tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8479583553941802372024-03-12T21:51:01.639-06:00 -a jillion things- Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499872234972594202noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-48880422714842341592019-02-03T22:40:00.000-07:002019-02-03T22:40:07.884-07:00The Bike Parable<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">When my mom died, I felt this force
surround me like angels carrying me through the difficult days ahead. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">I remember the moment they left. I dropped like a rock into dark waters. I felt absolutely no light, no support, nothing. I prayed for strength. I felt nothing. I read my scriptures, fasted, went to the temple but remained empty. Days passed, then weeks, then months. I started to question everything I knew. Where was God? Why wasn’t He listening to me? Why couldn’t I feel His spirit? </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">What if everything I had been taught wasn’t true? What if the truths I’d learned about life after death and eternal families was false? Would I see my mom again? Where was she? </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Worry, fear, depression, anxiety became my constant companions. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then one day I had a thought. I knew that that I had </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">felt the Spirit before even if I could not feel it now. I knew that I wanted </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">everything I’d been taught and believed to be true. I decided that I was going </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">to go forward, believing with all my heart, clinging to the truths I’d been </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">taught. I decided to exercise faith. Immediately I felt the spirit again. </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">For a long time I wondered why I hadn’t been able to feel God. When we take the sacrament we are promised that if we keep the commandments and are willing to take upon us His name, that we will have His spirit to be with us. Why had I not felt it for so long? </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">And then one day, I received insight. My son was about 6 and was riding his bike around the block. I was inside washing dishes and suddenly I knew that he needed me. I ran outside and found him a short distance from our house on the ground scraped and bruised. His pants caught in the chain. He couldn’t right the bike and he didn’t know how he could get home without taking off his pants, so he prayed.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">"Did you wait long for me to come?" I asked.
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">"Yes," he answered, "but I knew you </span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">would come." </span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">When my son was learned to ride his bike, I was constantly there. I held onto his seat and guided him and whispered encouraging things in his ear. As he got better, I would remove my hand for a few moments. Soon, I let go all together but continued to run next to him. Eventually, when he could ride on his own, I still knew where he was.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="color: black;">I couldn’t help but think, I was like my son. Sometimes the Lord is constantly with me. I feel </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">His presence and encouragement. But if I am going to learn to be like Him, He has to let me ride alone or go around the block. If He isn’t running beside me, do I have the faith to keep pedaling? If I fall, do I have faith that He knows where I am and that He will come?</span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My friend shared a similar story in testimony meeting today. When she couldn't feel God's love, she prayed for a hug, something concrete that she could feel. Eventually, she visualized Christ hugging her. God comes to us in ways that are personal and powerful. Just like she needed a hug, I needed to know why I couldn't feel Him for so long, so He gave me the "bike parable." Michael McClean experienced his own spiritual crisis and after a long wait received answers tailored just for him. You can read his inspirational story <a href="http://www.ldsliving.com/Michael-McLean-Opens-Up-About-His-9-Year-Faith-Crisis-and-How-He-Found-His-Testimony-Again/s/83606" target="_blank">here</a>.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">If
you can't feel God, have faith that He knows where you are and that He will
come. Until then, keep pedaling.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and that guy biking down a volcano in Hawaii--okay, technically we're not biking, but we're about to and we did and we made it even though it was raining and a little bit scary because we're old now and think about all the ways we could die.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03499872234972594202noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-27373065103952433842019-01-25T00:12:00.000-07:002019-01-25T23:19:54.276-07:00EnoughThree of my grandsons, ages 2, 4, and 5, slept over. They giggled and played with swords and jumped on my couch and wrestled on the floor. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="240" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/9isIlooHjv16FCV-U1gNN2NI8Jp9vO1OvwbrS7YArbivFI2_JDYrOG1thjqwk6fqBiILq46ERI5lRQ7G-NsRzHXRlO0FMVU23HjDMILAVVR1Xc39affaiSJhWViO-CxKXHB227XD" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay,this isn't an actual picture from the sleepover. It's from Christmas. In fact, these aren't the 3 boys that slept over--well some of them are, but I thought this post needed a picture and I didn't get a picture at the sleepover because I was living in the moment. So you get the picture from this picture even though it's not the actual picture, right?</td></tr>
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<br /> <br />Okay, this isn't an actual picture from the sleepover. It's from Christmas. In fact, these aren't the 3 boys that slept over--well some of them are but I thought this post needed a picture and do you seriously think I thought to take a picture while I was chasing all three of those boys? Ya, no. But from this picture, you get the picture, right? <br /><br />I finally got them to the bathroom where the sword fighting continued without swords. Boys. . . They got into their Power Ranger, Spider Man and Paw Patrol pajamas and we made a big bed on the floor. Finally, I fell asleep. Not so sure about them.<br /><br />In the wee hours of the morning, still in my clothes, with fur growing on my teeth, I woke up. I said a sleepy prayer and stumbled to the bathroom and brushed my teeth.<br /><br />I went back to sleep but was awakened by the crying 2-year-old who wasn’t sure where he was. I pulled him next to me on the couch and fell back to sleep. For awhile. <br /><br />At dark thirty, they were all awake and bouncing. We read stories, made pancakes---Mickeys and snowmen which were oohed and ahhed over but not actually eaten. Worn out, the 2-year-old was happy to see his mom when she came to get him.<br /><br />Having errands, I dressed the other two, washed their faces and did their hair. I am not very good at the mohawk. The 4-year old informed me that if the girls at school saw his hair, they’d laugh. <br /><br />Driving, I realized that I had not done any of my usual morning things like dress, (I may or may not have been in the clothes I had slept in), shower, brush my teeth, (unless 2:00 a.m. counts), but more importantly say my prayers and read my scriptures. So I said an open-eyed car prayer to the accompaniment of laughing boys comparing fruit snack colors and tried recite a scripture or two in my head. <br /><br />Then I heard the 5-year-old say, “I’m kind of sad because my grandpa died.” (Not the grandpa that is my husband, in case you are wondering.)<br /><br />“That is sad I agree.” There was silence as we looked out the windows at the sooty snow and miles of smog.<br /><br />“There are a lot of dead things,” said the 4-year-old. <br /><br />“Let’s talk about live things,” I said.<br /><br />I told them that the leaves would come back on the trees and the grass would turn green again and baby birds would hatch from eggs. “Your grandpa’s body is dead, but his spirit is alive,” I reassured my grandson. I tried to do the hand in the glove lesson only I didn’t have gloves so I’m not sure how well this went.<br /><br />Then an excited voice from the backseat said, “I remember, I remember! My dad told me that Jesus died and that He came back alive again!” <br /><br />“That’s right,” I said. “And because Jesus died and came alive again, we can come alive again and so can everyone else!” We talked about Jesus and about how He knows us and loves us.<br /><br />Then from the backseat again. “I can’t wait to see Jesus and give Him a hug.”<br /><br />After this conversation I was reminded of something my husband used to counsel when he was bishop. Sometimes people would come to him lamenting whether they should participate in a family activity or do their church work. He would tell them, “Your family is your “church work.”<br /><br />Sometimes we fill our buckets, put oil in our lamps or whatever metaphor you want to use, and sometimes we share our water or light. Sometimes we go to the temple or fast in the desert and sometimes “we suffer the little children to come.” <br /><br />Car prayers and scripture thinking cannot sustain a soul just like 5 loaves and 2 fishes can’t feed a multitude, but both are more than enough when given to the Lord. He takes the best that we can offer in the moment and turns it into so much more. <br /><br />So young moms, old moms, young grandmas, old grandmas and dads and grandpas and uncles and aunts and everyone, stop beating yourselves up for serving your families. Do what you can in the best way that you can whenever you can and trust that God will make it and you enough.<br /><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-26294430273926515662018-06-06T21:33:00.000-06:002018-06-07T06:33:35.419-06:00What Ministering May or May Not Look Like<div style="text-align: center;">
When my friend arranged to have some sisters in our ward (congregation) over so that she could take a picture of what a <a href="https://www.lds.org/callings/relief-society/purposes?lang=eng" target="_blank">Relief Society</a> ministering interview looked like and then realized she wouldn't be home to take the picture, she asked her good friend me if I would take it. Since I am such a good friend and ever so nice and helpful and would do just about anything for this friend, I said yes. </div>
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This is the picture my friend wanted and it turned out ever so nice.</div>
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But since we were the only ones in her house and we think we are so darn funny, we took a few more. Maybe she can use these in a slideshow titled <i>What Ministering May or May Not Look Like. </i>I guess that's okay with me as long as she gives me photo credits.</div>
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and my personal favorite--</div>
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So, if you ever need some pictures taken at your house while you're not home, call me. I'm your girl. #Iprobablyshouldn'tbearealtor</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-42960383578419792102018-03-17T02:30:00.000-06:002018-03-17T23:33:59.138-06:00Some random thoughts at 1:44 a.m.<br />
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<i><b>The Greatest Showman</b></i><br />
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I saw <i>The Greatest Showman</i> for the 5th time yesterday, and loved it even more. My grandson, who turned 8 and loves all things Lego and dragons, and action, wanted me to take him to see it for his birthday date. He loves to listen to the soundtrack when I pick him up from school a couple of times a week. He goes to a school about 30 minutes away for kids who are "on the spectrum."<br />
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When we listen, he asks me to explain what is happening in each song and then he does some analyzing. So, this song is really about being kind to everyone. Or, this song means we should be proud of who we are. He says that the songs make him feel good. He turned and hugged me during <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJ4z-eVN7TQ" target="_blank">Come Alive</a></i> at the theater because he was feeling pure joy. Music is better than drugs.<br />
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When I am in pain from my surgery, if I listen to music, usually <i>The Greatest Showman</i> and dance, even if I can't use my feet, my pain goes away in a couple of songs. The doctor should say, "Dance 2 songs and call me in the morning." Dancing is a powerful drug.<br />
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My final, (for today,) take away from <i>The Greatest Showman is</i>: if you are ever kissing on the beach, make sure it is windy and that you are wearing a long scarf. Dreamy.<br />
