A Compliment or Not?

Have you ever received a compliment that didn't really feel like a compliment? Or, on the flip side, been put down, but took it as a compliment?

As I'm currently struggling to lose this baby weight, I remembered a compliment that someone paid me years ago when I was trying to lose my baby weight from when I was pregnant with Peter. She meant it kindly, but it made me feel more discouraged. My weight balloons when I am pregnant and it doesn't just melt off after my babies are born like it does for some women. It takes a lot of hard work to shed my baby weight. At the time, I had lost 30 pounds of my baby weight and still had 15 more to go. It felt like I would never lose that weight and feel like my old self again. The compliment I received was, "That top is very slimming on you." However, at the time, it made me feel like, "You still have a long way to go, but that shirt gives the illusion that you are getting there."

After a few more months and a lot of hard work, I finally did get there. Then a few years later, I did it again with Johnny...and now I am working to do it again after having Daniel. It's so hard not to feel discouraged though when I am losing baby weight because I don't feel like myself or look like myself, and sometimes keeping your eye on the prize is easier said than done.

Throughout elementary, junior high, and high school, people told me I was "weird." At first, it hurt my feelings. However, in time, I came to wear that label proudly because you know what? Weird people have more fun and they are more fun! After awhile, sometimes people would call me weird and mean it as a put down and sometimes they would call me weird and mean it as a compliment. Either way, I would laugh and say, "Thank you. I am weird, and weird is fun."

I've been wearing maternity dresses to church because I have felt so insecure about how my body looks. I finally branched out and tried on some of my non-maternity dresses and actually found one that fit pretty decently (though not like it does when I am at my goal weight). I was feeling pretty good about myself. I went downstairs to get the boys dressed for church and Peter immediately told me my arms were "chubby." I kept the dress on because I didn't really have to time to change, or we would have been late to church...but I did put my coat on and wished that I had a black cardigan to cover my arms.

After this pregnancy, I have more weight to lose. I gained 45 pounds (just like I did when I was pregnant with Peter). However, before I got pregnant, I gained 10 pounds of emotional eating weight after my two pregnancies that ended in miscarriage the year before. Also, on top of that, I had 5 lbs. of lazy weight that had crept on because I wasn't being diligent at maintaining my weight before my pregnancies that ended in miscarriage.

At this point, I have lost 30 pounds and have 30 more to go. I know Peter loves me and that he is just going through a phase, and that it is my job to teach him that it isn't nice, or kind, or polite, or socially acceptable to say those kinds of things to other people. Peter is just being a kid. Not the kindest, most empathetic kid, but a kid. In the case of the comment I received when I was trying to lose the baby weight I gained with Peter, the girl who said it meant to be kind...it was actually, me, myself, and I who turned the comment into an insult. I need to take the good and ignore the bad, no matter who the source is--especially when the source is me. I guess a lesson I learned from this is that I need to be kinder to myself about my body and my appearance.

Usually, when I am trying to overcome obstacles and improve myself, I am pretty patient with myself--with two exceptions--my weight and being a mother. More than once, I have undermined myself with negative self-talk. Unfortunately, when it comes to weight loss, the negative self-talk leads to me feeling down on myself and thinking, 'Who cares? I might as well eat this cookie." Vicious cycle indeed.

One area where I overcame the negative self-talk was with my own singing when I was younger. The things I told myself were more destructive to my progress in singing than anything else. In time, I overcame that. I no longer put myself down in regards to my musical ability. I've worked hard. I have the talent, the know-how, the skill, and the ability. If I am struggling with a certain part in a song, I just keep practicing, and eventually it will come. I don't beat myself up over it anymore when I'm polishing up a rough spot in a song. Bvesides that, I love music. Singing is fun! It brings me fulfillment in a way that few things can. So, why not focus on the joy I receive from music and singing instead of focusing on my shortcomings?

I just need to learn to be that understanding, kind, and patient with myself when it comes to losing weight, how I talk to myself about my body, and as I learn to increase in my abilities and capacity as a mother. It's hard not to put myself down when I lose patience with my kids and yell at them. Itmakes me feel as if the whole day has been ruined and that I have failed. It feels like a dark, heavy cloud hovering over me...whereas, for my kids, they tend to brush it off in a few minutes most of the time and life goes back to normal for them. I need to learn to forgive myself and move on more quickly so that one moment of yelling at my kids doesn't turn into a whole day of being cranky, and so that one bad day of eating and not meeting my exercise goals doesn't turn into a week of bad eating and not exercising at all because I feel discourage and feel like I will never reach my goal. Besides, if I keep acting like that, I never will reach my goal!

Maybe I need to find a way to flip all outside comments or negative self-talk around and turn them into compliments...compliments I will accept proudly, just like being called "weird."

Yes, honestly, my arms are chubbier than they are when I am at my goal weight. Unfortunately, my arms gain quite a bit of cushioning when I put on weight. However, the compliment I can give myself is that I have gotten it off before, and I can get it off again. If I have done it before, this time is no different. Bodies are resilient. Bodies are forgiving. They sometimes take a lot of abuse, but they can recover from that abuse once you start treating them right and start taking care of them again. I know I can get back to my goal weight. I know I can get my arms to be fit again. I know I'll be able to fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans soon. However, I also know that it will take a lot longer to get there if I give myself negative messages. I'm not being unrealistic either. I know I will never again look like I did before I had children. Even if I get my body back in shape and get down to my goal weight, there are still wrinkles, sun spots, a wider rib cage, and gray hairs that are here to stay. I'm okay with that. There is beauty in every age. I see my body differently than I did at 25. It has been a vessel to bring three handsome boys into this earth life. What an amazing accomplishment! That was hard work. Job well done!

So, here's to positive thoughts and self-affirmations! I can do it!

August, Part 5: Welcome, Baby Daniel!

I really didn't want to be induced after the experience I had after my induction with Peter. However, my doctor assured me that since I had already had two babies that I wouldn't have a repeat of my first experience. His concern was that he had some things on his schedule that might make it impossible for him to be there to deliver my baby for me...and since we had done self pay (because our insurance didn't cover him and I really wanted him to continue as my OB/GYN), it made sense to schedule an induction. Besides that, Jeremiah had some crazy things at work that would be made a little easier by having an actual day planned for our baby to arrive.

So, I scheduled an induction for Sunday, August 23rd. This would allow me to be there for Peter's first day of school (Wednesday, August 19th). It made it easier for my mom to plan around her work so she could be there to watch my boys too. It also ensured that I would have enough time before Johnny started preschool so that I could be there for him too on his first day of school.

We drove the boys to my mom's house so they could sleep over and then go to church with her the next day. They were super excited to have a sleepover at Nammy's house.

I was told that the hospital could call me as early as 6 a.m. that Sunday morning to tell me to come in to start the induction at 7 a.m. I was told to call the hospital if I hadn't heard from them by 9 a.m. I was warned that there was a possibility that if there were enough people who went into labor naturally, or who had medical emergencies, that I might not be able to be induced that day. However, I was also told that this would be highly unlikely because most people didn't schedule inductions on Sundays, and also weekends were less busy for people to go into labor naturally too.

I barely slept at all the night before. This was due to a combination of staying up late packing my stuff for the hospital, excitement, and Jeremiah's snoring keeping me awake. I woke up and got ready at around 5 a.m. and waited for a call from the hospital at 6 a.m. However, the call didn't come. So, I set my alarm for 7 a.m. (because I was told the calls would come on the hour). Still no word at 7 a.m., so I slept a little more. I hadn't heard anything by 8 a.m. either. I slept a little more, but I was getting tense, and couldn't wait to call the hospital after 9 a.m. Jeremiah was tense times 10...or perhaps times 100. That man can get super tense.

I finally called at 9 a.m. and apparently, the hospital had been busy with a lot of women who had gone into labor naturally, dang it! She told me to call back in two hours. The agony! Seriously, it was such a long morning. It was nice in a way though. We had nowhere to go (it was our stake conference, but we had planned on being at the hospital, so we didn't go to church). The boys were with my mom. It was nice and quiet...and it was so nice to have some together time without having to worry about anyone but ourselves. We put on some church DVDs and watched those for a bit.

At 11 a.m., I called the hospital back. The nurse who was in charge of scheduling the inductions said that things were still busy...however, she assured me that they would make sure that my induction happened that day, but she wasn't sure exactly what time it would happen. She told me to call back in an hour and that they would try to fit me in at 12:30 p.m.

