October 10, 2018

Yesterday after school, both of my girls sat at the kitchen bar eating french toast with fresh strawberries.  It was game day...which means that I have to have the right jerseys and spandex and socks and t-shirts freshly washed.  I have to have food ready right after school before they rush off.  I have to fill water bottles and put Julia's hair up.  And then after they rush out in a bundle of energy and excitement, I have to quickly feed the boys, get things settled for the evening, finish getting myself ready, and hurry out the door with Greg so we can make it on time for the first game.  It is hectic.  And I LOVE it!!  I love seeing their jerseys hanging to dry, side by side, in the laundry room. I love giving them a little pep talk as they quickly eat.  I love listening to them chat about practices and game plans.  I love sitting in bed with Greg at night, going over each intricate detail of the game.  But most of all, I love watching them play.  They are beautiful and talented, and I am so proud to be their mother!!

Julia is far left, then a teammate, Kami, and then Emma (facing us).
My beautiful volleyball girls!!

Yesterday, while the girls were downing their french toast, the windows were open and I could hear Austin and Owen playing outside with their little friends. Miles was running on the treadmill -- we are training for another race -- and Lance was quietly playing with his new toys on the family room floor.  I just stood there in the kitchen and thought, "I couldn't be any happier."  It was such a beautiful moment.

I think I especially noticed this moment because I have had a lot of struggles lately.  I've been tired, overwhelmed, frustrated, stressed, and all sorts of other things.  Sometimes, this house and this family overwhelm me.  I have such a bad back, and sleep continues to elude us, what with sick little ones, busy teenagers, and early mornings.  I recently went to this awesome Women's Retreat with my cousin Emily. I had the BEST time ever. It focused on a lot of things, but one of the main topics was strengthening marriage.  We learned a lot about human intimacy.  I came home so energetic!  I was ready to focus on my marriage.  For too long, I felt, I have put other things higher than my marriage: kids, schedules, LIFE!  I felt strongly that I needed to change that.  Greg and I have been working on making us a priority.  But we hit a huge WALL of exhaustion.  Unfortunately, life is still smacking us in the face, even if we wanted to focus on each other more.  For a few weeks, we would stay up long after the kids, talking into the night.  And then I just got so tired.  Life feels so chaotic when you are tired.  I was trying so hard to work harder.  And then my back just felt like it was going to give out on me.  I'm still the Relief Society President and I just can't ignore that fact, either.  I also can't ignore the fact that I have six children, with wants and needs and struggles of their own.  I feel like I'm dishing out medicine, talking through emotions, running around finding things they need "last minute," tucking people into bed, wiping tears, washing, cleaning, washing again, trying to smile, trying to cook, trying to make sure I have enough food, trying to dig through the clean clothes for the right practice shirt, filling water bottles-so many water bottles, trying to think about my calling, my neighbors, my family, and then I can't find time for myself or my husband.  Ugh!!

During General Conference, I heard the phrase "increase your spiritual capacity" numerous times.  I sat there listening (it was such a beautiful day) and tried to envision a new, better me.  I definitely want a calmer, more peaceful me.  I want to let some of the stresses of the world wash off of me.  I've been reading the Book of Mormon daily like our prophet challenged us.  I've been praying and writing and trying to focus on a more spiritual me.  I spent the whole morning listening to conference talks while I cleaned.  Yesterday I took Lance in the stroller and walked briskly down the road past the farms and the cows.  The sun was shining and I enjoyed pumping my arms and legs.  I came right home and took some Ibuprofen, hooked up my massager, and rested my back.  I read my Book of Mormon for a while before I dozed off for just a second.  I awoke to the door opening and kids rushing in.  And eventually I was standing in the kitchen, basking in a beautiful moment of motherhood.

The varsity team lost last night.  The first loss of league play all season.  It was stressful and sad.  Greg and I were so in to it...at one moment I looked over at Greg and asked if he were okay.  He looked sick!  He said, "I'm just so nervous!" We clung to each other and tried to survive the ups and downs of the fast-paced game of volleyball.  Emma played so great.  We cheered and screamed and watched the team eventually go down in defeat.  It is hard to come home after a night like that.  It was about 9:30 when we got back.  The girls were starving and hyped up.  I started dishing up another dinner.  We were all talking and decompressing and before I knew it, we were all chowing down on ice cream.  The girls deserved it after working so hard.  But Greg and I had been sitting on our duffs the whole time.  I've also discovered that it isn't very easy to be healthy at this time in our lives.  There are so many distractions! Miles has become a champion babysitter.  He had everyone showered and ready for bed.  He even had Lance asleep in his bed.  But there were still little ones clamoring for my time and attention.  And big girls clamoring for my time and attention, too.  By the time everyone was all settled in for a good night's sleep, Greg and I were exhausted.  We laid there, side by side in our bed, talking over the game for a few minutes until we started drifting off.

I think Greg needs much, much more of my time and attention.  But I'm hanging on for dear life most of the time.  I'm thankful that our love is deep.  I'm thankful that I have so many people to love, even if it is draining me most of the time.  I'm thankful for a loving Heavenly Father who will help me and give me strength beyond my own.  I'm thankful that I get to do that which I love the very most in life- be a wife and mother.  I have been so richly blessed.  And I am thankful for moments where I can see the divinity in my life.

