Revolving Perspective

Last week Luke and I spent far too many hours at Primary Children's Medical Center...

After our prompt arrival, we were taken back to a room to began the initial steps for the procedure Luke was about to have. Due to the type of MRI Luke needed (a dye inserted into his wrist), the plan was for Luke to be sedated and so he was fasting. As a result, Luke was hungry and anxious for the procedure to begin and end. An hour and forty minutes after our arrival, a nurse announced to us that there had been an emergency and we would be bumped back. The estimated time of an hour and a half wait was not enthusiastically received.

After a couple of impromptu nurse meetings, it was decided Luke could forgo sedation, thereby making it possible that he could eat during the impending wait. The crackers and juice at the nurse station didn't satisfy Luke's empty stomach, so as the lunch hour approached, Luke and I decided to walk down to the hospital cafeteria.

(I have to interrupt myself to explain the fact that I have always believed that angels walk the halls of Primary Children's Medical Center. Years ago, while in college I had an experience at that hospital that gave me full confidence that those sick, and often dying children within those walls are not alone.)

As Luke and I approached the cafeteria, straight ahead of us was a large revolving door. With a ten year old's enthusiasm, Luke declared, "That is really cool." Well aware of the fact we had plenty of time to kill, I asked Luke, "You want to go over and check it out? I'll wait right here." Luke immediately replied, "Yeah!" with a big grin and even more enthusiasm. And off he went.

I stood watching Luke try to nonchalantly suppress his grin as he walked quickly over to the door and stepped inside. Immediately to my left, something caught my eye. Out of a nearby doorway came a girl in a wheelchair, being pushed (I assume) by her mother. The girl was likely very close to Luke's age, she wore a mask over her nose and mouth and her head was bald of any hair. Her face was void of any smile, and from her body language I knew she was very sick.

Just feet away from her stood my son, mischievously grinning from ear-to-ear as he was attempting to quicken the speed of the revolving door. My eyes immediately filled with tears and my heart suddenly felt heavy as I thought, that little girl should be doing the same thing Luke is. She should be being a carefree child playing in a revolving door, not scrunched up in a wheelchair in the throes of a medical nightmare. In that moment, I thought of all the horrible injustices happening within the walls of that very building, while my son enjoyed the novelty of a revolving door as he excitedly anticipated the hospital cafeteria having "a hamburger and fries."

I was deeply humbled as Luke and I walked into the Rainbow Cafe for Luke's lunch request.

Our five plus hour stay at the hospital the other day, resulted in nothing more than a cast on Luke's left arm the next morning. The result of an unhealed injury when he broke his arm after being bucked from a horse two years ago. Just a few days into it, I have found myself lamenting the cast and the subsequent prevention of keeping Luke's hands as clean as I'd like them.

I've stood at the sink several times over the past few days helping Luke wash his hands of chicken and goat germs, being careful to get them thoroughly clean without wetting the red cast on Luke's arm. I feel slightly irritated at the inconvenience of a cast, and the extra time it takes for Luke to wash his hands, or prepare for a shower. As soon as the inconvenience enters my mind, I think of the young girl in the wheelchair at the hospital. More than that, I think of the wearied face on the mother pushing the wheelchair and I count my blessings.

It's about perspective.

Mickey Mouse Party

Drew's birthday cake was finished by about 1pm on Friday. His party wasn't until 6:30pm. Every time Drew questioned, "Can I eat it?" I told him not yet. He was such a champ to wait so patiently.

As soon as "Happy Birthday" was sung and the candles blown out, Drew turned to me and asked, "Can you get me a fork?" Guess the poor kid didn't quite understand that he had to share the cake with everyone.

My Baby is THREE

Dear Drew,

Today you are 3! THREE YEARS OLD!!
I swear it was just yesterday you were born, but nonetheless here we are three years later!

I think moms sort of get neglected on birthdays and really you should be extra thankful for ME rather than the new five pack of Hot Wheels cars today. But this year, it isn't because of the fact that I gave you life, (which of course we are celebrating today) that you should be thinking I'm a big deal today, but because of your birthday present.

