Going Home

When I have had to tell people I'll be out of town for a while and can't commit to a particular event or task, they naturally ask where I'm going. Saying 'Paris' and 'London' receives a strong reaction--especially when they ask who I am going with, and it doesn't include Mike!

My mother-in-law has spent many of her adult years traveling the country and world. You name the place, she has likely been there at least once! After going to Paris last September, she decided she wanted to go once again with her daughter, Kristin (who has traveled quite extensively with Laurie over the years). Having been deemed a decent travel companion myself last spring in Boston, I was invited to go along with them to Paris. Thanks to our Skymiles and a very kind husband who said, "Why wouldn't you take this opportunity to go?" I'm off to Paris.

As for London...

I'm simply "going home" for a few days while "in the neighborhood." It just so happens returning to the place of my childhood sounds fancy, but it really is no different than if I were visiting a small town in Nebraska or a city in Texas.

It's hard to describe my feelings as I anticipate returning to England. It's been 10 1/2 years since I was last there. (I moved in 1988, visited in 1991, 1996, 2000, and 2003.) I unequivocally call Utah home now. It's the life I know filled with the people I love and where I have lived the majority of my life. But where I lived for the majority of my childhood, the first 13 1/2 years of my life will always be a part of me.

Sometimes in groups of peers, I have no idea what childhood cultural things they are talking about. There are few things and places I can replicate or show my children from my own childhood. Few of my peers and certainly my children can relate to the experiences of my youth... street games in alley ways, the tastes and colors of Battenburg cake, not being allowed to wear jewelry or even nail polish to school, going to church with only 2 other young women, or attending school on grounds that once belonged to Henry VIII.

A part of my heart and life will always be in England. I feel blessed to return and walk the streets of my youth, to sit down and visit with dear friends with whom I have the longest friendships. I will feel even more blessed when I return to my family awaiting my return at home.

Home is as much a piece of our hearts as it is a place.

Why Worry? A Lesson Learned AND LIVED

Back in January when Mike sang a duet in church, I learned a valuable lesson...

I spent the whole Sunday morning before his performance nervous and anxious. I worried he'd hit a wrong note (like I would recognize that?), or that he'd trip and fall on the way up to the front. I worried he'd forget the words (they were in front of him), or that he'd open his mouth and nothing would come out. I worried so much (which I think contributed to my nervous laughter), that when it was over, I felt as though I'd missed the entire performance. I drove home from church that day with tears in my eyes wishing I had enjoyed the musical number. I wished that when people told me how well he had done, or how much they liked the performance that I could relate. But I couldn't.

Fortunately our friend had recorded it and I listened to that recording more times than I care to admit.

It is quite coincidental that his performance fell the week before leaving for our week-long cruise. As I woke up the Monday morning, five days before leaving, I tried to rid myself of all of the worry and anxieties about leaving our children for 8 days. I was committed to living the lesson I had learned less than 24 hours earlier from Mike's musical performance. As natural worries surfaced in the coming days, I tried to remind myself to enjoy the moment.

At the forefront of my mind was the determination to not spend the week of my cruise worrying about all the what ifs that had crossed/or would cross my mind. You know those silly things like, What if the ship sinks or the plane crashes? What if the kids are naughtier than they've ever been? What if Mike drowns? What if the ship gets delayed a week. And so on and so on.

(Yes. I am a worrier.)

When I got out of the car at the SLC airport to begin our journey to Florida, our friend Kellen's last words to me were, "Your kids will be fine." (Not that he was going to be in charge of them!?)

I can honestly say, as soon as I stepped onto the ground at the Florida airport, I didn't worry about the children, the ship or anything even once! (Cruises are obviously very good for my mental health.) OK, I do admit one exception, I did worry slightly that Mike had gotten separated from his snorkeling group when he was 20 minutes late meeting me at our assigned destination.)

I lived in the moment on that cruise the entire week! I basked in the beauty around me, embraced the opportunity that was ours, and had faith and optimism that all was well at home. I had no regrets from wasted energy or thoughts, or time spent worrying. I stepped off that ship feeling like I had enjoyed every moment, and the only regrets I had were that it and come to an end, and that I had eaten too much. (Oh and that I left my favorite navy blue Gap t-shirt on the sandy white beaches of the Bahamas.)

I tell you this experience for no other reason than to remind myself of this experience. I need to duplicate getting rid of my worries as I get on a plane on Tuesday afternoon and traipse across the world to Paris and London.

I know, I know! What in the world am I doing gallivanting off to Europe when I have five children and a husband at home? But opportunity knocked and I answered.

(I'm heading to Paris with my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, then I'm going to London alone for a few days to visit dear friends and places I will always love.)

Did I learn my lesson completely from January? Hopefully once I step foot in the Paris airport, I will not give a single worry about the goings on at home. I will try not to think about whether Mike will get Joshua to a birthday party on-time on Friday, or whether Mike will remind the little boys to occasionally brush their teeth, or if they will have a fruit and/or vegetable in their pack lunches, or if he'll remember to help Joshua with his homework each afternoon.

I'm going to let the worries leave my mind as I say goodbye to Mike on Tuesday afternoon. My family and life will still be here when I return on May 8th, so I am going to make the most of everyday I am in Paris and London. Like with my cruise, I want to return knowing I basked in each moment and have no regrets of wasted energy or worries.