October 8, 2018

Lance - October 2018 - 4

Today is my baby's fourth birthday.  It is both exciting and tender to think that my youngest child is four years old.  Lance is the sweetest little boy, and we all adore him endlessly.  But he's also pretty determined at times.  This is one of those times.  He insists that he is not turning four!  He keeps telling us he is three HUNDRED.  He also insists that he's getting a Mario Mansion.  I don't even know what that is.  And he is NOT getting that.  Ha ha!  When I brought out all of his presents wrapped up (he's getting a bunch of Jurassic Park dinosaurs--he will LOVE them!), he noticed that nothing looked big enough for his "Mario Mansion."  We had to have a little discussion about the presents.  I'm hoping that he will be so excited that he will feel happy without a Mario Mansion.  But four-year-olds are notorious for "not forgetting" anything! :)

He is also sick!  It is so sad, but he's perked up enough today that we can have fun.  I, however, slept next to him last night while he alternated between snoring, holding his breath, struggling, and kicking me on repeat.  I woke up so tired this morning.  It is such a beautiful day outside.  So, I opened the windows and just got going with my day.  I have now cleaned and worked so much that my back is running out of steam.  I just told my mom that I have way more gumption and energy than my back does.  It is a delicate balance between what I want to do and what my back wants to do.

This morning, all the kids came down wishing Lance a happy birthday.  He kept insisting that it wasn't his birthday until the sun came up!  But now that it is full daylight, we are well on our way to a wonderful birthday.  Mom just brought over his little present before she heads up north for the week.  He was delighted to open a cute Mario Kart remote control car.  He jumped and squealed when he saw it.  But Mom and I could not convince him to let us turn it on.  He just wanted to play with it in the off mode.  He was so over the moon about it, though, that Mom and I were so happy to see him play.  We just finished hugging and kissing Mom goodbye and not two seconds later, Lance was kind of sighing sadly.  When I asked him what was wrong, he said, "I miss Grandma."  I do, too, Lance.  She is a very beloved lady around here.

With Emma and Julia after Women's session of Conference!

We listened to General Conference this past weekend.  It was so fantastic and uplifting!  I am always so inspired to do better and be better.  I'll probably always remember this conference because it is the time they announced the change to two-hour church.  Greg and I feel so excited to "unleash the power of the family" by focusing on a more home-centered worship with our children.  President Nelson challenged all the women to read the Book of Mormon by the end of the year.  He also asked us to mark each reference to our Savior.  I started yesterday, and I am already on 1 Nephi Chapter 10.  I am SO grateful for this challenge from our prophet.  I have felt a little dull spiritually, lately.  Just by spending more time in the Book of Mormon these last two days, I have felt more peace.  I am excited to continue to grow and change in good ways as I follow the counsel from our leaders.

I have missed my daily writing experiences from last year.  Somehow, that project increased my gratitude enormously on a daily basis, and I've missed that.  Writing rejuvenates my soul and fills my bucket.  I've missed it.  I felt impressed as I listened to conference to get back to those things that enhance my spirituality.  I want to put my time and attention to the things that matter most.

Donuts! - Owen

Yum!

I am so grateful for my beautiful family!  We made homemade donuts on Sunday, and the sight of it just warmed my heart.  There is nowhere I'd rather be.  And although it is so hard to manage this life and take care of this family, I want to do it!  I desperately want to love wholeheartedly.  They all deserve that from me.  Life is so fantastic, intermingled with difficulties and discouragement.  But it is the ups and downs of life that weave together to form the multi-colored tapestry of a life well lived.  I'm here.  I'm ready.  Let's LIVE!

May 15, 2018

Rindi and Lance, ready to roll!

This picture was taken just moments before Lance and I went careening full speed off the trail, landing in a heap of dirt and scrub bushes.  But let me back up a bit...

About twenty-five years ago, I got into rollerblading.  I had long loved rollerskating, so when rollerblades were all the rage, I joined right in.  I have many awesome memories of riding the streets of my small country hometown at the beautiful hour just after sunset, when the smell of freshly mown hay fills the air, the air temperature is absolutely perfectly pleasant, and all the world has a faded glow signifying the end to another summer day.  I can close my eyes and still hear the rolling wheels of our rollerblades rhythmically skating on the road beneath us.  Left foot, right foot, left foot, right....  We also loved to rollerblade along the Ogden River Parkway in the evening, getting an awesome total-body workout accomplished before completely cancelling it out with a large cup of Nielson's Frozen Custard.  Those were the days.

Time passed.  And eventually the large pile of rollerblades was collecting dust in my parents' garage.  Somehow I stopped my mom from throwing them out, brought them to my own garage, and let them collect dust on my own terms.

Until last week...

I strapped those babies on my feet and gave them a whirl around the basketball court.  Wow.  Rollerblading is so much fun!  And after twenty years, I've still got skills!!  At least that's what I told myself as I weaved around my kids trying to actually play basketball on the court.  My daughter, Emma, was laughing her head off with me.  She turned on some 90s music, pulled out her phone to capture the moment, and we got right down to business making an MC Hammer/Mom-on-Rollerblades/Dunking-the-Basketball type video.  It was awesome.  And you'll just have to take my word for it.

As I unstrapped those old blades, I had a thought forming in my head.  Lately my knee has been bothering me.  I've struggled to run without my knee getting super stiff.  And even walking has been making it really sore.  I have been missing the wind in my face and the open road while I exercise.  I stared for a moment at my rollerblades. Could I become an actual rollerblader?  Like, someone who does this on a regular basis?!

Greg wasn't so sure.  "You are nearing forty years old," he reminded me.  "You can't go around rollerblading.  You'll hurt yourself!"  I assured him of my "skills" and told him I'd be perfectly safe, especially since I still had the black and purple wrist guards I snagged from my mom all those years ago.

So began my first week as a rollerblader.  And all was going pretty well.  Julia wanted to be my partner, and she did really well "trying" to keep up with her old mom.  :)  I had lots of wind-in-my-face, out-on-the-open-road kind of moments.  This was awesome.  It was like running.  But not.  I was super happy.

On Saturday, I hatched a really ambitious plan.  While the girls were down at the sand courts playing in a volleyball tournament together, I loaded all of the boys' bikes, Lance's stroller, and my rollerblades into the Escalade.  Greg only shook his head a little in pure amusement.