You should know me by now, I think birthdays are a really big deal. I think the fact I gave you life is a big deal too. But really, giving you a present like this-

This is a BIG deal!!

Remember when I talked about making a floor mat HERE?

Yeah well, I must have forgotten that it's been a few years since I attempted a craft project and I won't be attempting one again anytime soon. Especially one that I'm trying to do secretly so no child in the family sees it before the special day. Seriously I about had a nervous breakdown over it. I wish I was kidding, but I'm not.

This morning as all of you kids were oohing and aahing and enthusiastically playing with it, I said to Daddy, "I can't believe I almost had a nervous breakdown over it."

Daddy's reply?
"'Almost' have a nervous breakdown over it? No, you did have one."

There you have it. Craft projects make Mama a little mentally unstable, but there are worse qualities a mother could have, right? So what if Daddy was sorta right in his analysis of my state of mind, at least it got him sitting down at the table with me the other night adding and coloring all sorts of features to what will now hopefully be a true Sowby family treasure.

You're welcome Drew.
(for the playmat and your life)

Love,

Mama

P.S.
Oh! And about your cake. Yeah well, I'm finally admitting defeat once and for all--cake making is not my forte, even though your body language, facial expression and voice squealing, "Mickey Mouse" was the perfect response for a non-perfect cake.

P.P.S.
I'm sure you know I have a habit of spontaneously breaking out into birthday songs frequently throughout a family member's birthday. Of course, I do the same on my birthday too. I love that just like me, you aren't afraid to sing "Happy Birthday" to yourself throughout your special day.

Happy Birthday Dewer!

Long Post of a Short Trip

There is a tiny part of me that feels a little selfish that my glorious almost four days in Southern California was all about me and what I wanted to do. But then again, Mike declared before we even left on the trip that as long as I was happy he would be too. After all, when I began planning the trip six weeks ago, I had said, "It's either a little getaway trip, or a trip to the mental hospital, you choose." Obviously he opted for the little getaway trip to Southern California. What a guy!

I'm going to let the pictures tell the stories for the most part.

I wish I had more pictures of how much I enjoyed my little niece Lucy. I absolutely LOVED spending time with her without my children there. Otherwise she would have been drawn to my children, but instead I was the novelty and she loved me! (I loved her too.)

(Yes we still have "just woke up eyes" but it was our morning walk!)

I ate at one of my all-time favorite restaurants when in California. (Yes, my choice.) I of course had to purchase a slice of their ginormous chocolate cake. (Which of course I shared.)

Of course I absolutely LOVED everything about Chinatown. Especially the fact that Casey, Cindy, Lucy and Mike were so patient with the amount of time I wanted to spend there. No one complained that I went into nearly every store, that I was so excited that even the crosswalk was unique to Chinatown, or that I didn't notice the smell that was drawing everyone else to make a more timely departure than me. Casey didn't even complain when I "treated" him and Mike to some freshly squeezed orange juice, but had to ask Casey for some money because they didn't have change for a $20 bill! I love Chinatown. San Franciso, New York, Pasadena, doesn't matter. I love them all.

I loved the excitement, goings-on, and atmosphere of the Santa Monica beach. I loved watching the performers practicing for the visiting Cirque de Soleil show. I didn't love that Mike wanted to ride a tandem bike together along the boardwalk but then said he thought I'd be too dangerous with the crowds. (Actually I did love that I didn't have to ride the bike, I just didn't love that he doubted my ability to navigate the crowds on the back of a two-wheeler.)

Mike didn't love that a bird pooped on him while ocean watching while I ordered us some french fries and a milkshake. My great-nan always said it was good luck, but Mike didn't buy my theory.

I loved that after usually always being the one with children, I didn't have any with me!

I loved that I totally wiped out Casey and Mike in a Monopoly game.

(Love that the underdog ended up with ALL the properties and a whole wad of cash!)

I loved (and laughed quietly) that the things that make Casey uptight and ornery are the same things that would make me uptight and ornery in a similar situation. It's a horrible Unwin trait that Casey and I inherited from our father!

I loved that Cindy and Lucy can walk or ride a train wherever they need to go.

I loved visiting with some favorite Sowby cousins on Sunday evening.

