Early Mother's Day Present

*I started this post weeks ago. I guess it is time to hit "publish".

This afternoon I made a phone call to schedule hair cut appointments for my boys. The phone conversation that followed honestly threw me for a bit of a loop. Not in a bad way; it just went in a bit of a different direction than I was expecting. And now I feel I should express my gratitude for kind words offered to me that I hadn't even realized I desperately needed to hear.

I recently read a story about validation. I cannot attribute credit where it is due, because I do not remember the source (probably Facebook; I live there too often, I know). The gist of the story, or at least what I got from it, is that everyone needs to feel appreciated for what we do, to feel validated, to be able to see that our efforts are valued. Even for the seemingly minor things.

Most of you have probably seen the Drops of Awesome story. I can't link to it here; I'm posting from my iPad. Same kind of idea, but essentially validating ourselves, celebrating the things we do right, instead of beating ourselves up for our perceived failures. I will tell you what. I have been in a rut, feeling inadequate, not awesome enough, well just not enough period. I know my own failings; I surround myself with them, I hide behind them, I disappear into them. And then I worry what am I teaching my kids? I want them to believe they can do anything, but sometimes I can't even get myself out of the house.

Well, I have spent the past few weeks being sick, so that hasn't helped.

*Started this over two weeks ago.  I guess it is time to finish the story. . . .

Back to that phone call.  The lady who cuts my boys' hair politely reminded me that I had forgotten to get a check to her the last time the boys got their hair cut.  I had been out of town at the time, and told the boys to let her know I would bring a check later.  But I completely forgot.  Just being my flaky self, I guess.  Of course, all the traveling and then being sick didn't help the situation for me, either.  I am so glad she reminded me, even though I felt like a total idiot, you know.  Anyway, just as I was in the middle of feeling mortified at my ineptness, she starts to say something else.

And this is where my pity train got derailed:

"I just love your boys," she says, and then she goes on to describe how the boys told her we had left them in charge, and they were probably going to take the younger kids out for dinner at Patio that evening.  And she said, isn't it nice when our kids are old enough that we can leave them alone like that?  And how nice when they are responsible enough that we can do so, without stressing about it.  She went on to talk about how much she has enjoyed getting to know them, how polite they are, and well spoken.  She just said so many nice things about those kids of mine, I actually started to get a little embarrassed.  And then, I thought to myself, my boys are pretty awesome.  They are!  Thank you for pointing that out to me.  Not that I didn't already think so; I am a little biased after all, but it is truly nice to hear that from someone else.

And then I wondered to myself, do I let them know how awesome I think they are?  Probably something I could work on a little more.  But the point of this is not to beat myself up, and I wasn't down on myself then, either.  It was just a gentle reminder to me that I need to let my kids know how great they are, in my eyes, and through the eyes of others who see them.

And it couldn't hurt to let other parents know how great I think their kids are, the ones I get to know throug my church callings, volunteer school activities, and their associations with my kids.  Pay it forward, you know.  I think I will.

What an awesome early Mother's Day gift that was.  I am blessed.

I am not a runner

But I will Race to Eradicate Polio, when my dad and my brother convince me I need to register for the Blanding Rotary First Annual 5K.  Eliminating Polio is actually something we are kind of passionate about, since my grandfather, my dad's dad had Polio.  I was quite young when my Grandpa Glover passed away, but I remembered him always in that wheelchair.  As a matter of fact, when I was a kid, even a teenager, I just always assumed that my grandpa had gotten Polio as a child, as is usually the case.  It has only been recently I realized, he was a young father, with a small family when Polio struck, at the age of 29.  He was a busy, energetic man, struck down by a crippling disease.  Still, once he overcame the affects of the disease, one of which was irreversible paralysis, he continued to be very active and involved in the community.

There is no cure for Polio.

But vaccines can prevent the disease.  Since 1988, Polio cases have decreased by over 99%  Historically, Polio has been the world's greatest cause of disability.  Today there are less than 2,000 people affected by Polio.*

*Facts from the brochure "End Polio Now" created by USU-Eastern SJC Microbiology student volunteers.

Garrett and I get ready for the race to start.  Yes, it was COLD! 

the runners 

good to go 

Rachel and Thomas were ready to go, too 

These guys did the one mile Fun Run with Grandpa Worthy.  Timothy kept going even after he tripped and fell 

Garrett had a strong race.  He came in 5th place.  The guys ahead of him are serious runners:  First place, I didn't recognize, but he was fast!  Second place, Ryan Heck; Third, Ricky Arthur; Fourth, Brian Kirby.

And the fact that Garrett has not been running since Cross Country makes his performance even more impressive.  I think he takes after his dad. 

