Photo Shoot

Backdated from Oct 4, 2012

 

 

 

  

 

   

 

 

  

   

 

  

 

 

These were taken in beautiful Haigler Creek outside of my dad’s cabin,

by the talented husband/wife combo of my sister Mimi and bro-in-law Dave.

Internet Dangers

I was up late.

On the internet.

Looking at things I should not have.

It started out innocent enough.

But I just got sucked in.

And suddenly I was in dangerous territory.

Very dangerous territory.

I just couldn’t get those images out of my head.

And by the time I did go to bed, they were still circling and swirling around in my imagination…

over and over… circling… swirling…

over… and over… and over again…

 

What was I looking at?

Well, I was hunting actually,

House hunting.

We thought we’d take a gander at all the good deals that are passing us by as we try to get into a position to buy something.

That’s why it was dangerous.

And I let my imagination get away from me.

And was left hoping and wishing.

I suppose since the grass at this rental is dead and bare, the grass on the other side is always greener.

Why

Sometimes, I just don’t write.

This is usually for a number of different reasons:

I want this blog to be something uplifting for my kids to see in the future, but sometimes (through no fault of their own) I have nothing uplifting to report.

Contrastly, sometimes I am just so content with life, that I don’t need to write a report to feel justification in it or find the silver lining.

Other bloggers have much more interesting lives and imaginations – why waste good internet space on my meanderings.

I have so much to write, that I don’t know where to start. And so I don’t.

Or I came up with the most perfect, cleverest post in my head, and when I sit down to piece it together, I can’t remember how it goes. So I give up.

But more often than not, it is simply because my computer is a piece… … and either the internet isn’t working, or it takes 20 minutes just to open an application, or pictures won’t edit and save. And it is just. so. frustrating. I spend a sizable portion of my day – each day – waiting for this thing to catch up. There is nothing more annoying than watching something (or somebody) “work” that is not as efficient as me. [this is one reason I struggle with letting my kids to chores – and why I especially dislike my computer]!

Well, whatever the reason. There is usually a reason.

But probably not a very good one.

Mother’s Day Trophy

She’s told me the story a few times already in just the last six months. Granted, she’s getting old. And she repeats her stories often. But I knew this one must have been important to her to be repeated so readily.

“I never won a trophy when I was a little girl. Have you ever won a trophy? The only trophy I ever received was at a Cinderella Pageant when I helped your sister. Your mom couldn’t go to it, and she asked me to take your sister and help her back stage. At the end they gave all of the mother’s a little hand-sized trophy for helping. I still have it. It’s up on the shelf. That’s the only trophy I’ve ever gotten.”

Now, if anyone deserves a trophy – it’s my grandma: For putting up with my Gramps, for raising three rambunctious boys, for having the awesomest laugh, for teaching school for twenty-or-thirty-some-odd years, for being one of the most thoughtful women on earth (second only to my mom who no-doubtedly inherited that trait from her mother).

So as I thought about Mother’s Day, and having no mother on whom to focus my attentions, I decided to focus on my Mother’s Mother. It’s been so wonderful to be back in Arizona and have her close by. She is always willing to babysit for me (one at a time of course. I wouldn’t dare throw all my kids at her at once. I’m not willing to put her in her grave), she drops by my house every Friday after her hair appointments and brings a goody for my kids, she opens her wallet whenever there’s a need, she has a keen eye for decorating and offers items readily, and she is always good for a wonderful story and chortling laugh.

She needed a trophy.

My sister and I went to the trophy store and presented her with this little ditty.

She was thrilled.

“This is the most wonderful gift!”

You deserve it Grandma.

For being the Grandest Grandma ever!

The Song of the Heart

Music is sacred to me. I suppose it’s the way I was raised; the way good music was engrained in me; the satisfaction I’ve felt from developing musical talent; the hundreds of undeniable spiritual witnesses I’ve experienced through music, that makes it sacred.

