yummy carton of Samoas Dreyer's Ice Cream (Edy's Ice Cream to those of you in the East). In one word: YUM.

A couple years ago I noticed that Dreyer's changed their ice cream sizes. Where you used to receive 2 quarts, they packaged 1.75 quarts for the same price. Then, tonight at the grocery store when I picked up my long-awaited-for ice cream flavor, I noticed that the cylinder was now smaller and only contained 1.5 quarts. And, again, for the same price. Needless to say, I slapped that puppy right back into the store freezer and bought something else.

Now is when I say "WHAT THE HECK" for two different reasons which infuriate me.

#1: Do they think we (their customers) are stupid? Honestly, do they think we won't notice that the ice cream container keeps getting smaller and smaller? Do they think that we don't read the volume printed on the foods we buy? Do they think we will still buy it? I know that I won't. I'm done with Dreyer's. Not only is this offensive to me, but also it makes me lose all respect for the company. Yes, I know we are in a recession, and I know that all companies need to cut costs. But, Dreyer's/Edy's... why must you insult me? I would respect you much more if you just hiked up your prices like everyone else. It makes me upset that, instead of being honest about it, you insist on trying to trick us all. Shame on you, and "WHAT THE HECK!"

#2: I looked the situation up on Wikipedia and apparently these ice cream changes were not so recently made. In fact, the change from 2 quarts down to 1.75 quarts was done back in 2002! Why, then, did I only notice the downsize a couple years ago? (and, no, it's not because I'm stupid... I noticed right away and it aggrivated me). I have to wonder if the ice cream I received in 2008 was really made before 2002???? Does ice cream sit around for 7 years before it makes it to the store shelf? And, then again, I just noticed tonight the change from 1.75 quarts down to 1.5 quarts, and that change happened 2 1/2 years ago! "WHAT THE HECK!"

If you can't tell, I'm a little worked up about this. From now on I'm buying other ice cream.

Dreyer's/Edy's: you no longer have my loyalty. Yes, I do think you have a good product, and I especially like your lower-fat options, but you have betrayed me! I do not like products who betray me. Our relationship is over. Too bad for you, because I like ice cream.

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deep conversation

A couple days ago I took a walk with Megan and bumped into one of my old piano students. She walked with us, and in her 9-year-old concern, we had the following conversation:
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9er: I feel so sad for Megan's real mom

Me: you mean her birthmom?

9er: yeah, her birthmom. I just feel sad cause she had Megan and now you have her. I bet she misses Megan and she's really sad.

Me: Yep, I'm sure she does miss Megan.

9er: Why isn't she with her birthmom?

Megan's birthmom couldn't take care of her. She had no home, no money, no job, and she didn't want to have Megan living in poverty. So, she gave Megan to us because we could take care of her.

Does Megan have brothers or sisters? I bet they miss her too.

Yep, she does. And they probably do.

And I feel so sad for you, too. I feel so sad for you that you didn't grow Megan in your tummy. I bet you're really sad.

But I'm not sad! I'm so happy because I get to still be a mommy!

but still... my mom must be happier than you because she grew us her her own tummy.

well, I am just as happy as your mom. I love Megan just as much as your mommy loves you. Megan grew in my heart instead of my tummy.

but I grew in my mommy's tummy AND in her heart

yep, you're right. you did.

_______________________

So... I always thought that one of the things I'd say to Megan was that she grew in my heart instead of in my tummy. But, according to a 9-yr-old's logic, that just isn't good enough. I guess I'll have to come up with something else.

Courtesy, Please.

I get so frustrated sometimes.

One thing that always aggravates me is when I see a car... or truck... or SUV... or any vehicle... taking up two spaces in the parking lot. In fact, I get so worked up about it that I want to find that person and punch them.

I know it sounds harsh, but it's true. I really have the urge to yell at them and punch them in the face.

I will attempt to take out my frustration on this blog, and maybe it will help me to vent and not have the urge to give people black eyes.
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Dear person-who-takes-up-two-parking-spots-with-one-vehicle,

Who do you think you are? Do you really think that you deserve two parking spaces? Even if your car was expensive, or if your car is big, does that give you the right to take a parking spot away from someone else? If you're going to be so rude, please at least park at the BACK of the lot. If you park in the back you are not a nuisance, and in fact, I would applaud you. You would be taking care of your own needs without bothering someone else.

