Thanks for friends

I was lucky enough to spend many hours today with cherished friends. I’m very thankful for friends! I find them in so many expected and unexpected places. ❤️ And am thankful to have collected friends from every era, stage, place I have lived.

Missing our friends

This is from a few weeks ago but it was one of my favorite quarantine surprises. The Easter bunny herself came to our house! She brought a little masked helper and also brought a few packages of Peeps. I bet you didn’t know the Easter bunny and I were so tight.

We really miss our friends. How fun to see them, even just for a minute through the window.

Thanks for friends

About a month ago I got to spend the afternoon at the Philly temple with my good friend Ie Li who lives in Philly. Matt and I have lived in the same place for 13 years now, but we seem to have amassed so many lovely and wonderful friends who live all over, probably in part because people move in and out of our area so often. I’m so thankful for good friends from every stage of my life and for the ability to keep in touch often and to catch up in person whenever possible.

Thanks for Primary

I was released today after 3 years of being the Primary president. They were 3 of my favorite years ever. I’m thankful for my wonderful counselors, Katie, Janne, and Natalie; for all the many wonderful teachers and leaders I worked with; and most of all for the kids who were completely unselfish with their love and completely unafraid with their questions. Peace out, Primary—until next time. (Hope it won’t be too long of a break! I love Primary!)

If I were a man...I’d be The Man

I’ve been listening to Taylor Swift’s new album nonstop (in between spins of Vampire Weekend’s new album) and I’m not mad about it.

After Jenn died I got super into Reputation because Jenn loved her some T-Swift. (Also got pretty into all Lady Gaga classics, for the same reason.) The funny thing is that I really didn’t listen to her music at all before that, and I kinda went from zero to 60. I know I’ve written about this before, but it just felt particularly apropos today as my girls and I danced our hearts out to “I Think He Knows,” “Paper Rings,” “Cornelia Street.” Can’t stop, won’t stop. 

“Death by a Thousand Cuts” in particular is on repeat because it’s sad and I’ve felt a little sad this week, but also because it, like ALL other songs on the album (except “The Archer” amirite? Snooze-fest) is great for lip-sync battles with one’s children. (Although perhaps “I get drunk but it’s not enough” is ill-advised...) Even the cheesiest songs are good for this. “You know I love a London boy, I enjoy walking Camden market in the afternoon...”

All right, that’s all I had to say. Go about your business. But for heaven’s sake, put on Lover while you do. (Or Father of the Bride, because that one is catchy as heck too.)

P.S. Re: my title. Taylor sings "If I was a man." The grammar police can't condone this thoughtless rejection of the subjunctive mood. If I WERE A MAN, Taylor.

Thanks for the memories.

“Hold on to the memories, / they will hold on to you. / and I will hold on to you.”

One night in early January last year I was at Disneyland with my big kids and Matt, when Katie texted me. After a few texts back and forth I told Matt I thought Katie might have very bad news about Jenn. He took the kids, and as I lagged behind a bit, she called. She told me the news that Jenn was gone. We talked for a few minutes. I caught up with my family at the line to the Indiana Jones ride (a ride which, I’ll note and I’m just realizing this now, I have ridden with Jenn. Long long time ago). It was late, and the parade was about to start, so the crowds weren’t bad. We made our way easily through the dim, winding, lamp-flickering halls of that line as I cried and my kids looked up at me with big eyes.

When we got to my parents’ house late that night, I told my mom, and I texted Hannah. I tried to get hold of my friend Alex, who was living (practically) off the grid somewhere in Africa, as one does. I packed and cried.

We left on our drive home the next day. I finally reached Alex’s mom, Louise, who helped me reach Alex. I spent the next few days as we made our way across the country, pretty much only texting about and talking about Jenn, and when I wasn’t texting about or talking about Jenn, I was thinking about her.

I wonder if it would have hit me so hard if I hadn’t been in Monrovia when it happened, and if I hadn’t had plans to meet Jenn the day before she died (plans she had canceled at the last minute), and if she hadn’t texted me minutes before she died, and if I hadn’t told a few people I was worried about her, and if I hadn’t already been worried about her for six months prior, and I’d I hadn’t had plans to meet her in Vegas a few weeks later.

