no voice

My voice left me today.  I have wisper voice, or strange scratchy, squeaking voice.  Neither of which do me much good.  Eliza says, "Mom, you need to talk like a real mom."  Good Idea.  I guess it's better than the other day when I was not feeling well, she said, "Why are you acting like a sleepy mom?"  I guess I haven't been the best mom lately.  I need to work on that.

The good thing about my voice being gone is that I can't answer every little question the little ones have.  It's not that I don't want to answer their questions, but sometimes, I answer so readily that they don't figure things out for themselves.  It makes them think a little more. 

I do miss talking to Sol.  He makes me smile when he jabbers. A sure way to get him going is to ask him questions.  But without questions being asked his voice is gone too.  And that makes me sad. 

Tomorrow will be a new day, and hopefully it will bring with it my voice.

seven

Cobin is 7! SEVEN!  How did this happen?  Where has the time gone?  Where is my "buddy" who needs his "farfar" and "bee". He is too tall, too big, too smart, too grownup.  Where is the "stop time" button when one needs one? 

I took him out of school early today, just for fun.  In two and a half years he has missed one day of school.  It was time for a much deserved break.  I always loved getting picked up early from school.  Like I was special.  I got to do something that day that no one else did.  I hope he feels that way today.

Happy Birthday Corbin!

an attitude of gratitude

I slept on the bathroom floor again last night. It's getting old. I don't like it. Not one bit. So I broke down and picked up the prescription for a new anti-anxiety medication. Actually it's an anti-depressant. But apparently they use the same drugs to treat two very different problems. Weird. But if it works, I don't really care. I am just sick and tired of being sick all the time.

Complain, complain, complain.....I get annoyed with myself when my pity party gets too big. I really have no complaints. Not really. Oh except for being sick all the time. Did I mention that already??

So I am resolved to take President Monson's advice and have "an attitude of gratitude". I will start now.

I am grateful for:
A husband that loves me even when I am sick
Children that love me and forgive me for my imperfections
Kisses and hugs (especially from those adorable children)
A beautiful home
Amazing friends
The Gospel of Jesus Christ, His ministry, His atonement, His love
Service...clarity and perspective returns when I am serving others
A comfortable bed
And SO much more...

a clean home is a happy home

Last night I had a much needed girls night. Alicia had the gals over to watch chick flick. One that the husbands don't want to watch. It was lovely. Ladies watching romance, without worrying wether the men are bored.

I left Q with a messy house, kids to get ready for bed and dinner to clean up. Poor guy. When I got home, The great room was immaculate! Floor vaccuumed, toys picked up, kitchen clean, kids in bed. It was heavenly. Thank you Quinn.

At first I thought he had done it for me. But then I got to thinking about the fact that Q's boss was picking him up for work early in the morning, and he probably didn't want to be embarrassed by the state of the house. Of course I immediately felt a sense of guilt, that I had left such a mess and Q had to clean it by himself after a full day of work. Damn guilt. It ruins everything.

And then this morning, I got to relive the loveliness of a clean house again. Oh, how I love to wake up to a clean house.

I'm not sure how I got such a fabulous husband. But, I'll take him.

wandering minds

My mind likes to wander. Sometimes it daydreams of sunny beaches and grand adventures to interesting places. But too often it wanders to the "what ifs" in my life. What if our house burned to the ground? What if Quinn lost his job? What if we were in a horrible car accident?

The other day while taking Eliza to school, my mind wandered into What If land. What would I do if suddenly Quinn died? Who would I call first? How could I possibly tell our children, or his parents? How would I react? Would I be strong for my children, or would I crumble to the ground and not be able to move until the pain subsided, which would be never, so there I would stay, in a ball on the ground forever? On and on this continues in my mind, while tears stream down my face. Over something that hasn't even happened. But my fear is so strong, it feels real. Finally I chastize myself, and shake my head, and sniff up my tears. I have to pull it together before I get to preschool. What will I say when someone asks what is wrong? "Nothing, I was just thinking about my dead husband, who is not actually dead, but very live and well." That makes perfect sense.