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<b>Animal Kingdom</b><br />
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My granddaughters would rather be animals than people. They act more like animals than people. They sound more like animals than people. They know a lot about animals. They have watched a lot of animal shows. They know what animals do, so it was great Sunday dinner conversation when they said to my teenage son and his new girlfriend, "You guys should mate when you get older."<br />
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<b>I am those people. . .</b><br />
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I used to go to the gym and look at the people in the pool and think, <i>ah, those people. The people who can't do real exercise. The old people. </i>Well, now I am "those" people and, I like those people. I like being in the pool and exercising with those people. I actually sweat in the water. Is it because I'm old or because what I thought was easy exercise really isn't? So, until you've walked a mile in someone else's shoes or swam in someone else's suit . . . You know what I mean.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-91421062104925602112018-03-01T18:46:00.002-07:002018-03-01T18:46:31.469-07:00It is a Sunny Day<br />I practically ran a marathon today. Well for me. Actually what I did was walk one mile and it took me 23 minutes and 33 seconds. I was probably 50 yards in and wasn't sure if I could finish. But I did. One step at a time. Six months ago today I had my achilles tendon replaced and then I got a nasty thing called <a href="http://www.rsdhope.org/what-is-crps1.html" target="_blank">CRPS</a>. Three months ago I felt like I would never walk again. Four months ago amputation sounded like a good idea. So, this was a BIG deal for me.<br />
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A couple of weeks ago Ric and I were in Santa Barbara watching our daughter, Tess, play Lacrosse for BYU. We went to a Chinese restaurant and Ric got a fortune that said something like, "A chance meeting will bring you great fortune and success." Mine said, "It is a sunny day." And it was. But what kind of a stupid fortune is that. I felt cheated. But then I thought about it and that little gem is actually packed with truth and wisdom.<br />
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When the pain in my foot was sooo bad, desperate for any kind of relief, I downloaded a meditation app on my phone. One session the guy with the cool Australian accent told me that if things were "mentally cloudy," to remember that the sun was shining above the clouds. That thought gave me a sliver of hope.</div>
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It was about that time that I started seeing a new physical therapist. He told me that I couldn't say, "my bad foot." I had to find a give it a positive label. "Left foot" didn't seem positive enough, so I finally settled on "new foot," which totally freaked my granddaughter out. New is better than old. New is stronger than old. New is shiny and perfect. New things are exciting--new shoes, new friends, new toys. New is so much better than bad or broken or stupid. . .<br />
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The foot that had once been a ball and chain, a curse, and a pain, a burden to heavy to bear, became my "pet." I coddled it. I talked nicely. When it hurt, I thought of tendons and muscles repairing. Bit by bit, my pain lessened and what seemed impossible a few months ago became possible.<br />
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My big toe, which has been known to give me some grief since my surgery, has been affectionately renamed "The Diva." She's behaving much nicer now that I've recognized she just needed a little extra attention and some bright red polish.<br />
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So, my stupid fortune became my perfect fortune. Forget the "fortune and success," I'll be all right as long as it is sunny outside.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-20432898687501835842018-02-13T21:01:00.002-07:002018-02-14T07:02:05.370-07:00To BYU or Not to BYU? That is the Question.As much as I want to pay thousands of dollars to start having that dream again where I'm wandering around campus without pants, and I can't remember where my classes are, I'm just not sure if I want to go back to school. But it is my daughter's dream for us to go to school together. It use to be her dream for us to be roommates too until she married the dreamy Austin Anderson. She also dreams of Big Macs, laundry that folds itself and Lacrosse practices that don't start at 5:30 a.m., but I squirrel.<br />
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As terrific as it would be to wander campus with a big map in 20 pt font, I can think of a few problems:<br />
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There are so many other things I could be doing, like eating and sleeping and breathing, because I don't remember having time to do those things a bazillion years ago when I went to the BYU.<br />
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The major thingy. I think dance--that was my major before--is probably out now that I'm 20 lbs heavier and the only splits I'm doing are the banana kind.<br />
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Again, the major thingy. What in the world do I like enough that I want to study exclusively? Do they have a renaissance woman degree? Oh wait, that's motherhood, right?<br />
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Clothes. Can I wear stretchy pants? What about pajama pants? Are bras optional?<br />
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There's a good chance I might be older than most of my professors. If they ask me to do something I think is stupid, I might say something like, "That's stupid."<br />
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But I did some practicing last week. A friend and I went to Hank Smith's New Testament class with our daughters. When I wasn't stretching my neck trying to minimize my neck rolls, I was worried that I was breaking an honor code violation because you know I wasn't actually enrolled, and I had a wee bit of anxiety like the time I attended a full day of classes with my zipper down and thought the modesty police might write me up, but Bro Smith was happy to have us there probably because we brought some spiritual maturity to the class.<br />
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So when I wasn't worried about the honor police and my neck rolls and wearing pants, my brain did a little happy dance because it was entertained and it did a little stretch and I didn't want to say the word stupid once. Then later my mouth did a happy dance because we went to the Cannon Center and had a Navajo taco and I've missed those tasty guys.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and all my chins so happy to be arriving at that happy place again!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The lovely sight Bro Smith saw while he was teaching.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you see the "Y" behind us???</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Navajo taco, only mine was bigger and had a pint of guacamole on top.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-89937563657677628952018-02-04T23:00:00.001-07:002018-02-04T23:00:13.984-07:00Mother Nose BestI was eleven, in the church gym, trying to find my silhouette that I'd made for a mother daughter activity on the wall. I examined the half dozen or so pictures, but not one of them looked like me or at least how I thought I looked.<br />
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My friends giggled and "kindly" helped me identify my likeness. "Yours is right there; the one with the big nose."<br />
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I was mortified. From that moment, I knew I wasn't as good, wasn't as pretty as the rest of them and I felt embarrassed, almost ashamed, that I had not been aware of this before.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">It was also at that moment that I mounted a continual, relentless effort that ruled my thoughts and actions to shield the world from the unsightly horror that was my nose. During school, I literally kept my nose in a book, or hid by my hand, or my arms by putting my head on my desk. Anything to hide the horror that was my honker. I even took up sleeping on my face thinking that I could force a little bit of it back inside my head. Of course it didn't work, but for years I sported a line--just like a minus sign--across my nose.</span><br />
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I worried that people were staring at my nose. My bigger worry was that they would think I didn't know how ugly it was, so to eliminate any confusion, I made jokes about it.<br />
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If this wasn't bad enough, at thirteen I discovered I had chicken lips. This was pointed out to me by my "helpful" Young Women leader who was teaching us how to apply make-up. And I quote, "If you have chicken lips like Jill, you can blah, blah, blah. . ." The rest was kind of lost on me because just like the silhouette nose thingy, I had no idea my lips were offensive too. I had no clue that full lips were what I was supposed to want. Heck, some of my best friends were chickens. Seriously. But that's a different story.<br />
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So why am I writing all this? Because 40 years later I finally like who I am. I finally feel beautiful, not because of how I look, but because of how I feel.<br />
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I'm throwing out the "b" word because of that <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DdM-4siaQw" target="_blank">Dove commercial</a> where they have the "beautiful" door and the "average" door and women have to choose which one to walk through. Beauty has got to be more than how we look. We all know people who are visually appealing but are "ugly" and plain or average people who are beautiful, glorious in fact. We can choose to be beautiful.<br />
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I am writing this because my beautiful daughter, who looks so much like me but is so much better in so many ways said she wanted a nose job. I was crushed. How much of my "nose" paranoia had rubbed off on her?<br />
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So my dear "T," forget about your nose, embrace beauty. A nose job might make you look different, but it would also contradict everything that I love about you: your ability to see the beauty in others; your ability to help others see the beauty in themselves; your abundant joy and happiness with life and its many opportunities; your ability to triumph over adversity; your ability to not take life too seriously. If you changed your nose, I'm afraid you wouldn't be able to see past the end of it.<br />
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I wasted so many years worrying about my nose, focusing on myself, that I couldn't focus on others. Nobody cares about your nose. They only care about how you make them feel. So, forget your nose (or your hair, or your weight or your crooked teeth--insert whatever insecurities you have here--and leave them here) and be beautiful.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-56037094323763286782018-01-25T19:40:00.000-07:002018-01-25T19:40:19.713-07:00Happy ThingsThere has been a lot of sadness around here. Gut-wrenching sadness. But there is also love. So much love and so much goodness. Queen Victoria II (and my bishop) said, "Grief is the price we pay for love." So true. I've wanted to want to blog all week, but life has felt heavy, and if you haven't been reading, my last few posts have been heavy.<br />
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So instead of blogging, I've been procrastinating. I am good at it. I practice a lot. But I am finished flipping through Insta and FB and being "heavy." I am a doer. Of hard things. So I am blogging about things that made me happy.<br />
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1. I am happy that I can walk. It is such a miracle each time I take a step. I'm still not super good at it. But I am doing it.<br />
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2. I am happy for sweat. I went to the gym last night and for the first time in a looong time, I was able to work out so hard that I was sweating. That was joy sweat friends.<br />
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3. I am happy when my feet are so sore at the end of the day and I see this beauty. I 💗 Sheila.<br />
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4. I am so happy that I have a winter coat and warm shoes.<br />
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5. I am happy that I was insanely brave (for me) yesterday and I had something great happen.<br />
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6. I am so happy that Wingers makes those sticky finger tacos and that I have good friends to eat them with.<br />