Even though there were hundreds of more pictures I wish I had, I wanted to just soak in the time there and not feel the need to capture everything on camera. Although I do have some regrets about what I didn't get on camera. I wish I had photos of the walks Mike and I went on. The charming neighborhood homes with flowers in bloom everywhere. I wish I had a photo of Mike and I eating breakfast outside at a charming corner cafe. I wish I had a picture of Mike lost on the streets of Pasadena after he hopped from the car suffering from extreme car sickness. I wish I had a picture of our mexican meal outside on a beautiful balcony, or of Mike and me walking arm in arm.

But at least I've got the memories.

What a trip!

First Class Vacation

After a long morning spent in Terminal 2 of the Salt Lake International Airport last Friday morning, Mike and I finally boarded a plane to Southern California. We were the lucky recipients of the only 2 stand-by seats available.

(Why in the world would we risk flying stand-by you ask, when we were about to embark on a fun, child-free extended weekend? Well, I'll spare you the details. But it had something to do with Mike, his forgotten wallet and ID and 2 very incompetent airline employees.)

Nonetheless, Mike and I were the very last passengers to board the plane. Just as we stepped over the airplane's threshold, the kind Delta employee whispered, "You'll be in first class." I was so desperate to get on the plane at this point that I likely would have considered flying with the cargo. But I graciously smiled and tried not to look too enthusiastic, lest Mike think I had completely forgiven him for spending the first 4 hours of my vacation at the SL airport, rather than in sunny California!

As we stepped onto the plane, Mike kindly let me choose which seat I wanted. (Sitting together was not an option.) In a matter of seconds I had to consider two things--which man looked as though he'd react kindly if I accidentally squeezed his thigh during take-off, and which one would I really want to be standing next to in line if we were to meet our Maker sometime during the flight.

(Have I ever mentioned before that I have severe anxiety when it comes to flying?)

Not wanting to break any first-class etiquette rules, I sat down and acted as though I was a seasoned first-class kind of gal. I politely ignored the man next to me engrossed in his smart phone, although just as the plane began to speed up on the runway, he made conversation with me despite the open book on my lap. The conversation didn't last long, as his bio-chemical degree and 30+ years in the energy profession seemed far above chatting with a mother of five kids, even if she was a fellow FIRST CLASS passenger!

Before we even taxied onto the runway, I was being given drink choices, and as soon as we were safely in flight, I was offered a snack from a basket with all sorts of delicious first-class kind of treats. I had no idea how many was appropriate to take (I really wanted one of each), so I settled by following the lead of a fellow first-classer and only took two.

I loved being treated like I was important. Well I mean, I AM important-I know that, but it sure was nice having someone else think I was too. I could get quite used to a first-class type of life.

Flying first class was quite the contrast to our return flight home. I was squooshed next to a handsome man who kept reaching into my bag and stealing my chocolate and kept reading my book over my shoulder. Not to mention the part he told me to "be quiet" as the turbulence had me launching into a dialogue about how we were mere seconds away from meeting our Maker.

Fortunately the handsome man was correct, turns out today wasn't our day to meet our Maker, but he still could have been a little nicer about my speculations.

I flew to California on Friday in first class style--I returned to Utah on Monday as far away from first-class as I could get on the second to last row of the airplane. My time spent in California was near perfection (more on that tomorrow), my first couple of hours home Monday evening were not.

One child badly sprained a big toe and subsequently has two toes taped together. Add to the situation--it happened to our most dramatic child.

One child, felt an immediate need to paint their toe nails, and knocked over the nail polish bottle on the carpet.

Another child couldn't wait any longer to go pick up the five chickens he'd been waiting to get for six long days and all sorts of chicken paraphernalia kept finding its way onto my kitchen counter.

One child decided to pee in the toy room rather than in the bathroom.

This all occurred in the first hour home.
No lie.

There was no question that my vacation had ended.
And it truly was a vacation--but that will have to be tomorrow's post!

Behavior at Its Worst

Proof our family is uncouth...

Luke taught Drew to pee standing up-only problem is, now Drew thinks the great outdoors is one giant toilet bowl. I'm mortified at the thought of a sibling grabbing my nearby cell phone to document this event, rather than encourage him to stop and come inside to the bathroom. Please note the underwear that were placed on his head for the duration of the relieving process.