And again, a few nights ago, I worked on painting Eliza's bedroom until about midnight. I left the windows wide open in her room to help air out and dry the paint. I shut the door and then locked it (the lock is on the hall side of the door....which is a great story for another time). The act of locking the door from the outside starts a strain of thoughts I cannot control. Why would I lock the door? So if a robber came through the open window they wouldn't be able to get through to the rest of the house. As I lay in bed, desperately trying to sleep, knowing morning would come all too soon, my mind strayed again. What would I do if I heard that robber in Eliza's room?! First I decided I would wake Quinn, grab Eliza and lock ourselves in Corbin & Sol's room so at least we would all be together. But wait, if I could make it to the boy's room, why not wake the kids and run out of the house? Ok, yes, that's what I'll do. Run where? To the neighbor's? No, probably around the corner up to the Crawfords, because we could find help and comfort there. Oh, but wait, don't forget the cell phone so we can call the police on the way! What if we didn't all make it out? On, and on, and on until finally I have to get up and take a Xanax at 1:00 in the morning, even though I know it will make me groggy in the morning.

Does everyone do this, or is it just me? Or maybe it's a Mom thing, kinda like the worry and the guilt?

I do find comfort in one thing. Even if all these bad things or other terrible things happened to us, I know that my family is Eternal. That if we get separated in this life, that we will be together in the next. That Jesus Christ has paved a way for my family to overcome death and separation. That through his miraculous resserection, we too can live again. Time and time again, this is what pulls me pack to reality, helping me know there is no reason to fear.

happy 31 to me

Today is my birthday. 31.

Bright and early I received a call from my brothers. Reese and Todd were on their way to their Colorado hunting trip (a past time I will never understand why they enjoy) so they called to wish me Happy Birthday before they went out of cell phone range.

It was Todd on the phone. I miss him. A lot. When I think about it, it makes me ache. Todd was my sibling I was closest to as a child. Not necessarily in age, but in spirit and connection. He would let me tag along everywhere. Even when we were teenagers, he would invite me to go places and hang out with him and his friends. For a time, Todd and I lived with Mom by ourselves. Maybe that's why I felt closer to him than everyone else. We had many times when we were each other's only companions.

Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if my family was more like Q's family. What if my parents still loved each other? What if there had been no divorce? What if we were one happy family? Deep in the bottom of my soul, I wish this was the truth. But it is not. And when I do think of it, my guilt seeps in. I seem to have a lot of that; guilt. Because I do love my family how it is. I love my sister and younger brothers and step parents. I know that I wouldn't have them if things were different. But I can't help myself sometimes. When I want what I'll never have.

So when I hung up the phone, after a big Happy Birthday shout from Reese, I cried. Silent, but very real, tears.

Labor Day

We live in the most amazing place. I will be completely content if I live here forever. We chose a family bike ride to celebrate the holiday that is Labor Day. Q pulled the trailer with Eliza and Sol, Corbin rode and I too rode my bike that has seen more use in the last 6 months than in the previous 11 years since Q enthusiastically bought it for me. Poor guy. I am certain he thought I would liken to his hobby of mountain biking. But it quickly became evident I am not suited for riding a bike up and down a mountain. But today yeilded itself to slow riding on a paved trail along side the incredible Sacramento River.

We forgot our helmets. Had this been 20 years ago, it would not a have even crossed my mind to be concerned about this. Ahh...but we live in 2010 and those that do not have protective headgear for their children riding bicycles are looked down upon. Borderline child neglect or endangerment. "Don't they know that it's not safe to have their child riding without a helmet?" Well at least this is how it seems to me. I felt as though everyone was thinking this as we happily rode past. Probably mostly in my imagination, but still the guilt riddles me.

Lack of helmets aside, it was a very enjoyable morning. Beautiful weather, beautiful scenery, beautiful family.

Happy Day.