I’ll never know the answer to that, and it doesn’t matter anyway because it’s not about me. And this post is about gratitude. I am thankful for my ridiculous memory. The memory of the night when I found out about Jenn’s death, when all the pieces came together in one horrifying revelation, sticks with me in full color, and I can still hear Katie’s voice as she told me the news. I guess maybe I’d rather not remember that. But more importantly, the many memories I have of Jenn as my living friend stick with me. Her voice and her laugh and her hair and her clothes and her gestures and the way she walked. This may sound weird but until that day in January when I knew we had lost Jenn, I truly did not understand how much I cared about the people in my life. I never knew how much I had memorized them. I have a big family and a decent handful of close friends. I have memorized them all. I don’t want to lose them and I’m sorry that I’ve lost Jenn. But I have learned that my memory for those details is extra crazy sharp for some reason, and I’m thankful for that. 

As I flew home from my Grandma Helen’s funeral, several months before Jenn’s death, I listened to Grandma’s funeral playlist (yep, there was one) and was able to cry in a way that I hadn’t at the funeral. The tinny vocals and ukulele of “Show Me the Way to Go Home” brought her back to me for a few minutes, and I let myself fully feel my love and sorrow, and I could see her face when I closed my eyes. Since January, I’ve listened to Taylor Swift and Lady Gaga probably more than any grown woman could (or maybe should!) simply because Jenn loved them, and it soothes me and it helps happier memories of Jenn stand out in even sharper relief. 

I see funny memes and ridiculous news headlines that I want to forward to Jenn, and I have thoughts and stories and things to report that I want to text to her. But I can’t. Instead I think them. I think them upward, straight up to the sky, and I hope that she hears them and sees them and feels my love for her, maybe with “Getaway Car” in the background.

Thanks for old friends.

One of the best parts of visiting Utah is seeing old friends. Including running into Ellie, a buddy from my freshman dorm 18 years ago, at the mall!

I’ve said to a few people recently that I have three homes: California, Utah, and Virginia. I feel so at home in all of these places. One day of our Utah trip, we spent all afternoon and evening with good friends from college and our combined 18 CHILDREN! I’d add a picture, but of course I didn’t take one. How would I have lined that many kids up in the first place??

I love serendipitous run-ins as much as I love planned reunions.

Like my girls’ trip with Katie this summer. Eliza and Katie, est. 1994!

And for your viewing pleasure, the Marco Polo I have going with Mandy, the friend I’ve known the longest, clocking in at 30+ years. Maybe 35? We did live a block apart from each other starting in infancy.

There’s nothing like being with someone who’s known you for most of your life and still thinks you’re great. I’m very thankful for old friends.

Frick

Well, frick. (My favorite non-curse curse word, courtesy of Elliott Reid from Scrubs) This weekend I was supposed to fly to Vegas and hang with my high school besties Katie, Mandy, and Jenn at the Backstreet Boys concert, along with assorted family members of Jenn’s. I will not be doing that now, which is obviously because Jenn is now dead. (Please forgive my irreverence; being fairly new to the grieving process I have only recently discovered that my response to my own grief apparently includes flippant references to death and/or morbid jokes.)

And perhaps also obviously, I am not actually literally disappointed that over the course of one and a half days I won’t be spending ~5 hours in airports and ~10 hours in airplanes and ~1 hours in Ubers and ~4 hours sleeping in a hotel and ~4 hours at Planet Hollywood singing Backstreet’s Back ALRIGHT!

I am actually literally disappointed that I am not going to fly to see Jenn now or ever. I am very much painfully and brutally disappointed that I am not going to have the chance to talk with her face to face about my worries about her.

Of course I will get to see Mandy and Katie again someday on earth, hopefully dozens and dozens of times, because they are not dead. And I probably wouldn’t have been able to talk much in depth with Jenn at Planet Hollywood in between singing Backstreet’s Back, ALRIGHT!

My brain understands perfectly that Jenn’s death has NOTHING to do with me and what I did or didn’t do or say. My heart is still trying to catch up, though.

So my feelings about friendship and loss and regret, which are brewing up pretty hot and bubbly today—probably in part because I saw my therapist today for the first time in a couple of months and laid it all out there after attempting to smooth it down for the past 3 weeks—have been pouring into my heart from all sorts of angles.

Spotify thinks I’m certifiably a ’90s pop nutcase, since in the two weeks I’ve been home I’ve probably spent around 75% of my listening time with BSB, *NSYNC, Britney, and the Spice Girls (all favorites of Jenn’s).

Granted, I am certifiably a ’90s pop nutcase, and I always was. It’s just so, so clear now.

I really like to think that Jenn would get a kick out of how I’m handling my grief: morbid jokes, Spice Girls marathons and all. And I really like to think that she is getting a kick out of it.