I called back at noon and she told me to head in and they would try to get me in by 1 p.m. Finally! We got the green light to go. Our car was already packed, so we headed on our way.

We got there before 1 p.m. and got checked in. We got into our delivery room, I changed into my hospital gown...and then I sat for an hour. We were starting to wonder if we had been forgotten. However, finally at about 2 p.m., a nurse came in and hooked me up to an IV and started me on my first dose of antibiotic (I had to have two doses of antibiotic during the delivery because I tested positive for Group B Strep). A little later, they started me on a low dose of pitocin. Then things started moving. I got an epidural when I was dilated to a 6. An hour later, the nurse asked me how I was doing. I told her I felt great, but that I felt a little pressure. When she checked me, it turned out that the "little pressure" I was feeling was the fact that I was dilated to a 10 already! Wow, epidurals are so great. They called my doctor, and when he arrived, they broke my water, and then it was time to push! I pushed during two contractions (maybe a total of 5 pushes), and then there was little Daniel.

It's so hard to describe how I felt. When I was pregnant with Peter, I was completely engrossed in it. I think that is the case for most first pregnancies. You don't have other kids to think about, so you have a lot of time to think about being pregnant and the baby growing inside of you. When I was pregnant with Johnny, I had no fears about the outcome, and I was focused on preparing Peter for his new brother. This time around, I was so tired, sick, and busy with my boys that honestly, I didn't have much time to think about it--except when I was lying in bed and Daniel tried to kick his way out each night. At the beginning of this pregnancy, I was so fearful of having another miscarriage that I think it took me a little longer to trust my body, and that this pregnancy would work out...and perhaps I felt a little distant from my baby.

However, when they laid my sweet baby on my belly after I delivered him, and they had to poke and prod him a bit to start crying (I wasn't worried about the fact that he wasn't crying because he looked fine), I just felt such an overwhelming feeling of love for this little guy. When he did start to cry, I immediately noticed that he had my (and my mom's) dimple. It was so sweet to see that little dimple as he was crying.

So, at the end of the day, sweet little Daniel Matthew Washburn joined our family at 7:55 p.m. weighing in at 7 lbs. 2 ounces and measured 20 inches long.

Because I tested positive for Group B Strep, Daniel was required to stay two days in the hospital for observation to make sure he was doing well before he could be discharged and I, of course, stayed in the hospital those two days with him too. Jeremiah stayed in the hospital with us as well. It was just heavenly. It was so nice to spend that time in the hospital with my sweet new baby. It was so nice to have that quiet time to just hold him and not worry about anything else but just him and me. It was also nice to have that time with Jeremiah. We watched movies and just held our baby. We also got a good number of visits. The best visit of all was when our two boys got to meet their new baby brother. I'll do a separate post on that though.

Above: Yup, I reached my heaviest weight ever with this pregnancy. Boo!

Above: But look at this sweet guy! He was worth it!

Above: I just love him so much.

Above: Ahhh, it's so nice not to be pregnant anymore! I would always rather hold a sweet baby in my arms that have a huge baby-filled belly!

Above: What a handsome guy.

Above: He's just so lovable!

Above: What a sweetheart.

July, Part 6: Daniel Matthew Washburn (History and Ultrasound Pictures)

Since I mentioned how my mom watched the boys at the park while I got one of my ultrasounds, it occurred to me that I really haven't blogged much about Daniel Matthew Washburn this year.

2014 was a hard year. We had been trying for a baby and were overjoyed to discover in January of 2014 that I was expecting a baby. However, at my first appointment in February, we learned that we lost that baby. You can read about that journey here. Honestly, I still can't read that post without crying through it. That was such a hard time. I truly believe that baby belongs to us and it was a hard loss to bear. I had another miscarriage in May. I miscarried the day after I took a pregnancy test and got a positive test result. I would have only been about five weeks along that time.

I started to really question my body's ability to even bear another child. Jeremiah and I fasted and prayed about whether or not I could actually have another baby, and if I could, we prayed for help to know what we needed to do about it. I did some research and discovered that there was a test that could determine your egg count and therefore your likelihood of getting pregnant. The test I heard about had to be taken on the third day of your period. I looked it up online and discovered that it was available at Walgreen's...but it turned out that this was one of those issues with people being confused about what was actually in stock and what wasn't. I couldn't find it in stores anywhere. So, I decided to call my doctor about this test that I had heard about and see if I could take it through their office. My doctor and his nurse seemed confused as to why a 35 year old would be worried about her fertility, but at the same time, my doctor explained that there was indeed a test that I could take and was more than willing to order the test for me. It was a slightly different than the test I read about online. It didn't have to be taken on the third day of your period, it could be taken any time. It was also a blood test (rather than a test that you urinated on like the one I had read about). As a result, it was much more accurate. I eagerly took the test and awaited the results.

My doctor called me a few days later. He explained that my numbers were surprisingly low. On the test result scale, low to non-existent test results are considered to be .5 or lower. My test number was .796. I was on the very low end of the low normal scale. This meant that my egg count was very low. My doctor explained to me that I wouldn't be one of those women who could have babies into her 40s and that I was most likely headed for an early menopause. However, since I was still menstruating, he explained that I was also still ovulating...and thus, I was still releasing an egg each month. My doctor suggested that I go on clomid to help my ovulation and to help the maturity of the egg I released. It works this way: you only take clomid for three cycles (or three months) and if it doesn't work and you don't get pregnant, it probably won't work for you, and doctors recommend that you don't continue taking clomid past three months.

Jeremiah and I decided to try clomid. We decided that if I didn't get pregnant on the clomid that we would stop trying for another baby and see it as the Lord's answer to our prayers and that our family was complete. I came to realize that two very real possibilities lay before me. One, I could get pregnant on clomid and we could have another baby. Or two, that the clomid wouldn't work and our family was complete.

It was an interesting place to be. I came to terms with both possibilities. I can truly say that at this point, I felt complete peace about whatever path the Lord had planned for me. I tried to look at the bright side of each possibility. If we didn't have any more babies, I could lose the emotional eating weight I had gained from my two miscarriages and not worry about gaining pregnancy weight on top of that, we would be completely done trying for a baby (which is a stressful thing in itself), we already had two very sweet, handsome, and lovable boys already, which was a huge blessing, and life would be a whole lot cheaper than we had previously anticipated. We could go on family trips more often, etc. On the other hand, I truly felt deep down inside like we were supposed to have another baby. Part of me wondered if this feeling was tied to the baby that I had already miscarried. However, Jeremiah had an experience shortly after my miscarriage. Peter had made a family chain in Primary. It looked so small with just Jeremiah, me, Peter, and Jonathan. Just four little loops to create our family chain. Jeremiah looked at it sadly that evening after church and wondered if that was all our chain would ever be...but he felt so strongly after thinking this that our chain wasn't finished. I also remembered the joy our boys had when we had told them they would have another little brother or sister. Those are the things I held onto in the possibility that I did indeed get pregnant again.

However, I have to be honest, I really didn't think I would get pregnant again. All of the things I had read online in conjunction with my low egg count blood test results made me seriously doubt my ability to get pregnant again.

Jeremiah made me promise to take this pregnancy test earlier than I had the others. Usually, I wait to take a pregnancy test until I am a full week past my period. However, Jeremiah made me promise to take this test if I was even one day late. I woke up at 5 a.m. the morning I promised to take the test and headed for the bathroom...at the last minute, I realized I had promised to take the pregnancy test and rushed to open it before I peed my pants. Ha ha! I was flipping through a magazine with my glasses off as I waited for the results of the pregnancy test. I fully expected the test to tell me I wasn't pregnant. I honestly wasn't even thinking about the test because of the magazine article I was reading. I very nonchalantly glanced at the pregnancy test and realized that the results weren't what I expected them to be...it was positive. I was somehow pregnant again. I couldn't believe it. Dumbfounded, I looked at the test again, just to be sure.

I placed the test in a conspicuous location so Jeremiah would see it when he got up. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I went downstairs to exercise. As I exercised, I burst into tears. Tears of fear. A third possibility that I hadn't previously considered crept into my mind. I had thought about the possibility that I could get pregnant and have a baby. I had thought about the possibility that I might not ever get pregnant or have another baby again. However, I hadn't thought about the possibility that I might get pregnant and have yet another miscarriage. Well, I was thinking about this possibility now.