(This photo was obviously cropped to preserve the child's dignity. Excuse the poor quality, but believe me, it is better than the alternative!)

 

As soon as an "Amen" was said in Sacrament Meeting (the main meeting of church) on Sunday, Joshua burped rather loudly. I could hear the grandparent couple behind us laughing quietly. I couldn't quite laugh at the time. In fact I still can't.

We have a rule you can burp at home, made solely for my own benefit. Obviously I need to reinforce that rule that we can burp AT HOME.

Two nights ago while reading together from the Book of Mormon, Luke got into some kind of fancy yoga pose in the middle of it. Turned out it wasn't a fancy yoga pose at all. He was simply assuming a position to give better aim and sound effects for his gas passing needs.

One of our children has to give a warning prior to removing their shoes each day. Some choose to clear the area, some others prefer to pick up the shoes and smell them.

One of our family members is known to drink directly from the orange juice container. But in their defense, they are the one who does the dishes the most, so good for them that they are choosing to dirty one less item.

And to think it is oft repeated at our dinner times, "What if you are invited to eat dinner with the Queen one day?" Although I'm happy to report none of the above examples happened at the dinner table, so perhaps there is still hope for us all.

Luke and Three Greats

Last week Luke came home with an assignment to write about a Utah ancestor. It was the same assignment Megan had in 4th grade. Once again, I was sad to admit that I am familiar with very few "stories" of ancestors that have gone before me. I know very little (if anything) of any ancestors on my side of the family. Even though my dad has always been a big family history buff, the names on the papers haven't very often translated into real stories and experiences.

I retrieved my "Family History" file folder that is filled with everything from funeral programs to family reunion write-ups and pulled out a four page typed essay about Luke's great-great-great grandfather, Isaac Sowersby. (Courtesy of a granddaughter of his several decades ago.)

I sat at the kitchen table next to Luke and began reading it to him. Luke, not exactly our academic scholar, was less than enthused to be taking on an essay assignment. He listened with half an ear, until suddenly he began hearing things that perked his interest.

"When they arrived in America, Isaac changed their last name from Sowersby to Sowby"


"Isaac contracted yellow fever and had to ride in a wagon, but his wife and older children walked most of the way from New York City to the Salt Lake Valley."


"Isaac would walk most of the way from Nephi to Salt Lake to work on the tabernacle."


"He walked when necessary and rode when going a distance over 90 miles."

I could tell Luke was already beginning to kind of like this Isaac guy, but as I continued to read. Luke really decided he liked this great-great-great grandfather of his.

"He had a small nine-acre farm. He had cows, pigs and chickens"

Luke was smitten. Immediately, he sat down at the computer to begin his assignment.

With the exception of Luke's first (and only) complaint when he felt he'd been "typing forever" and had only 37 of the required 200 words, Luke worked on his essay faithfully and diligently for four days. It was shocking, yet touching to see Luke's enthusiasm for this assignment that he never had to be reminded to work on.

While the sun shone on a nice, mild spring day last week, Luke sat inside finishing up his paper. He exceeded the required word count, and was proud of his synopsis of Isaac (Sowersby) Sowby's life.

A couple of hours previous to Luke finishing his assignment, I had been working on my Primary Sharing Time and came across the talk from the last LDS General Conference by Elder David A. Bednar, titled "The Hearts of the Children Shall Turn" in which Elder Bednar said,

"I invite the young people of the Church to learn about and experience the Spirit of Elijah. I encourage you to study, to search out your ancestors."

Without meaning to, Luke had done that exact thing counseled to do almost six months ago. As Luke proudly handed me his final copy, we were both touched by the Spirit of Elijah. It seemed that in that moment, standing in the kitchen in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, the veil was thin. With tears in my eyes, and with absolute conviction I told Luke that I knew Isaac was smiling. I knew in that moment, Luke and Isaac were bonded together as a great-great-great-grandfather and great-great-great grandson. 

It was a fleeting, yet eternal moment all wrapped into one. What a joy it will be when one day they meet.

"To forget one's ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without a root."