Jennifer, 1981-2018

I will miss Jenn and love her for the rest of my life, and I believe that she is at peace now.

From “Borders” by Leslie Norris, adapted with liberties

...Border, boundary, threshold, door—
Orpheus moved either way, the living and the dead
were parted by a thin reflection
he simply walked through. But who can follow?

For all the boundaries I have crossed, flown over, 
knowingly, unknowingly, I have no answers; 
but sit in the afternoon sun, under mountains 
where stale snow clings in shadowy patches, 
remember my friend, how she had sung, 
hope she is still singing.

Some resources that have been helpful for me (particularly the section “I lost someone to suicide”) https://www.lds.org/preventingsuicide

Thanks for friends

We had Thanksgiving dinner with friends again this year. We love to celebrate Thanksgiving with family, and I’m sure we will get to do it again some year soon! But we are lucky enough to have friends nearby who are like family. I’m so thankful for good friends.

Thanks for friends.

I was looking through my phone and realizing I really don't have very many pictures of my friends. I should really change that! This was from a few weeks ago when two friends who have moved to the west coast came back to the east coast to visit.

Matt used to try to (jokingly? maybe?) say that I'm anti-social or that I don't like people, but with the whole introvert trend of the past few years I finally figured out that it's wholly possible to like being with people AND ALSO to like being alone and it doesn't make me anti-social. Phew. Thank goodness for that.

And thank goodness for friends. For my oldest friends from my childhood and adolescence in California. For the friends I made at BYU. For the many wonderful women I've met in the past 10 years in Virginia who became dear friends, and some of them have moved away, and some of them have stayed. I have been incredibly blessed with a number of good strong friends whom I can be myself with. They don't all run in the same social circles but I kind of like that. They've laughed and cried with me and brought me dinners when I was sick and brought me gifts when I had babies and slept in cars and hotel rooms with me and run with me and sat with me and worked in my yard with me and worked at church with me and sat in support groups with me (yep, I have support group friends! ICAN forever) and hugged me and listened to me and forgiven me.

Today was a hard day. Possibly influenced by the fact that I only slept for 2 hours last night. I'm well aware that taking a presidential election personally is a bit self-absorbed. And I'm over it, maybe. Maybe not. But anyway I grieved for a bit, last night and today. I actually cried. More than once. And I never cry! Darn the people who say HRC can't inspire her base. I cried for her! ;)

But I have had many many encounters with friends, constant streams of texts and emails starting last night and throughout the day. Not condolences particularly, just connections. I got in possibly a little too deep on Facebook (darn me on Facebook) but overall still felt a positive connection to friends in that way. Tonight at work I talked with my coworker buddy who left the job for about a year and recently came back, and I am so grateful to rekindle that friendship. Tonight on the way home from work I stopped by a Relief Society activity, craving some social interaction and giggles, and got them in spades. Yes I am incredibly thankful for good friends!

It's so hard... to say goodbye... to yesterday-yyyy

In one month, Lars and I are both going to have to say goodbye to our best friends. Mine is moving to California. His is moving to Florida. 

I am sad for myself, but overall I'm not as worried about my impending loss, since she already took a baby step away from me when they moved to Philly 2 years ago. And since we have phones. And since I am a grownup. But I am so sad for Larsy. These two kiddos have been inseparable practically since they were old enough to walk. Only recently did Lars learn that we are not moving to Florida with her. I think he understands... I hope. But reality will be tough. It's so hard to say goodbye.

Maybe singing that to the tune of Boyz II Men will make it easier. I'll let you know.

https://g.co/kgs/5JI9k

Thanks for the Ergo.

Thanks for Alisha's Ergo, really, since I lost my Ergo on a plane two summers ago and have been using her extra one ever since. (Big-teeth smile emoji) And thanks for Alisha while we're at it! She deserves her own post; I love you, Alisha!

Every Friday morning I go to Wegmans, so every Friday morning Polly takes her morning nap in the Ergo. If I'm lucky!

Love the Ergo and how closely I can carry my babies in it. They love it (and loved it) too. Who wouldn't want to take a nap on a wool-sweater pillow. Jk, I really rethought the wool sweater choice today when Polly took extra long to fall asleep and I realized she hated rubbing her face on my sweater; I won't wear one again on an Ergo-nap kind of day!

Thanks for this city.

We spent a chilly Saturday afternoon in DC with old friends. I'm thankful for those dear friends and thankful to live just 15 minutes away from this big, beautiful city.