I stopped exercising and went upstairs. Jeremiah had woken up, gone to the bathroom, and seen the results of the pregnancy test. He woke up again when he heard me come into the room. He said, "It's pretty exciting, isn't it?" I started to cry and told him of my fears of another miscarriage and asked him for a blessing. He said a prayer to prepare himself and then he gave me a blessing. In the blessing, he blessed me to know that this baby was going to come to join our family and that it would be a healthy baby. Afterward, with a smile on his face, Jeremiah said, "Sarah, this baby is here to stay. I couldn't get the spirit to tell me if it was a boy or a girl though."

I felt incredibly comforted...but at the same time, I still worried. How can you not? I mean, as a mother who is carrying the baby, it just hits too close to home to not worry a little. Do you know what I mean? We set up my first appointment for when I would be eight weeks along and my doctor put me on progesterone pills to help prevent me from miscarrying this baby. We went to our eight week appointment, and there it was...our little jelly bean of a baby moving around with a very clear heartbeat. I can't tell you what a relief it was...especially after that last terrible appointment where I discovered I had lost my other baby. There was such a feeling of comfort and peace. This baby was here to stay.

Above: Our only picture from my 8 week appointment. It was enough.

Above: The next few pictures are from my 18 week appointment.

Above: We found out we were having a baby boy. Here he is...um...grabbing his..."unit." You can bet that the boys thought that was pretty silly...also the fact that we could tell that he peed during this ultrasound. The boys thought that was pretty funny too.

Above: I only got two pictures from my 29 week appointment. This one and the one below. That's Daniel sucking on his toe. He's a flexible little guy.

I also had a 36 week appointment because it took so long for my marginal placenta previa to clear up, but I didn't get any pictures from that appointment. But no need...I found out what I needed to know. finally by 36 weeks, I no longer had placenta previa, so my chances of having to have a C-section were no different from any other woman's. Good news for me, indeed! Since I am actually catching up on this post in December and my baby boy is four months old now, I have the gift of a whole lot of hindsight.

I Can Do Hard Things

On Peter's birthday this year (January 19th), early in the morning, I took a pregnancy test and discovered (as I had already suspected) that I was pregnant. I felt so at peace. I also felt very happy.

I placed the pregnancy test in a very obvious place so Jeremiah could see it when he woke up.

When Jeremiah saw the pregnancy test after he woke up, he was so happy. The due date would have been on September 26th--Jeremiah's birthday.

Things went well. I have always had healthy pregnancies. I don't get morning sickness. I just feel very tired. I get pregnancy headaches and nightmares. I am sensitive to strong scents...and those make me dry heave and gag, but I never throw up. Nothing big though. Nothing really to worry about.

I finally got around to setting up an appointment with my new OB/GYN. I had to get another doctor because our insurance changed. I was very sad about this because I really, really loved my other doctor (Dr. Nielson). He had been my doctor since I was 19. He had delivered my two sons. I trusted him, felt comfortable, and honestly, loved him. He's just such a great doctor!

Jeremiah and I told a few close friends about the pregnancy. At about seven weeks along, we told all our family. I had never had a miscarriage before and had no reason to think that anything out of the norm was going on. I simply figured that it was just easier to tell people earlier rather than waiting because it helped to explain why I was so tired all the time.We were waiting to make it public, however.

I am the choir director in our ward and at the end of one of our choir practices, one of the gals in choir said, "Jeremiah is so baby crazy these days." I said, "Yes, you are right. He is very baby crazy." She very pointedly said, "Do you have an announcement to make?" She had known that we were trying for a baby. I didn't know what to say. Everyone went quiet and all eyes were on me. I wasn't ready to make it widely known yet--especially since we hadn't even told the boys yet. I thought to myself, "Do I lie because I'm not ready to tell people yet? Or do I just tell them that I am and just be done with it?" Then I thought, "I am waiting so long to answer. My pause has probably already answered her question and made them suspicious." So, I said, "Yes. I am pregnant, but I am very early on. I am only seven weeks along, and we haven't told the boys yet. So, don't tell anyone else."

That night, we told the boys that I was pregnant. We figured that it was absolutely ridiculous that my choir knew that I was having a baby, but that our sons didn't. When we told them, they were so excited. They were honestly so happy about our news. They chattered all night long and throughout the upcoming days about our new baby and how my belly would get bigger and bigger until the baby came around Daddy's birthday.

We just felt so happy. So at peace. We felt that so many of our concerns and questions had been answered with this baby.

Then we went to our first pre-natal doctor's visit and everything changed.

I am 34 and will be turning 35 in May, about four months before the baby's due date. We went in to visit with our new doctor and he spent the first 20-30 minutes of the appointment talking to us about all of the things that could go wrong because I was now a high risk pregnancy because I would be turning 35 in May. "You may want to consider genetic counseling. You may want to think about getting this blood test, that blood test, or an amniocentesis. You could have a down syndrome baby or a trisomy baby," and on, and on, and on. No positives. Just all of the risks. At one point, Jeremiah even said, "If Sarah was 33, would you even be telling her these things?" The doctor said, "No."

We finally got around to the ultrasound. I laid down on the table and Jeremiah stood behind the table so he could see the ultrasound screen. As the doctor started the ultrasound, he immediately started saying things like, "This doesn't look normal. That doesn't look right. That tissue looks very spongy. The baby looks small," and more comments like that. Jeremiah and I didn't really know what this meant. We didn't know if the baby was gone, or if something was wrong with the baby, or what. Finally, the doctor said, "I can't find a heartbeat." That, we understood.

After reflecting on it later, it would have been so much easier if the doctor had kept his thoughts to himself, kept quiet, and when he had no doubt, he should have simply said, "I am so sorry, but I can't find a heartbeat."

We were in shock. We didn't know what to think. The doctor said he wanted to take us to the better ultrasound machine where the ultrasound tech could look at things with more accuracy. We waited in his office while the machine became available, hoping, somehow that he had been wrong.

When that ultrasound machine became available, we went in and I lay down on the table. The ultrasound tech told us that she wanted to take some quick measurements first. While doing the ultrasound, she said things like, "It looks like the baby is measuring at 7 weeks. Your uterus has continued to grow and it is the size it should be at 9 weeks, but your baby is not," and when we heard blank, empty static through the machine that detects the heartbeat I said, "So, something happened at around seven weeks and my baby stopped growing, and there is no heartbeat?" She said, "Yes. I am sorry."

We were ushered back into the doctor's office where he began to talk to us about miscarriage options. Honestly, it was so surreal. I don't think I really remember many details about that conversation. I remember him saying that I could have something called a D and C (which to me, before, had only ever been an abbreviation for The Doctrine and Covenants. I am so naive, but I had really never even heard of a D and C before). He said I could let it happen naturally, or that I could take some medicine that would make it happen.

I didn't know what to do. This was so not how I expected this appointment to go. I opted to let it happen naturally. He wrote me a prescription for the medicine that would initiate the miscarriage if I decided to do it that way. I remember him telling me that it would be a good idea to keep the "tissue" for testing after the miscarriage happened, but that I didn't need to save the blood clots. He then told me that he wanted to see me in two weeks no matter what option I decided to go with. I did my best to hold it together. My voice trembled here and there, but I didn't burst into tears.

We went to the appointment desk to set up the appointment. The receptionist said, "Is this for pregnancy?" I swallowed hard and my voice caught as I said, "No. It is for a miscarriage." We got out of the hospital somehow without breaking down (though it wasn't easy to walk past that giant picture of a baby by the door as you walked out of the office).

I had forgotten my phone that morning. Jeremiah let me borrow his and I called my Mom. I immediately burst into tears and said, "Mom, I had a miscarriage." I don't remember much more than that about that call. We drove to Jeremiah's parent's house to pick up the boys (Jeremiah's mom had been babysitting them) while I did a fair share of crying.

We walked into the house and heard the boys happily playing downstairs. It was so hard to walk down the stairs and see our boys so happy and playing without any worries or cares while our hearts were breaking.

Debra asked how the appointment went. We told her it hadn't gone well and that I had miscarried. Jeremiah then couldn't fight back the tears. He went out into the back yard where there was an old baseball bat. To my knowledge, he then beat the crap out of an old tree stump with that bat.