I won't even regret eating too much this time... French pastries, baguettes, Brie cheese, fish and chips, Battenburg cake, prawn cocktail crisps, and Flakes and Double Deckers will be consumed in bounty in the coming days.

Bon Voyage!

Splendor

I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.
L.M. Montgomery--Anne of Green Gables

(the view from my front door + a beautiful sunrise=spectacular!)

I have always loved October, perhaps one may argue due in large part to it being my birthday month. Which of course shan't be argued, but really, who doesn't adore October?

The colors in October are a more vibrant color than its side months of September and November. They are no longer in the beginning stages of September where they are gradually changing, nor are they in the ending stages of November when they become faded and dull as winter approaches.

In October, the colors are confident in their autumn splendor. October has always been my favorite month to soak in the beauties around me, but this year it seems to be even more so. I can't tell if it is just me and my personal perspective, or if the intensity of nature is stronger this year.

My garden has been harvested and the dirt tilled for the winter, leaves cover much of the ground, and this weekend will mark the beginning of darker evenings. Although I love all of the seasons in their own splendor and grandeur, there is something about the glorious fall, especially this year, that has captured my senses on so many levels.

I echo dear Anne of Green Gables, "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."
I'm sad to see it end.

Eighteen Years Ago

Today is June 30th. It is a day that for the past 18 years has significance. There are no traditions or celebrations to mark its presence, usually just a phone call to my BFF.

June 30th is the day Melanie's mom died. And the day, we matured (somewhat) from the immature 20 year olds we were. I've spent much of the day reading my journal from that summer. What a difficult summer it was.

I've alluded to the time surrounding that time in our lives a little in this blog post HERE which was also published as an article on KSL HERE. There are other parts of that experience I'm willing to share, but only my parts of the experience. There are lots of other specifics that aren't my story to tell.

Although I wrote daily in my personal journal at that time in my life, I feel that 18 years of hindsight, has given me some valuable perspective on a defining moment in my life.

Perspective #1
At that time in my life, I had a job working for a very good family friend. He was very good to me with my schedule as a busy college student and the social life and school commitments that come with that time of life. I was never not able to take a day off if I wanted to, or leave early, or come in late. My boss(es) were very flexible. Except for this particular July 4th weekend.

July 4th of 1995 fell on a Tuesday, and my boss had decided to close the carpet store on Monday the 3rd too, and enjoy a long holiday. My particular job responsibilities were crucial on a Monday, in order for that week's accounts payable. Although my responsibilities were important to get done, anyone really could have done it for me. So when I planned to go to Lake Powell on vacation with Melanie and her family, it wasn't a big deal. While working the Wednesday before we were to leave on Friday, my boss informed me of the Monday closure and told me he really needed me to work on Saturday. I remember feeling a little bit of  disappointment to not go to Lake Powell, but not as much as I think should have been normal for that time of my life.

My perspective 18 years later? I wonder if my boss Paul has any idea that him asking me to work that Saturday was probably absolute inspiration. I also think that I didn't try to compromise with him or feel disappointment, because it was the right thing to happen. There was a very subtle feeling of contentment with his decision. In more than 3 years of working there, that was the only time I was "denied" time off of work.

Perspective #2
Friday evening, June 30, 1995 was an unusual day for me. Typically I had a fair number of social activities to participate in or things to do. That afternoon and evening I didn't have anything to do. I have 2 distinct memories of that day. One, laying on my bedroom floor writing something and feeling very blah. Two, I remember my aunt and her 2 little children stopping by for a little while. As I stood on the driveway and said goodbye to them, I felt a pit in my stomach. I didn't connect it to anything, but I went to bed that night feeling very melancholy. Some personal writing from that night reflects that.

My perspective 18 years later? My feelings reflected some remote connections to something being wrong, but I didn't know what.

Perspective #3
Saturday morning (July 1st), I worked as planned. While at work, I dialed our home voice mail system to retrieve messages. Why would I have done this? I lived at home at the time, why would I have done that while at work? There was one message for me. It was Melanie's older brother Chris, it said, "Tiff, Mel wants you to call her." My immediate reaction was, "Melanie is in Lake Powell." (This was 1995-Melanie didn't have a cell-phone.) I wondered if Chris was confused and/or being funny, but I didn't do anything to respond. It left me confused for much of the day. Upon arriving home from work, I told my parents about the message. I tried calling once. Nobody answered.

My perspective 18 years later? I was clearly prompted to check the messages that morning, even though I didn't act on responding immediately. Perhaps I wasn't supposed to.

Perspective #4
Later on Saturday afternoon, I was home alone. My parents and two brothers were at a soccer game. I didn't want to go. Instead I stayed home, laid on my bed and read a book. My melancholy feelings continued throughout Saturday. I couldn't shake the message Chris left from my mind, yet when I would think about it I felt confused. Either he was confused, or I was and perhaps it hadn't really been him that left the message. Breaking from reading my book, I went downstairs to the kitchen to fix a bagel. Just as I was about to spread the cream cheese, I glanced in the direction of the telephone hanging above my mother's desk and decided to call Chris.