It’s what makes me cringe at watching musicals like Grease or Mama Mia or other “fun”, light-hearted plays that use something I consider so sacred, to discuss worldly, vulgar issues. Don’t get me wrong. I can certainly be found listening to some alternative rock on any occasion - music that can be open to many interpretations.

I’ve been disappointed since moving to AZ that I can not find a radio station that I like. Preferably something that doesn’t play any 80’s music in their mix. (I just can’t stand 80’s).

I have, instead found two or three Christian Rock stations. And while I miss being able to sing along to the radio, I have been surprisingly delighted by the selection. Occasionally, there will even be a contemporary, well-known song on there that I have heard many times. One that I had originally thought was about a romance. But suddenly, playing on a Christian station, I see how the lyrics can totally apply to a person’s love for Christ or His love for us. That has been fun.

Anyway…

Music is sacred to me.

I spent a good part of my afternoon curled up on my son’s bed during nap time - crying.

His room is the one farthest away from our neighbor’s backyard. The neighbor that for weeks now has been bombarding my home with HATE. My walls literally shake with it. And I just couldn’t endure it any longer.

Our neighbors are either deaf or wish to become so, and blare their backyard radio to the loudest decibel. This isn’t so bad when the older parents are playing fun oldies or even their native Spanish music. But when the younger generation is home, the atmosphere is thick with animosity.

And I can’t escape it. Even from within my house, I can hear every curse word, every degrading remark, every line of explicit smut and filth coming from the booming wrap “music”.

I can feel the spirit immediately leave and I become filled with such animosity. My temper is shortened, I have no patience, my thoughts reel, and the offensive words circle around and around in my mind.

And my kids are held prisoner. I don’t dare let them outside. At least inside I can turn up the volume on the tv or blast the fans to mask the words. But I can still feel the beat. That beat. That thundering, thundering beat.  

“In our day music itself has been corrupted. Music can, by its tempo, by its beat, by its intensity, dull the spiritual sensitivity of men”

I know this to be true. I have felt it.

But I need that spirit. I need it to stay in my home. What am I to do when being bombarded in this way? I’m not letting it in. I’m not choosing it. I want to escape it.

I may not be hearing the music by choice. But I can choose not to listen to it.

I suppose that is what I need to work on doing.

That, and summoning the courage to ask my neighbors to turn it down.

Maybe a plate of cookies will do the trick.

------------------------------------------------

A couple more quotes from Pres. Packer’s talk that I say “AMEN” to!

“Music is one of the most forceful instruments for governing the mind and spirit of man.”

“Through music, man’s ability to express himself extends beyond the limits of the spoken language in both subtlety and power. Music can be used to exalt and inspire or to carry messages of degradation and destruction. It is therefore important that as Latter-day Saints we at all times apply the principles of the gospel and seek the guidance of the Spirit in selecting the music with which we surround ourselves.”

Fail

Well.

So much for every day.

My computer hasn’t been working for much of the last few days.

And let’s just be honest.

I’m tired.

I wish I were sleeping right now.

But it’s hard to sleep with this hanging over my head.

Why do I do that to myself?

We’re sposed to write in our journals every day, right?

This is my journal.

And I WANT to write in it.

But I almost just spelled “write” the wrong way.

And the “right” thing to do is to probably just sleep.

 

My plan is to still get my thoughts down from the last few days and backdate them. I don’t want to look like too much of a failure in the future. :)

Clean Up

Phew!

The weekend is over.

The shed didn’t get finished like I had thought it would, and the grass wasn’t ready to walk on like I hoped it would be, but it’s over.

And It’s official – her name is Haven. When we first decided on it (with some trepidation) I told Greg he could always change it when he gave her a name and a blessing. [I’ve heard of that happening before. Crazy as that would be.]

But Haven it is.

Luckily the microphone was still working for that part of the blessing. Unfortunately, it cut out mid-way through and everyone had to adjust their hearing aids and lean forward to hear the rest of it.