We headed to a new beautiful trail along the Virgin River.  It immediately headed off of the soccer fields and into a shady canyon.  The boys and I were having a great time.  I was pleasantly surprised to see that I could rollerblade fast enough to mostly keep up if the big boys rode casually along.  We went up and down hills, over a fantastic bridge, and kept the river in our sights.

Owen, Miles, Austin, and Lance

After a while, Owen (on his bike) and I were getting a bit tired.  We were pushing our way up a really steep hill.  I was trying to maneuver the stroller and give Owen a little push on his back so he could make it up the hill.  But this hill was too tough.  He had to walk his bike up to the top.  Every other time we had encountered a downhill portion of the trail, it had quickly leveled off or even gone back up.  I had felt pretty confident going down the hills up to this point.  As we reached the top of this arduous hill, I looked down to see the big boys waiting at the bottom.  They were standing next to their bikes at a fork in the trail.  Owen had already crested the hill and was heading down to his brothers.  I got started on the downhill before I properly assessed my situation.

My first thought was, My! This is a big downhill!  In the time it took me to realize that Lance (in the stroller) and I were reaching top speed, I had noticed a couple of things.  The boys were standing at the bottom, blocking the right side of the trail.  The trail forked and continued past the boys but it dipped even lower toward the river, and there was a group of people coming up that part of the trail.  The other part of the fork was a sharp turn to the left where the trail seemed to level off.  In a split second I had to make a decision.  I felt I had three options:  1. Crash into the boys.  2. Swerve around them and continue speeding downhill where I would surely crash into the group of walkers, especially since I already felt myself losing control.  Or 3. My last option seemed to be to try to make the sharp left turn to level ground.

I chose the third option.  I gripped that stroller as tightly as I could and pulled against the centrifugal forces at play, trying to make the turn.  I knew immediately that we wouldn't make it.  That's why I screamed.  In a wild blur, Lance and I flew right off the trail.  I felt the stroller tip out of my hands as I let go of it instinctually to brace my own fall.

There was a puff of desert sand and thistles and leaves as we landed in a heap in some bushes.  Before I could even process what had happened, I was crawling on my knees toward Lance.  I was scooping him up and ripping off my wrist guards all in one motion.  My other boys were immediately by my side, white-faced and worried.  Lance was hysterical, but all I could find was a bloody knee and a scrape on the side of his head.  I was hugging him and trying to soothe him right there under the bush when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that the walking group had now made it up to us.  I've thought this through a hundred times, but other than slowing down their walk to glance at us (probably checking that we were all okay) they didn't even stop to talk to us.  I'm certain they must have seen me flying down the trail.  And I was screaming for part of it.  And now here I sat on the side with my little boy screaming hysterically.  Even if the crash was blocked from their view, they must have been able to figure out what happened?!?  It's okay, though.  My other three boys were so very attentive.  They helped us get up.  I dusted off a whole layer of weeds, most of which were poking into my pants and shirt and hair.

Once I was sure that Lance was okay, I put him gently back into the stroller, kissing his cheek and apologizing again for letting him get hurt.  Then suddenly, I wasn't so sure of my rollerblading "skills".  Miles helped me take off my rollerblades.  With socks on my feet, I walked the entire hilly part on the way back.  When it finally felt safe, I put them back on and left-right-left-righted my way back toward the parking lot.  The wind was blowing in my face.  The morning sun was warm.  My boys looked so cute on their bikes.  I said a little prayer in my heart thanking Heavenly Father that we were safe.

While unloading the bikes back at home, Miles (my 12-year-old) suddenly stopped and hugged me.  "I'm so glad you are okay, Mom.  That was really scary."  We stood embracing in the garage.  When Owen suggested that maybe we shouldn't go riding on a trail again, we had a nice long talk about trying new things and learning from our mistakes, and that sometimes we will get hurt when we try.  The boys all nodded in understanding.  All except Lance.  He was holding his knee and declaring that he didn't like mom's rollerblades!!

Last night, we went out again.  On the street where it is flat.  And I've worked a lot more on learning to use my brakes.  But to be sure, I wore a helmet, took our jogging stroller, which is completely enclosed, strapped Lance into his seat, and securely tied the stroller to my wrist.  After making all of those preparations, I was ready to hit the road.  Which is exactly where I found Julia rollerblading behind Austin's bike.  They were connected with a jumprope.  It looked all sorts of scary, but I just bit my mother lip and off we went.

It was that beautiful hour just after sunset, when the smell of freshly mown grass fills the air, the temperature is absolutely perfectly pleasant, and all the world has a faded glow signifying the end to another summery day.  I  might end up becoming a rollerblader after all. :)

Julia and Mom

February 6, 2018

I had both hands deep in the warm water at the kitchen sink.  The phone was tucked neatly between my ear and my shoulder.  I could see the bare trees and yellow grass of winter out my big window as I washed dishes and placed them in the dishwasher.  Suddenly the conversation with my neighbor took a turn when she said, "To tell you the truth, I just don't feel like I fit in."  Slowly, I turned off the water and reached for a paper towel on the roll next to the sink.  Drying my hands, I took hold of the phone, as if grasping it would help me to listen better.

In my new calling in the Relief Society, as I've come to better know and love the women around me, I've heard a variation of these same words repeated so often, that it has caused me to deeply reflect on the meaning of "fitting in."

When Greg and I moved to Ohio over sixteen years ago, we both needed a temporary full-time job.  We only had a few months to work before he started medical school and I gave birth to our first baby.  It was a little hard to find a job quickly in a new town, but we finally found one.  We told ourselves that whether we liked this job or not, we would stick with it for the few months we had available.