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7. I am happy that when there is so much sadness there can be<a href="https://www.gofundme.com/funds-for-frisch" target="_blank"> so much love too</a>.<br />
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8. Car dancing makes me SO HAPPY and it is my new drug. If you are hurting, try it. Maybe it will work for you too.<br />
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9. I am so happy I got to go to this place with an awesome friend and that I only fell asleep for a little while. . . It was a celestial snooze.<br />
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10. And who cannot be happy watching <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AXCTMGYUg9A" target="_blank">The Greatest Showman</a></i> (three times)? I love the message-YOU ARE GLORIOUS, "bruised" and all. The Best of Us All, the Greatest of Us All, "had no form nor comeliness; . . . (he had) no beauty that we should desire him. He (was) despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: . . .he was <b>bruised</b> for our iniquities." He knows what it's like to be bruised like nobody else does. And friends, He thinks we are glorious. Because of Him we can be even more glorious than we ever imagined. And it gets better. We are part of HIS family. His eternal family. Family is also one of the themes in <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jr9QtXwC9vc" target="_blank">The Greatest Showman</a></i>. Go see it. You'll love it. Buy the music. You'll sing it and car dance to it. You will be happy and you will fell glorious.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-77989990539175154322018-01-13T21:29:00.001-07:002018-01-14T09:54:59.167-07:00Burdens<div class="MsoNormal">
Several years ago I had a friend that was experiencing a devastating
tragedy. One night I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about my friend and the
weight of her burden. Was she able to sleep? Did she feel alone? How
could she possibly endure such a trial? I found myself on my knees praying. I asked if her pain could be eased if only for a while. I said I was
willing to share her burden so it could be lighter. A heavy, oppressive feeling
overwhelmed me. The weight was crushing, almost unbearable. After about an
hour, the pain lifted. I wondered if my friend’s burden was eased just a little
during that hour?<o:p></o:p></div>
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I love that Christ wept when He heard that Lazarus died. He
had power to raise Lazarus from the dead, so why did He weep? I like to think He
wept because He felt the sorrow of Martha and Mary. Their problem, their pain
became His burden. Bearing
one another’s burdens is a casserole and babysitting and lawn mowing and
donating funds, but it is so much more. When we truly mourn with someone, we go
from saying, “That’s sad,” to “I’m sad.”</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the Fall I had a surgery that knocked me for a loop. I
had some set backs and complications that involved a lot of pain, no sleep, and
little healing. Sometimes the pain seemed unbearable; I literally didn’t know
how I could make it through another day. I received phone calls and visits from countless family members and friends. They brought meals
and gifts, but more importantly, they listened to me, they mourned with me, and
they cried with me. My burden, my pain became theirs
and I was lifted. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Recently a friend and I talked and she shared a heavy burden with me.
She apologized saying she didn’t want to weigh me down. I remembered a time
several years ago when I had unapologetically unloaded on her. She had been
through a similar trial and because she had been where I was and because she loved
me, she could give me words that provided new perspective and charted a course of action that changed my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The Savior, through the power of His atonement, has the
ultimate power to lift burdens. As a people that have covenanted to take upon us His name and try to be like Him, we should <a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/mosiah/18?lang=eng" target="_blank">mourn</a> with, cry with, and feel the pain
and despair of our brothers and sisters, and no one should ever have to apologize.<o:p></o:p></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-84538841536420647522018-01-05T13:28:00.000-07:002018-03-19T11:58:05.120-06:00New Year's/Old Year's Resolutions--I've Heard it Both WaysNew year's resolutions always kick my butt. I mean I make resolutions but let's face it, my resolve dissolves as fast as cookies in milk. I wasn't making new resolutions, I was really just wringing milk from last year's cookies and passing those soggy things off as next year's Oreos. So, then it got easier to not make resolutions. . . to break. But then there's guilt. And pounds. And dust bunnies. And chocolate cake for breakfast. And brain drain.<br />
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So last year I resolved to be more resolute. I thought carefully about what I wanted to accomplish. I had a long list of soggy cookies I could resurrect, but I decided to leave them all in the cup. If I died at the end of the year, would I really care if I had exercised, or eaten broccoli, or even if I'd read my scriptures everyday if it hadn't really changed me? Not changed my health or my body, but changed me, my soul, my spirit? So I picked one goal. One thing that mattered. My new year's resolution for 2017 was to not withhold love. It has kicked my butt, but in a good butt-kicking way, in a way that it needed to be kicked.<br />
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I learned that there are SO many ways to withhold love: when people annoy me, when family members hurt me, when my children are bullied, when I am jealous, when someone dismisses or even laughs at my opinions just to name a few. This week.<br />
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Last year, after a few months of this goal, I started to feel a little beat up and far less than perfect. That's when God sent me a message. I was at a conference and one of the presenters was a woman who my college boyfriend had dumped me for. I was hoping she was fat, not very interesting, and maybe just a little bit bald. She wasn't. She was beautiful, articulate, captivating, everything I felt like I wasn't.<br />
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That night when I checked in with Heavenly Father, I realized that once again I had withheld love for this sister in a big way. After I finished what I hoped was a full, sincere, heartfelt repentance, Heavenly Father said to me, "There's one more thing you need to repent of--withholding love from yourself. You are every bit as bright and beautiful and loved by me as that woman." That's when I learned, although I had been told and taught a jillion times in dozens of Sunday School classes, that I can't love others if I don't love myself.<br />
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That's why my resolution for 2018 is to not withhold love. It may be an "old" resolution, but it will make me a new person.<br />
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<a href="https://www.lds.org/people/thomas-s-monson/memorial?cid=HP_3_1_2018_dPAAST_fANN-MNSN_xLIDyMSTHD_&lang=eng" target="_blank">President Thomas S. Monson</a>, a great example of love. </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-21483418610609053812017-12-25T05:46:00.001-07:002017-12-25T11:38:21.452-07:00A Fox in A BoxIt's 4:40 a.m. Christmas morning and just like the first 40 years of my life, I haven't been able to sleep. 'Back then the magic of the day wouldn't allow me too even in the lean years--the years we had no money for presents so wrote notes to each other or the socks and underwear years. This year I think it has to do more with a recent surgery I had, but who knows? Maybe it's the magic.<br />
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A few weeks ago my 4 year-old granddaughter, Jena arrived for a sleepover with her cousins and she was so excited. Practically breathless she said to me, "Gwamma, I got you a fox in a box!"<br />
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She knows I love foxes. My fox fetish started about 12 years ago after my mother died. I fell into a deep depression, and then I started seeing foxes. I saw them whenever I'd go on my river walk. One day they came curiously close to me. So close I almost touched them when I knelt down and extended my hand. I saw them in fields and then I saw them at the cemetery near her grave. My mom was such an animal lover that I believe when she died, there was a great shift in the heavens as thousands of God's creatures ran to meet her. I felt like the foxes were a small sign from her or God that she was still there.<br />
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So, when Jena handed me a small shoe box and I pulled back a piece of paper and there drawn on the bottom of the cardboard with orange crayon was a little fox adorned with a few small stickers, my heart melted. "See Gwamma, a fox in a box. I knew you would love it." It is probably my favorite Christmas present this year. In fact as I'm writing this in the wee hours of the morning looking at the Christmas tree and all the presents around it I'm thinking, "What else could I possibly need?<br />
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I've already received the best gifts this season. Along with my fox in a box, I got:<br />
* a text from my son one day telling me he wouldn't be coming home for lunch because he had seen a person eating alone and joined them.<br />
* I had a sweet sister buy me a new nativity for my eclectic collection when I know that funds were extremely tight for her.<br />
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* I had one of my old young women come by and sing me a beautiful song she'd written and give me a tender note.<br />
* I got to see my grandchildren perform the nativity at a nursing home and hear my oldest granddaughter, Charlotte say, "Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord," and I could almost remember witnessing this event and singing joyfully with my less than mediocre voice as I marveled at the simplicity and the magnitude of his birth.<br />
* I got to use the power of Christ's atonement several times this month as He bore my griefs and carried my sorrows, not in some figurative, abstract way, but in a literal, powerful way that was nothing short of miraculous to me as my burdens were lifted and gone.<br />
* He has helped me see others through his eyes and healed my broken heart helping me to forgive. Oh how could I possibly receive anything better?<br />
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So, I will sit here in the still, magical twilight hours and ponder small, simple gifts and marvel at a Savior who gives the best gifts of all.<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas 2017!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-75511394942656165382017-12-12T00:38:00.001-07:002017-12-12T00:43:11.881-07:00Make a Joyful Noise<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 9pt; margin-top: 8pt;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10.5pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">George Frederic Handel's Messiah is one of my favorite things in the world. At Christmas I never miss the opportunity to hear it. Last week I was at a Messiah sing along. </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10.5pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As we were singing the words from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FJ9wS2J0GOs" target="_blank">Isaiah 9:6</a>,</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10.5pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I sang along in the best way I could --</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace</span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 10.5pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">. And then the words in my throat turned to tears and my singing turned to sobbing because I knew strongly, powerfully and unequivocally that He is all of those things. I listened to the beautiful, powerful voices around me and compared them to my own small, weak, off key one. Then I realized that my “<a href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/ot/ps/98.4?lang=eng#3" target="_blank">joyful noise</a>” was just as important, my praise of Him just as meaningful. My voice matters. It matters to Him. It is beautiful to Him because He made it. So I will make lots of "joyful noise" because without Him I am nothing and with Him I am everything.</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-74030372125230131982016-04-12T21:33:00.000-06:002016-04-12T21:33:51.995-06:00WhyBefore my father-in-law passed, somebody asked me, "why?" Why meaning, why did he have to lose his mind and capacities to Alzheimers? Why did we have to struggle so hard to get him back after somebody preyed on his weakness and took him from us? Why was it so hard to take care of him? Why us? What could possibly be learned? So many whys?<br />
<br />