There I am, coming to the finish line.  Yes, it was sooo uphill. 

I guess it is not fair to say I am not a runner.  This exact route is the same one I used to run all the time a few years ago.  When I struggled with depression several years ago, I discovered that the thing that helped most, more than the medication or anything else was running.  Maybe it was also the fact that, while running,  I listened to the podcast of "Wait, Wait, don't tell me: The NPR News Quiz."  Whenever anyone saw me running, they would usually catch me grinning, too.  I loved listening to that podcast while running.  I have about thirty of them on my computer now, because listening to them around the house is just not the same.

And it is not that I am out of shape, obviously, since I do go to Step Aerobics and Zumba classes regularly.  I do miss running, though.  I am just not a competitor.  I don't usually do races like this.  And even when I run on my own, I go fairly slow, because my heart-rate monitor (which is currently broken) tells me to.

So even though I am not a runner, today I raced for a good cause.  Now I need a nap.

We Love JO Volleyball!

***There is more to this story than just volleyball.  Scroll down to read about our terrifying experience in Mancos and what we learned from it.***

The thing about JO Volleyball is you get to watch a group of girls improve in their volleyball skills over the course of just a few weeks.  And in my family's case, you get to watch two little girls who happen to be related, who often get asked if they are twins (which they absolutely hate), learn to like each other a little bit more.  I also got to try out some creative hairstyles for my girls who usually won't sit still for it (and we certainly don't have time for that on school mornings).  And I got to craft some fun and funky hair flowers for the whole team.  Even if we were not the most winning team, we were certainly one of the best looking.

Now, at the beginning of JO Volleyball, the girls simply attend several practices and then they have "tryouts" in which they are grouped based on ability.  Teams are formed, the best players placed on A teams, strong players on B teams, good players on C teams and so forth.  My girls were selected for the E team.  They did not want to be on the same team, but they made the best of it when it was all said and done.  Tyler came home from practice one day and said, "That girl was rude.  She said to me, 'I don't know how your mom can stand it.  You two fight all the time.'"  She was talking about herself and Rachel.  I had to laugh a little, even though unfortunately what "that girl" said was too true.

At the girls' first tournament, in Blanding, Tyler was the only player who could get the volleyball over the net on her serves.  Needless to say, their team did not do very well.

Their second tournament, in Moab, was better.  All the players had improved a little, and more of them had better serves.  The thing that I appreciated most, though, was that my two girls were friendly to each other.  I think they had fun playing together, and they especially had fun eating dinner afterward at Pizza Hut and then playing with each other on the ride home that night.  It does a mother's heart good to hear her girls being friendly and respectful to one another.

And doesn't Rachel's hair look darling?  It was supposed to be a volleyball, but she and I ran out of patience, so I only braided the top:

At the tournament this past weekend, the girls played in Delores against four other teams in a Round Robin Tournament.  They only lost to one team, and they won at least one game in the match, and came awful close to winning another of the games, which would have made them the champions.

We were beyond thrilled to take second place, anyway.  The girls played really well.  The highlight of that day was Rachel finally got a serve over the net.  Then, she did it again!  She even scored the winning point in one of their games.  Go, Rachel!  They definitely earned their prizes that day:

Thanks, Amanda Grover and Tatiana S'ue S'ue (not pictured).  You guys were awesome coaches and helped our girls have a ton of fun playing volleyball.  Amanda is a sophomore and Tatiana a freshman at San Juan High School.  They took time out of their busy schedules to teach these girls to play and to enjoy the game of volleyball.

One more story about JO Volleyball:

I didn't post pictures of the Mancos Tournament.  It's not because I didn't take any, but when I look at those pictures, they really weren't very good.  Tyler and I had kind of a unique experience getting to the Mancos Tournament.  Rachel had been sick that week, so I decided I better not bring her to the tournament.  Our tournament did not begin until the afternoon; the A and B teams had been playing all morning in the same gyms we would be playing in, with our tournament starting at 1:00.  Tyler and I were a little late leaving home that morning.   I knew it would take a little under two hours to get there, and I wasn't 100 percent sure how to get where I was going, so I will admit I was exceeding the speed limit a bit but not really enough to draw the attention of the police.

So, it was a little unnerving when the car in front of me pulled to the side of the road, and then I recognized the flashing lights of a highway patrolman behind me, so I pulled over as well.  The policeman zipped past me, and I assumed at some point I would probably come across an accident, and I hoped it was not before I got to Mancos, therefore slowing me down further.  There was no sign of an accident when I pulled off the road into the "business district" of Mancos.  Then I saw another police cruiser, right on my tail.  That was more than unnerving, but I was positive I was not speeding, so I simply continued on.