We walked into the training meeting that first day, and I felt quite out of place.  I was very aware of my bulging belly.  And I felt like there was a sign plastered on my forehead that read, "I'm from Utah."  Greg and I were the only ones who had gone to college, let alone already graduated.  I looked around the small room at the group of trainees assembled and literally thought, I do not fit in here.  This was the first job I had ever had where smoking breaks were serious and necessary for everyone.  It was also the first job I ever had where on the day of the drug testing, another guy sidled up to us and quietly asked if we would be willing to share our urine.  I was experiencing a bit of culture shock in this inner-city job, and it seemed like everyone else was warily eyeing the Mormon couple (which they were, because they later told us they were).

I decided not to let those unwelcome feelings overwhelm me.  This was my first time living so far from home, and I had brought along the most optimistic attitude I could muster.  The job was a bit mind numbing, so I focused my energy on befriending my coworkers. It was hard.  I probably couldn't have been more different from some of them, but somehow we forged friendships amid conversations about hair extensions and cigarette brands.  It was all very informative for me.

After Greg started medical school, I stayed on for another month or so without him.  I admit, it was terrifying to walk in the building without him.  But soon enough, I stopped feeling so scared.  On one of my last days on the job, my fellow coworkers surprised me with a little baby shower.  On our lunch break, they had all walked as a group down to the Dollar Tree and picked up some presents for me and my new baby.  I was incredibly touched by this kindness.

This is just one of the many times in my life where I wasn't sure if I would "fit in" with the group.  I think this is a common feeling, one that maybe never goes away.  But I also think it is Satan's voice telling us that we won't fit in with those around us.  Where are all the elusive people who are seamlessly "fitting in" everywhere they go?  I've yet to meet anyone who walks into a new situation and says, "I just can't believe how much I totally fit in here!"  And if by "fitting in" they mean that they are exactly the same as everyone else in the group, well, how boring is that?

Some situations are more comfortable for us.  I've walked into places before and felt happy to see so many familiar faces.  Those are blessed days.  But I've also walked into places and wondered if I had a friend in the world.  But whenever I hear myself saying, I just don't know if I fit in here..., I remind myself that I'm probably not the only one saying that to myself.  I'm probably not the only shy person.  I'm probably not the only one with insecurities.  And if Satan could make me feel unwelcome then think of how that might negatively change my behavior.

I've been so surprised at all of the different people who have expressed feelings of not "fitting in."  Some are old, some are young, some are social, some are not, some are busy, some are lonely, some are the kind of people that the last thing I would ever expect to hear coming out of their mouths are the words, To tell you the truth, I just don't feel like I fit in.  

One time, in sort of a lonely moment, I invited a woman I didn't know very well in my neighborhood to ride with me to a meeting.  I was surprised when she agreed.  I then started wondering what we might talk about or whether she would like me or not.  We made it to the meeting and sat quietly next to one another.  When it was over, we chatted on the drive home.  Just as I pulled up to her house, she thanked me for offering her a ride.  "To be honest," she said, turning toward me in her seat, "I sometimes feel like I don't have any friends here."

I was so surprised.  She is beautiful and confident and talented.  Like a repeat of kindergarten, I heard myself asking her if she'd like to be my friend.   She smiled and said yes.  Today, she is my dear, dear friend.

It doesn't always work that way, but I wonder if fitting in is more a perception of ourselves.  And I wonder if there are more friendly faces waiting to reciprocate our love and friendship than we realize.  And I wonder if our Father in Heaven would rather have us use our energy to reach out to others around us than focusing on how out of place we feel.

We are all different and unique, and that's a beautiful thing.  I know I need those different personalities and perspectives in my life.  I don't need or want everyone around me to be a perfect group of people who all fit together.  Maybe I didn't form any lifelong connections at that job in Ohio, but I did learn that "fitting in" can be a false notion, and kindness and friendship can pop up in the most unlikely places.  We just have to go looking.  

January 17, 2018

When I first set out to be a mother, I had grand ideas.  I was ambitious.  I jumped into motherhood with both feet and approached it with a cheerful smile.  Oh, what a mother I was going to be!

Mom and Me (pregnant with baby #6!)

I know women come into motherhood in completely different ways.  Some are hesitant, some are reluctant, and some are surprised to find how much they love it.  Some are more relaxed, some are along for the ride, and some are in full-on survival mode.  I think at times I have felt all of these attitudes during my years as a mother.  But in the beginning, I was just excited to get started.  I couldn’t wait for bedtime stories, after-school snacks, outdoor adventures, piano lessons, sports practices, and lots of love.

About three days into my motherhood adventure, I sat on my old couch in my dark apartment, so full of milk I thought I would burst, and a baby fussing to be fed.  My eyes were a bit glazed over from a lack of sleep, but I could sort of see my own loving mother handing me a freshly-washed breast pump while she cradled my brand-new baby in her other arm.  I sat there like a wet, exhausted lump of dough.  I felt a panic creeping up into my throat.  Is this motherhood? I thought, frantically.  

That was the first time, as an adult, I thought deeply about how much women need each other.  My mother held my hand and walked me through those frightening days.  Her soothing ways helped me to believe that there was a light on the other side.  And although I was tired and emotional and terrified, I was normal.  And I would get through this.  She would teach me how, but best of all, she filled me with her faith and optimism for better days ahead. 

I’ve decided that the lessons my mother taught me during that week have served me well for all these years I’ve been a mother.  That moment on the couch is burned into my mind forever.  I distinctly remember thinking that this is it.  This is motherhood.  This moment is all-encompassing.  And I just can’t do this.  