I don't know why, but I know "what" taking care of Grandpa has done for my family. Selfishness, pride and impatience have been weeded from our hearts. We have learned to love unconditionally and to find joy in the moment and happiness in simple things. And when there was no joy or happiness to be found, taking care of Grandpa taught us to turn to the Savior who promises to "wipe away tears from off all faces"(see Isaiah 25:8). We learned to trust, to believe, to have faith when we couldn't see the end from the beginning. These things can't be learned from a text book or from the mouths of others, but only by experience.<br />
<br />
Now that he's gone I feel disconnected from my surroundings, yet at the same time, keenly aware of the world around me--the stirring breeze, sunbeams of light sifting through a room, the honk of returning geese, the sun warming my back, the earthy smell of fertile soil, the blossoms on my pear tree that appeared the day he left like flowers from heaven.<br />
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We used to walk around the temple by his care center. We talked about what his wife, Maxine might be doing. We wondered what we might do when we joined her. We made a pact. If I died first I would come back and tell him what heaven was like. If he died first, he would come back and tell me. On his death bed, I kissed his brow, held his hand and reminded him about our pact. <br />
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And now I wonder if he were to gently tell me of heaven, if he might not send a gentle breeze, a beam of sunlight or white, fragrant blossoms. Or perhaps he would let me witness the very best qualities in my children and experience a little bit of heaven on earth.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-40658030255676712392016-03-28T00:02:00.000-06:002016-03-28T00:02:09.856-06:00To Go No More Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When my oldest grandchild Charlotte held my newest grandchild, Jocelyn, her sister, in her arms, she cried, kissed her on the head and whispered I love you. Then in a moment that I didn't catch on video, but I caught with my heart, she said, "I am so proud of you. You made it. You are here."<br />
<br />
I've thought about those words a lot lately. I thought about little Jocelyn leaving heaven. She has family there--grandparents, aunts, uncles--were they sad to see her leave? Will they miss her until she returns?<br />
<br />
I think about my father-in-law. He got kicked out of his nursing home. Again. He is violent and combative, only he really isn't. He's scared and doesn't remember who he is or who anyone around him is, so he is defensive and afraid. I am sad to see him go yet remain here at the same time.<br />
<br />
I watched the video of my youngest son's birth today. I gasped when I saw my mom who has been dead for almost ten years, standing in my hospital room. My heart skipped a beat as I watched myself give Luke his first bath while casually talking to my mother-in-law who has been gone for 6 1/2 years.<br />
<br />
I am so proud of them. They made it. They are there. I feel their presence and influence in my life from time to time and feel that they are proud of me here. I am proud of my father-in-law who is stuck between two worlds and is neither here nor there, but must endure to the end.<br />
<br />
Oh how I long for the day, how I pray for the day when we will all be reunited, when we will all be home, welcomed by our Savior hopefully with the words, "I am so proud of you. You made it. You are here," to go no more out.<br />
<br />
". . . in the hearts of the righteous doth he dwell; yea, and he has also said that the righteous shall sit down in his kingdom, to go no more out; but their garments should be made white through the blood of the Lamb." Alma 34:36<br />
<br />
Because of Him, someday we will go no no more out. In my book, that is Heaven. Happy Easter.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-77003469867534629992016-02-14T22:34:00.001-07:002016-02-14T22:34:26.083-07:00Just LeaveAbout 28 years ago, I had a baby. I almost didn't have him. Early in my pregnancy I had a lot of hemorrhaging. The doctor told me I didn't have a viable pregnancy--no living fetus-- and that I needed a D&C (medical abortion). Alone, (hubby was out of town of course), I checked into the hospital to get one. Something didn't seem right. I called the doctor 3 times asking clarifying questions. The doctor did not appreciate being called 1 time, let alone 3. Then my mother-in-law called me, kind of a miracle considering this was back in the days when phones were firmly attached to walls. Forget about cell phones, cordless phones weren't even around. She gave me some great advise: "Leave. If something doesn't feel right, leave."<br />
<br />
I didn't even have time to sit up before 2 orderlies came to wheel me to surgery. I told them I wasn't having it. They weren't happy. Yes, I knew I'd already signed the papers, and I still wasn't having it. Shaking, I left the hospital.<br />
<br />
A few weeks later and 2,000 miles away, I saw another doctor who told me that I'd been carrying twins and miscarried one, but the other one, my son, was alive and well.<br />
<br />
Now, 28 years later, almost to the day, that same son and his wife had twins, a boy and a girl. The twins were welcomed by a 2 year old and 4 year old sister.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I look at my son, his wife, and my four adorable grand babies and think that they wouldn't be a part of my life if I didn't leave. Such a simple action with HUGE consequences.<br />
<br />
If something doesn't seem right, leave. Great advice then, great advice now.<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-46136381952990066692016-01-18T23:13:00.001-07:002016-01-18T23:13:53.630-07:00Enabling PowerHey, I just remembered about this thing and my New Year's Resolution from 2015 to blog once a week. . . so. here. I. am.<br />
<br />
I was going to blog about how Christmas kicked my butt--like it does every year. It was good too. It's just hard being me, (unorganized, forgetful, insomniac, chocoholic) at Christmas time. But I'm not going to.<br />
<br />
I also thought about sending out my 2016 Christmas card via my blog now because then I wouldn't have to do it in December. But maybe next time.<br />
<br />
I thought about blogging about how I finally managed to run a mile. It was a 14 minute mile. . . but, butt. . . I did it. I was feeling pretty good and then my friend said, "Do you know you're running on an incline?" I was stoked because I still had gas (the energy kind mostly) and I was running uphill. Unfortunately, when she said incline, what she was really politely saying was decline. She flattened my route and I felt like I was running into a headwind or a semi-truck. Blah. But I finished.<br />
<br />
I could write about my new haircut which is kind of spiky on top. After spending forever getting it to spike, a kind lady said to me, "Excuse me, your hair is sticking straight up." And instead of saying, "I know, I flattened it. But I'm not going to write about that either.<br />
<br />
I'm going to write about how I went to visit my father-in-law last week. In case you can't remember, or you don't usually read my blog, or you have part-timers, I will remind you that my father-in-law has Alzheimers.<br />
<br />
But then this happened.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">I went to see
Grandpa after going to the temple. He was sitting at the table getting ready
to eat lunch. I said to him, “So, did Ric come and visit you today?” (He did.) Dad got mad at me and told me that he wasn’t stupid. I told him I didn’t think
he was stupid. He was still angry and mumbled some more things that weren’t
nice. I tried to change the subject by talking about when he went to watch his
granddaughter play basketball. He got even more agitated and told me that I
didn’t know anything about basketball and that I wasn’t even a team player. He
kept yelling. . . <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">I’ve had him
angry at me before, but I’ve usually been able to calm him down and get him
talking about something familiar. This time, though, I couldn’t get through to
him at all. He just kept yelling. I started crying. It hurt so much more than I expected.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still crying, I went to leave. One of the
workers, Linda, gave me a big hug and told me it wasn’t really my dad. I knew that, but the hurt was real and strong. I came home and cried for another
hour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
When G-Pa first came to live with us, it rocked my world. I finally found strength to cope by <a href="http://meoutsidethelines.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2013-01-01T00:00:00-07:00&updated-max=2014-01-01T00:00:00-07:00&max-results=1" target="_blank">living and experiencing joy in the moment</a>. But in that moment with him, there was absolutely no joy. Zip. Zilch. Nothing. How did I not see this coming? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<span style="color: #1a1a1a; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria;">Things are better
now. Well, they aren’t better, but I’m better. I taught the lesson in YW. It
was on the Savior. I was drawn to the part about the enabling power of the
atonement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
I got to study awesome scriptures like these:<br />
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">Isaiah 41:</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">10 ¶Fear
thou not; for I <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">am</span> with thee:
be not dismayed; for I <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">am</span> thy
God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee
with the right hand of my righteousness.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">13 For
I the Lord thy God will hold thy right hand, saying unto thee, Fear not; I will
help thee.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><o:p>Mathew 11:</o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 26.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">28 ¶Come
unto me, all <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">ye</span> that labour and
are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 26.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">29 Take my yoke upon you, and
learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your
souls.</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #0a7db0; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"> </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">30 For my yoke <span style="mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">is</span> easy, and my burden is light.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">John 14:</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">27 Peace
I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I
unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><o:p>Philippians 4: </o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">13 I can do all things
through Christ which strengtheneth me.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><o:p>Mosiah 24:</o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 26.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">14 And
I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you
cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will
I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a
surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #0a7db0; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"> </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">15 And now it came to pass
that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light;
yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with
ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the
Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><o:p>Alma 27:</o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 26.0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">11 And
he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every
kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon
him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #0a7db0; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"> </span></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">12 And he will take upon him
death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will
take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy,
according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor
his people according to their infirmities.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">Alma 36:</span></i></div>
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of thee that thou wilt hear my words and learn of me; for I do know that
whosoever shall put their trust in God shall be supported in their trials, and
their troubles, and their afflictions, and shall be lifted up at the last day.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">Ether 12:</span></i></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">27 And
if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men
weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that
humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have
faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.<o:p></o:p></span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;">Surely, He has borne my griefs and carried my sorrows. (Isaiah 53:4) </span></span><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #262626; font-family: "palatino"; mso-bidi-font-family: Palatino;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: palatino;">The atonement is real. Christ is real. And because it's real and He's real, I can do hard things and be okay. And that my friends is nothing short of miraculous.</span><br />
<span style="color: #262626; font-family: palatino;"><br /></span>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VGNpLDS3150/Vp3RpjxW92I/AAAAAAAAAic/0li2_40znGc/s1600/DSC_0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VGNpLDS3150/Vp3RpjxW92I/AAAAAAAAAic/0li2_40znGc/s320/DSC_0190.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G-Pa and Ric in the "better" days.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-41744534523971890532015-12-05T03:49:00.000-07:002015-12-05T10:00:03.593-07:00What's Better Than No Shave November??? SILVER RUSHI have some bad news folks. No shave November is over. Done. Won't be back 'til next year. I for one am extending the no shave celebration and growing my own leg warmers because growing your own is a lot easier than knitting your own and less expensive than buying your own.<br />
<br />
Even though November is over, there are lots of good things about December like icy roads and finals and last minute Christmas shopping and mistletoe and hot chocolate and peace on earth or at least on 1-15 and egg nog. But one of my favorite things about December is <a href="https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=silver%20Rush" target="_blank">Silver Rush</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5hnjQuPTSFc/VmMT4IYnZWI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/OpiGdsl6Hyc/s1600/silver%2Brush%2B2015.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="131" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5hnjQuPTSFc/VmMT4IYnZWI/AAAAAAAAAiQ/OpiGdsl6Hyc/s400/silver%2Brush%2B2015.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
For the first time since 2001, I do not have a student attending RHS, but that didn't stop me from being that "creeper mom" and going to the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o0KqTNPFoQg" target="_blank">Silver Rush</a> opening assembly. It did stop my children from saying, "Creepy mom, why are you here?" which was kind of nice. I like to go every year. It puts me in the Christmas spirit and gives me a bigger high than not shaving my legs for the whole month of November.<br />
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In the month of December, about 2,000 students from Riverton High School <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YgaVtLVNT90&feature=youtu.be" target="_blank">go bonkers</a> earning money for a designated charity. They go door to door doing odd jobs for people like scooping dog poop and putting up Christmas lights and taking out garbage. They have dance-athons and pay money to put people in jail and have concerts and basketball tournaments and a Mr. RHS contest. They sell carrots and t-shirts and necklaces and sock snowmen and hot chocolate and muffins and saxagrams, which is a sexy serenade by a saxophone player in case you're wondering. They have the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gG9sHd-R8Ao" target="_blank">Silver Wolf Swap</a> where the cheerleaders play the drill team in a basketball game, while the girl's basketball team does a drill number and the boy's basketball team cheers. Last year in 3 short weeks they earned $133,689.15. Since the opening of the school in 1999, they have earned more than $1.1 million dollars.<br />
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At my high school we had the cool kids which were the cheerleaders, student body officers and the jocks. We had the "not cool kids" who were the band geeks and drama nerds and just about everyone else. Silver Rush brings the entire student body together. At Riverton there are just a lot of cool kids who are involved in a lot of different things who love and respect each other and work their fannies off for something more important than a social class ranking.<br />
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In past years RHS has raised money to help people with congenital heart defects, people who need wheelchairs, the homeless, refugees, people fighting alcohol and drug addiction, just to name a few. This year they are funding for <a href="http://jordandistrict.org/2015/12/a-million-dollars-and-counting/" target="_blank">Mitchell's Journey</a>, a local non-profit established to help fight Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy (DMD). Not only do they raise funds, but students are educated about the cause they're funding for. This is stuff you can't learn from a textbook. This is community. This is service. This is life.<br />
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Perhaps principal Carolyn Gough said it best in an <a href="http://fox13now.com/2014/12/19/utah-high-school-raises-more-than-100000-for-charity/" target="_blank">interview</a> last year with Fox 13's Todd Tanner. "This is a great opportunity for the students to change people's lives, but really it ends up changing us."<br />
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For a list of Silver Rush activities or to donate, go <a href="http://rivertonhigh.org/" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-56696112053301377962015-11-27T16:08:00.001-07:002015-11-27T16:08:35.291-07:00Real Pie Tastes Better Humble Pie<span style="font-family: inherit;">I filmed a wedding in Ogden Tuesday. This is the job I do when I am not doing the job called laundry, thinking of what to make for dinner, and chasing grandkids. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
I like this job. It makes me happy. It makes me think about love and new beginnings and the scary wedding dress I wore. It makes me think about toasters and honeymoons and studio apartments and occasionally gives me butterflies.<br />
<br />
For some reason, I was worried I would forget to go to it and how bad would that be? So, I set an alarm on my phone everyday the week prior to the wedding, then 3 hours before, then an hour before, then 20 minutes before. #part-timers #oldage #brainrot.<br />
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The night before the wedding I dreamed that it was the next day and my husband and I were hanging around the house, when I looked at the clock and realized that it was noon and I was supposed to be in Ogden at 11:00. Then I dreamed that it was time to go and I found my camera on the front porch, which was really now the back porch (because that's how dreams are) where it had been all night with the sprinkler hitting it. Then I dreamed that I was lining my dead mother up with my high school vice principal whom I have never talked to or thought about and whose name I'm surprised I remember. Analyze that. . . It was a rough night. I think this all means that I need some kind of therapy.<br />
<br />
These are the kinds of dreams that give you heart attacks or make you think about changing your name and moving to another country because there are no do-overs for a wedding videographer. Thinking about it now turns those "wedding butterflies" in my stomach to bats and spiders.<br />
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I thought about my daughters wedding almost 2 1/2 years ago. We were going to have an ice cream sundae bar and rented a soft-serve ice cream machine, only, the reception started and the machine wasn't there. We kept calling the ice cream man who said he was going to be there any minute. Only he wasn't. He just kept saying he was coming which doesn't actually put ice cream in people's bellies.<br />
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As the reception ended, the ice cream man came with his tail between his legs and no ice cream. Apologizing profusely, he tried to hand me a wad of cash. I was annoyed. Why didn't he get the ingredients the night before, or plan more time into his schedule, or have a back-up contingency plan for emergencies because after all, there are no do-overs for a wedding.<br />
<br />
I opened my mouth to tell him how he'd ruined our once-in-a-life-time and instead heard myself saying, "Don't worry about it. It was an awesome day. We've got a happy bride and groom. We're not going to let ice cream ruin it." I pushed the cash away. Teary eyed, he left. Unfortunately, those are not the words I had wanted to say. Fortunately, God takes over when I let Him and helps me say better words than my own.<br />
<br />
After a night of dreaming up lame excuses of why I missed a once in a life-time event, I felt like pond scum. What if I'd actually had to give any of those excuses to the wedding party, especially if they had responded with any of the things that I had wanted to say to the ice cream man? What if I had said those mean, hurtful things I wanted to say to the ice cream man? After all, there are no do-overs for weddings. What if I had made it all about the ice cream instead of the bride and the groom and love and eternity and happily ever after?<br />
<br />
God is good. I am good when I let Him in my life. He helps me see what's important. He helps me say what's important. This Thanksgiving I am grateful for God who helps me be better and focus on the important things so that I don't have to eat humble pie but can eat lots of real pie. And who doesn't like pie?<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-16412501891690902772015-11-21T00:27:00.000-07:002015-11-21T07:29:43.651-07:00Oh if I Were a Spider, the Web I Would Weave . . .<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Fair is a place you take a pig and you win a prize. Or maybe you don't win a prize. Maybe your pig dies before you get to the fair or maybe you get a flat tire on the way to the fair or perhaps you don't even have a pig and you just go to the fair and eat too much cotton candy and see the goat with two heads and the bearded lady and ride too many rides and throw up and and step in gum. Or worse.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sq9GFoy7_qA/VlAaW8lpsDI/AAAAAAAAAhw/xU6SO8hSJos/s1600/goat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="270" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sq9GFoy7_qA/VlAaW8lpsDI/AAAAAAAAAhw/xU6SO8hSJos/s320/goat.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I've been thinking a lot about "fair" this past month mostly because of my daughter from another mother, Maci. She can't seem to get her dang pig to the fair. If I was Maci, I think me and my pig would be wallowing in the mud and waiting for more slop which is not the breakfast, lunch or dinner of champions and is not a Maci meal either because she has willpower and has winning habits even if she and her pig are not going to the fair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last year was her first year running track and she was fast. Her mom, the other mother who is organized, sums it up well in her FB post from April 19th:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">"Proud of my daughter </span><a data-hovercard="/ajax/hovercard/user.php?id=100005118392123&extragetparams=%7B%22directed_target_id%22%3A0%7D" href="https://www.facebook.com/maci.mccleary" style="background-color: white; color: #3b5998; cursor: pointer; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Maci McCleary</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, Yesterday at the Taylorsville invitational she took 3rd out of 70+ girls in the 200, first in the 4x100, and 16th out of 90+ girls in the 100. She has done great despite her lack of experience and her daily injuries." </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">But then she got a stress fracture in her femur that ended her track season. How did Maci deal with this? She got up the next morning, dressed up, blinged up her crutches, put on a smile and hobbled to school.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the couple years prior to that, Maci had back surgery, a broken arm, a broken hip, a broken hand a fractured tibia . . . twice, a blood infection, a bruised neck and a concussion. In other words, a lot of her seasons ended.</span><br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xjVTL498mxM/VlATdh1ajdI/AAAAAAAAAg4/F46GaEJ3vRs/s1600/maci%2Binjured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xjVTL498mxM/VlATdh1ajdI/AAAAAAAAAg4/F46GaEJ3vRs/s320/maci%2Binjured.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After the fractured femur, the doctors figured that she had a weakness in one side of her body and came up with a plan to strengthen the weak side. Maci worked on this plan all summer. She spent hours doing physical therapy and practicing her basketball skills. She trained like a champion, and she ate like a champion, cutting all sugar and "slop" from her diet. She made it through tennis season injury free and had just started playing some preseason basketball when she tore her ACL and MCL.