But, you see, person-who-takes-up-two-parking-spots-with-one-vehicle, it makes me really upset when I see you take up two parking spots at the front of the lot. What about the lady with 5 kids in her van who has to park another 25 spots away and lug her kids all the way to the store? What about the person who has a bum knee but can't get a handicapped sticker? You're just going to be so rude as to prove you are better than them, and that you deserve more because your car is better? That's what you're saying by your actions.

Chances are you owe a smackload of money on that car, while some of us are more frugal and bought a vehicle we could afford. Do you think you are better than me because you're in debt with that gorgeous vehicle? Sure, my car is nothing to brag about, but I would have appreciated that spot, too.

I can't believe what a jerk you are. I am trying to be nice, but I'm growling at everyone in the store because I'm so frustrated by you. I'm looking at everyone because I want to find your nincompoop face and punch it. Lucky for you, you're probably wearing a smile and I'll never detect it's you who's the parking lot fiend. You'll never get the punch in the face you deserve.

And, yes, I realize I'm in the wrong for being so upset about this. I realize I may have some repenting to do. But that doesn't mean you can't have a little courtesy. All I ask is that you park at the back. That's all. Park at the back. Then I won't have to get so worked up all the time.

Okay, that's enough.

Harmony

Bad stuff & Blessings

So.

Jared's brother is getting a liver transplant. Right now. (I think). Random call yesterday that there was a liver for him. Didn't even know he was #1 on the list. Yeah, guess he's gotten that sick. But you'd never know. He's a trooper.

So.

I'm sure he'll be fine, albeit in a lot of pain for a while. But, I think now of the reason he is receiving a liver. Someone must have died so he could have that liver.

(I don't know for sure that someone died, because I didn't ask, but I don't think someone just came to the hospital and said they'd donate part of their liver. So, yeah. I think someone passed away and that's how he got it). The rest of this post is based on this very fact, so if I find out later that nobody died to give him this liver, this post will be... inapplicable.

So, I've been thinking. But only just a little.

Matt needed a new liver. He got a new liver because somebody died.

Jared and I needed Megan once-upon-a-time. We received Megan, only because her birthmom gave her to us, which was really hard for her to do.

We're doing Foster Care now (maybe you didn't know that... I'll blog more about it later). We'll only get foster kids if they've been abused or neglected by their parents.

All these horrible things that turn into blessings. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Horrible things are allowed to happen, but glorious things can happen as a result.

I mean, Megan's birthmom was pregnant anyway, right? So the Lord placed the right spirit in her body and sent her to us (dang it! why am i tearing up?!).

Unfortunately, these foster children are going to be abused no matter what we do, so they'll be sent to our loving home, and eventually we'll adopt some. Again, the Lord's hand.

It was someone's time to die, and luckily that person was an organ donor. Now Matt gets a new liver and hopefully can be a much healthier man.

Though all these bad things happen, I look for the blessings. I am so grateful.

That is all.

I Remember Virginia

September 18th, 2009 was arguably one of the worst days of my life. On this day, exactly one year ago, I remember the events that happened.

I remember taking that last-minte, overnight flight to Virginia that landed us in a hospital in a small town. I remember being eager to meet baby Jack, as we would name him. I remember crying for hours in the hotel room when she changed her mind. I remember the excitement of maybe getting him again, and the pain and ultimate heartache that followed after a week of chasing that little dream.

But, I also remember the good. I remember, while in Virginia, getting a call about a little girl who would be born in 3 weeks. I remember being so tired and worn from the loss of Jack, but the glimmer of hope we had for this baby girl.

So, Virginia, I remember you for bad and for good. I know, without a doubt, that you were part of the Plan from the beginning. You are where we felt a lot of pain, and you were where we first heard of the beginning of our joy.

But also, Virginia, I have no intention of ever seeing you again.

Mommy Soapbox

I've been meaning to blog about this for a while now.

I sometimes feel like being "just a mom" (and I hate that phrase) is not enough. I don't know if it's just the area I live in, or if it's the people I know, or if it's society creeping this thought into my life. Maybe it's a combination of all.

As you may know, I quit my teaching job well before we ever received Megan (but that's another story), in anticipation of being a parent. Then, when we didn't receive a baby right away I started teaching piano lessons. I continued to teach piano lessons until this past May, when Megan was 7 months old. I feel like other people think I should still be teaching. And maybe I feel a little bit of guilt because of it.

My reasons for quitting? Well, the reason I told everyone is that Megan was just getting too hard to manage. She had previously slept through almost all lessons, but, in April, started to change her schedule on me, making it difficult for me to teach. In addition, when she was awake she was a major distraction to my students. All of this is true.