I was lucky enough to find a spot directly in front of the high school.  I handily parallel parked and then proceeded to get my stuff out of the van.  During this process, I watched as one police car blocked the road ahead of me.  Then, another blocked the road directly behind where I was parked.  The police officer in that vehicle got out and redirected approaching traffic.  Then, he pulled out an assault rifle from the back of the vehicle.  This is the point where everything was starting to feel a bit more than unnerving.

Tyler was moving along quickly ahead of me, as we tried to ascertain which building to enter for her tournament.  She had seen her friend's family park behind us and now she was trying to catch up to them.  "Tyler, stay close to me," I called to her.  She looked back in irritation.  She was only a few feet away.  My hands were full of folding chairs, my camera bag, a water bottle.  I couldn't exactly grab her, but part of me wanted to.  I tried to stay calm.  We approached a group of people who informed us that there had been a gun threat; there were supposed to be teenagers with guns in the area who had threatened another kid or something.  Apparently, the threat was in the building we were supposed to be entering.

"Tyler, please stay by me," I reminded Tyler again.  But she preferred to be with her friend, Lexi.  I was way beyond unnerved.  This whole thing was feeling very unreal.  I can still remember quite clearly the emotions Columbine evoked in me, and I was nowhere near that school at the time.

The policeman with the gun approached us and informed us we needed to get inside.  At this point, we were seriously wondering if we should just get back in our vehicles.  We decided to let him usher us into the other gym, not the one where the girls would be playing in their tournament.  Immediately, he locked us in.  Behind us, we watched another policeman conferring with one of the women to whom we had just spoken.  She was close to hysterical, "My daughter is in that gym (the one in question)!"  she was saying.  "No, I don't want to go in that gym, but I don't want to go in the other one, either.  I need to be able to wait for her.  I need to know what happens."

All along, I needed Tyler to be close to me.  My hands were shaking.  The gym we entered was packed with people.  The A and B teams were just wrapping up their tournament, and as they finished their games, they started to be really irritated about the fact that they were locked inside.  I, on the other hand, was happy to retreat into the crowded, enclosed gym, away from the windows.  If the threat were in the other building, as long as Tyler and I stayed inside, in the midst of this tightly grouped mass of people, we would probably be okay.  I texted Britt, who was snowmobiling with friends nearby, that we were in a lockdown.  I called home to get Amanda's cell phone number.  I texted her to let her know we were there, but locked in the wrong gym.  Then we waited.

It was probably fifteen or twenty minutes later, the cops returned and unlocked the doors.  We were not entirely sure the threat had passed, but they told us we could go.  We found the rest of our team in the other gym.  This gym was actually much more open (i.e. exposed) than the previous one we had crowded into.  The air still seemed a little charged.  But we found a spot to sit near the team and waited for the tournament to begin.  Several minutes later, a policeman arrived.  They stopped the games that were being played at that point, and he announced that the threat was over.

He explained:  Some juveniles had gotten into a disagreement the day before at the school.  A group of students threatened another student that they were going to "get him" the next day at the volleyball tournaments. The kids in question did show up with weapons and did intend to shoot the kid to teach him a lesson, but the weapons in question were Airsoft (pellet or BB) guns.  There were at least two rifles and two handguns, and they do look like real guns.  I know this is true, because I have one son who loves to have Airsoft wars with his friends, and I know the weapons look and feel like real guns, not to mention they hurt like h*** if you get shot with one.  There is a whole new layer of fear for me, that someone would misunderstand what my kid and his friends are doing with their "guns" and those kids would end up being in the crossfire of real police weapons.

Hmmm.

I still remember the heightened sense of reality and at the same time the underlying blurry unreality as I was moving toward that school, with Tyler bouncing along ahead of me.

"Stay close to me!" I am calling.  She does not fully understand the danger.  She knows nothing about a place called Columbine.  I know more than she does.  I need her nearby.  I need to be able to shelter her, shield her, if I can.

It is also true of life in general.  There are things I know, experiences I have had, that my children cannot fully understand.  We need to stay close to each other.  We need to be able to take care of each other.  I am so grateful that the threat that day was not nearly as terrifying as it could have been.  I am also grateful that I have a close family, and that we can watch out for each other, even when we do not know or recognize all the dangers out there.

Was that a long enough post for you?  Just something I felt like I needed to share.

Nan, In Real Life

You may have noticed that in spite of the massive amount of stuff I still need to post about, I have not been blogging much.  You may not have noticed.  Yay for you!  You have a life, and it obviously does not revolve around my blog.  Neither does mine.  Although, when I am in a better mood, it seems like I feel the need to blog about my awesome life all the time.  In case you haven't guessed, not feeling so awesome right now.  Haven't in a while, actually.