Somebody answered, "Hello Julians." Immediately I knew something was "different". Nobody ever answered the phone that way. I hastily asked if Melanie was there, and what I heard next and how I suddenly felt will forever be with me, yet it would be very difficult to explain. The person who answered the phone said, "It's for Melanie. Is she where she can reach the phone?" I begin to know immediately something was wrong. Melanie shakily spoke into the phone, "Hello" and I anxiously asked, "Melanie! What is wrong?" All she replied in a shaky voice was, "Come up." I again questioned, "What's wrong?" Her simple plea is heartbreaking for me to remember even 18 years later, "Oh Tiffany, please just come up." I immediately hung up the phone and without a moments thought grabbed my car keys and had my hand on the mud-room door to leave when meanwhile...

At this same time, my family was at Casey's indoor soccer game when one of the boys' mothers said to my mother something about "someone in so and so's ward died in an accident on the way to Lake Powell yesterday." My mother, immediately connecting the family being in the same ward (church congregation) asked sharply, "Who was it?" While the lady was still completing the syllables of Cheryl's name, my mom was off of the bleachers and dialing her cell phone. (She was pretty cutting edge to have one in 1995!) She couldn't get through to me because I was on the other line to Melanie... Instantly she called my brother Matt who was living in our basement at the time with his wife. She told him not to let me leave, she was on her way home.

As I was about to step outside, I heard Matt call my name. I turned to see him standing there with a phone in his hand and ask me where I was going. Suddenly the emotions of the last few minutes caught up with me and I started to tell him about the "weird message on the answering machine earlier..." and before I knew it I was in full-blown tears. He walked over to me and put his arms around me. I KNEW something was wrong, and as he began to talk softly to me, I began to scream and yell. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me, but I knew I didn't want to know. In between my screams he kept saying, "Tiffany, I HAVE to tell you something." Trying to ignore him, I began to scream louder. Finally he blurted out, "Melanie's family has been in an accident." Trying to cover up his voice, my sound level increased. Matt finally blurted out, "Melanie's mother has died."

The next few minutes are too personal to share, but I knew I needed to get to Melanie. By this point, my parents had arrived home. Seeing my hysteria, my mother was understandably doubting my ability to be of any comfort to Melanie. She suggested my dad and brother give me a priesthood blessing, which they did, and then I was driven up to Melanie's house. As we approached her house, I could see a couple of small groups gathered on her driveway talking. I wanted to yell at them all to go away, that nothing had happened, and everything was fine and somebody had just made a big mistake. I remember pushing past somebody standing by the front door, and the first thing I noticed as I walked in the door were three bouquets of flowers in the front room. I silently took note and realized all this was indeed true as I rushed to the back of the house to the family room. As soon as I saw Melanie I knew something had indeed happened. I pushed through one more group of people to get to Melanie's side. Holding Melanie in my arms, I knew I needed to be strong. It was at this moment I thought to myself, we will never laugh again.

My perspective 18 years later? Although I still feel heart-broken to think of Melanie having to keep asking, "Where is Tiffany?" and wonder why I hadn't called her for almost 24 hours, I realize things happened as they should have. I had to have my initial shock and grief be separate and alone from Chris or Melanie hearing me on the other end of a phone.

Perspective #5
A few days before the accident, Melanie had irritated me about something. On June 29th, I wrote her a funny poem and gave it to her before she left for Lake Powell. It has always made me feel good to think that had something happened to her more seriously in that car accident, I had expressed my love and friendship to her through a silly poem. I have a copy of it in my journal.

My perspective 18 years later? Although she is my dearest, dearest friend. I don't tell her I love and appreciate her like I do other friends. I must remember that lesson from 18 years ago.

Perspective #6
Four people were in the car the day of the car accident. Melanie's mother died, and Melanie was thrown from the car and injured. The other two had no injuries. It is hard not to think of the "what if's" had I gone with them. I think in a small way I struggle with survivor's guilt, even though I wasn't even in the car. I have anxiety about travelling, especially car trips. I don't share that fact with very many people and here I am now sharing it very publicly. It is something that is beginning to impair my life more and more, and I probably need to seek out some therapy for it.

My perspective 18 years later? I clearly was not meant to go on that trip to Lake Powell. I believe the Lord intervened, using my boss Paul to spare me from being in the accident that day. I do know God's hand is in our lives, but too often I allow fear to come before faith in my life.

The hours following what I have shared here were difficult. Melanie, having been injured in the car accident could not easily go upstairs to her bedroom. That evening she slept on the couch in the family room, and I "slept" on the floor next to her. I barely slept at all that night, but instead laid there feeling Cheryl all around. Her memory and her love for her family was evident and real. It was heartbreaking. The next morning, I helped Melanie bathe. Melanie had been thrown from the vehicle in the wreck. Her hair was full of sagebrush and other debris that line the highways of southern Utah. Although the hospital had clearly treated her main injury, they had paid no attention to the dirt and grime on her head and face. She was pretty dirty.

One of the blessings I believe firmly came from having received a Priesthood blessing from my dad, was the ability to be strong for Melanie. Helping to bathe her, was one of those times. Another was trying to stay busy and occupied (I swept the kitchen floor) while the bishop (leader of their church congregation) met with the family to discuss funeral plans. Another, was going to ZCMI with my mother to pick out a dress for Melanie to wear to the funeral. During those duties I was strong, yet afterwards I would sob and cry. I believe the Lord blessed me to be strong when I needed to be.

In the articles linked to above, I share the experience of how soon we laughed again after her mom's death. It was just days. And as good as that deep-got-to-find-a-bathroom laugh was, there were a lot of hard days in the weeks and months following. It was certainly a growing experience watching and supporting someone close to me grieve so deeply. It was a sad, sad time.