In our lovely Deseret

We spent the last 2 weeks in Utah. (We're back now.) As usual when we go on a really fun trip, I didn't get a picture of everything we did that was great. But I actually did get quite a few pictures, way more than usual. iPhone FTW.

I should be cleaning up my house, doing laundry, and unpacking, but looking at photos is much more enjoyable.

When we asked the kids before our trip to Utah what they wanted to do while we were there, they all agreed that "Have Grandpa put us in jail" was the #1 goal. A very close second for Ida was to visit Harrison, her best friend from preschool who had moved to Utah last fall. Harrison and Ida got along great and it was a tragedy when he moved. Their reunion was just as thrilling as Ida had dreamed it would be. 

The second day we were there, Matt had to work for most of the day, so in addition to visiting Harrison, the kids and I went on a hike around Silver Lake with my sister-in-law Annie and her kids. It started off beautifully and ended abruptly with a tantrum from...someone...but the time we had there was fun, and the mountain views were breathtaking. (literally at times. altitude...)

The very next day, we randomly ran into Harrison at a pizza place near my in-laws' house. I'm still not sure what they were doing there, since it's a chain with another location much closer to their house. "Fate stepped in and dealt Ida a sweet card." (thank you Nicholas Sparks for my favorite worst movie line.)

We stopped by the Salt Lake City cemetery to visit Phil's parents' graves (Phil's mother, Diana, died when he was a teenager) and to visit Ida's namesake--Diana's mother, "Grandma Ida," who was a big part of Phil's growing-up life.

We stopped by a different cemetery to visit Rachel, Ida's other namesake. Who technically was not her actual namesake since we gave Ida the middle name Rachel mainly because I liked it. A few days after she was born we discovered that Phil's paternal grandmother was named Rachel. Coincidence? Well, yes. But still cool. So, despite the coincidence, we call Rachel Ida's namesake anyway.

Near Ida Strong's grave is President Hinckley's grave. I really miss that man. I'll always remember how I felt whenever I saw him speak. I'll always regret the time I could have talked to him (when I saw him in his golf cart in the parking garage underneath the administration building in SLC) but I didn't. Oh well.

We visited with my Aunt Alice and cousins Erika, Maddy and Axel and Amalia.

On the longest day of the year, we went to a pool party at Matt's brother Brian's house. We loved visiting with everyone and our kids had a blast. We drove home from the party at 10 p.m. while the sun was still setting.

The next day (Sunday) we went to Matt's brothers' ward and later that evening got together with several of his friends from high school. No pictures from that.

A few days later, we visited Sterling and Jessica--who used to live near us but moved to Utah last fall--and got to meet their fifth baby boy, Winston. I didn't get a picture of him but he was darling. We miss this adorable blond family. A lot. As you may or may not know, we shared a moving truck with them when we all moved here from Utah in 2006, before any of us had kids. We spent a lot of time together, especially when we first moved here. Twice Jessica and I had babies within a week of each other. Sterling and Matt, high school friends and college roommates, have a long history together of mischief and spooning.

JK, no spooning. Actually there may have been some.

We visited Matt's dear Grandma Verla's grave and left a Coke can there for her, as is apparently the tradition. Neither of us had been back to her grave since her funeral in 2008. Verla is buried next to her husband Keith--namesake of Matt and Theo--and her son Casey (KC/Keith Curtis).

We spent the afternoon at BYU and I got to chat with my old boss Susan at Special Collections (where, side note, apparently my uncle Lyn now works, along with Lyn's wife Rose Ann's cousin Russ, who was my other boss at SC. Random). Susan reminded me that she had hired me when I was 17 years old. Pretty funny. I loved that place. Lots of memories there, including meeting my very own husband in 2002. Also lots and lots of Audiogalaxy downloads. Also lots and lots of typing. Also, I became a librarian eventually, so there's that too.

It was a gorgeous day. The temperature was in the 90s but we weren't even hot. "It's a dry heat"

The next day, we met my brother Harry and his family at the Museum of Natural Curiosity at Thanksgiving Point. I didn't get any real pictures besides this one (note Porter in the corner)

(another side note. Theo and Ida happily and of their own accord decked themselves in brand-new BYU gear but Lars refused even to try a BYU shirt on)

And this one of Dawn and Deacon while we ate lunch.