Mom sat up with me in the night as I fed my newborn.  She knelt on the floor next to my feet, ready to hand me anything I might need.  And she made me laugh.  My mom is a lovely soul in the middle of the night.  She has this laugh that takes over her whole body, and she tries to plug her nose to hold it in.  I adore that.  I remember giggling our heads off together, and when the milk sprayed my baby’s face, we completely lost it.  I cherish that memory, even amidst a difficult day in my life.  When my baby was done eating, Mom took her gently from my arms and shooed me back to my bed.  I was over-the-top exhausted, but I remember wishing I could stay there by my mom’s side, laughing and talking and basking in her love.  

Mom kept telling me that it would all be okay.  She kept telling me to give it two weeks.  That’s her famous line: Just give it two weeks.  It will be better.  Whenever I’ve wanted to quit anything that’s really worth doing, I’ve heard those words play over and over in my mind.  Just give it two weeks.  It will be better.   Mom helped me to see that this right here isn’t motherhood.  It is so much more.

So, now when potty training threatens to overwhelm me, or the sleepless nights run together, or my relationship with my husband seems difficult to maintain, and there are days and days of difficult moments, I try to remember that this isn’t it.  This moment won’t last forever.  It will get better.  And when I think I can’t do this, I am grateful that this isn’t all there is.  

Having walked the same path, my mother had the experience to understand how I was feeling, the wisdom to know it wouldn’t always be this way, and the love to show me how to carry on in a difficult moment.  I am so grateful that she didn’t dismiss my feelings simply because she had learned how to make it across this same bridge.   

I want to be just like my mom.  I want to lift up tired hands that hang down.  I want to show up for my young children, today, with love and understanding when they face a tough moment.  When my teenagers sit at the table late on Sunday night crying over the enormous stack of homework that they somehow forgot about until this very moment, I want to be like my mom.  I’ve been there.  I’ve struggled along these same roads.  Instead of piling lectures and guilt trips onto their stack, I take a deep breath.  I can’t do this, they cry.  And then I think of Mom sitting there in the middle of the night with me.  I think of the way she made me laugh, the way she held my hand.  The way she made me believe that I, indeed, could do this.  I look back at all the things in my life I thought I couldn’t handle, and I’m amazed that I’m somehow still standing.  It’s like the quote: My track record for surviving difficult days is 100%. 

It’s going to be okay, I hear myself soothing my children, it will get better.  Of course, my children have a lot to learn.  And I’m here to teach and guide them, but I am always amazed that there is so much room for love in motherhood.  

We all face things that are very nearly overwhelming.  Some of us on a daily basis.  There are relationships that don’t work, jobs that we don’t like, children who don’t cooperate, days that don’t flow.  And some of those things, unfortunately, will never change.  But not one of those things is all there is.  In the tapestry of our lives, there are millions of strands combining to create a colorful lifetime of experiences.  And it is those difficult experiences that give us depth.  Someday I will sit by my own daughter as she feeds her newborn baby in the middle of the night.  I will hold her hand and smile.  I’m sure I will tell her to just give it two weeks… And I will be forever grateful that I have climbed this mountain before.

Today as I’ve thought about this, I’ve wanted to stand on the rooftops and shout, Look, Mom!  I’m doing this.  I’m a mother!  But I’m left to wonder if Mom knew that I could do it all along, or if all of her love and encouragement and unwavering faith in me helped me to do all the things I could have never done otherwise.  That day as I sat exhaustedly on my couch, I’ve never felt such strong urges to just give up!  But Mom was there when I needed her most.  

I want my children to feel that love.  Every time they think, “I can’t do this!” (which will be often if they are anything like me!), I want them to remember that this isn’t all there is.  Life is never so one-dimensional as this.

My motherhood HAS been filled with bedtime stories, after-school snacks, outdoor adventures, piano lessons, and sports practices.  It’s been everything I ever dreamed it could be.  And mixed up in all of that is a whole lot of tears and tantrums and trying moments.  I’m forever grateful that I didn’t give up on something that has filled my heart and soul so much.  I wish I could go back and tell myself during those first few discouraging days of motherhood, when I thought, This is it?, that yes, this is it.  This and this and this and this and this…  I wish I could have told myself that it would be everything and more.  Just hang in there.  Keep trying.  Keep going.  It’ll be better in two weeks.  

But I didn’t need to tell myself that.  My mom already did.  

January 8, 2017 - part 2

I took a lovely break from everything during the holidays.  I even took a break from showering or getting dressed!  In the back of my mind, I kept thinking, I hope everyone in our Relief Society is hanging in there.  Or, I would think, I'm pretty sure the PTA is fine right now.  And I just focused all of my time and energy on my family and my house and me.

I went to the spa with my sister, Sunee.  It was a gift from our husbands.  We relaxed and talked and ate a really healthy lunch at their health-conscious buffet.  It was such a wonderful day.  I went on that overnighter with Greg, and I loved spending time with him.  I played with the kids, exploring their gifts, baking yummy treats, and watching movies.  I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned until everything feels fresh and orderly.  I slept in and read books and ate a lot.  It was such a nice break.

We were all sad to wake up Thursday morning and start our school-morning routine once again.  The kids trudged out the door, sad to leave our cozy cocoon.  I was sad, too.  But then, the house was quiet and calm.  I couldn't believe how quiet and calm it was.  Lunchtime was a breeze--to make and to clean up!  And I thought, okay, this is kind of nice.

I felt ready to sit down and open back up the books of my life.  I pulled out my Relief Society binder and I stacked it on top of my PTA President binder.  I started to get things in order and make some notes.  Pretty soon, the work was piling up.  PTA texts were coming in.  Relief Society calls were ringing.  I had a LOT to do.  I just kept thinking, Goodbye, vacation.  Hello, real world! And I've been on the run ever since.

By Saturday night, we were in full-swing church mode.  With our church time switched to 8:30, we had to be completely on top of things by bedtime.  We did showers, laid out clothing, cleaned the house, and put away laundry.  Once the kids were in bed, I worked a few more hours on my lesson, which was actually our first Council Meeting of the year.  I had no idea how that would go.  When I felt good about all that I had planned for that, I spent another hour finalizing the Visiting Teaching changes that I have been contemplating for the last month.  I had even spent time on the phone with Rachel going over things for Sunday.