Although I have missed Cheryl for much longer than I ever knew her, I miss her. I miss her for what Melanie doesn't experience because she is gone. I loved Cheryl, but I miss her now mostly for Melanie.

Cheryl loved Melanie and me as immature, silly, high school and then college students. She rarely told us to be quiet or to settle down. I loved that about her. I recorded this in my personal journal on July 2, 1995

"Cheryl was like another mother to me. I have so many memories of her. So many days and hours spent with her. I remember her excitement of _______ at my party and seeing a video of him. She was almost as ecstatic as me and Melanie! I remember serious talks with her alone about Melanie and _______ and ________, I remember laughing with her and feeling included in her family. There is a pain in not being able to do anything but have to silently watch the family cope. There is a hurt and an emptiness of someone missing, a longing for a true understanding. But there is also a knowledge of life after death, direction and comfort given to us by the gospel. And there is deep within, peace. A peace that I know Cheryl is happy and everything really will be all right."

My perspective 18 years later? Everything really is all right.

Me! A Hero?

Last Friday I got around to filing away my children's school papers from this year. I keep very few of their papers throughout the year, and even still get rid of a few by the first week of summer when I go to file them in their individual boxes. I prefer to keep "personal" type papers; the "all about me" and journaling papers they write. I don't keep every report card and every art project they do.

I don't have everything I ever did in school, and I've never given it a second thought. I'm hoping my children will feel the same.

Back to Friday. As I was organizing the files, Megan brought down a small stack of papers from her bedroom she had brought home on the last day of school. She began going through them to see what to keep and what to discard. I was working on my own piles, when suddenly one of her paper's caught my eye. It was a short essay they had to write on "My Hero." And look who she wrote about?!?
Yours Truly.

It made my day. Especially, as we had had a morning that I'm quite certain would have not caused her to write such an essay about me just then. Of course it went into the "keeper" pile. And even re-reading it now, with all of its junior-highish grammar and handwriting, it makes me smile.

Reading this essay makes me realize that despite the drill-sergeant side of my personality that I feel comes out way too much, I must not be quite so bad after all.

A reminder I NEEDED by the end of the first week of summer.

My Windows are Dirty

While spending time with some dear girlfriends the other night, we had an epiphany of sorts. Though we all joked about it at the time, I have been left thinking about it for a couple more days.

One of my friends launched into a detailed story about her daughter's competition soccer team and the decision making process it took about whether or not to play in a tournament on a Sunday. It was all a fairly common scenario faced by many, especially in Utah within our LDS culture. We all surmised that in the same situation as my friend, we would have made the same decision and chosen to take a stand and not play.

Later on, our conversation steered to different topics. I can't even remember what (or who!) we were talking about, but suddenly we all had a 'light bulb' moment when we realized that "We won't allow our children to play soccer on a Sunday but we'll do 'this or that' instead..."

Get what I'm saying?

There are all sorts of rationalizations and justifications we give to ourselves!

After we all gave ourselves a proverbial pat on the back for deciding our children wouldn't play soccer on the Sabbath, we continued on with all sorts of stories and discussions in a typical women-getting-together-way.

You know the kind of stories.
We shared experiences and frustrations we'd had lately at school, or with church callings, or with family members, or with neighbors. Someone talked about the lady down the street, somebody talked about a naughty child at their kids' school, someone talked about the dysfunctional family across town.

Don't get me wrong. It was not an all-out gossip session. It was four friends, who have very few acquaintances-in-common, that were simply sharing frustrations, learning experiences and wanting advice on some everyday scenarios. Of course it was interspersed with plenty of hilarious and not-so-hilarious happenings within our own lives too.

But each time we kept coming back to the soccer thing... and one of us would say, "There's no way we'd allow our kids to play soccer on a Sunday but..." Though we were laughing at ourselves, I was reminded (more than once) that it isn't that our neighbors necessarily have dirty laundry--it's that our own windows are a little dirty...

Take a two minutes to watch this and see what I'm talking I'm about. I promise it will be well worth your time.

This week I am determined to clean my windows and keep them clean for longer than usual.
I assure you-FOR ME it will be easier said than done.

Loving Them All

Contrary to my BFF, I love all the months of the year, all the seasons, all the weathers, and so on.
This morning as I said goodbye to my kids at the front door, the sky was a clear, bright blue and the sun was shining. And though the temperatures are still not quite warm, without a doubt, it was obvious Spring is in the air. I said aloud to my kids, "Just look at that sky. That is certainly a March 1st kind of sky."

(I see these mountains all day, every day from my kitchen window. I love them.)

This morning I went on a late morning walk by myself, I had to remove my sweatshirt mid-way, it is a pleasant contrast to the layers my friend, Lori and I have had to wear while exercising for the last couple of months.  I continued to enjoy the clear blue sky, this time focusing on the stark white contrast of snowy mountain peaks (remember I'm trying to capture the beauties more).  I felt sheer exhilaration as I anticipated the sunny days of Spring.  I can't wait to see bulbs poking through the dirt, rows of vegetables planted neatly in a row, my Flowering Plum shrubs with their delicate pink blooms, and my Flowering Pear tree with it's stunning white blossoms.

As I began to think, 'Spring is my favorite', I realized that wouldn't be accurate.

I love every month and every season.
I love March.  I love that no matter the temperatures, simply because my calendar is turned to March, I know Spring is almost here.