Side note regarding the museum. It is really cute and fun for kids and I recommend it to all. However, what I do not recommend is trying out the python thing. There's this big metal column where you can compare your strength with a python's strength. A python (or maybe it's a cobra...don't remember) can exert 2,000 lbs of pressure by squeezing with its body. Visitors to the museum can hug this big metal column and a sensor measures how much pressure they exert. I tried it, hugging it as hard as I could, and got to about 170 lbs of pressure, which I thought was impressive. It hurt a little where my necklace was but I didn't really think about it. The next day I had a cluster of small, red bruises on my chest and a pain in my sternum. Before I could get frantic about it...as I am wont to do...Matt reminded me that I had squeezed a metal column with all of my physical strength, pressing my breastbone up against the metal with my necklace in the way. The bruises were exactly where my necklace hangs. A week later, it still hurts. Apparently a bruised sternum can take up to 6 weeks to heal. So that goes in the books for stupidest self-inflicted injuries, taking its proud place next to the time I ran into a door and broke my toe, didn't let that heal properly and then had to wear a surgical shoe for 6 weeks.

All that and I still haven't gotten to our time in Heber City. I have a few more pictures and stories about that adventure. It'll be worth the wait, I promise.

Warrior Dash again

I had a fun Saturday last Saturday. Some friends and I ran the Warrior Dash again. It was really muddy. And fun. It reminded me of why I love running. But I only really love it when it's not just running on a road. That is kinda boring, and when I do it, I look at my watch constantly. But when I'm running up and down a rocky trail in the woods concentrating on not falling, or running up and down a motocross trail, and squeezing through tunnels made out of rope getting giant bruisey rope burns, and climbing up and down giant sheets of particleboard trying not to get splinters, I just enjoy what I'm doing. It just feels good to be outside and covered in dirt and moving in unexpected ways using muscles I didn't know were there. I really need more of that in my life.

Thanks for girlfriends. (This means you! Unless you're a man.)

I have been blessed from the beginning of my life with wonderful girlfriends. If I started naming names, I'm sure I'd accidentally leave someone out and I can't bear to do that, so I won't. But if at any time in the past 30 years you have seen me cry or I've seen you cry, if we've seen each other without makeup...or on a terrible hair day...or perhaps if we've showered together in a giant open locker-room shower; if we've talked or exchanged notes about anything more substantial than the weather, if either of us has brought each other a meal or babysat each other's kids, if you know any of my secrets or I know yours, I count you as a friend. And since we're on a blog here, there are actually a few who read this whom I haven't actually met or have only met briefly, but whom I still count as friends because these criteria still apply in blog world. Not only have I been blessed with friends but also with examples. Including women whom I may or may not know that well but who have given me hard-fought advice or stories about their own difficult child, or taken my kids when I was so sick I could barely get up from the bathroom floor to say thanks, or who have dropped off cookies or anything "just because," who have bravely gone through the worst imaginable traumas in their families and have come out on the other side, who cheerfully show up wherever they're needed. I am so thankful for the wonderful women in my life. Thank you.

Warrior Dash

A few weeks ago I ran a mud/obstacle race which was way more fun than I thought it would be. I caught a bad cold/flu a few days before and I was feeling pretty awful the day of the race. But I had raised money for the race's sponsor, St. Jude's Children's Hospital, thanks to some very generous friends and family (thank you!!!) and so I felt extra connected to it and knew I'd feel bad sitting it out.

Plus, more than that, I thought about my dad who recently ran a marathon on a hip injury after pretty much no training, and has run a marathon during a stomach flu in the past, and has gotten through countless other issues during his marathons, and I thought that I couldn't face myself in the mirror the next day if I let a cold keep me from a 5K. So, thanks for the legacy Dad...I think. Up until the moment I started running, I was sure it was going to be awful. But it was great.

I ran it with several friends, including my friend Susan's husband who probably got way more than his fill of girl talk during the 2+ hours in the car plus dinner after the race. Sorry about that, Seth!

Turns out that an obstacle 5K is about 10 times more fun than a boring old regular 5K. Not only do you get to break up all the running every few minutes, but the challenges of some of the obstacles (mostly making sure you keep secure footing while climbing or balancing or jumping, so that you don't get seriously hurt) just got my brain going in a fun and new way. And chatting with friends along the way and encouraging each other is also pretty great. I'd definitely do it again!

And thanks to our photographer, Alisha!

Now is now.

When I was seventeen years old, I moved into Taylor Hall in August of 2000, several days before everyone else arrived to settle into the BYU dorms. My mom and sister came up a little later from California with all my stuff, so I spent a few days alone eating Corn Pops and drinking pink lemonade (ahhhh...freedom!) and going to drive-in movies with my cousin Jake who apparently didn't have much going on either. Which reminds me of the nights that Hester and I spent at Jake and Peter's house (Jake and Peter are her brothers) that August just before we moved into our dorms. We made cookies and I ate about 30 in one night. That night didn't end well.