We talked to Debra for awhile and then drove home after getting the boys some lunch. Jeremiah had to go back to work. I had a little work to do as well (my work-from-home transcriptionist job as well as my job of simply being a mom). Jeremiah had something he had to do in the evening after work. He had scouts the following night. I didn't know when we would get a chance to talk to the boys together. So, I decided to talk to the boys by myself. They needed to know why Mom and Dad were acting so strangely, and were so sad.

I sat the boys down on the couch next to me. I told them, while fighting back tears, that Heavenly Father needed our baby to come back to him and that I didn't have a baby in my belly anymore. Johnny grasped that we weren't going to have a baby anymore, but he didn't quite get more than that. Peter understood more. He immediately looked very surprised, and then very disappointed and sad. Then he angrily said, "You shouldn't have gone to that doctor today. I want to punch him in the face." He's kind of like his dad that way. :) The boys were incredibly sweet to me for the rest of the day. I kept telling them that I was sad and that I needed their hugs. They freely gave me hugs whenever I asked for them.

I made it through my work that afternoon while Johnny took a nap. Peter played quietly in his room and watched a movie in the meantime. That night, while Jeremiah was gone, we played video games in the basement together and the boys were so sweet. I somehow held it together and made it through the night and finally put the boys to bed.

Shortly after the boys were in bed, Jeremiah got home. Peter called for Jeremiah, and he finished putting Peter to bed. When Jeremiah finally came back in, we cuddled in bed together and reflected on the day. Then we couldn't hold it back any longer. We held each other and sobbed over our loss. We had been so excited for this little baby. We were so heartbroken. Jeremiah told me that Peter had offered a prayer that night before going to bed. In his prayer, he said, "We are so grateful that Mom was able to have a baby, and we are grateful that this baby is able to go back and live with Heavenly Father." I just love my little Peter. He is such a good boy. He understands a lot and has a big spirit. We were so sad, but we definitely felt the spirit throughout the day.

My mom let our side of the family know what had happened. I sent a text to my dad (who was out of town for work). I sent an email out to the ward choir to let them know the change in our circumstances because I couldn't bear to have one of them ask me how my pregnancy was going. I was so frustrated that we had ended up telling people about the pregnancy so early on. I had never told anyone about my pregnancies before I was 10 weeks before (never before my first pre-natal appointment). I had no reason to think that anything would be different this time around. I was embarrassed, and I was sad to have my personal news made so public. However, it turned out to be quite a tender mercy. We experienced such an outpouring of love and support from so many members of our ward. We received so many offers from people to watch our boys for us, to bring us dinners, etc. Dad sent me some beautiful flowers even though he was out of town. Most people simply brought us dinners, flowers, treats, etc. without even asking us first. So many women came forward to share with me their stories of their miscarriages. I was so grateful to hear their experiences--their struggles as well as their healing. It strengthened me immensely. It definitely helped me to bear my burdens during those very hard days.

Experiences like this really make you ponder. When does the spirit really enter the body? Is this a baby that will be ours in the eternities? Or was this little body just not physically ready for the spirit that needed to enter it? Will this baby come down to us later when the body prepared for it is right? I'm not sure how it works. I am grateful that the Lord knows, and that all He does is for the ultimate happiness of His children.

Ironically, when we went to church the Sunday after we received our hard news, a lady in our ward got up and tearfully told her tale of how a heartbeat was not found when she went in for a pre-natal appointment, and how she was going to have to schedule a D and C. She was in the process of moving and had to go to a different doctor in a different state after that first appointment. At that second appointment, they miraculously discovered a heartbeat. The baby was fine and all was well. Seriously? I looked at Jeremiah incredulously and we both just kind of laughed. The timing of this testimony was just...unbelievable. I mean, what are the odds? It was actually quite a testimony to me that we need to be very careful what personal miracles we share, and with whom we share them because one person's miracle can be another person's current pain or trial.

Anyway, in the meantime, I felt like a ticking time bomb. I didn't know when or how my miscarriage was going to happen. I had never had a miscarriage before and had no idea what to expect. Finally, my mom suggested that I go and have a consultative appointment with Dr. Nielson to get some clarification, guidance, and comfort. My dad and Jeremiah's mom both offered to pay for the appointment since it wouldn't be covered by our insurance (which was such a thoughtful and wonderful thing for them to do). So, I set up an appointment for the following Monday (almost a full week after the first appointment).

I am so glad that I set up this appointment. It provided us with so much comfort and peace. Dr. Nielson was wonderful. He explained that miscarriages simply happen sometimes. He said that his wife had had five pregnancies, but only four babies. He said a good number of women have at least one miscarriage. He comforted me by saying that I had already had two healthy pregnancies/babies and that I was fully capable of doing it again. He offered clarification about what I could do for the miscarriage process. He explained to me the healing process and how soon we could start trying for a baby again. He even told us that he was able to deliver at the hospital that was covered by our insurance and that he could make a special exception and deliver my next baby, but that we would have to self-pay for the doctor's visits (which I later looked into and it isn't nearly as expensive as I thought it would be. We are totally going to go with that option). I felt so comforted to know that this was an option. Dr. Nielson even did another ultrasound for me to explain what was going on. One of the things that had concerned me that the other doctor had said was that, "This tissue is spongy." I didn't know what that meant and if it had anything to do with my being able to bear children in the future. Dr. Nielson put that fear to rest and explained that there were sort of bubbles in the uterine lining (the lining that is prepared to protect the baby). He simply explained that it looked like the lining was starting to prepare for the miscarriage to take place.

After talking with Dr. Nielson, I decided to take the medication at home to initiate the miscarriage rather than having the D and C. I told Jeremiah that I had a good tolerance for pain and that I would rather have a weekend of pain than go in for outpatient surgery and have to have a $100 a month payment for the next year to pay for it.

I decided to take the medication that Friday night after the boys went to bed, and we planned for Jeremiah to take the boys to his parent's house so I could rest on Saturday.

On Friday morning (March 7th), I went and picked up the medication to initiate the miscarriage given to me by the other doctor and the prescription for pain pills given to me by Dr. Nielson. The pharmacy technician said, "I have to ask you if you are pregnant or planning on becoming pregnant before I give you these pills." I said, "Well, I was pregnant, but I lost the baby. These pills are to help me with the miscarriage." She still had to check with the pharmacist before giving me the pills. I was grateful that she asked because it would be terrible if someone with a healthy pregnancy took them and accidentally had a miscarriage. However, it still made me very sad. It was so odd to think that if things had gone well, I would be about 11 weeks along and almost out of the first trimester. It had been such a weird place to be in for nearly the past two weeks to know that I was still technically pregnant, but that I was carrying a baby that had already passed away.

I cried the entire drive home. It was so different from what I thought it would be. I somehow made it through the day, despite the fact that I was feeling a lot of anxiety due to the anticipation that I would be having a miscarriage within the next 24 hours. I still didn't know what it would feel like.

That night, after the boys went to bed and were finally asleep, Jeremiah gave me a blessing while I wept. I then took the medicine. I had no idea how soon it would kick in. I didn't know if it would cause me to have a miscarriage in 20 minutes, or three hours, or what.

Jeremiah and I went downstairs and watched The Lone Ranger (we got it from Redbox--Jeremiah had been wanting to see it for a long time). I felt nothing out of the ordinary physically. In fact, up to this point, I had still had no spotting or cramping of any kind. If I hadn't had that doctor's appointment, I would still have no idea that anything was amiss. In fact, the pregnancy hormones were still strong and I still felt sensitive to strong smells, etc. It was a very interesting night in many ways. I enjoyed watching the movie with Jeremiah. It was entertaining, and I had a good time with Jeremiah. I felt very close to Jeremiah that night. However, it was also odd to be watching and waiting for something to happen with my body.