By the time I fell asleep, my brain was still going 100 miles per hour.  I set the alarm for the morning and felt anxious about losing a morning of rest.  Sure enough, Lance woke me up before the alarm, so I wouldn't have slept in anyway.

Everything ran like clockwork, and I felt so good about my new Sunday outfit.  Emma and I had gone  shopping earlier in the week.  I came home loaded with ten new Church outfits.  I'm so excited, I could burst!!  So, there I was, all dressed and ready to go.  Everything went like clockwork.  We got the kids up.  They were all helpful and quickly got ready.  We made it to church early, and ready for the day.

It was such a beautiful day at church.  Lance went to his first day of Sunbeams.  He pretty much hated it, and he is the youngest one, but we all acted super excited for him, so we will see what happens next week.  I led the day in Relief Society.  I had studied and prayed so hard for help and guidance.  I felt my own abilities were expanded.  I gathered that huge room of sisters into a circle, and we shared a warm, delightful discussion.  I felt love for each one of them there.

When we ended, Rachel grabbed me into a hug.  She told me that was all so inspired.  It had just gone so well.  And I'm so thankful for the spirit that we all felt.  I just love everyone!  I find myself hugging and checking on everyone I see.  It feels so nice to be serving.

After church, Greg played Catan with the kids and then baked cookies while I went back to the church and had an awesome, lengthy discussion with the Bishop.  He always invites me in and makes me feel like he has time to talk about all of my concerns.  I also love the way he treats me as an important partner in the work.  I love and respect our Bishop so much.  I left there feeling so uplifted.

When you have church at 8:30, there is a long, glorious day spread before you.  A day to accomplish much good.  I checked in on my family, and they were all busily baking and having fun, so I ran over to visit a sister in our ward who is going through chemo.  We had such a nice visit.  We cried together.  And I told her how much I love her.

Since the Bishop had approved my Visiting Teaching changes, I dropped them off to our coordinator and headed on home.  There was still so much time to make dinner with Julia, and hang around with the family.  Greg took a nap, and we waited to bake the cookies until after dinner, and after we had all ended our fast.

I felt so uplifted.  I spent so many hours, while fasting, doing all that I could to serve other people.  But I was so happy to be able to spend so much time with my own family.  We had such a lovely day.

My sister, Judi, and her family stopped by for a quick visit.  They are passing through on vacation.  We laughed and talked with the kids played.  We shared cookies and stories and had such a fun time.

Finally, we tucked everyone into bed, and I plopped down next to Greg.  The Bishop counseled me to give plenty of my time to my family and to my husband.  So, I grabbed Greg for a kiss.  And I spent time with him. :)  I am so grateful for my beautiful family.  I thanked Greg for being an awesome dad, and for supporting me endlessly.  He has surprised me immensely with his extraordinary support.

As we cuddled in each other's arms, he said, I just wish you didn't have the PTA.

Why? I said.  It's not hard at all.

He laughed a little.  I just wish you didn't have so much on your plate, he told me.

And then I hugged him tightly.

I love everything on my plate.  Every bit of it.

And I kissed him for good measure.

January 8, 2017

The sky is very gray today. I can't even detect the sun in the sky at all.  It's lunchtime, and my freshly-scrubbed house is almost dark inside.  But that's fine with me.  I love the calm feeling of a clean room with its lights off.

I'm sitting here at the table, eating my healthy lunch of cottage cheese and grape fruit.  I'm trying to ride on the coattails of my sisters who all seem to be very motivated to make healthy changes in 2018.  We have a text group to support each other, and honestly, when I go throughout my day, I imagine each of them cheering me on to eat healthy and exercise.  But mostly I just want to text them all because I'm a little lonely for my family.

I cried a bit this morning, right in the middle of my cleaning.  Owen has been frustrating me quite a bit lately.  He is so very smart.  And he has such a strong, dominating personality.  He is nearly the smallest brother, and the fifth child in our family, but he's ready to put up his dukes if anyone challenges him.  I've tried calming him, wrestling him away from a fight, talking him down, pulling him away, shouting, and I've even tried putting up my own dukes.  He turns toward me, his beloved mama, the one he wants to hug and kiss and stroke her hair all day, and he puts up his fists, ready to fight me.  I always pause, "Owen, look how much bigger I am than you..."  I'm flabbergasted that he is willing to fight.  He's even willing to fight Greg, if he feels like he needs to.

He came at me.  I held him off and sat down to be at his level.  He charged me again, like an angry bull.  I clenched my fist just as he jumped at me, and before I knew it, my fist sunk into his little tummy.  He fell off of me and dissolved into tears.  "You almost killed me, Mom!" he sobbed. "I hate you!"  My heart broke a bit, right there.  I used all of my loving tactics, every last trick I had in the motherhood bag.  I talked to him until I couldn't think of another thing to say.  I don't know if any of it helped.  But, we hugged and said sorry, and had a long talk about being kind and obedient.

That was the other day.  So, today when he was making Lance scream like a banshee, and I could not get Owen to stop bothering Lance, and Owen turned at me like he was ready to fight.  I started to cry and ran out the laundry room door into the cold, winter morning.  I can still feel the feeling of my fist colliding with his little tummy the other day.  Please, I don't want to be physical with him, I prayed.