Anyway. I don't remember all the details of everyone else trickling in during that last week in August before classes started but I do remember the girl who moved in right across the hall from me and my roommate Rachel. Jackie was from southern California too, and had grown up a few towns over from my Grandma Clayton's town. We had some kind of get-to-know-you icebreaker activity on the first day, and she announced, "I'm Jackie and my boyfriend is Jamaican." Jackie and I and some of the other girls in our hall had a lot of fun and silly times that year. I learned a lot from her too. She was always sort of the mother figure, with funny old-lady phrases like "Can't beat that with a hammer." I remember driving with Jackie in Hester's car once, an ancient Chevy...something???? called Old Bluey which didn't need a key to start the ignition. Hester was very kind and let me borrow Old Bluey from time to time. This time, the car wouldn't start! Even with the key. I tried and tried and Jackie suggested saying a prayer, so we did. I looked down and realized the gear shift was in neutral. I put it into park and--surprise!--Old Bluey fired right up and we laughed our heads off.

OK, enough memories of that silly and happy time. There are way too many for one blog post. Jackie and I kept in touch after our boyfriends both went on their missions and we moved into different apartments in Provo. She married that Jamaican boyfriend after he got home from Madagascar, and I married my own dream guy (ahem...not the boy I had sent on a mission), and we both settled in to our lives, saying hi now and then through blogs, e-mail and Facebook.

Ten years later, just over a month ago, she sent out an e-mail about her third son's recent diagnosis of Spinal Muscular Atrophy (SMA), Type 1, a rare and terminal genetic disease. Baby Mathis is 7 months old and is expected to live to about 2 years old or less. He has very limited muscle capacity, can't sit up or hold up his own head, and needs to either be held, in arms or a sling, or lie completely flat at all times so that he can breathe properly. She and Dujuan decided to write a blog about Mathis's experience on earth, Sharing Our Piece of Heaven. With her permission I'm posting links to it and a few pictures. Between her blog updates, Facebook updates, and Instagram updates, I feel love and inspiration almost every day from her family. She is honest about the tough days and so full of tenderness about every day. And even through pictures I am just in love with Mathis's eyes. There is something special there that I don't see in every child. Or do I?

Swinging on a tire swing with his brothers

I heard a TED talk a few weeks ago by Richard Seymour where he talked about "How beauty feels." He briefly showed some mundane objects and for each added a detail that made that object mean something more. One was a crude pencil sketch of a flower and a butterfly. He showed the photo to the audience and after a few moments said, "This is the last act on this earth of a little girl called Heidi, five years old, before she died of cancer of the spine. It's the last thing she did, the last physical act. Look at that picture. Look at the innocence, look at the beauty in it. Is it beautiful now?" Is there something about a terminal illness that makes time with a person actually more special? Or is that preciousness just made more evident by the looming pain of loss?

Eating at In-N-Out

Jackie and Dujuan wrote up a Hope List, which is a list of big and small things they hoped for their children to experience on earth, and decided to check off as many items as they can while they have all three of their boys, Manix, Mason, and Mathis, together on earth. It includes things like: swim; try sushi; first day of school; slide on a slide; go to BYU; go to the MTC; slam dunk; finger-paint. I wanted to share it with you because it has really been so life-changing for me. Maybe it's because I love Jackie as a person but I think it's also because I--who am deliberate in many aspects of life but super lazy as far as making sure my kids do specific things just for the sake of doing them--feel so pulled toward that image: of deliberately living life and making sure my kids get the opportunity to taste some of the same simple joys I have tasted. Of really looking into my kids' eyes and seeing that spark there that is so evident to me in Mathis's eyes.

I remember when Dawn was pregnant with Jonah, their family approached those months in much the same way: going to Disneyland together, the beach together, all things that they liked to do as a family together and could do while Jonah was safe in Dawn's belly and they were all literally together.