Family Pictures are over… for now.

The luncheon was a success. Approximately 40 people in our little house. That’s the blessing of living near family again. :)

My back still aches from all the cookie-making and fruit and veggie chopping I did on Saturday. What can I say? – I have a bad back. Which only intensifies when there’s a baby in constant need of holding.

Luckily, my husband has strong hands.  Which I’m going to go put to use on this here aching back. Right. Now.

The dishes can wait.

Almost Normal

We’re still working on it, but we’re almost there.

Finding a new normal takes a little while.

But I felt normal enough to actually do some yard work. Trimming the tree was more exercise than I’ve done in a sad amount of months. I’m not talking about a Christmas tree here. I mean real trimming. The arms-above-my-head-with-heavy-hedge-clippers kind of trimming. It felt good, even if it was hard to hold a baby afterward in my trembling arms. :)

Guess I need to do more bench presses with that 12.5 lb baby.

Speaking of those 12.5 pounds… Did you know the “weight limit” on 0-3 month clothes is 12.5 lbs? I did not know that. My little babes are usually wearing those garments way past their 3 month mark. But today, I took out the 3-6 month bin and sorted through it.

That felt weird. Kindda sad. Where has my baby gone?

Resolution Recap

If I’m finally going to jump back into blogland, I had better start with something light.

Last year I made a crazy resolution. Actually, it was a desperate one. Something I needed to attempt to prove to myself that I am in control. That my life is not willy nilly and I can make conscious, deliberate choices. Daily.

So No Chocolate for a Year was my goal.

It was hard. Definitely hard. At first. I had lots of chocolate laying around. Mostly for my piano students’ lessons - but that’s the candy jar I liked to sneak into after a long day or during a moment of stress.

Holidays were ridiculous! Especially when that first one came along – Easter. And I had to celebrate the glorious resurrection without any Cadbury mini-eggs. It felt blasphemous! :)

Special events became easier. I soon learned that nearly everyone offers chocolate desserts at social functions. Suddenly it felt like I was swearing off desserts all-together. No-thank-you-very-much. That’s not what I signed up for. So I would go home and make up for it with batches of oatmeal cookies and snickerdoodles and cheesecakes. {sigh} That was better, but somehow, not quite satisfying.

I am considering this year’s resolution completion a success. But I have to admit – there were a couple slips.

Like when Greg took me to a Mexican restaurant in Salt Lake. It was the Red Iguana, which is known for it’s mole (molay) enchilada sauce. So I got a dish with the signature sauce and dug in. Bleh!! It was disgustingly dark and probably too sophisticated for my taste. But as I was chugging my horchata to extinguish the taste, Greg suddenly looked at me with horror. “You’re going to be so mad at me.” “What? Why?” “Mole is made from dark chocolate!” …… “You’re kidding! Well that definitely doesn’t count. I didn’t know – and it was disgusting anyway!”

Or when I went to a neighbor’s baby shower and upon entering, was handed a plate of delicious “pumpkin-themed” goodies. I sat down and began nibbling while chatting and oohing and ahhing over the sweet baby gifts that looked equally as delicious. Suddenly my plate was empty, and I went into the kitchen to snatch seconds. Upon sitting down and taking a bite from the moist cookie, I looked at my plate in horror. Pumpkin Chocolate Chip!!!! Ahhh!!! A few of my friends who knew of my resolution were amongst the guests. “Look what I just did!!” “Oh, it’s okay – it was just one bite.” “No! This is my SECOND cookie!!” …… Oh well. That one doesn’t count either, because I did not consciously pick and choose that first plate of refreshments and was therefore not accountable for its contents. Right? :)