When the movie was done, we went upstairs and Jeremiah went to bed. I stayed up until I had to take the second dose of medication (at about 1:30 in the morning). I then went to sleep. At about 2:30 a.m., I woke up due to some painful cramping. I took a few pain pills that had been prescribed to me by Dr. Nielson. At that point, I drifted back to sleep. At about 5:15 a.m., I felt the urge to go to the bathroom. At this point, the first phase of the miscarriage took place. It appeared to be only blood clots, but I didn't really know what the tissue would look like. The miscarriage happened in about four phases. At this point, I didn't know if it was done, or if there was more to come. I cleaned myself up and went back to bed. At about 6:15 a.m., I felt the urge to go back to the toilet where the same thing happened again. Again, just more of the same. I again cleaned myself up and went back to bed. At about 7:15 a.m., I felt the same urge to go to the toilet. This time, I didn't make it without getting blood on my pajama bottoms, garments, and bathroom mat. This time took longer. As I was cleaning myself up, I realized that the tissue was finally passing. I had to help it happen by gently pulling it out. I put it in a zip top bag as I had been instructed to do. It was so strange to realize that I was holding the material that could have been a new life.

There wasn't much time to think about that though because I had to clean myself up as well as my pajamas, garments, and bath mat before they were stained beyond repair. Peter heard the bath tub running while I was rinsing out my clothes. I brought the Xoom to him so he could watch a show. Jeremiah then woke up and went to take care of Peter. I cleaned out my clothes completely. When I finished with that, I realized that Jonathan had woken up too. I took him downstairs. I got everyone some breakfast and felt suddenly lightheaded. I knew I needed to get some food for myself and then get back to bed to get off my feet before I passed out.

I served my guys and then went upstairs. I wearily started to crawl into bed when I realized that I needed to go back to the toilet. I can't tell you how disheartened and exhausted I felt when I realized this. All I wanted to do was to lay down, but my body had other things to do first. At this point, it was about 8 a.m. I went back to the toilet one final time and then cleaned myself up and crawled into bed. I ate my food and then rested. Jeremiah got the boys ready and took them to visit his parents. I called my mom to let her know how everything had gone. Then I texted the doctor to let him know how the miscarriage had gone (he had asked me to let him know when it happened and how everything went). At about 10:30 a.m., I fell asleep. I woke up at about 1:30 p.m. I felt tired, but...okay. Physically, I felt fine. I just felt empty. Exhausted. I felt relieved to know that I could finally start my healing process so that we could start trying for another baby sooner rather than later. This experience really solidified our knowledge that another baby is meant to join our family, for our sake, as well as for the boys' sake.

Thank goodness I felt normal on Sunday. My body felt fine. I felt okay. I felt hope. I felt like I could make it through this even though I still felt sad. I felt ready to move on.

I went to sacrament meeting and then took Johnny home with me since he had a sneeze and a runny nose. I had choir practice on Sunday afternoon. I felt that it was necessary because we have so few practices left and so much to learn still...but the feeling of urgency must have only been on my part because only four people showed up. It probably would have been better to cancel it. Oh well. Jeremiah took the boys to his parent's house for dinner so I could rest some more.

That night at about 11:30 p.m., I heard Johnny choking, coughing, spluttering, and crying over his monitor. I went in to check on him and found that he had thrown up all over himself and his bed. Jeremiah quickly took Johnny to give him a shower while I cleaned everything up. Johnny threw up some more throughout the night. Jeremiah was so sweet and helpful with this. I felt so much love for him. I had physically gone through so much that weekend and I couldn't have faced this too without his help. Thankfully, when Johnny got up for good the next morning, he was over it. It was a very quick bug, and no one else came down with it. This was a blessing because Jeremiah had a really hard day of his own (another long story, not to be told here--just another one of those times in life that when it rains, it pours).

We had made it through. We were exhausted and sad, but we were ready to move forward with the healing process. We were taking it a day at a time.

I called my mom on Wednesday morning. While we were talking, she interrupted me and solemnly said, "Sarah, I have to tell you something." I immediately said, "Okay, someone is pregnant. Just tell me who." Mom said, "Kim and Clayton are expecting a baby." I said, "That is okay. I am happy for them. I am not going to let my experience make me feel otherwise." Then the kicker came. Mom said, "Sarah, their due date is September 28th." Ouch. I can't even explain to you how that made me feel. I genuinely was happy for Clayton and Kim. Having a baby is a miracle. I am happy for them to expand their family. I want them to have more children and for them to have healthy pregnancies. However, the due date made it hit really close to home. I don't exactly know if this will make sense, but it made me feel like I had just found out that I had lost my baby all over again. I called Jeremiah and said, "I have some happy news that will probably also make you feel a little sad. Clayton and Kim are going to have a baby." I then burst into tears as I said, "The baby is due on September 28th."

I'm not going to lie, I then went home and cried for at least an hour straight. Not trickling tears down my cheek, but uncontrollable, body heaving, breath-catching sobs. I just felt so, so sad. I felt the loss for my own baby all over again. I had very much wanted this baby, and I was so excited, and felt so much peace when I found out I was pregnant. I already loved this baby very much and had made so many future plans. Johnny, bless his heart, played coloring games on my phone and watched a movie during this time while I was crippled as a mother. Honestly, I couldn't do anything but cry. I couldn't face any of the tasks I had to do. It was a very hard day. I had not expected this. Just when I felt that things were starting to get a little easier, I suffered another blow.

I must repeat that I didn't feel that Clayton and Kim's happiness was unfair, or that I didn't want them to have it when I was suffering. I was (and am) happy for them. However, the timing was particularly painful for me.

The next day, I had my follow-up appointment with my doctor. This appointment was much harder for me to bear than it might have been because of the blow I had received the day before. I had a really hard time keeping it together during that appointment. We had kept the tissue from the miscarriage...but we had finally decided against having it tested. We decided that it could only either confirm what we knew to be true--that it was just one of those things--or that it could possibly give us unnecessary fears about trying for another baby in the future. Especially when we know without a question or a doubt that another baby needs to join our family, and that it is important that we do everything we can to try for that baby.

As soon as I got back out to my car, all of my barriers were down and the tears couldn't be stopped. I just felt so sad. So heartbroken. So much loss. This has been so hard. I always knew that a miscarriage would be hard. However, like most things, you don't know how hard a thing is until you actually experience it for yourself. This really is such a hard thing to go through. I bonded with that little baby the moment I knew I was pregnant--which was actually two days before I took my first pregnancy test. Jeremiah and I had gone to the temple. I was sitting in the endowment session and I just knew. I knew I was pregnant and I felt so peaceful about it.

I went and picked up the boys from Debra's house. She has been so wonderful to watch the boys for me so much during this time. I got the boys lunch and took them home. The rest of that day was hard and I couldn't hold back the tears. The tears came unexpectedly and suddenly throughout the day. That evening, we went to a play (Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat) that my niece, Alexa, was performing in while my mom babysat the boys. It was such a welcome diversion. I needed it. I only wish that I had been in better spirits before and after the play because I felt that I let Jeremiah down that night. He needed more of a break than what he got because I was so sad. I felt so sad and was just trying to hold back the tears.

After everyone went to bed that night, I knew that there was one final thing I needed to take care of. That tissue was still out in our garage in a zip top bag inside a giant sour cream container and it needed to be disposed of. I had thought of just throwing it in the garbage, but the thought that a dog or some other animal might get to it made me very sad. I thought about burying it, but I knew that every time we went by the place where it had been buried, I would think about it. I didn't want that. I decided that it would just be best to flush it...which is what would have happened if I hadn't saved the tissue originally anyway. Every option seemed so...irreverent...and not how I would want to care for such sacred material. You know?

It was kind of the last hard thing I needed to do in order to resolve things (besides writing the whole thing out in this blog post). I put it off. It wasn't something that I was looking forward to doing. Finally, at about 11:30 p.m. that night (Thursday, March 13th), I flushed the tissue down the toilet. It just made me so sad. Again, I sobbed. My whole body heaved with the pain and loss of it. There are many levels of sadness that come with a miscarriage. So much to come to terms with. So much to overcome. A loss of expectations. A loss of a future I thought would have been my reality in only a few months. As I flushed the toilet, my heart ached with the thought that I had actually held that in my hand...held what could have been my baby.

My sobs woke Jeremiah. He held me and did his best to comfort me. He had experienced a loss and sadness of his own, but there were portions of my process that he couldn't quite understand. I know he felt frustrated at my sadness and his inability to stop my tears.

The next morning, I woke up with a new resolve. The realization that I will probably still feel sadness in times to come, but also the realization that I needed to go on for the sake of my husband, and for the sake of my boys. I need to be happy, and upbeat for their sake. Life is good...even when it is hard.

Throughout these past two weeks, I have felt an abundance of the spirit. Through my sadness, I have felt the comfort and love of my Lord and Savior. We have felt an outpouring of love from the members of our ward.