I love April.  I love the bulbs that have finally bloomed. I love Easter.  I love light in the evenings. I love my anniversary. I love spring showers.

I love May.  I love the anticipation of school ending soon. I love planting a garden. I love planting flowers in my pots.  I love seeing the proof that my perennials survived another dreary winter.

I love June. I love the last day of school.  I love the newness of lazy summer days. I love celebrating the Summer Solstice. I love the snow that is all of a sudden gone from the mountain tops.

I love July. I love Independence Day. I love pioneer heritage celebrations.   I love barbeques.  I love neighbors outside talking on warm evenings.  I love my flower garden in full bloom.

I love August. I love the anticipation of school starting again.  I love knowing lazy summer days will end.   I love buying school supplies.  I love fresh produce from my vegetable garden.

I love September. I love the newness and re-commitment a new school year brings.  I love the cooler temperatures that are welcomed after a hot summer. I love evening walks. I love family bike rides.

I love October. I love my birthday.  I love the fall colors.  I love pumpkins decorating front porches.  I love the end of having to care for a vegetable garden.  I love my Black-Eyed Susans that out-bloom every other flower in the garden.

I love November. I love Thanksgiving. I love the time change that brings dark evenings.  I love the excitement of Christmas that is in the air.  I love the putting away of outside things in anticipation of winter.

I love December. I love the snowstorms when I have nowhere to go. I love the smell of my Christmas tree. I love seeing well-done Christmas lights.  I love turning lights on in the early evening.

I love January. I love feeling cozy at home on hazy, smoggy days.  I love the feeling of newness a new year offers.  That's about all I love about January.

I love February. I love that spring is right around the corner. I love the odd day of mild temperatures.  I love there are only 28 (sometimes 29) days in the month.

And now we are back to March.
I love and appreciate it all.
Of course I favor some more than others.
But you will RARELY hear me complain about the weather, the temperatures (unless it is hotter than 95 degrees), or the seasons.
I love all twelve months and all four seasons.

Unlike my BFF...

Your Children and My Children

Ever have certain thoughts when somebody else’s child is picking their nose or acting inappropriately?...

I’m not exactly the type of person who would ever desire to run a day care. I shy away from most organized ‘play group’ type children activities. And I can’t ever imagine myself a school teacher. Although neighbor children are always present (and welcome) in our home and babysitting for a friend is often in my schedule, I don’t typically surround myself with too many other children besides my own.

Until recently.
In November, I began a new assignment in my church. I have gone from a two year assignment of spending forty minutes every other week teaching the Bible to adults, to now keeping tabs on 60+ children for two hours each week. It is as different as night and day…

I have seen nose picking, I have seen potty dances, I have seen poor behavior, I have seen tears, I have seen a giant booger stuck to the front of a beautiful dress, I have smelt stinky breath, I have touched sticky, dirty hands, etc. etc. etc.  And I have been doing some quiet reflection.

The last time I was in there, I looked back at my now nine year old boy. He was sitting quietly, contently and focused on the speaker. I thought back to a few years ago, when he was just five years old. Somebody that worked closely with him cornered me at a social gathering one evening and began to list every inappropriate action and comment my son had done or said during his time with her. Nothing was of any serious nature, it was just very typical ‘boy stuff.’ However, the (one-sided) conversation left me feeling very discouraged and honestly, a little bit angry.

As mothers, we owe it to each other to love each other’s children. (And oh boy do I know how difficult that is, I mean heavens above, it is hard enough to like my own children all of the time.) I thought back to a lady who worked closely with my son at the same time as ‘the other lady’, who frequently said to me, “I just love him. He has a personality and he truly loves life.”

Isn’t that a nice way to describe a child who may not always be the perfect-sit-still and listen-to-the teacher-type-kid?

Last week, I removed my focus from my son and looked around the room. I saw YOUR children. Some had their hands pestering their neighbors, and some had their hands quietly in their laps, some children were sitting nicely on their chairs, others were acting like a monkey at the zoo. I was looking at my children and I was looking at your children.
And as a mother, I committed to love them all a little more.

(Now somebody, please quickly pass me the hand sanitizer…)

Moving a Grill

A couple of weeks ago, while Mike was in the hospital, I returned home one morning to find my barbeque grill had become the victim of the previous night's windstorm.  It was laying on the grass twenty feet from it's home on the patio.  I was talking on the phone to my friend Brandi, and as I began to lift up the barbeque, propane began spewing from the valve.  In a slight moment of panic, Brandi told me to relax, tighten the valve to stop the spewing and just leave the barbeque where it was for now.  I followed her instructions and then added, "I'll text my friend/neighbor and ask him to put the barbeque back on the patio."

Brandi's response startled me, "Oh GOOD Tiffany.  I see you are finally learning a lesson in h-u-m-i-l-i-t-y.  You're going to let somebody serve you!"

Service is an interesting thing for me.  While we are always drilling into people's minds that it is 'More blessed to give than receive', there is obviously a need to be able to receive too.  And I am slowly, but surely grasping that concept too.

The other day I remembered a lady I used to visit teach more than a decade ago.  (Within the LDS church's women's organization (Relief Society), two women form a partnership and are given 'stewardship' to watch over, care and love for three-four other women within the same church boundaries.)  She was pregnant with her first child (so no other children to care for!), and was placed on bed rest.  She requested from the Relief Society President that in addition to having dinners brought into her, she would like breakfast and lunch brought in AND have someone sit with her so she didn't get bored!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fortunately, our Relief Society president was not a people-pleaser.  She told the pregnant lady that she would have dinners brought in, but the rest was up to whatever her friends/neighbors/family WANTED to do, nothing would be specifically assigned.  The Relief Society President even suggested to me that I not take more than two meals to her.