But, the main reason I quit? I wanted to be "just a mom." Sure, I could have paid a babysitter. Sure, I could have arranged to have her Nana watch her every day. Sure, I could have kept teaching (I really liked it) and contributed money to our family. But, I didn't want to do that kind of work. I wanted to be something else. I wanted to give all my time to Megan, and to being a good wife.

Now, here's where the conflict sets in. Since my youth, I have always seen myself being a certain kind of mom. The kind of mom that stays home with her kids, the kind of mom that runs the kiddos to piano lessons and sports and picks them up from after-school activities. I always figured I'd have a bunch of kids together and, naturally, they would need me every moment of every day.

Now that I just have ONE (for now), part of me says, "you're not a full-time mom. Megan sleeps 3-4 hours a day, so you're really only a part-time mom." And then I feel GUILTY. I feel guilty that I'm not still working, and I feel guilty that I'm not contributing money to our home, when, maybe, I could. I feel guilty that I'm not doing-it-all. I feel guilty that I'm not one of those mommies out there who holds a full or part-time job and still manages to not send her kids to day care. I feel guilty when I see all the working moms out there and feel like they look down on me because I don't "do" anything. Not that I care what they think. Or maybe I do.

The thing that began my head spinning about this was actually a church event this summer. My stake puts on this thing called "Women's Retreat," which is this really wonderful experience with motivating speakers and uplifting messages and beautiful music, located in the mountains close by. As I went to these classes, and listened to these speakers, I noticed something. I noticed that, with only two exceptions (one class hosted by two ladies from my ward) that all the speakers were women with careers. These women were phenomenal. They were amazing. They had kids AND a career. They had a loving marriage AND a career. They had time to prepare a 1 1/2-hour class, AND they had a career. As uplifting as the experience was, it made me think that I should.... have a job. If I had a job, then I would have something to offer. And, when people ask me "what I do" I can say I "do" something, and they'll respect me for it.

Since when did being "just a mom" become less-than-best? Our church teaches that women belong in the home, rearing the children, and that the man is to provide for the family (see it here). Our church teaches the beauty of motherhood, and stresses how important it is to nurture our sweet little children. We are reminded again and again of our role in the Gospel and on the earth. We are told of the noble calling of being a mother. We are encouraged to stay home if we can. Why, then, do I feel pressure to DO more? Why do I feel like being a stay-at-home-mother isn't good enough? Why do I feel this way, even within the church, when I know being at home is noble and wonderful and it is what I should be doing?

It's easy to say that it's a sacrifice to be a working mother, for obvious reasons. But, I ask this: isn't it yet a sacrifice not to work, and not to make more money, when you could easily do so? Is it not a sacrifice to give that up? I have my dream job. I dreamt about being a mother since I was young, and now that I am finally living my dream, why do I feel pressure to give up on my dream? Why do I feel like I should have a career?

Elder Dallin H. Oaks, an apostle from our Church, said it best when he gave a talk called Good, Better, Best. I feel that, for me, working would be good, but staying home is best. Ah. I guess I'm attempting to validate myself.

I want being-a-stay-at-home-mom to be good enough. I don't want to work. I want to be home. I want my work to be my home. I want my work to be my kids. I want my work to only be bringing up my children to know their Savior and to raise them to love the Gospel.

Why is that not enough?
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Nine Months

Warning: this is a mushy-gushy, lovey-dovey, sentimental-type of blog post. Read at your own risk.

I don't know why Megan being 9 months old today is such a big deal to me. Nine months- the amount of time I missed out on. Nine months- a crucial time in her existence that I couldn't be a part of. The only thing I regret is that I never got those first 9 months with her; that I didn't grow her myself. Now that she's 9 months old, I feel like I can have some claim on her (is that strange?).

I just love Megan SOOOOOOOOOO much!

Megan is such a darling girl. She's definitely the cutest little girl I've ever seen in my life, and she's the cutest girl you've ever seen, too (don't deny it). Not only is she adorable to look at, but she's such a well-tempered baby. As much work as she is, she's worth every second of whining, of crying, of feeding, of poopy hands, and of messy face. Her smile is contagious and her laugh brings sunshine with it. She does so many funny things I can't begin to list them all.

Sometimes I wonder how different her personality might be had she not been adopted by us. Would she be just as happy being with her birthmom, or with some other family? Would her circumstances have made her a different baby? Would she smile as much, would she laugh as much? Would she be so predictable with her schedule? Would she still play well by herself? Would she still enjoy being social? I have to wonder if any of these things came from us. Nature vs. nurture. I'm sure some things would stay the same, but I'd like to think we've had some influence on important things such as her demeanor and personality. I don't know. Maybe as she grows up, we'll see ourselves in her, as all parents want to see. Right now it is hard to tell.