Before we found out about the loss of our baby, my mom had posted something to our Mackay Family Facebook page. I want to share it: "Elder Hafen said that studies have been done and children are more resilient when they know the history of their family members who have gone before them and learned what they have overcome. He said that in their family they had a motto, 'We do hard things.' His wife would ask his children each day what hard things they had accomplished. It is something to know the stock that you come from and how generations before you have been strong and overcome. So proud of all the hard things all of you have done."

Now, this miscarriage is not the only hard thing I have ever experienced or overcome. Far from it. I have had to overcome many things in my life. I have done many hard things. It is important for me as I look back on all of the hard things I have done, and all of the hard things I have overcome that the Lord's hand has been in my life and His presence has been felt throughout those hard times.

The words to "Be Still My Soul," especially the second verse, bring me so much comfort:

Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake

To guide the future as he has the past.

Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;

All now mysterious shall be bright at last.

Be still, my soul: The waves and winds still know

His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

I know that the Lord has guided my past. So, why should I ever question that He would also guide my future? I have felt Him during these past weeks. I know He is also ever present. I am grateful for this knowledge. I am grateful to know that I can make it through this hard time just as I have other hard times that I have gone through in the past. I can do hard things. I can overcome hard things. However, more than that, I can come through these experiences better, and stronger, and more empathetic than I was before.

Following

"Parents, please don't let your children lean over the railing." Yup. Jeremiah and I would be those parents. While at Disneyland, the boys were tired and we thought that a train ride around the park would be just the diversion to give them a little rest and relaxation. This was Peter's cup of tea. He was happy to sit, ride, and look. Jonathan, on the other hand, got riled up and excited by the train. I saw the sign warning about not letting children look over the railing...but every time I pulled Jonathan back, he started screaming. So, I securely wrapped both arms around him, and let him lean over. That's when the train conductor made the very discreet announcement over the intercom, "Parents, please don't let your children lean over the railing."

Being a parent is so hard. It is so much work. Do some parents out there literally only have easy children? No one else's children were discontent to just sit in the train without breaking the rules. Or, are other parents just more strict with their children?

I feel like I am plenty strict with my boys. You pick your battles. To me, it just seemed easier to hold on to Jonathan so he was safe (which he didn't mind) so that he could pop his head out a little. He was still well within the roof of the train, so I knew he wouldn't get bopped in the head by any obstacles in our path.

One of my favorite stories in the scriptures can be found in John 21:18-23. Jesus alludes to Peter's future (crucifixion similar to His own). Peter then sees Jesus talking to John the beloved. He wants to know what Jesus has been saying to him and what his future will be. He also tries to find out who will betray Jesus. Jesus answers by saying, "Verily, verily, I say unto thee, When thou wast young, thou girdesdst thyself, and walkedst wither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not. This spake he, signifying by what death he should glorify God. And when he had spoken this, he saith unto him, Follow me. Then Peter, turning about, seeth the disciple whom Jesus loved following; which also leaned on his breast at supper, and said, Lord, which is he that betrayeth thee? Peter seeing him saith to Jesus, Lord, and what shall this man do? Jesus saith unto him, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee? follow thou me. Then went this saying abroad among the brethren, that that disciple should not die: yet Jesus said not unto him, He shall not die; but, If I will that he tarry till I come, what is that to thee?"

To me, this story always taught me the importance of not comparing ourselves to others. Not envying others. Not wondering about the lives of others more than our own. I mean, after all, don't we have plenty to occupy our thoughts and guide our actions when it comes to keeping our own lives on track...without worrying about how it compares to the lives of others?

"What is that to thee? Follow thou me."

Isn't that what our main goal should be? We need to focus on Jesus Christ and do our best to follow Him.

To be completely honest, when it comes to envy, that isn't something that I struggle with as much. I tend to be happy for others and the accomplishments, joys, and happiness that comes to them in their lives. Sure, I've had my brushes with jealousy, but it really isn't one of my major hang-ups.

However, during this last trip, I realized another facet to this story. Something that had never occurred to me. What I learned is that when Christ says, "What is that to thee? Follow thou me." He is also referring to what our reaction should be when others are judging us. This is a lesson that is much harder for me.

One of the things that has been the most difficult for me as a mother is to see all of the judging eyes around me. Being at the grocery store and getting looks of disapproval. Being at the zoo when my son decides to say a bunch of naughty words and no matter what I do, I can't get him to stop...and you know it is bad when other kids are giving you looks like, "Can't you control your child?"

Peter is extremely strong-willed and stubborn. Plus, he has no problem voicing his frustrations in public. The most recent frustration is that whenever he is angry or frustrated with us, he shouts (quite loudly, of course), "I hate you!" for everyone around us to hear. I know that he just doesn't understand his emotions and that he really wants to say, "I'm frustrated with you because you wouldn't let me get that candy." I understand that...but the many disapproving eyes around me don't.

It is amazing how many lessons we have to learn in this life. Being a wife and a mother is definitely one way of being put in situations that force you to learn these lessons.

I have a job ahead of me. I realize that in order for me to follow my Savior, I need to be able to disregard the unjust judgments of others.

"What is that to thee? Follow thou me."

If I am following the Lord and doing my best to be a good wife and mother, really, what does it matter what other people think? If I am doing my best to follow the Lord, then I know where I stand with Him. If I am in good standing with the Lord, nothing else matters.

To Listen, or Not to Listen

A few months back, we went to the dentist. We went to our old dentist despite the fact that he wasn't fully covered by our dental plan (seriously, isn't that the dumbest thing? If it is a dentist, they should be covered by dental insurance. If it is a doctor, they should be covered by all health insurance plans).

The boys had no cavities, but it had been awhile since Jeremiah and I had gone, and we both had cavities. The result was a nearly $400 bill. I called and set up a monthly payment plan. However, the communication, paperwork, or records at their dentist's office must not be that great because I had to call a couple of times to confirm that we had set up a payment plan to have late fees waived, etc. On the final payment, a very harsh note and a sticker were placed on our bill warning us that this was the last bill that would be sent and if it wasn't paid in full, we would be sent to collections. I was quite angry about this. As mentioned before, I had been in full communication with their office, with the assurance that a payment plan was completely acceptable.

I couldn't wait to call and pay that last bill and then give them a piece of my mind.

Before I called, a quiet thought came to my mind. "Do not be angry with the person you talk with on the phone."

Well, when I made the call, I very calmly paid my remaining balance. Then, I went into my spiel. I told the receptionist, "When I called originally, I set up a payment plan which I was told was completely acceptable. However, I had this note written on my final bill with a warning sticker placed on it. I am not sure where the disconnect occurred. Whether it was that you don't really accept payment plans or..." The receptionist gently and apologetically interrupted me. "I'm sorry. The girl who is in charge of our billing is on maternity leave. She knows who has set up payment plans and who hasn't. We have been doing our best while she has been gone. When a certain number of bills have been sent, a message comes up on our computer screens to place those stickers on them."

Again, I heard, "Do not be angry with her."

However, my "righteous" indignation over my situation and my "right" to have my side heard took over. I said, "I had set up a payment plan and I was honestly making my monthly payment. To have a sticker put on my bill threatening to send me to collections is insulting. All things considered, please don't make any reminder calls about further dental appointments. We will need to find another dentist who is covered by our insurance." The receptionist very meekly, politely, and with great composure said, "All right. I will do that. Thank you."

Then we ended our call...and I felt a pit in my stomach. I hadn't been completely angry with her...but I had been blunt and even harsh in my wording and my tone. I felt like a terrible person. Did they have lousy communication and a terrible record/bookkeeping/billing system at their office? Yes. Did she deserve to get the brunt of it? No.

I meekly called back about five minutes after our call had ended. I said, "Hello. I called a few minutes ago and complained about a bill I had received. I would like to apologize. You did not deserve to get the brunt of that, and I should not have talked to you that way. I am sorry." She, in a very surprised, gracious, and friendly voice said, "Thank you. I have processed your final payment, and I have archived the records of you and your family since you won't be our patients anymore." I said, "Thank you. It is just too far to travel from our home since we moved. Especially since it isn't covered by our dental insurance. I appreciate that. Again, I'm sorry. I didn't want to put a damper on your day."