Seriously-I have NEVER forgotten that lady.  No offense, but who asks for that kind of service?
Obviously not me.

As I remember that pregnant lady, who moved from the neighborhood shortly after giving birth, I am well aware that she was an extreme case of 'neediness'.  But really, there is a possibility that people are too extreme in their 'independence.'   I think I fall somewhere in the middle; I like to think I am independent.  I try to steer clear of being considered a 'project'.  And I am fully aware that there are people with far greater needs than my own.

Yet certainly, for me during the last couple of weeks, the meals, child-care, phone-calls, texts, hugs, etc. have really meant something.

And it isn't the 'Call me if you need something' people it is the:

"Bring your boys over at 10am." or "Here is a meal, put it in your freezer." or "I'm bringing dinner on Tuesday." or "Go home and be with your family, we'll take care of this."  or "Here's dinner, hope you enjoy it." or "Here's a dessert, you deserve it."

I am finally learning the importance of  receiving service, which I am beginning  to believe is every bit as important as giving service.

I am trying to replace my initial reaction that always wants to say, "You don't need to." with "Thank you. You are very kind."

And, I am going to take the advice of my drugged up husband who said one day while in the hospital,

"Who are you to deny them the blessings of service?"

Drugs or not.
Mike was right.

Capturing The Moment

"I'm going to keep this forever and ever." exclaimed Joshua recently while holding a newly found stick along the walking trail.  And of course I knew he wouldn't.  I knew within a few hours the stick would be long gone.  And not just the stick, probably to Joshua, the thought of it too.

The innocence in Joshua's voice and the excitement in his eyes as he passionately exclaimed, "I'm going to keep this forever and ever" was enough to make me tear up. I wanted a still picture of the moment. I wanted a video of the moment. And I wanted an eloquently worded essay about the moment.
But I knew I would have none.
Instead, I just enjoyed the moment and continued on the walk.

Though I have always been an avid journal writer, frequent blogger and camera grabber, I am beginning to realize that there are SO MANY moments that I commit to want to 'keep forever and ever' yet it is next to impossible to do.

I can't capture everything!

(Yes. That is a booger stuck on Joshua's teeth!)

As I mentioned before, last week my computer crashed.  Everything was gone.  Fortunately, I still have everything up until December 2010.   But as for 2010...what photos or writings weren't put on my blog or Power of Moms, I have lost.  (I know, I know-I will now join the technological world and BACK THINGS UP.)  (Thank heavens for my blog!)

(Yes. Drew may still have a bottle when he is in Kindergarten. Oh well.)

And so I go back to Joshua and the stick that he was going to 'keep forever and ever.'  He didn't.  I'm not sure it even made it home from the walk.  But the lesson Joshua taught me has stayed with me.  As much as I  want to remember everything.
I won't.
And that is ok.
I am trying to live in the moment more.
I can't capture EVERYTHING.
Sometimes I just have to enjoy it.

Laughing Again

Today (and yesterday) marks five years from one of the saddest days of my life, and most certainly one of the saddest days of my BFF's life. Though time has certainly healed some pain for my dear friend, I will never forget the heartache and despair Melanie wore on her face for months.

Five years ago, I captured this photo. Two brothers and a dad surrounding a lifeless, perfectly formed little brother and son. I will never forget the haunting phone call I received from Melanie, following a routine ultrasound in which she declared,  "My baby has died."

On that dreary January day, I was taken back to the summer of 1995. When on a sunny, summer day, Melanie's mom passed away in a car accident. In the first day that followed that dreadful news, I felt as though Melanie and I would never laugh again. I truly believed it. Those first few days seemed gloomy and dark. Melanie was injured, her mother was dead and I knew life as we knew it had ended. I could not imagine 'Mel and Tiff' who were so often told to be quiet, calm down and act mature, would ever smile, let alone laugh and be ourselves ever again.

In 1995, about four days after the tragic car accident, I decided to help Melanie go outside and get some fresh air. With a borrowed wheelchair, I began to push Melanie up the slight incline of her street. I can't even remember exactly what happened next, but I do know the wheelchair got stuck, Melanie almost tipped out and there we were on the side of the road laughing. And I mean, really laughing. The tears-coming-out-your-eyes-belly-hurting and I-need-to-find-a-bathroom type laugh. We were laughing. Just days after I had convinced myself we never would again.

Back to that wintery, January day five years ago.
Though I recalled how soon we did indeed laugh again following her mom's death, this time I really doubted it. This time we were adults. We were not immature, single, college students with our real adult lives still ahead of us.  We were wives and we were mothers and Melanie had just been handed a heartbreaking, life-changing set back.  Her baby that shouldn't have been born for three more months, died before he could ever take a breath.

I'd like to say we found something to laugh about just a few days later, like we had ten years previously, but we didn't.  It was a horrible winter.  It seemed for weeks I would sit on Melanie's couch or she would come and sit on mine.  I have no recollections of what we talked about, what we ate or what we did.  It was a long, dark winter.

Five years have now passed.  I've had two babies since then, and she had one, a miracle in its truest form, her Jonah baby who is now three and a half!