In one post, Jackie wrote:

We had a most tender and dare I say sacred experience that night. After fingerprinting but just before we went inside for bath time Manix was smiling and just so happy. He yelled, "I LOVE THIS WORLD!!!" THIS phrase is exactly why we are doing this. It is why we made and are carrying out this Hope list. So our kids can experience all the wonderful things this amazing world has to offer. 
It's not the amount of years we have to experience life, it's the experiences we have in our life that make it amazing. I committed last night to continue our Hope list even after Mathis has left this world. We need to live for Manix and Mason just as much as Mathis. We are put on this earth to experience joy and to learn and grow. Gratitude is a trite word to describe the fullness of my heart. I love that we have called it a Hope list. All of these experiences prove to my heart and soul that there is more to life than this mortal existence. We are here for a purpose, many purposes. It is our responsibility to find out what our purpose is.

Slam dunk!

I recently read the last page of the book Little House in the Big Woods and after reading the above post by Jackie, I connected that with cherishing the time with little ones and making it special for them. Not necessarily with Elf on the Shelf or green food coloring (to reference a popular sentiment) but with whatever we deem special ourselves. Which could include Elf on the Shelf or not. Maybe it just includes stuff like getting donuts on a Saturday or blowing dandelions all over the neighbor's lawn. I thought specifically about her oldest boy, Manix, and how he is going to remember this special time with his baby brother. These are the last few lines of the book (Laura is 5 years old in the book):

When the fiddle had stopped singing Laura called out softly, "What are the days of auld lang syne, Pa?" 

"They are the days of a long time ago, Laura," Pa said. "Go to sleep, now." 

But Laura lay awake a little while, listening to Pa's fiddle softly playing and to the lonely sound of the wind in the Big Woods. She looked at Pa sitting on the bench by the hearth, the fire-light gleaming on his brown hair and beard and glistening on the honey-brown fiddle. She looked at Ma, gently rocking and knitting. 

She thought to herself, "This is now." 

She was glad that the cosy house, and Pa and Ma and the fire-light and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.

Camping is for the birds.

I haven't written about this because...well, mostly because it's kind of embarrassing, at least the first story is. But my mom advised me to write my two recent camping experiences down so that I don't forget them. She's right. So here they are. Kind of long but what else would you expect from me?

So, the weekend. Had you ever heard of a derecho? I hadn't. Apparently weather forecasters didn't see it coming. I didn't.

Within about 12 hours we went from this

to this

to this

--playing with glow sticks in the tub at home during the 2-day power outage. Pinterest to the rescue. Glow sticks are also helpful to place on the basement coffee table at night when children are afraid to sleep in the "pinch-black" basement which is the only cool place in the house.

We were lucky, by the way, only to lose it for 2 days. Some friends I talked to yesterday still didn't have power. Some still don't have it today. IT IS SO HOT not to have A/C today.


So, the story has a backstory. Remember how we went camping in a tornado last month without Matt? ...okay, there were tornadoes around us but we weren't actually in one. But anyway. Basically we--meaning Hannah and I--completely ignored the weather report which called for "scattered T-storms" during the night, and we drove 3ish hours to Assateague Island. The afternoon was beautiful. As evening came on, we set up our tent in a drizzle, then I lay awake while our tent blew this way and that way, weighed down only by me and my sleeping children. It started raining just before dark and pretty much didn't stop pouring until about 4 a.m. I wanted to leave but by the time I decided that, it was too late. It was raining too hard and our car was too far away.

I had put a tarp under the tent, which I now know is a bad idea, because a half inch of water seeped into our tent. So the older kids, who were on the floor, got soaked. Lucky Lars was in the Pack'n'Play and slept through the whole thing. I think he was lulled to sleep, after a good half hour of heartily indignant crying, by the sound of the wind and rain. Anyway so the kids woke up wet sometime after midnight and got on the air mattress with me. Of course I was then soaked as well and we were all freezing. Dear Robbie went in the rain to the car, which was parked a 2-minute walk away, and brought us towels, and we slept until 5:30 a.m., at which point we ate a breakfast of "cold s'mores" and got the heck outta there. Lars slept almost the entire 5-hour drive home and the kids and I listened to Ramona the Pest...twice. Ten days later I had finally finished unpacking and doing all the laundry--camping unpacking is no joke.

Also, if you forgot, Matt was in Brazil during this time, texting me pictures of Cristo Redentor and the romantic beaches of Rio.

The funny thing is I kind of felt like a child afraid of the dark that long night. Like someone needed to put glow sticks on the table next to me, perhaps. I couldn't sleep, I was lonely, it was dark and cold, the wind was loud, the lightning was frequent, the tent was shaking a lot, and I felt like it would never end. Eventually it did. Robbie and Hannah helped a lot via text. How awesome is it that I could text them all night while I was shivering in my tent? It made it so much less lonely. Hannah even offered to come in my tent with me, although she wouldn't have fit on the mattress with Ida and Theo and me. But it was so good to have others there when I didn't have Matt.