I took some deep breaths.  I looked at my sad, sorry fruit trees.  They haven't grown an inch since we planted them four years ago.  Why don't I rip them out? I wondered.  Every time we talk about it, I hesitate.  Give them one more chance, I hear myself saying.  We even had a professional arborist come out to the house.  He told us the soil was all wrong in that space, and that those trees were bad and would never amount to anything.  But for some reason, they still sit there in the ground, greening up in the spring, flowering in the summer, acting like they might produce something, teasing us with a piece of fruit or two, and dropping their leaves in the fall.  What will I do when I rip them out?  Throw them in the trash?  I sighed and went back in the house.

Owen and Lance had calmed down, and I'm pretty amazed they hadn't followed me outside.   Still feeling super frustrated, I laid down on my bedroom floor, tears seeping out from under my eyelids.  Lance kept asking me if I was hurt, but Owen crawled over to me.  Pretty soon, his little hand was rubbing my back.  He kept telling me that he was sorry, promising to be nice, and asking me if I was okay.  And all I could think about was his little hand going up and down along my back.

"Hug, Mom?" Owen finally asked me.

I'm so embarrassed that my first thought was, No!  I'm still mad at you!  But then I came to my senses.  I promised myself a long time ago, that I would always forgive a child who is genuinely saying sorry.  Always.  Immediately.  Especially a little child.  So, I wiped up my tears.  I sat up.  And we hugged.  Oh, I had a few things to talk to him about.  But my tone wasn't a reprimanding one.

I don't always know how to be the mom.  That is so frustrating for me.  I have to try things and work my way through the problems.  And just when I perfect a certain technique, another child comes along and reacts a completely different way.  I have to start all over trying to figure it out.

Owen is one of my most loving kids.  He is very aware of emotions and how to please me.  I don't know why he has been more difficult lately.  At first, I thought it was Christmas break, and all of the excitement.  But now I'm home thinking deeply about it.  What is making him angry? What is making him purposely pester his brothers?  Could he want my attention so badly that he is willing to fight me for it?

I have been trying so hard to give him one-on-one attention.  I have played Catan with him, alone, so many times over the last few days.  I don't know if other six year olds can master that game AND be the banker at the same time, and handle all of the complicated rules, but Owen can!  He is so dang smart.  He thinks he knows everything about everything.  And he's using that smart brain to try to be in charge of this whole family of eight!!   And really, he just might be that smart.

Somehow, I have to help him channel his smarts, and his massive leadership inclinations (ha ha), toward something good.  He's definitely a worker.  Put him in charge of the dinner dishes, and he will do it all!  He just needs to feel that he's in charge.

I don't know, but I do know that I'm parenting on purpose.  And I will spend some extra time on my knees prayerfully thinking about how to be the mother to this determined six year old.

He's gone to kindergarten now.  And we held up our hands in a heart shape to each other to say goodbye.  The other day, I told him that my heart was breaking, and he said, Mom, hearts don't really break like that.  And I said, Well, it sure feels like it!  Then I held up my hands in the shape of a heart and said, It feels like this.  And I pulled my hands apart.  When we said sorry and hugged each other, he asked if it felt like this, and he held his hands back together in a heart shape.  Yes, I told him.  Thank you for fixing my heart.

As he jumped out of the car an hour ago, he said, "Don't let your heart break at all!  I love you, Mom!" His hands went up into the little heart shape before he turned, happily, and ran up the sidewalk.

And all I could think is how pieces of my heart live in the bodies of these six little people.  And I'm completely at the mercy of them.  My heart beats for them.  It grows as they grow.  It aches for them. And yes, they all have the ability to break my heart.

But I love these little souls with every bit of myself.  So, I will lean on my Savior for help.  And as long as my heart beats, I will keep trying to be the mother these precious children deserve.

December 31, 2017

It's just after midnight.  And the night is quiet as all the kids have gone off to bed.  I must admit, I'm feeling quite melancholy.  I noticed a lot of people were saying how ready they were to leave the year 2017 behind, how difficult it had been, and how much they were looking forward to a new year and a new start.  But as the ball slowly dropped in Time Square, and the seconds counted down, I felt an ache for all that had been during the year 2017.

My Dad was here in 2017.  He was alive and well and vibrant and very much a part of my life.  We visited each other, went on vacations together, shared family history adventures together.  We talked and played and sat side by side as we rode up the tranquil ski lift in Park City.  And now, like a stranger moving in, 2018 is here.  And it feels a bit empty.  It's like I've walked through another door, into another room, and my Dad isn't here.  And he's never been here.

I remember asking my dear friend Mya how she felt on that New Year's Eve a few years ago just after she lost her husband.  Her daughter was at our house for a little party.  At midnight, we all pressed our faces against the back windows to watch the fireworks bursting high in the sky around our neighborhood, and suddenly Mya's daughter said, "My dad isn't here anymore."  She was looking out the dark window, but I was looking at her.  We all sat silent for a moment.  My heart broke for her.  So, I asked Mya later,  "How does it feel?"

She told me that it was so strange to walk into a year that her husband will never see.  Like, every new day and every new year is leaving him farther behind.  We shed a lot of tears together about that.

I never could have dreamed that I would be looking out the dark windows just a few years later, thinking those same thoughts, "My dad isn't here anymore."  It feels like I have to take a deep breath and face that reality all over again.  I started thinking about how my Dad has been here to ring in the New Year every single year since 1952.  And he's been ringing it in with my mom since the early 1970s!  So, yes.  This is different.  This is new.  This hurts a bit.

All day, I've been thinking about what I could write to end this year.  It's been on my mind as we played our new, awesomely fun game, Catan.  I've thought about it as we played Jackbox TV and laughed to Brian Reagan, the comedian.  It was on my mind at church, as I led the music and listened to the speakers.  What can I say to sum up my feelings about this year?

First of all, I am so thankful that I set the goal to write.  I am so grateful for the prompting to do so, because I could have never dreamed or anticipated all that has happened.  I thought it might be fun to sit down and record some thoughts every day.  But, it has become a precious gift in my life.  Each day, as I have looked back over my day, I have recognized blessings that I didn't see before.  I have felt my heart grow in love and gratitude.  I have felt closer to my Father in Heaven as I have typed out my thoughts and poured out my heart.