Why, oh why didn't I listen to the spirit when I was given those warnings? How much better would it have been if I had paid my bill and then simply said, "Because of the distance and the fact that our dental insurance doesn't cover your office, we will have to find another dentist."

Was the warning for her sake, for mine, or for both our sakes? I think it was probably for both our sakes. Though she would have gotten over it a lot faster than I would have. Disregarding that prompting wounded my spirit that morning. I felt a little better after I apologized...but I was so disappointed in myself. I never used to respond with anger that way. My husband gets angry quite quickly...I think a little of that has rubbed off on me. He would be the first one to agree with me on that.

I have never been a shrinking violet. However, I was assertive when necessary...but never angry or aggressive.

It was a lesson for me to, in a way, return to my old self...but not only that, to improve upon my old self. To remember that, at heart, I am a Blue/White personality who is motivated by relationships and keeping the peace. I need to work harder to respond with love and charity.

So many lessons to learn! The most important being that it is always better to listen than not to.

Journal--A Collection of Memories

I was teaching a voice lesson today and in doing so, I was explaining the text. Let me share the words. They are from a beautiful song called The Ash Grove. It is an Old Welsh melody arranged by Roger Quilter. The words are by Rodney Bennett.

The Ash Grove

Away in the shadows a lone bird is singing,

The wind whispers low in a sighing refrain;

Their music makes memory's voices go winging:

The Ash Grove in beauty I see once again;

The voices of friends that the long years have taken,

Oh faintly I hear them, the song and the word.

How much in the heart can so little awaken:

The wind in the leaves and the song of a bird!

How little we knew, as we laughed there so lightly,

And time seemed to us to stretch endless away,

The hopes that then shone like a vision so brightly

Could fade as a dream at the coming of day!

And still, spite of sorrow, whene'er I remember,

My thoughts will return like a bird to the nest,

 No matter though summer may wane to December,

And there in the Ash Grove my heart be at rest.

I have always loved this song, but I don't think I ever really thought about what the words meant until I have had to explain them to my voice student over the past couple of weeks. The words are wistful, but by no means sad.

This song is about how something can happen around us to remind us of times that are past. When we reflect on those memories, it sometimes seems like a dream. Things always turn out differently than what we expect...because how could we know all of the joys and sorrows to come? There is no way that we could imagine or anticipate both the good and the bad that come during the course of a lifetime. I love that we can look back on our memories and still feel joy in our remembrance. Our memories can literally take us back to a different place and time. Additionally, those memories can indeed bring rest to our hearts.

I think this can apply to many memories that I have from my own life. They seem like a dream--like a different lifetime, or a good book that you read a long time ago, or even like they might have been part of someone else's life.

When I was young, I loved to roller skate. I don't now. Perhaps I am more self-conscious now, or because I have lousy balance and I don't like the feeling of not being sure-footed. However, when I was a kid, I would roller skate down our driveway (which was a gentle, but long hill). I would put my arms out and feel the wind in my face and hair. I imagined I was an eagle soaring over mountains.

Commonplace things were magical. There was a ditch by our house that had a small stream flowing through it. It was surrounded by trees, wildflowers, and vegetation. I almost felt like I was a magical being myself when I went there.

I had so much imagination as a child. I remember my sister and I vivaciously shaking the fall leaves off of our trees because we were pretending to be fairies who were helping to bring on the winter. That was definitely a different lifetime, because I will now do anything it takes to prolong the autumn and keep winter from coming.

We had an old tent that was missing far too many tent poles. The tent poles we did still have became "locks" for our basement sliding doors. The tent, itself, was in pretty decent shape. It was huge. Children find some pretty extraordinary uses for some pretty ordinary things sometimes. One particularly windy day, we found that we could still get some use out of our tent. We took the tent out onto our deck and unzipped the front door of the tent and faced it towards the wind. The entire tent filled up like a balloon. We positioned ourselves as internal "stakes" inside the tent to hold it down. I can't tell you how much fun it was to sit in that wind-filled tent with my brothers and sisters as the wind whipped my hair and clothes around.

We had so many amazing times on that deck as children. I remember piling all of our blankets and sleeping bags (unzipped and laid flat) one on top of the other so that we created a huge mattress for outdoor summer sleep-outs under the stars. I remember looking at the galaxies above me and feeling comfortably warm with the wonderful weight of all those blankets and sleeping bags on top of me.

There were a number of wild cats in our neighborhood. One cat, who we simply called "Big Mama" (pretty much because she was a larger cat and she was perpetually having litters of kittens), would keep her kittens under our broken down hot tub. We became quite expert in catching and taming those wild kittens. One of our methods was to tie a rope to a pillow case, and put some tuna fish into the pillow case (now, as a mom, all that makes me think of is laundry). Once the kitten went into the pillowcase to get some tuna fish, we would simply pull the pillowcase up and we would have a kitty to love and to tame.

I have so many memories of being outside...it feels like I must have been outside all the time while it was warm. I seem to remember always being barefoot with wild hair too. Now, I don't really like being barefoot anywhere--even in my own house, I wear socks, slippers, or flip-flops if I am not wearing shoes.

Those memories take me back to another time. However, these childhood memories aren't the only ones that bring me back to a place of peace and joy. 

In fact, as I was explaining the words to this song, the memory that came back to me the most vividly was something that was repeated so often that it almost defines, for me at least, my college experience. I loved to study outdoors on the BYU campus. I would purposefully schedule my classes so that I had hour-long breaks to spend on campus studying or doing homework for my next class. I wistfully look back on those days quite often. At the time, I appreciated it and enjoyed it. After I graduated, being outside all the time was one of the things that I missed the very most. The 40 hour work week just seemed so drab and monotonous in comparison. 

The funny thing is that now, as a mom, I get to go outside quite a lot...but I am never outside alone. I am always watching my boys, or helping them on the slide, swings, etc. As a college student, I don't think I had any idea what a gift that was. A gift of time. A gift of experience. As I look back on it, I can still feel the sun on my head, back, and arms as I study my textbooks. I can still feel the wind causing the pages of my book to gently flutter. I can see and feel the green grass around me...followed by the autumn leaves gently falling around me...and later the hope and renewal that I felt in my heart as the flowering trees on campus opened their buds and colored the campus with an array of pastels.

Time was in my hands back then. I would constantly drive into Provo canyon simply to read my scriptures in the surroundings of the mountains. Can you imagine? I certainly don't have time to drive to the woods to read my scriptures anymore. In fact, these days, it is hard enough for me to find time to read my scriptures at all!

As I look back on these times, I feel peace and fulfillment. I do feel wistful, but I never feel regret. At the same time, I know that we are constantly creating these kinds of memories. While we are in the midst of making them, we don't always realize that it will leave such a lasting impression.

I know that the days of me taking my boys to a playground will not last forever. Someday I will have time to myself again. Someday I will be able to go outside by myself and sit in the sun and read. Someday I will even be able to drive into the mountains for a good scripture study session alone if I want to. Yet when those days come, I will no longer have little boys to play with on the playground. Then I will look back at the days I am living now as golden memories where my boys were so small that I could pick them up and carry them, and cuddle them in a blanket while we watched Peter Pan.

It is amazing to me how many lessons life can teach us. The lesson of appreciating the life we are currently living. The blessing that we do have memories to take us back to such beautiful times in our lives. The realization that things change, and some things don't last forever.

I am grateful for the experiences I have had. I am lucky to be having the experiences that I am currently in the midst of. I look forward with anticipation for what is to come.

Journal--My First Job

Here's another journal installment based on the writing assignments given to our last ward by our family history coordinator.  These journal posts are mostly for my sake (and the sake of my children who might be interested in their mom's life someday).  However, anyone else who would like to read them is welcome to do so, but don't feel obligated. :)

I didn't have my first official job until the summer before my senior year of high school. Before that, I once helped my Dad by answering phones at his office one Saturday when I was about 14. But nothing official.

I was very excited for my senior year. I had made it into Concert Choir and Madrigals. That meant that I would get to go on two choir tours my senior year--one to Disneyland and one to Oregon. The only problem with this? Money was tight and my Mom couldn't afford to pay for these tours. The combined cost for these tours was going to be around $750.

We had a choir fundraiser to help us earn money. It was to sell pies and pizza. I pulled out our ward roster and called every single name on the list whether I knew them or not. In that way, I was able to earn enough money to pay for my Concert Choir tour. But despite the fact that I tied with my friend, Justin Freeman, in selling the most pizzas and pies and raising the most money, it wasn't enough to cover both tours.