Anyway, so we had a chance to make up for the Assateague debacle by going camping with friends (and Matt this time) in the mountains near Roanoke. We left at 8 p.m. on Thursday, rolled into the site at 11ish, slept OK in our new big tent, then spent the entirety of the hot, sweaty Friday at the lake. It was awesome. 100 degrees of awesome.

After dinner, Lars treated us to another half an hour of indignant crying in the Pack'n'Play--not that I blame him because it was seriously so hot. But it was about 8 p.m., he normally goes to bed at 6:30 and had missed both of his naps. I had tried holding him, rocking him, walking him, but he cried no matter what, so I stripped him to his diaper and put him in the Pack'n'Play, knowing that at least in there he could fall asleep eventually. Matt took the kids for a walk and our friends Jason and Mackie and their older kids stayed at the site with me eating s'mores.

Lars was finally quiet and we took a little walk ourselves in the other direction, to look at fireflies in the dusk. The lakeside campground had 13 sites, almost all occupied, close together and wooded. We hadn't gotten far when we passed a man at another site who looked up at the sky above the woods west of us and said, "That is looking pretty dark." I looked up and saw dark gray clouds moving toward us but wasn't worried--just a little annoyed and wondering where the rain fly to my tent was. Then the trees started rustling in a seriously spooky way and the wind picked up fast and loud. It sounded like thunder but worse, and trees started falling nearby. People ran to their cars and I turned around and booked it toward my tent and my baby. I pulled a sleepy diapered Lars from his crib and jumped in my car...looked around...no car keys. Matt was nowhere to be seen and it was way too scary outside for me to be walking around with a baby. Lars climbed all over me as I sat in the driver's seat, tried not to hyperventilate, and prayed about 50 times in a row for Matt and the kids' safe return.

Jason and Mackie had booked it to their own tent, grabbed their own sleeping baby, and piled into their own car. When I saw them drive up, I joined them and asked if they had seen Matt. Jason to the rescue hopped on his bike and went to look for them in the storm. It seemed like forever but was probably only about 5 minutes before he came back and told me he'd found them.

Matt got the kids into the car and shoved as much stuff from our site into our car as he could. We caravaned toward the exit, but the road out was blocked by fallen trees. We drove back to a semi-clear spot and waited out the rain, watching the long line of stopped cars on the road across the lake and waiting for about an hour until crews arrived and slowly cleared the trees. The storm had hit at about 8:30 and we left at 11 p.m. We had planned to spend another night but I was way too spooked and everything in our tent was soaked anyway--I had left the rain fly off because of the heat, planning to put it on if it started raining, not thinking that a storm would come up severe enough that our first thought would be to our safety and not our stuff.

And that was that. The first time we camped, I was so mad at myself for going despite the weather report. I didn't really think anything could happen to us, but I was afraid anyway. It was such a long night and it was completely my fault for being there. The second time, I think we probably couldn't have predicted the storm since the weather forecasters couldn't either, but my neighbor pointed out later that such prolonged hot and humid weather had to break at some point and that could have been a warning sign.

I was truly afraid that something could happen to Matt and the kids, who were out in the open and surrounded by trees, and he had been afraid for Lars and me as well. But it all worked out fine and we were all safe. In the confusion I lost my wedding ring and it was missing until the next afternoon, but I didn't even really care because we were all together. Now that we're all unpacked, I'm missing my bathing suit and Lars and Theo's suits which is sort of annoying, but they're not wedding rings and they're certainly not people so they don't matter either. Every time I have been annoyed thinking about the lost suits I remember the ring and then remember how afraid I had been, alone with Lars in the car. It's all just stuff. Even a wedding ring is just stuff. I have loved Matt for a very long time but I don't know if I ever loved him as much as I did when I saw him coming back from his walk with the kids in the storm.

So there's my very long story, or two stories. We made it out of the mountains eventually, driving around dozens of fallen trees and barely keeping awake with lots of junk food and soda on the long drive home. We didn't know the same storm had hit our town and surrounding towns and that we had such interesting and hot days ahead of us. We pulled in at 3 a.m. Saturday to a quiet and very dark neighborhood. A large branch which had broken and flown over from a tree fifty feet away covered our front lawn. We have a brand-new tent but I don't think we will be using it for a while. Would the third time be the charm, or do bad things happen in threes? I'm really not curious enough to find out.