</span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oouI8ihB73o/VlAT9HEwNhI/AAAAAAAAAhA/vVuLpXFE3RM/s1600/macitennis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oouI8ihB73o/VlAT9HEwNhI/AAAAAAAAAhA/vVuLpXFE3RM/s320/macitennis.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Her basketball season ended before it even started. She is not going to make it to the fair. Life is not fair. All that hard work, all that time, all that discipline and dedication. . .why???? So not fair.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the grand scheme of things, does this really matter? People died in terrorists attacks in Paris last week. People are murdered; people lose limbs and abilities; people lose loved ones; nations rise and fall, so why or how does this matter? That's what's been spinning around in my head along with the cobwebs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don't know much, but I do know this, I know that it matters. Champions are not made on the court or the track. They are not made in one defining moment--the swish of a ball, the crossing of a finish line. Champions are made from many moments, moments that crowds and newspapers and fans don't see. Moments of getting out of bed early while everyone else is sleeping, moments of practice while everyone else is with friends, moments of hobbling around on crutches with a smile even when you're dying inside. . .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I asked God one day, "Why?" He answered me with this question, "How has knowing Maci changed your life?" and I cried. I cried because I'm a woman with lots of horrormones, but also because knowing Maci makes me want to be a better person. Knowing her makes me want to do hard things, Knowing Maci makes me realize that I might not win, but trying will make me a winner.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So, if I were a spider with mad web spinning skills, I would haul my hairy spider behind over to Maci's and weave words like driven, inspirational, motivational and #OhIamsoblessedtoknowyou! over her house. I would probably use my glow in the dark silk so the whole world could see. And, if I was a spider like Maci, I would definitely add some bling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZdsfJdZzIIM/VlAUkIJqqiI/AAAAAAAAAhE/AmyJxu2Yl9k/s1600/hospitalmaci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZdsfJdZzIIM/VlAUkIJqqiI/AAAAAAAAAhE/AmyJxu2Yl9k/s320/hospitalmaci.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The other mother doing Maci's hair, Tess painting her nails after the back surgery.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MI7Zgwy-eQs/VlAUkXr8aoI/AAAAAAAAAhI/787rbBjrpe8/s1600/maciwhiteout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MI7Zgwy-eQs/VlAUkXr8aoI/AAAAAAAAAhI/787rbBjrpe8/s320/maciwhiteout.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Maci at men's basketball game. It was a white-out. Love this girl. She doesn't do anything half way. </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hZlchoLPwdM/VlAUk2VfDmI/AAAAAAAAAhM/RNNn4GkH3JY/s1600/maceichoiceaward.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hZlchoLPwdM/VlAUk2VfDmI/AAAAAAAAAhM/RNNn4GkH3JY/s320/maceichoiceaward.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Receiving the Riverton Choice Award this month. She would definitely be my choice.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">(notice the ribbons and bling on the crutches :) )</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I think Mother Theresa and Kent Keith sum up what I'm trying to say and how I feel about Maci. Don't do things because you want to be a champion or a winner, do things because you are a winner.</span><br />
<br />
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">P</span><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b>eople are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. </b></span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">Forgive them anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"> </span></b><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">I</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">f you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b> <span style="font-family: "oldenglish";"> </span></b> </span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">I</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">f you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. </span></b> <span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b>Succeed anyway.</b></span></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b> <span style="font-family: "oldenglish";"> </span></b></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">I</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">f you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"> </span></b><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">W</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">hat you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b> <span style="font-family: "oldenglish";"> </span></b> </span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">I</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">f you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;"><b> </b> <span style="font-family: "oldenglish";"> </span></span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">T</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">he good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<span style="color: maroon; font-family: "old english text mt"; font-size: large;"><b> </b> </span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">G</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">ive the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="left" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<b><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "old english text mt"; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;"> </span></b><span style="color: maroon; font-family: "oldenglish"; font-size: large;">I</span><b><span style="color: blue; font-size: medium;">n the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.</span></b></div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<i><span style="color: navy; font-size: medium;"><b>-this version is credited to Mother Teresa</b></span></i></div>
<div>
<i><span style="color: navy; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></i></div>
<div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<i><b><span style="color: #006600; font-size: medium;">the Original Version:</span></b></i></div>
<div class="title" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium; text-align: start;">
<div align="center">
<b><span style="color: navy; font-size: medium;">The Paradoxical Commandments</span></b></div>
</div>
<div align="center" style="background-color: white; color: #009900; font-size: medium;">
<b><span style="color: navy;"><i>by Dr. Kent M. Keith</i></span></b></div>
</div>
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-70246148973861584202015-11-11T16:19:00.000-07:002015-11-11T17:35:00.101-07:00Sour Patch Kids, Stephen Curry, Family, Friends, Prayers, Costco Cards, & Tender Mercies<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: "handwriting - dakota"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">"Physical restrictions can expand vision. Limited
stamina can clarify priorities. Inability to do many things can direct focus to
a few things of greatest importance."</span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times"; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">(Elder David A. Bednar,
Chosen To Bear Testimony of My Name, Ensign, November 2015)</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We were humbled to see all the people who came to visit
Tess. They brought cookies and Sour Patch Kids and hugs and Sour Patch Kids and
lunch and dinner and Sour Patch Kids and balloons and stuffed animals and well,
you know, Sour Patch Kids. They listened to Tess’ animated babblings about
crowd-surfing, college life and Stephen Curry. If you don’t know who Steph
Curry is, please don’t tell Tess because she will cry real tears for you
because you don’t know how wonderful he is. At least that’s how she was in the
hospital. <o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8HJ16WgH0k/VkPEZ6wuRzI/AAAAAAAAAe8/ijV4vhEeoHU/s1600/12004149_10203602330138415_1786404797290003527_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-w8HJ16WgH0k/VkPEZ6wuRzI/AAAAAAAAAe8/ijV4vhEeoHU/s320/12004149_10203602330138415_1786404797290003527_n.jpg" width="176" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family :)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6D49kRBq8jQ/VkPErOW7qMI/AAAAAAAAAfM/9AlZrSUHxSk/s1600/coaches.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6D49kRBq8jQ/VkPErOW7qMI/AAAAAAAAAfM/9AlZrSUHxSk/s320/coaches.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coaches</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cuz1E2oZL4k/VkPEwJb_1QI/AAAAAAAAAfU/lw4uan2eGxY/s1600/emma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Cuz1E2oZL4k/VkPEwJb_1QI/AAAAAAAAAfU/lw4uan2eGxY/s320/emma.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-knRGi8A0Ez4/VkPE6jiN8rI/AAAAAAAAAfk/w2bvbq3YxxQ/s1600/maci.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-knRGi8A0Ez4/VkPE6jiN8rI/AAAAAAAAAfk/w2bvbq3YxxQ/s320/maci.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Friends</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgohpM8Ajnk/VkPFbiWNc7I/AAAAAAAAAfw/UUPLmh7mw6A/s1600/schabber.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XgohpM8Ajnk/VkPFbiWNc7I/AAAAAAAAAfw/UUPLmh7mw6A/s320/schabber.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Teachers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O-FIjiD45B0/VkPGRstxF5I/AAAAAAAAAf0/JPqde2b9dXU/s1600/IMG_4373.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O-FIjiD45B0/VkPGRstxF5I/AAAAAAAAAf0/JPqde2b9dXU/s320/IMG_4373.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And more friends with food.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span id="goog_1375019153"></span><span id="goog_1375019154"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
(There are so many more that came that I didn't get pictures of. THANK YOU!!!!)<br />
<br />
<br />
My daughter, Bri, took vacation days to be with Tess. She
cleaned the blood out of her matted hair, and washed her body, and spent entire
days just being there in case Tess needed something. As a mom, this is the
ultimate payback—to see your children truly love and care for each other, to
put their siblings needs above their own. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/---oACPreu7c/VkPHdJOHCHI/AAAAAAAAAgA/HOn8x-ajYKc/s1600/bri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/---oACPreu7c/VkPHdJOHCHI/AAAAAAAAAgA/HOn8x-ajYKc/s320/bri.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A cute boy that Tess had started dating about a month before
her accident came to visit. He walked in with a stuffed monkey and Tess very
excitedly asked where he got it. When he told her Costco, she was a little
perplexed because how in the heck do you get into that place unless your mom is
with you with her card? “How did you get into Costco?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I have a Costco card,” he replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You have a Costco card?” Tess gushed. “That makes you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">SO much more attractive</i>.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, this attractive boy with a Costco card sat by her side
and didn’t mind that her hair was all matted and bloody because he came before
the sister worked her magic. He listened to her talk about Stephen Curry and he understood what she was talking about. He held her hand while she slept and when she would pull the
oxygen out of her nose and her monitor would go off, he would very gently
stick it back in her nose. He called her at nights and read scriptures to her
because reading is a hard thing to do with brain damage. He talked to her about
her future, a future that did not include going to school that semester and a
future that did include lots of therapy. He was supportive and kind and so much
more helpful than Mom or Dad even though Mom and Dad have Costco cards too. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-04BS719M5dg/VkPIXzRPAeI/AAAAAAAAAgI/o3U6xYSgHLE/s1600/austin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-04BS719M5dg/VkPIXzRPAeI/AAAAAAAAAgI/o3U6xYSgHLE/s320/austin.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, here is the part of the story that happened after the
hospital: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
About a month after her accident, Tess was cleared to
participate in any and all activities except crowd-surfing. What was supposed to be months of physical,
occupational, and speech therapy, ended up being a few visits. She has no lasting effects from her accident. No headaches. Her
filter is working. She doesn’t cry if you don’t know Steph Curry, although she
is slightly miffed. In short, her recovery is nothing short of miraculous. She
literally floated on the prayers, faith and kindness of so many. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is back in her apartment, though not attending classes.