Fast Forward to New Year’s Eve Day. One day left. The final leg on this long journey. Easy peasy, right?! Well, we went hiking. We decided to get the kids out of the house and take them to the Superstition mountains. I grabbed a few snacks to use on them as energy-boosters or bribes or both. M&M’s was among them. We stopped for a break and “nandy” was requested by my littlest. I had a couple chocolate pieces in my hand to give her when suddenly she fell and I needed to free my hands to help her up. In the frantic chaos, most of the M&Ms tumbled to the ground, but one, which I slipped into my mouth to get it out of my hand. I helped Taryn up and then realized what after-taste was still on my tongue. Aaarrrrgggghhh!! Are you kidding me? On the last day?! Bah! …… Well, that doesn’t count, because I was saving my daughter and gosh-darn-it, this is the last day anyway! :)

The year wasn’t perfect. Actually – that’s an understatement for the year if ever I heard one. The resolution’s completion was not perfect. But it’s complete.

And I am pretty darn proud of myself.

Now, excuse me while I go and savor a Lindor milk-chocolate Truffle as it melts in my mouth.

Intruder

Didn’t get much sleep.

2:50 am

Awoke abruptly after shooting an intruder.

In my dream.

Heart was pounding as I lay there in the darkness.

Then I heard it.

A foreign creaking.

Then again.

Short, deliberate, uneven creaks.

What is that?

Then I saw it.

A light in the hallway on.

All were off at bedtime.

Who turned that on?

My heart beat speeds up.

I lay propped on my elbows, listening, pounding, and worrying.

I call Greg.

His phone is off.

I’m too much of a scaredy cat to check things out by myself.

I am frozen in fear.

Then I hear it.

Sounds like foot steps.

Who is that?

And the creaks quicken.

It is pouring rain.

Difficult to discern foreign, invading sounds.

The foot steps below come again.

I dial 9-1-1

I clutch the phone in my hand.

My thumb trembles over the send button.

I lay poised like that.

10 – 20 – 30 minutes.

Waiting for the intruder’s next move.

Waiting for a confirmation of my fears.

4:30 am

I finally drift off to sleep.

3 more days until he’s home.

3 more days.

I hope we survive it.

Ticking

Well. Darn.

The summer is gone.

My kindergartner starts school tomorrow.

I’ve been about as productive as a solar panel at night (Greg’s analogy for myself – not mine. Yeah, he keeps it real).

No summer tan.

No elaborate projects.

No adventurous day trips.

No making my children’s summer something special or memorable or especially memorable.

I’ll probably cry tomorrow when Evan goes into school, not because he’s a great big kindergartner now and I’m going to miss him, but because I’ll be grieving the time I’ve lost – time I’ve wasted – watching him grow up so fast and not doing everything I could have, or should have, to enjoy the process.

I should probably give myself a little more credit.

I mean he is a smart, good kid, so I must have done something a little right.

But there have been days - Entire days - when I probably spent no more than 30 minutes face time with him. With any of my kids for that matter. Maybe even less. Who knows. They probably don’t. But I do.

I do.

Our firsts are our guinea pigs. Poor pigs. They endure a lot of experimentation. And they don’t often get compensated for their time spent in research. Hopefully their siblings will pay them back for us some day.

Car Washing

Remember doing fundraising car washes as a youth?

And you felt so sporty. And tan. And dare I say, even sexy (I never would have thought that as a 16y-o, but I look back on those years and remember my cut calves and trim waist and realize now that those were the glory days).

And the honk of a driver-by would make you smile and the cash tips after the wash would get you giddy.

And it was a self-esteem bubbling, sudsy kind of day.

***

Today I donned my swim suit, swim shorts, and tank top.

I pulled out the hose and bucket of soapy water and worked away at my envy-inducing minivan.

And as I bent over to scrub the mud-splattered wheel wells,

I realized something:

I am pretty sure, not even my own husband would pull over for a wash from me.

Here I am

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Because a few people asked, and the rest saw me at church today – Here are some pictures of me as me-again.

I didn’t post an after shot originally because this hair style really isn’t anything new. It’s what I’ve looked like the majority of my marriage, so if you haven’t seen me in a while, then you would never the know the torture I put myself through this last year.