I really can't believe that 9 months have passed. I look at her newborn pictures and it feels like we've only had her a few days. But, at the same time, it feels like we've had her forever. Where has the time gone? Have I wasted her time? Have I done everything I need to do? Have I nurtured her enough in these 9 months? I know nothing about being a parent, besides what my parents did & what I've seen other people do. I know I forget things all the time, and she'll probably get to kindergarten and her teacher will think, didn't this girl's mother teacher her anything?? I don't know when the right time is to teacher her to read, or to pottytrain her, or teach her colors, or teach her to count.... I'll figure it out as I go along. But I do know that I love her more than any other woman on this earth loves her. Is that enough?

I rambled on forever in this post, and I apologize that I say the same things over and over (and over and over and over and over and over) again. I just love my gorgeous baby girl so much and I want everyone to know. I want her to know. I want to be the best mom, though I know I fall short. But, regardless of what I do or don't do, I'll always be her mom, and I guess that's what counts.

I am prideful

I am so proud of myself.

You see, I have a pair of jeans that, this morning, had 2 nasty holes: one by a pocket and one where the beltloop ripped off.

(I know, they must have been cheap jeans. Or, maybe I just play hard. Yeah, that's it... I play hard...)

Anyway, instead of throwing them away, I sewed them up and saved us 30 bucks!

Maybe that's not a big deal for those of you who have a sewing machine & know how to use it, but for me- someone who has to do it all by hand because I've never taken the time to learn- it's a big deal.

Go me.

(And, no, next time I'm NOT bringing my pants to your house so you can sew them up for me, cuz then you'll see my pants size. I'm a lady... I don't give away that kind of information.)

Adios.

How Lucky We Are

I just finished reading a friend's post, and, as a result, was prompted to write this.

My friend, Ashely, had infertility issues. After much reflection and praying, she & her husband decided to try in vitro. It actually worked and they became pregnant with twins! I coudn't contain my excitement for them! It was such a happy ending.

Then, the unthinkable happened. Ashley just found out that their son has a fatal disease called Trisomy 18. You probably have never heard of it, but most of these babies are stillborn, or die shortly after birth. Only 10% of these children will ever reach their first birthday. I can't imagine the pain my friend is feeling right now. They worked so hard to get these babies, and one is most likely not going to live. In addition, they also have to worry about their twin girl, because if Ashley is forced into early labor because of the boy, it could jeopardize the health of their little girl.

I just.... I am just so thankful. As soon as I read about Ashley's poor son, I wanted to go wake up Megan and love her and hug her and kiss her. We are so lucky! We have had a happy ending. We went through what seemed like h-e-double-hockey-sticks to get her, but she is here and she is perfect. We couldn't have been more blessed. We couldn't be more lucky. I think of the sweet spirit asleep in her bedroom upstairs, and I start to tear up.

So, yes, we are lucky to have Megan. We are so blessed. Not only do we have her- which is a miracle in itself- but she is, as perfectly as anyone can tell, completely healthy. How lucky we are. She is the most beautiful child we've ever seen. How lucky we are. We get to be her parents. How lucky we are.

Truly, how lucky we are.

I Think of Her

I have waited seven Mother's Days for this Mother's Day. For so many years, Mother's Day was a cruel reminder that I could not have children. It was a reminder that I was inferior to all mothers, because I could not be one. It was a reminder that something was wrong with me and that I was a failure. It reminded me that yet another year had passed, and I was not a mother. I would go to church and see all the mothers with their children. I would see all the girls who were pregnant, who had been married only a few months. I would sit through lessons and testimonies on motherhood and how special it is to be a mother, and my heart would be tearing up inside. I was reminded of all the children around the world who are treated unfairly, and of all the mothers who do not take sufficient care of their children. I was reminded how unfair it all was. I would say I didn't care, but, of course, I did.

At church, on previous Mother's Days, all the "mothers" would get a flower, or some kind of gift or treat. I always took the gift because it was expected of me. I took the gift because if I really said, "I am not a mother. I don't deserve one because I'm useless," people would be taken aback by my sick sense of self. If I really let my feelings show, people would try and make me feel better. I didn't want to feel better. I only wanted to boil in my own pot of self-pity. And boil I did.