I knew I would need to get a job. But where to start?

It is really difficult to get a job when you have never had one before. My main goal was that I wanted to earn enough money for my tour, but I didn't want to resort to working Sundays in order to do so. This was a hard thing for me. As I mentioned before, it is difficult to get a job when you've never had one before...but it is pretty much IMPOSSIBLE to get a job as a high school student with no job history that doesn't require you to work on Sunday.

I scoured all sorts of possibilities. I sent in applications to every store or establishment that I could think of that was closed on Sundays. Whether due to the fact that these places had a lot of hiring competition, or because I had no job experience, or a combination of the two, I never heard back from any of these places.

I was feeling very frustrated. I had a friend named Josh Adams (who later became my first boyfriend) who was working at a restaurant called Frontier Pies. He told me that they were hiring and that there was a possibility that they might not ask me to work on Sundays. He helped to get me an interview. I still resolved to avoid working on Sundays.

Oh, when I think back to my very first job interview, I want to smack my forehead with my hand and say to myself "How could you be so clueless?"  I was definitely not job hunter savvy at that point in time...and no one really gave me any pointers as to what I should or should not do or what to say or not to say. The only tip I got was to dress up.

It was probably one of the shortest interviews in the history of all mankind. It went like this:

Interviewer: Would you be willing to do anything here?
Me: Yes.
Interviewer: Would you be willing to wash dishes?
Me: No.
Interviewer: Will you be able to work Sundays?
Me: No.
Interviewer: Thank you for your time.

The End.

Ha ha!

It's a lovely glimpse into my teenage mind and logic. When the interviewer asked me if I would be willing to do anything, I had no idea he would ask me to wash dishes. I didn't want to wash dishes. I was caught off guard by his question and simply answered his question honestly. The funniest part about that experience, as I look back on it, is that I honestly left there thinking "I wonder when I'll hear back from them in regards to whether I'll get a job or not." I was that naive. I naturally assumed that I wouldn't have to work as a dishwasher and that I would automatically be hired as a waitress.  After that interview, I still hoped that maybe somehow, they would hire me and not ask me to work on Sundays.

Once reality hit a few days later and I knew that I wasn't getting a call back from them, I honestly felt hopeless. I didn't see how in the world I could get a job that didn't ask me to work Sundays. I decided to fast and pray about it.

A few days after I fasted, I got a call from my friend, David Mendenhall (who would also be in Concert Choir and Madrigals with me for our senior year). He said "I don't know if you're even interested in this, but I have an uncle who needs some part-time help during the summer. A bunch of sample boxes of picture frames were packed wrong and he needs some people to go in and pack them correctly so that the sample boxes can be sent out. It will only be for a few weeks. It will be Monday-Friday until we're done with the job and it will pay about $350."

I sat there speechless for a moment. That was the exact amount of money I still needed to earn for my choir tours. I finally said "Dave, do you realize that you have been an answer to my prayers?" I quickly told him that I would of course take the job.

When I hung up the phone, I just sat there in awe. A few moments before, I felt so hopeless and wondered what I was going to do. Would I have to compromise on my beliefs and goal to not work on Sundays?

I understand that there are plenty of jobs out there where it is necessary for people to work on Sunday: doctors, nurses, firefighters, etc. But I didn't think being a dish-washer or a waitress justified me working on Sundays.

I'm so grateful that the Lord heard and answered my prayers. He knew that it was important for me to keep the Sabbath day holy. In addition to that, it was also a first-hand lesson to me that people can be answers to prayers. When we are in tune with the spirit, the Lord can use us as instruments in His hands to answer the prayers of others...just as my friend, Dave, was an instrument in answering my prayer.

I have never had to work a Sunday in my life (unless you count being a mom--which is a 24/7 job!).  Each time I searched for a job, some opportunity or individual was placed in my life which helped me to earn the money that I needed without having to work on Sundays.

Special Thank You's: I am so grateful for my cousin Chrissy (who helped me get a job at a day care center the following summer--the summer before I went to college) and to my Mom (who helped me get a job at the insurance company where she worked the summer after that). The job that my Mom helped me get (working in the basement of the insurance company as the mail and file clerk for $8 per hour) enabled me to get my foot in the office work world--the Monday-Friday, 8-5 p.m. grind. While many of the filing, data entry, secretarial jobs that this mail/file clerk job lead to were not glamorous (and were often quite boring), they allowed me to earn the money I needed for college without ever having to work on Sunday. Thank you Dave, Chrissy, and Mom for being instruments in the Lord's hands.

Journal--Family Road Trips

One writing assignment given by the family history coordinator in my old ward was to write about family road trips.  So, here goes!

One of the things I love about my Mom is that she is really good at utilizing what she has.  We didn't always have a lot of money, but that didn't stop us from going on trips.  When I was little, I remember going to Disneyland a handful of times with our whole family.  But after my parents got divorced, the trips didn't end...though the locations changed a little.

We didn't have the money to go to Disneyland anymore (though she splurged and probably incurred a little debt too to take us to Florida to see Disneyworld shortly before my brother, Clayton, went on his mission...I'll have to blog about that sometime too), but my Mom recognized the value of family trips and the bonding they brought and the memories that they created for our family.  So, we visited places in Utah.  We went on a family trips to Ogden, Logan, Capitol Reef, Bryce Canyon, etc.

I loved those trips.  I loved that we got to see places in our very own home state that many people who have lived here all their lives have never taken the opportunity to see.  It showed me the value of exploring the world that we live in and not just pining for places that we can't currently afford to see.

I remember looking out on the beauty of Bryce Canyon.  Bryce Canyon really is a breathtaking place. Standing there with visitors from all across the world, I remember hearing a French woman whisper in awe: "C'est magnifique."

I remember hiking through Capitol Reef and being amazed by the beauty of the arches that can be found there.

I remember swimming in the hotel pool up in Ogden.  I was a teenager (and whoa was I a teenager).  I was too embarrassed (and moody) to go swimming in the pool because I needed to shave my armpits and I forgot to bring my razor.  My Mom very patiently and lovingly stopped somewhere and bought a razor for me so that I could join with everyone else in the fun of swimming together as a family.  We got to see all sorts of fun places in Ogden (such as the Train Museum and the Eccles Dinosaur Park that we took our own boys to last year).

On our trip to Logan, we visited Utah State University's campus.  I loved how old it looked and how big the trees were.  It made you feel like you were somewhere in New England.  We drove by the Logan temple and visited the grounds.  We visited the two candy/chocolate shops owned originally by two brothers who couldn't make the business work together, so they ended up competing against each other as businessmen for the rest of their lives.  We drove out to Promontory Point to the Golden Spike National Historic Site (to see where the railway lines of the Union and Central Pacific finally met together on May 10, 1869--joining the entire nation from east to west).

After visiting Promontory Point, we drove out in the hopes of seeing an old ghost town that my Mom had read about.  We drove on a dirt/gravel road for what seemed like forever.  When we finally reached the "ghost town" all that was left of that was an old foundation and maybe a beam or two sticking out of the ground.  It could have been a huge let down for us.  But instead, what I remember was that we spent the drive playing trivia games and having good times together.

On our drive back (away from the "ghost town"), we stumbled upon a section of the Great Salt Lake and we decided to get out to stretch our legs.  It was beautiful.  It seriously felt like something out of a book...it always reminded me a little bit of what I thought Narnia must be like in places.  The rocks near the shore were covered with a layer of salt that made them look pearlescent--like Mother of Pearl.  I don't know what was going on with the water that day...but it was purple.  I don't know if there was some kind of creature (such as plankton, algae, brine shrimp, etc.) in the water that was playing with the refraction of the sun's light to make it that shade of purple.  But I have never seen the Great Salt Lake look like that before or since.  It was beautiful.

Nephi (always a brave one) was the only one to wade into the water.  I don't remember if he was wearing shorts or if he just rolled up his pants, but he waded in and splashed us.

I remember feeling the breeze whipping around the rocks that surrounded the lake and just feeling happy and content.  I felt such comradery with my brothers and sisters.  It really was the perfect day.

It is one of my most vivid memories from any of our road trips.  I'm grateful to my Mom for budgeting in the money and making the time to take us to all of the nooks and crannies of Utah so that we could have those experiences together.