I know I may not look it from these photos (it always feels weird to smile in a picture I’m taking of myself in the bathroom), but oh, am I oh-so-happy to be me-again.

I’m nicer to my kids, cooler in the heat, have more time in my day (20 minutes of blow-drying vs. 2!), feel cuter, feel lighter, can lay my head back without messing anything up, don’t shed long strands of dark brown hair all over my house, don’t get my hair pulled by careless children and well-meaning husbands, no longer tickle said husband’s nose when we spoon, and can finally clear my bathroom countertops of hair ties, alligator clips, large clips, small clips, bobby pins, barrettes, curling irons, hair sprays, and straighteners.

Hooray!

Note to self: Please read this post before ever considering a longer length of hair again!

Thirty, Flirty, and Thriving

 

It’s gone.

All gone.

I feel like myself again.

Goodbye goal of movie-star curls.

I shall never attempt you again.

My hair just isn’t cut out for it, and neither is my patience.

After my friend cut my hair, she said, “There’s Tasha.”

I’ve been hiding for the last year behind this mountain of hair.

But I’m back.

And it feels so good.

Big Birthday

I thought he had forgotten.

Either that, or he was keeping a really big secret.

I knew he was capable of either.

But the night before my 30th birthday, I got ornery. I needed something to work with. Some acknowledgment of the big day at hand.

So I asked him point blank. “Is tomorrow going to be a miserable birthday?” Is it going to be another Mother’s Day let-down?

He acted nonchalant but did give me some reassurance that it would be a special day.

That night, I allowed myself some expectations, and went to bed happy.

My 30th birthday arrived at 5:30 am when sweet little Zion appeared in our room and crawled into bed next to me. She stole my pillow, but wrapped her precious arm around my shoulder, and I was pretty sure it was going to be a good day.

Breakfast was served to me in bed on my Mom’s “You are Special Plate.” Points immediately scored for Greg.

I got to sleep in a little. Then I came downstairs to a showering of gifts. I was quite overwhelmed. Hand-made cards from my kids, even Greg; the booty from an on-a-whim Old Navy and Target shopping spree (I’ll probably be returning most of it, but it’s the thought that counts right?); and a music book inspired by my friend is in the mail. So excited.

Evan said, “Is this the best birthday ever?” He must have got some coaching from his Dad.

It was a great birthday.

But wait, what’s this? Greg says “And it’s not over yet.” WOW! What more could I possibly even dare to wish for.

The day was pretty normal. Actually went to the grocery store and did some laundry. I curled my hair for what I hope will be the last time. My kids seemed to be extra nice to me. The “birthday card” was a great one to play. I took a lovely nap next to Zion. Got a surprise gift from a dear friend on my doorstep. Got some nice cards in the mail. Then we went to Evan’s t-ball game.

After the game we had plans to go to my friend Annette’s house for a birthday bar-b-q. The kids and I were super excited for this. I had finally pulled my sticky/sweaty curls back into a ponytail during the game and wiped the majority of my sweat-stained makeup from my face during it as well. While I knew I didn’t look the most presentable, we went straight to my good friend’s house from the game, because good friends don’t care.

We walked into the kitchen to the sound of “SURPRISE!”

…It’s happened to me once before. And is a very perplexing thing. Trying to figure out what these different faces are all doing together in the same place and for what reason? It’s a few moments of insanity…

But the friendly smiles pulled me back in and it was a very fun and HUGE surprise.

Greg had planned the whole thing. He is such a stud. A surprise girl’s night out. The kids were pretty disappointed that they had to leave, but oh well, that was Greg’s problem now, not mine. :) It was a Strawberry Shortcake themed party, courtesy of Greg. Everyone asked if that was my favorite or something. I shrugged not knowing where he came up with that. Turns out, it’s because she’s from my “era”. Is that sposed to make me feel old?