Fortunately, Melanie and I proved myself wrong yet again, we have indeed laughed since her baby James' birth and death five years ago.  In fact, I can confidently say, we have laughed plenty. And though we are probably never told to be quiet, calm down and act mature, that is a probably a product of age and circumstance, not life experiences.  Melanie is a fine example of smiling, laughing and enjoying life amidst it's heartbreaks and disappointments.  What a friend to have!

Too Late

Mike has been in the same industry for seventeen plus years.  Mike knows a lot of people.   I have been on business trips, and have attended enough banquets, social events and parties, even a couple of weddings and funerals to have met some of these associates.  Some I have liked more than others.  (People and events!)  A little over ten years ago, I remember sitting on a job-site with Mike and some of his crew eating a Subway sandwich courtesy of a Sprinkler Rep I was meeting for the first time.   The Sprinkler Rep was very friendly and I was flattered that he included not only me, but my two year old toddler as though we were nothing out of the ordinary for a job-site lunch. 

Sometime after that lunch, I had the opportunity to sit at the same table as this Sprinkler Rep and his wife at a Landscape Convention banquet.  I remember his wife talking about learning to do a 'new' kind of math with her grade-school son.  I thoroughly enjoyed my time talking with her about a subject we shared in common: motherhood, as the men around the table spoke of sprinklers and plants.

A few years later, we enjoyed a family dinner one Friday night with this same couple and their son, and another in-industry family.  It was a great night of laughter, good food and fun. 

Fast forward a few years.  With the exception of running into them coincidentally once, while both of our families were visiting Temple Square, our interactions with Russ and his wife lessened as Mike and Russ each moved into some different circles (still within the industry).

Last September we attended an industry BBQ we have attended many times over the years.  We were thrilled to share a table with Russ, Kathy, their son Logan and another family.  We had many conversations that evening, covering an array of topics.  Two things from that evening will forever stand out to me.  First was Kathy's repeated desire to repeat the Friday night dinner of so many years ago. She mentioned more than once the need for Mike and Russ to co-ordinate schedules and get a dinner planned.  Secondly, Kathy was thrilled to have been served an over-sized portion of ice cream.  Insignificant memories? Perhaps...
We said our 'good to see yous' and our goodbyes, and as we walked away, I heard Kathy yell out, "Call us to arrange another dinner."

Life gets busy.
Time quickly passes.

In December, Mike and I received the following card in the mail:

This Christmas card will not be thrown out with some of the others.  It won't earn a place on our magnet board this year with some of our favorite Christmas card photos.  It will be put in a safe place.  A permanent place. A place that can remind me not to let time get away from us.

This Christmas card will forever remind me that some tomorrows will never happen.

Last Monday, three weeks after receiving the card, I sat next to Russ at an 'Ice Cream Gathering' following the Graveside Service for his dear wife, Kathy.

Life got busy.
September to December quickly passed.
Kathy unexpectedly passed away.

We never went to dinner. 

The Gift of Perspective

For some reason, Luke thinks the hall way outside his bedroom door is a closet. Each evening as he undresses, his cowboy belt and buckle are carefully placed by the door. The boots are set nearby. Some days, an additional belt buckle is placed close by, so there “are options” the next morning.

Megan chooses to use her closet, but not in the traditional way. Often times the closet rods are full of empty hangers as shirts, pants, skirts and cardigans cover the closet floor. She doesn’t always favor the closet floor, the bedroom floor is treated equally.

Joshua loves ropes. Usually at any given time a rope can be found anywhere from my kitchen table to a bathroom floor, anywhere but their assigned home on the lonely hooks in the garage.

Ellie loves playing school, and in order to play there is an apparent need for paper, scissors, tape and markers to grace any open firm surface. Bedside tables, office desks, book shelves, entry tables, patio tables are crowned almost daily with her ‘teaching supplies’.

And I have an eighteen month old who wanders in and out of pantries, closets, bedrooms and bathrooms on any given day. Anything from plungers to nail polish, from sippy cups to pocket knives, goldfish crackers to matchbox cars can be found far from their belonged place.

There are days I am exhausted from the gentle reminders to please clean up. Other days I am worn out from cleaning it up. And of course there are those days I am filled with remorse at the unkind tones I used to plead with another to clean it up.

Every couple of weeks, I spend some time with a dear friend, twenty five years my senior. Her six children are now grown and gone from home. During our time together, she regales me with stories of her dear grandchildren and new grandbabies. She speaks with pride of her children’s accomplishments. And there are those tender times when I see heartache and tears as she talks about some of her children making choices contrary to her desires. I see the heartache of a mother whose struggles, frustrations and trials did not end when her children left home.

Recently, while with this friend, another lady joined us. Two of her children are grown and left home, two shortly will. This dear lady shed tears as she spoke of her daughter who has chosen to leave college to move across the country to live with a man she hardly knows. My eyes filled with tears as I imagined this mother’s pain, knowing her daughter is making choices far different than what she ever hoped for her daughter.

I thought about my son who uses the hall as a closet. I thought about my daughter who has a skewed understanding of what a closet is. I thought about my son who leaves ropes in all the wrong places and my daughter who thinks any firm surface can double as a school desk. And I thought about my sweet baby who leaves misplaced objects along his path.