She just got a job coaching the Freshman girls basketball team at Logan High
School. And although they live 4 hours apart, she is still seeing the cute boy
with the Costco card. #blessed<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Some of the great people that work at University Hospital:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-59cpHrwbtW4/VkPJVS1JB9I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/xogY1Mw2bRM/s1600/laura.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-59cpHrwbtW4/VkPJVS1JB9I/AAAAAAAAAgQ/xogY1Mw2bRM/s320/laura.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nurse Laura, they're still tight.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mGZD4Fl4FNQ/VkPJY54gIHI/AAAAAAAAAgY/woTG7O71ZIQ/s1600/jeremy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mGZD4Fl4FNQ/VkPJY54gIHI/AAAAAAAAAgY/woTG7O71ZIQ/s320/jeremy.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nurse Jeremy, no sponge bathing for him--just lots of laughing together and consumption of Sour Patch Kids.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iskmULP7iQ4/VkPJcsmwd1I/AAAAAAAAAgg/YzLy0A5QwTc/s1600/celine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iskmULP7iQ4/VkPJcsmwd1I/AAAAAAAAAgg/YzLy0A5QwTc/s320/celine.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celine from housekeeping. She sang for Tess and told her about the Rwandan Genocide where most of her family died--a very inspirational young woman. They are now FB friends. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-6298465703416986332015-11-02T20:56:00.000-07:002015-11-03T09:48:57.819-07:00Butterfly<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Eighteen years ago I had a baby. They put her in my arms and
I cried, not because something was wrong, but because everything was right. I
cried because I was old enough and had been pregnant enough to understand all
that could have gone wrong. I was humbled that many don’t get to hold one baby,
let alone six. I cried because she was perfect and pure and filled with love
and light and everything good. I cried because her fingers curled around mine
with complete trust. I cried because this tiny girl who had grown next to my
heart, now held a piece of it. I held her through the night. Nurses came
into my room to take her, and I wouldn’t put her down. I caressed her skin and
kissed her tiny head. I felt the delicate puffs of her quivering breath. I was
holding 7 lbs. of pure miracle. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kvL0dcoEe6k/VjgtcZ4Y0aI/AAAAAAAAAbs/0oFrEeWwmoE/s1600/20151102_203923-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kvL0dcoEe6k/VjgtcZ4Y0aI/AAAAAAAAAbs/0oFrEeWwmoE/s320/20151102_203923-1.jpg" width="291" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At the end of August, I sent that daughter to Utah State.
She made it until Labor Day weekend. Then she called us. She was hysterical,
laughing one minute, crying the next. Something about a dance, a fall, her head…
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, her roommate took the phone.
She was crowd-surfing (which is really just a trust exercise with strangers)
and had fallen on her head. At first she experienced a temporary paralysis. Her
first thought, “Crap, I’m paralyzed. How embarrassing.” After several seconds,
she was able to move her arms and legs and jumped up and said, “I’m fine!” Only
she wasn’t. The back of her head was bleeding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Some smart friends loaded her in a car and drove her to the
ER. Some other smart friends who are <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/priesthood?lang=eng">priesthood</a> holders for our church jumped
in the backseat and gave her a priesthood <a href="https://www.lds.org/topics/priesthood-blessing?lang=eng">blessing</a>. She was blessed that she
would feel no pain. Her pain disappeared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When they got to the ER, the doctor checked her and said she
would need staples in her head, but everything else looked good. Immediately,
she felt anxiety about having someone use a stapler on her head. (Why this
anxiety failed to manifest itself while she was crowd-surfing is a mystery.)
Her bishop came and gave her another blessing. He blessed her that her fears would
go away and that she would have peace. Her anxiety vanished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Before sending her home, they decided to do a CT scan. The
CT scan showed that she had a brain bleed. When she hit the ground, her brain
bounced off the back of her skull and hit the front of her skull and started to
bleed. Not good. She needed to be at a hospital with a neurosurgeon. So, in the
wee hours of the morning, they transported her from Logan to Salt Lake City. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When she arrived, she looked awful, but was in great
spirits.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bS9LHmaacHo/VjgtyM999nI/AAAAAAAAAb0/hWW6MkyXM_c/s1600/20150905_033910_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bS9LHmaacHo/VjgtyM999nI/AAAAAAAAAb0/hWW6MkyXM_c/s320/20150905_033910_resized.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I found out later that the front part of your brain is where your
filter is. Your dominant personality traits come out. People usually think you’re
drunk or on something if you injure this part of your brain. Tess is an
outgoing, friendly, go-go-go type of girl. So, we were seeing Tess on steroids.
She had the ambulance staff and the ER laughing. Since there was so much
laughing, I wasn’t too worried. They would look her over and we would be home
soon. But we weren’t.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yQrJha_bx6E/VjguTDH0taI/AAAAAAAAAb8/w9vnFodMLhg/s1600/20150905_072550_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yQrJha_bx6E/VjguTDH0taI/AAAAAAAAAb8/w9vnFodMLhg/s320/20150905_072550_resized.jpg" width="180" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Apparently brain injuries can be funny and serious. The next
few days the adrenaline wore off and the headaches came. I thought about what
would have happened if the back of her head wasn’t bleeding and she didn’t go
to the ER and the doctor wouldn’t have discovered her brain bleed. I thought
about the baby I held 18 years ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
slid into the hospital bed next to her. I curled my body around her like a protective
cocoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I listened to her quiet
breathing. I felt the rise and fall of her breath against my sheltering arms
and I cried for what might have been and I cried tears of gratitude for what
was. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cried because I would get to see
this beautiful daughter who was full of light and love and goodness fly. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-46955444831940765392014-06-25T07:59:00.000-06:002014-06-25T08:11:31.063-06:00Blogging, Math, Cruises and Red Ribbon WeekBlogging feels overwhelming and a bit daunting right now, like exercising and laundry and visiting teaching and dust and what to make for dinner. Oh and math. Math is scary. I used to break out in hives everyday of 6th grade when we did math, My teacher would send me to the sick room. Now I think about writing and break out in cellulite. It's kind of the same thing except at this house there is no sick room, just dust and dinner that needs to be made and laundry and me not exercising.<br />
<br />
The ocean is also scary and overwhelming and daunting. And big. I have always been terrified of that place. This is probably because I grew up watching "Gilligan's Island" and watching movies like the "Poseidon Adventure" and "Jaws" at a young age. I also drank out of the garden hose, didn't wear a seat belt, and I don't even think bike helmets were invented. Anyway, it's not dying in the ocean, it's living in the ocean that terrifies me. If you do not think this is a scary thing, you haven't been watching Finding Nemo or reading the <i>Reader's Digest</i> for the past 20 years. Every time I start to convince myself that the ocean is "ok," the <i>R.D.</i> publishes a story about someone that fell off a boat and treaded water for 4 days and was almost eaten by sharks and saw 4 boats and 9 airplanes before their eyeballs were sunburned out of their sockets until they were finally rescued so that they could begin therapy for the rest of their lives. I'm just sayin that if I were my ancestors, I'd still be living in the mother country, far from the sea.<br />
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But this summer I faced my fear and went on a cruise. A cruise is like a small country with too much food and too much gambling and a walking art gallery of tattoos floating in the ocean. And yes, even though I'm back, my stomach rolls just thinking about it. (Did I mention there are a lot more rolls on my stomach?") Not the I'm going to throw-up kind of roll, but the roll you get coming down the first hill of a roller coaster. But at least it's just that and not the hyperventilating and near passing out that happened to me 25 years ago when we crossed Galveston Bay. In a car.<br />
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So I can cross "face my fear of the ocean" off my 50 things to do before I'm 50 list. And I can add, "lose the 7 pounds that I gained on my cruise," because I did a lot of self-medicating on the cruise, food being my drug of choice. So now I am having my own red ribbon <strike>week</strike> month. Just say NO! NO! NO! NO!<br />
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When I wasn't panicking about the lack of land and the fact that the ocean was 6,000+ feet deep and full of lurking creatures, I enjoyed:<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6zqAkZ4zSBI/U6rTmuEeIyI/AAAAAAAAAXU/6Px4axssJj0/s1600/100_0945.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6zqAkZ4zSBI/U6rTmuEeIyI/AAAAAAAAAXU/6Px4axssJj0/s1600/100_0945.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">kissing stingrays</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zExgVcb1_n4/U6rUEJspB9I/AAAAAAAAAXc/sqWaeg68ksE/s1600/DSC00007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zExgVcb1_n4/U6rUEJspB9I/AAAAAAAAAXc/sqWaeg68ksE/s1600/DSC00007.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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and dolphins</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3BDlPBPhvwU/U6rUor-mBlI/AAAAAAAAAXk/ya03nZ8KjdQ/s1600/IMG_1644.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3BDlPBPhvwU/U6rUor-mBlI/AAAAAAAAAXk/ya03nZ8KjdQ/s1600/IMG_1644.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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and this hottie on the beach</div>
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and spending time with these people.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-82393960270968996142014-05-30T23:59:00.001-06:002014-05-31T12:06:07.869-06:00DLF>DNF>>DNSShe did light it up. (See previous post.) I even got to yell, YARD SALE when she actually did drop her stick after getting clobbered in the head. BTW clobbering people in the head with your stick is illegal and gets you a yellow card and a time-out.<br />