I had a great time. We had a potluck of yummy salads, a few different “strawberry” desserts, with of course Strawberry Shortcake, and a cute chick flick to watch while we digested and then gabbed up a storm. It was perfect!

I had a huge smile on the whole time. But I just really wanted to get home and lay a fat one on Greg and tell him how super amazing he is!

Because he is.

And I did.

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A Few Reasons to lock the Door

I grew up on a safe/secluded street where the only people that drove by were neighbors or foreigners who took a wrong turn. Because of the security we felt living there, the lesson of home security was never really taught to us. Obviously, we would lock the door at night, but never during the day. The following are anecdotes resulting from that attitude.

*****

9:00 pm circa 1986

While sitting on her toilet, in the back corner of her house, my mother was suddenly startled by the neighbor boy, Baby Steve, popping his head into the bathroom and asking if my sister and I could play. Isn’t that what every woman wants to see while sitting on the toilet late at night?

*****

One Summer Saturday 2002

My little nephew got a hold of the phone and in so doing, he dialed 911. We talked to the operator and told her everything was A-okay and then we went out to the backyard to enjoy the slip-n-slide and pool. A while later I ran back into the house to get something and as I walked in the back door I heard a shout. “Police! Is anyone hurt?! Police!” I was very puzzled and went into the entry way where sure enough, an officer in full regalia was radioing over his shoulder for backup. I gave him a tour of the house and backyard to ease any suspicions of foul play. His final words as he left the house were, “Lock your doors.”

*****

Today 3:00 pm

The house is silent and all heads are laying on pillows and eyelids are soundly closed – including my own. When suddenly I hear a loud “Hello.” Followed by another “Hello” “Hello” “Hello”. He--llo! What is going on here!? Who in the world is in my house yelling Hello? and whomever it is better not wake my kids up! (There is nothing that irks me more than my kids being woken from their naps before I am ready for them to). I leave my bedroom and look over the railing to our front door. There stand two of my son’s sweet, little friends, having entered our home with nary a knock, looking for a playmate. I shush them out the door and tell them we can play after nap time. Luckily, to the well-being of all involved, my children remained undisturbed by this disruption and I went back to my bed with a silly smile on my face.

*****

Obviously, after posting this security/character flaw for the world to see –

I will be locking my doors from now on!

What’s the Verdict?

So what’s the verdict? “Every Day in May” is now complete. It was a bit exhausting, but at least my head stayed clear during the day and that was a plus.

Now what?

I find that in the past I often won’t post for days at a time because I feel whatever I write will be too whiney. And while I applaud mothers for sayin’ things as they are and not neglecting their true feelings, I’ve felt that is the antithesis of the reason behind my blog. Obviously, in May, I did some whining. It’s gonna come with the territory of posting every day. Sorry ‘bout that.

But I’ll need some Blogger Love if I’m going to try to keep this up.

I’m pretty sure I’ll need to take an occasional respite on the weekends.

So, give me some lovin peeps. If you’re out there. And you have an opinion on the frequency of my posts, I’m all ears (or eyes I suppose).

Passionate Teaching

 

Phew {wipe sweat from brow, literally}! It’s over. I think recitals are more stressful for the teacher than for the students.

There is so much build up,

                   so much building up,

                          so much calming down,

                                     so much reassuring,

                                                 so much correcting,

                                                            so much time put into something so small and so quick.

I ended up losing half of my students last month to moves and schedule conflicts, which was sad for me. But the show must go on!

I’m so proud of my students. It’s been a real joy teaching.

I always wanted to be a teacher. But as I got older and less confident about many things, I convinced myself that I would never make a good teacher. So teaching piano these last 2 years has been both terrifying and exhilarating.

Because, guess what. I love it. AND I’m good at it.

It’s always nice to learn new things about yourself.

I want my student’s lives to be enriched because they have music in their lives. I am passionate about that.

It’s the greatest lesson I could ever teach.