My eyes filled with tears as I looked at these two sweet mothers. Their eyes filled with tears too as we expressed love to each other. We were three mothers who love our children. One of them asked if I had any advice. Me? I told these much more seasoned mothers that I really couldn’t give any advice. My frustrations are misplaced clothing, and messy bedrooms and my heartaches not too much more serious than a result of a child’s tears after a bad day in the lunchroom or an easily correctible wrong choice. My sweet friend looked at me and said, “I know how tired you must be physically and emotionally. Being a mother is challenging, you spend your days cleaning up, and then you do it all again the next day. But what I wouldn’t give now to have those be my only frustrations as a mother.”

My dear sweet mother friends gave me a wonderful gift today.

They gave me perspective.
It was just what I needed.

And though there is a belt lying outside a bedroom door right now, and as I type this, I hear Ellie saying, “My name is Mrs Foster, please sit down.”

Today I am grateful. And though I am not naïve enough to think belts and papers and clothes will never raise my ire again, I will do my best to enjoy today. I will think about my sweet mother friends. I will think about their children. And I will think about mine.
And I will love today.

Having and Being Friends

Remember the time in your life when it really mattered who your friends were?   Clothes, hair, social status, etc. all seemed to matter. Really, honestly, didn't you sometimes pick your friends based on the outside?
Now I don't mean we're all superficial, but in all reality friends are often very similar.  Similar fashion ideas, similar hobbies, similar ages, etc.  Whether you really choose to admit it or not, often times the first, quick judgment we have to make about somebody is based on physical appearance. 

I am so grateful and feel so blessed to have reached the point in my life where so many of those things don't matter.  Among my dearest friends, I have a couple who are 15-20 years older than me, I have a few who are 8-10 years younger.

 (Drew and his first little friend, Miles-one of them is always crying over Miles' toy car)

Sunday night I thought of this more deeply.
You see.  Mike and I have some dear friends we love to hang out with.  From outside appearances they are opposite from us in many ways.
They are ten years younger.
They have one child, we have five.
Their first child and our fifth child are only days apart.  Sometimes their baby, dressed as a first often is, puts my fifth's wardrobe choices and personal hygiene to shame
They have great physically fit bodies.

Their clothes are stylish, fashionable and I'm sure they own no clothing from Walmart.
You'd be hard pressed to find dirty toilets or a cluttery closet in their house.
When we got in their car the other evening, they did not have to clear off debris and food from the seats before we could sit down.

You get the picture...
As we frequently do, we spent a summer evening out visiting with them on their driveway the other night.  The time passed quickly, the sun went down, the mosquitos came out, neighbor's houses went dark, the temple lights up on the hill turned dim, we even watched the moon rise over the mountain.  It was a splendid evening.

I couldn't help but feel blessed that at some point, adults reach a point in life where we realize what really matters in a friendship.  (Sure, age is a legitimate factor in younger years, as really, a 15 year old really wouldn't want to be hanging out with a 25 year old.)  But what  a blessing that we let go of the other 'differences' that seem so important at other times.  I love these friends.  Over time, long talks on the driveways, late night card games, and an occasional meal together have turned into a friendship we value greatly. 

And so on Sunday night, when at 10:00PM they give Mike a steak from their fridge and wheeled their BBQ to the front driveway to curb Mike's 'meat craving' I realized how much I truly do love these 'oh so different from outside appearances' friends.  Because deep down, we're all very similar,
We laugh.
We cry.
We speculate.
We confide.
We listen.
We care.
We value.
We love.
Because really, isn't that what friendship is all about?

Fresh Flowers or Going to Bed

I spent the other evening with a group of 12-15 ladies in a party-type setting. The set-up of the evening isn't what matters, but the insight I came home with was invaluable.

I had an epiphany...

While one of the ladies was presenting her item, she mentioned how much she loved fresh flowers.  She continued to say that she always has fresh flowers in her home.

"Always?"
"Fresh flowers?"
"I wish I always had fresh flo. . ."

And then I stopped my thoughts before they could continue.
And I changed my thought to:
Good for her! That's wonderful that is what she likes.

We as women, so quickly and easily fall into those traps of what she has, what she does, who she is.  Sometimes we forget what I have, what I do, who I am.

Don't think you have to love interior-decorating because another lady has a beautiful living room.  Perhaps that is her interest.
Don't rush out to buy a brand new camera to take fantastic photos because a favorite blogger friend does.  That is probably her hobby. 
Don't beat yourself down because you aren't a great public speaker but the lady up the street is.  That is probably one of her qualities.
Don't feel discouraged because you don't even know which singing part you are singing, but the woman singing next to you has a well trained voice.  That is probably one of her talents. 

You get what I'm trying to say.  It isn't even about our talents, our gifts, our hobbies, or our interests.  It is about who WE ARE. Who are you? Who am I?
Sure, I would love fresh flowers at my house every day.
But guess what I thought of instead as I drove home?

Recently, in a random conversation, I was telling a lady that Mike and I go to bed together at the same time each night.  It is extremely rare that one of us would go to bed without the other.  It's just what we do. Mike and I never made a conscience effort to do that, it just happened.  And guess what the lady said?  "I can't believe you can do that each night. I'm jealous, I would love if my husband and I went to bed at the same time together. Lucky you."

See friends, it's kind of like the fresh flowers...

We each have 'our thing.' Whether it's fresh flowers every day or the same bedtime together each night . . .
Think of what you do have? Not what you don't.

I'm finding that contentment, makes all the difference.