I didn't know that I would be the PTA President, or how the marathon would turn out.  I didn't know that my Dad would get sick and die, or how I would survive through that.  I didn't know that I would be called to be the Relief Society President, and how I would love serving in our ward.  I just didn't know.  But now I do know.  And I've written it all down.

I've talked about this before, but years ago, I helped edit my Grandma Fowler's life history.  She had been gone for a few years, but I could still hear her voice as I read her words.  During one week of her life, she decided to write down every single thing that she did.  She thought it would be interesting to see all that she did as a busy mother of eight children, a wife, a business owner, and a Relief Society President.  I cherished every word she wrote that week.  It gave me such an intimate look into her life and her heart.  And it inspired me.  When she wrote that, I wasn't even a blip on the horizon.  My parents weren't even married.  She probably wasn't thinking about how much it would mean to her granddaughter someday.  I can't wait to tell her how much fun I had reading her detailed description of that week.

And somehow, I've done mostly that...for an entire year.

When I started, I wanted to write little essays or tidbits each day.  I just wanted to spend a little more time writing.  But before I knew it, my daily life was spilling out onto these pages.  I started feeling pressed to write about my day.  Each day.  That day.

At church today, we had a lesson on Family History.  I love Family History, and I will be forever grateful that I took the time to sit down with Dad so he could teach me how to do it.

One of the comments really pierced my heart.  The teacher said, "If you think you will have more time when you retire, you are wrong.  Prayerfully consider how to add it into your life now.  You never know what the future holds, and if you don't make some of these important things priorities now, they won't be priorities then."  And then he said, "You never know how long you will live."

I thought of Dad, and the feverish pace he kept up with family history.  He had this little bell above his computer, and he would ring it every time he found a new ancestor for our family tree.  He would keep at it day and night, ringing that bell as he went.  And that's exactly what I thought about today in church.  Yes, we just never know how long we will live!  I wanted to stand up on top of my chair and shout it to the class.  YOU NEVER KNOW HOW LONG YOU WILL LIVE!  I wanted to tell everyone to stop procrastinating the important things!

At the end of one of my favorite movies, Second Hand Lions, the little grandson of the sheik says, "They really lived?" Meaning, those men from Grandpa's stories are real?  But the answer came back, "Yes, they really lived."  And at that moment, you get it.  They really lived.  They had adventures and love and heartbreak and stories to tell.  They really lived.

Awhile ago, I told Greg I was going to try out just two goals for this next year.  Somehow that had worked for 2017.  I ran the marathon and wrote every day.  So maybe I could keep up my winning streak.  I told him I was going to write a book and become a decent golfer.  He was SO excited about my goals.  First, he loves to golf.  Second, he's always wanted me to realize my dream of writing an actual book.

But then, I got called to be Relief Society President, and I told him that maybe my book-writing dreams would have to wait.  His face fell.  "No!  Rindi, you have to do it," he almost begged me.  And I had to smile.  I felt so loved right then and there.  He is the best husband ever.  And he is so supportive!

Maybe that's part of why I have felt a bit melancholy to see this year end.  I just can't see where I am supposed to go.  But I know that if I turn my life over to my Savior, He can show me where to go.  He can help me see the important things, the things that must not be procrastinated.  He can help me to really live.

My sister, Stalee, texted this morning that Dad's name appeared in an article in the Standard Examiner about all the influential people who had passed away in 2017.  Dad was on there, directly ahead of Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.  My dear sister-in-law Laura's dad, Rick Favero, made the list, too.  We were all heartbroken when he died suddenly in January.

I felt kind of mad when I heard about this article.  I just didn't want it to be true.  No, I thought, I don't want him on any list like that.  I want him here!  But then I started thinking about how influential my Dad really was.  And my heart swelled with gratitude that he was so influential to me.  I am so grateful for every good day I had with my Dad.

Mom sent us all a beautiful text.  She identified all of the blessings from 2017.  I cherish her optimism and love.  She reminded us how blessed we are to have our dear, brother-in-law, Jaron, with us, and how blessed we are that he recovered from his brain surgery.  She pointed out all of the blessings we've all experienced with Dad.  And high on her list of blessings from 2017 was the week we all spent loving each other between watching Dad slip away in the hospital and gathering for his funeral.  I thought a lot about that.  Some people might think that would rank as one of the worst weeks of our lives.  But instead, Mom claimed it as one of our greatest blessings.  And I totally agree.

With a mother like that, how could I ever go wrong?  So, I'm adding her to my list of absolutely blessed things about 2017.  I dreamt last night that I saw my Dad.  We all ran to him, but he told us that he wasn't able to hug us.  Instead, he raised his hand, and one by one, we slowly pressed our palms to his.  I instantly recognized the warmth of my Dad's hand.  I would know that hand anywhere.  I woke up after that, and even still I can feel his large hand against mine.

Maybe that's the way the year is supposed to end.  Dad stood on the side of 2017, and we pressed our hands warmly together.  Then he turned back, and I stepped across the divide into 2018.  With all the love and the feeling he could muster, he touched my hand and sent me on.  He gave me everything I would need.  Go, Rindi, he seemed to say.  Go ahead.

I've got this, Dad.  I'm stepping into uncharted territory.  But, I've got this.

And then I thought, Welcome, 2018.  I wanted to make a sign for all the world to see on January 1, 2018 that said, If you wake up this morning, get out of bed, and are able to take a deep breath, be grateful.  Please, be grateful.  Not everyone made it to 2018.

But I did.

And with gratitude for my very life, I will make sure that I make it the best year ever!

Oh, what exciting things will happen tomorrow...