Obviously, this Mother's Day is a new, bright Mother's Day. It will be one of joy, and one I have looked forward to for many years. As happy as I am, I do know that there is another woman out there who loves Megan, too.

Megan's birthmother surely will feel some pain on Mother's Day. I am not in contact with her and do not know how her feelings stand about the adoption. However, I have to assume that she still thinks about Megan every day, because I'm sure I would were I in her situation. Birthmom carried Megan in her womb; I carry Megan in my arms. Birthmom took care of Megan's tiny, helpless body; I take care of her growing body. Birthmom fed her with adorable genes; I feed her with love and affection. I cannot forget what Birthmom did for us. There are approximately 1.5 million abortions every year in the United States (yes, it makes me sick, too), and Birthmom was a strong woman to carry Megan to full-term. I am lucky that she is one of the (unfortunately, too few) people who believe in the sanctity of life. I will never forget her. I will be grateful to her forever, and I don't care what anyone has to say about that.

I wonder what Birthmom will do come Sunday. Will she look at the photo books of Megan we have sent her? Will she read the letters we have sent her every month? Will she have any regrets? Will she cry? Will she rejoice? Or, will she try not to think about it? As nerve-wracking as it would be, I sometimes wish I could speak to her. We never got to meet her, and I would like her to know how much I appreciate what she did for Megan, and for us. I can only say so much in a letter, and with every letter, the things I say must sound redundant. I just want her to know that I think of her, especially at this tender time. I want her to know that I care. I want her to know, above all, that the child she carried is happy and healthy and well taken-care of. I want her to know that I hope she finds joy. I hope things go right for her in her life, and that she will feel blessed. I want her to know she made the right choice for Megan. So here's to you, Catherine, and all other birthmothers out there. Know we love you.

Dear Catherine, I think of you this Mother's Day.

4.9

I was watching the 9:00 news tonight and apparently there was a 4.9-magnitude earthquake in northern (waaaaaaaay northern) Utah. On the news they were saying that people from Springville (where I live) claim to have felt it. Where was I? I suppose I was too busy making dinner to notice.

Either way, this has given me an idea of what to write about. I've had several friends do posts with random things about themselves. So, here I go: random things about Yours Truly, with earthquakes at the top of the list.

1.) I've always been afraid of 2 things since I was a kid: earthquakes & fires. My reasoning? You can't really run away from either one.

2.) My nails (finger & toe) are really strong.

3.) Though I teach piano lessons, I'm not as great at playing as you might think. I still have to practice a lot on hard songs. And, I have a hard time concentrating for more than 20 minutes at a time. I do, however, excel in music theory and I know a handful of ways to teach music to a child. I think that's something that makes me a good teacher.

4.) I like to relax by watching TV. But, I probably shouldn't have admitted that.

5.) I love Papa John's Pizza. I get it every year on my birthday.

6.) I looooooooooooove to sing. I sing all day long, with my best voice. Megan loves it. Or, at least, she pretends to love it.

7.) I always have to blow my nose before I go to bed. If I have even the tiniest booger in my nostril, I can't fall asleep.

8.) I often have dreams that I'm in a play and forget my lines. It's always a High School play.

9.) I hate bugs with a passion. If our house had a bug problem, I would convince my husband we need to sell the house.

10.) I look into people's houses as I drive by, to see if I can tell what their floorplan is. I'm a total floorplan junkie. I wanted to be an architect until I realized how many math classes I would need to take.

11.) Funny enough, if I went back to school for a graduate degree, I'd probably do it in Math. Then, I'd teach middle school or high school math. Being a music teacher is too much work for the money.

12.) In High School, I had the top of my right ear pierced. Man, I was such a rebel.

13.) Jared was the 2nd boy I ever kissed. And, he'll be the last.

14.) If I don't write something down, I almost always forget to do it (or buy it, or clean it, etc.).

15.) I do a killer Witch voice.

16.) I really, really hate cleaning the bathrooms. I should do it more often. Waaay more often, actually.

17.) I am good at word games (like Scattergories, Boggle, & Balderdash). I also love playing strategy games.

18.) I really miss sleeping in on the weekends.

19.) I wish someone from one of those house shows on TV would come decorate my house for me. I watch the shows to get ideas, but it gets me nowhere.

20.) My favorite number is 18,522. When I was younger I wanted to be different, and I decided that having a strange "favorite number" might do the trick. I'm not kidding, though. If you at any time ask me for my favorite number, I will say 18,522.
Oh, and 21.) I enjoy taking unflattering pictures of myself and sharing them with the public.