<br />
Now I am not complaining, I am just stating some observations out loud: a championship game should be played on a neutral field, not on the home field of one of the teams who happens to be at a very high altitude that nobody else plays at. Also, if you are going to promise the opposing team a locker room and air conditioning at half-time, you should probably do so, or at the very least provide some shade, or else the parents of the opposing team might be watching their daughters panting in the hot sun and start making observations.<br />
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With that being said, you have probably figured out that we did not win. Perhaps if playing conditions had been different, we still wouldn't have won. PC is a great team. I guess we will never know. What I do know is that #2 is not a bad place to be. Recently Tess didn't try out for something because she wasn't sure if she could win. She regretted this decision and realized that not trying was worse than not winning. Thus DLF (dead last finish) is greater than DNF (did not finish) which is greater greater than DNS (did not start).<br />
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Winning is great, but it's more important to show up, to put everything on the line and know that you gave it your best. I know I've quoted Cool Runnings before but here we go again:<br />
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<a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001006/"><strong>Irv</strong></a>: Derice, a gold medal is a wonderful thing. But if you're not enough without one, you'll never be enough *with* one.</div>
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[<i class="fine">Turns to leave</i>]</div>
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<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0502442/">Derice Bannock</a></b>: Hey coach, how will I know if I'm enough?</div>
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<b><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001006/">Irv</a></b>: When you cross that finish line tomorrow, you'll know.<br />
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In case you were wondering what number 2 looks like, it looks like this:</div>
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and this:</div>
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and this:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-npSVRVPJUKw/U4lrhrdxJlI/AAAAAAAAAWM/SIQFfMUoheM/s1600/DSC_0469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-npSVRVPJUKw/U4lrhrdxJlI/AAAAAAAAAWM/SIQFfMUoheM/s1600/DSC_0469.JPG" height="133" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qtj8GU82fAI/U4lr7cgwEHI/AAAAAAAAAWU/HgYhqkxcKxc/s1600/DSC_0470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Qtj8GU82fAI/U4lr7cgwEHI/AAAAAAAAAWU/HgYhqkxcKxc/s1600/DSC_0470.JPG" height="132" width="200" /></a></div>
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And my favorite from G-Pa, who might not know how old he is or how to tie his shoes but has all the important stuff down:</div>
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"You won!"</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-63905354594503757862014-05-17T00:22:00.000-06:002014-06-25T08:07:51.484-06:00Taser TessTomorrow is the women's high school Division 1 Lacrosse Championship game. At least here it is. Women's lacrosse is a combination of Red Light Green Light and Mother May I. Men's lacrosse is kind of like legalized assault and battery. It looks like this:<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kVXcQmBNwT8/U3btgNja3qI/AAAAAAAAAU8/gO_9FQkyGqM/s1600/lacrosse_headstand_faceoff_flip-555x367.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kVXcQmBNwT8/U3btgNja3qI/AAAAAAAAAU8/gO_9FQkyGqM/s1600/lacrosse_headstand_faceoff_flip-555x367.jpg" height="211" width="320" /></a></div>
And this:<br />
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I am no longer allowed to watch men's lacrosse because I yell things like, "KILL HIM!" and I jump up and down and throw things and I totally look like one of these parents:<br />
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and I don't even know who's playing.<br />
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Girls wear skirts when they play, that is how nice women's lacrosse is. Need I say more? Men's lacrosse is all about brute strength. Women's Lacrosse is all about skill and agility.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YVRwfz9iOdQ/U3bvTfcGTBI/AAAAAAAAAVY/oSKueUFEaEw/s1600/ebonilacrosse.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YVRwfz9iOdQ/U3bvTfcGTBI/AAAAAAAAAVY/oSKueUFEaEw/s1600/ebonilacrosse.jpeg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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My daughter's uniform looks kind of like this except the white parts are grass-stained, and food-stained and blood-stained and the red parts are purple.<br />
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This is an action shot of T. and explains why her jersey isn't white. She claims she got tripped. BTW, this is called a "yard sale" when a player loses her stick. So, if you are at a women's lacrosse game and a player loses her stick, yell, "yard sale!" politely of course.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In case you are wondering, my daughter does have hands. Two of them.</td></tr>
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Last week to promote team unity, the captains kidnapped all the players in the middle of the night. This is the kind of thing girls do while guys usually just smack each other on the butt.<br />
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The only problem with kidnapping my T. is that we live 20 minutes away from where Elizabeth Smart was kidnapped. We searched for her. We've read all the books. So when the LaX girls came to kidnap T., they couldn't get into her room because the door was locked. So they pounded and they scratched and when T yelled, "Who is it?" they pounded louder.<br />
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Now I would have totally intervened if I wasn't in the room of resting finishing up some paperwork. The husband would have intervened if he wasn't lying on the bed with a pillow over his head cursing team bonding activities and puberty in general.<br />
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The next thing we know, there is screaming because this happened:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyR5zcMWPE7X4hRIEH33UF97L0njL-UUCWYjv5Q-gAhjtJrI58VsYmU9recLR3fYbDTUNo9_NkgaVZA0hek-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I kind of forgot that she sleeps with a taser. Apparently, she needs more practice because she didn't even hit anyone. Maybe next year.<br />
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I hope she lights it up on the field tomorrow, politely of course in her grass-stained skirt.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-847958355394180237.post-35647317091919357492014-05-14T00:22:00.001-06:002014-05-31T12:10:50.028-06:00A Few of My Favorite Things this WeekA few of my favorite things this week:<br />
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My <a href="http://meoutsidethelines.blogspot.com/2009/10/trouble-with-boys.html">man-child</a> who cannot stop reading. I used to make him sit with me on my bed and read for 30 minutes a day. He would cry and tell me I was the meanest mom in the world. Now I sit on his bed at night and make him give me my book and he tells me that I am the meanest mom in the world. I love being mean.</div>
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Toast Corner. Toast Corner is what happens in my daughter's AP Engl/lang class when you are hungry because your mom hasn't been grocery shopping for 3 weeks, or you decide you'd rather put on mascara or clothes instead of eating a bowl of cereal. There is no judging, just bread and butter and jam and a little cup for a 15 cent donation. </div>
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My new friend, B.T. She's been to Costco and back, and I think you all know what I'm really getting at here because you know how I feel about Costco. Let's just say that it is definitely not my idea of the HPOE (happiest place on earth). But she is ALWAYS smiling. She is ALWAYS grateful. She is always HOPEFUL. She is so INSPIRATIONAL.</div>
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My new ottoman. It is awesome because my husband bought it for me and he hates it. If he furnished/decorated the house, everything would be painted white, and we would have a folding chair in each corner of the room. He's all about space and no clutter and so am I. I space and I clutter. If he loses his day job, he could probably get a job decorating prison cells.</div>
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No roly-poly bugs in my cupboards. My two, adorable granddaughters, Charlotte and Lila, love roly- poly bugs--not to eat--that would be my adorable granddaughter Jena, who also likes to eat rocks. They will hunt polies for hours in my backyard in a cup--which is one thing I have going for me that the other grandmas don't--a yard full of roly-poly bugs. One day I found a cup of you-know-whats in my cupboard. Fortunately, I didn't find roly-polies in the cupboard, so I did myself a little happy dance. However, I did find one on my bathroom floor. I don't even want to think about it. Some interesting facts about roly polies:</div>
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1. Roly-poly bugs don't urinate, which I think would be an awesome super-power to have. . .Do you have any idea how much time that would save? Can you imagine the diapering and potty training years if you were a roly-poly mama? And what about road trips. Wahoo!</div>
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2. A roly-poly bug can drink with its mouth and its tra-la-la-boom-de-ay. (People that is a nice way of saying anus in case you are wondering.) Not really a skill I'm envying. Not really seeing any practical use for that. Hmmm, definitely not as cool as juggling.</div>
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3. Roly poly-bugs eat their own poop. (See number 2 above)</div>
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4. And finally, roly-poly bugs bleed blue. Go cougars?<br />
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(I think I just squirreled. Back to what we're talking about here, my favorite things. Yes you may sing if you'd like.)</div>
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I got this cool present called an appointment for a family picture for Mother's Day. It also came with a guarantee that nobody will complain and everyone will wear whatever I say and everyone has to show up and smile and be happy. This present is kind of like being dictator of a small country for an hour.<br />
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I have lots more favorite things, but I will save them for another time that is not 12:20 a.m. on a school night? morning?<br />
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What are some of your favorite things this week?</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2