I have a friend who has commented on how much she appreciates me keeping it real here on my blog.  I don't sugarcoat stuff.  I don't pretend to be perfect, or to have the perfect family, perfect life.  At least, I try not to.  The fact is, I haven't been honest with you recently.  I guess I haven't been completely honest with myself.  If you keep pretending everything is wonderful, eventually it should be true, right?

I have a million and one things I feel like I should share with you, but it is always, ALWAYS important to me not to offend other people, so I am having a hard time formulating how I want to share my thoughts with you.  I guess maybe I should preface this post with the idea that this post is about me, not other people.  When I choose to be offended or intimidated, or whatever other wacky emotion I am experiencing, it should not reflect on those around me.  I mean to say that it is highly likely that, in my own mind, I perceive things completely out of whack with reality.  So, please, don't judge anyone I refer to in this post, directly or implied, based on the insecurities that I have been feeling.  I honestly just need to be real with you right now, but I don't know if I can really say what I mean to say.

We have to go back.  Back, back.  Back to where I first got in this blogging funk.  I had one of those miraculous, amazing, unbelievable experiences.  I got to meet my birth daughter and her family for the first time since saying goodbye to that sweet baby girl eighteen years ago.  It was an answer to prayers.  And everything went so smoothly, it was such a blessing!






Except, it wasn't as perfect as I presented it to be.






My birth daughter is gorgeous.  She is amazing!  Confident, quirky, funny, fun to be with, considerate, loving, generous, accepting, welcoming.  Clearly, she has been loved, has lived a blessed life in the care of wonderful people, the people I will always believe were meant to be her parents.  I don't feel like I should have to reiterate that.  I have always felt that to be true, even when I mourned the fact that we could not continue to have a relationship, because our communication was limited by an agency which thought severing those ties would be for the best for all of us.  I have always loved her parents, even when I ignorantly believed that they were avoiding renewing a relationship with me, when I believed they were afraid of me.  Part of why I hurt so much, not so long ago, was that I had hoped they loved me, and when they failed to respond to my attempts to communicate with them this past year, it felt like a betrayal to me.  I began to believe that I had misinterpreted the love I thought they had for me.

I wasn't going to do this.  I didn't want to include this negativity on my blog.  But now I kind of feel like I need to share this.  I feel like people need to truly see the grief I was experiencing, during the time I had tried and failed to make contact with my birth daughter's parents.  Maybe it will help prospective adoptive parents to see how much we as birth parents need their compassion.  We are so often left completely out of the loop.  It is hard to feel valued in any way shape or form.  I know there is a place for closed adoptions, but most of the ones that I have seen, my own and those of dear friends, have been detrimental to the birth parent.  Because of the secrecy, the lack of communication, the fear and distrust, birth parents are not valued, and we feel it.  Believe me, we feel it.  It is not healthy.  From my journal:

(Sunday, October 23, 2011)
I can honestly say I understand a little better; yes, sympathize would be the right word--I sympathize with those crazy, bitter, angry "first mothers", as they like to call themselves.  They are women from the "Baby Grab" era, when abortions were illegal, and women were forced to give up their infant children, often not being allowed to see the child, not allowed to say goodbye. . . .

The part where I sympathize is the years of grief at their loss and the powerlessness which must have contributed to their craziness.  I can relate to that.  To the beginnings of craziness, to the bitterness, to the anger I am beginning to feel towards her parents.

What is wrong with them?  That they don't want to know me?  What are they so afraid of?  That I would somehow take over or belittle their roles as parents?  That idea is so freaking ridiculous it makes me furious.

Then I try to put myself in the place of friends of mine who are adoptive parents.  How would they feel if their child's birth mother reached out to them.  How freaked out would they be?

But then I get angry again, because that is not a proper comparison.  These people KNEW me.  We corresponded for years.  I shared my soul with them.  I willingly gave them their daughter.

Why don't they want to remember me?


It was such a blessing to be so readily accepted by her family, once LDS Family Services finally made real contact!  I was able to meet her parents one week in November when Britt and I were up in the Utah Valley area.  We met for lunch, actually on the same day that my birth daughter, Abbey, found me on Facebook.  When we met each other that day, it was so much less awkward, without the tension and confusion of our first meeting, all those years ago.  And then they told Britt and I that they thought Christmas Break would be the perfect time for me to meet their daughter, my birth daughter, to bring our families together.  When they created a real date, a real time for me to look forward to, not some vague thing I would be hoping for some day in the future, that was truly a gift.  I never would have known how to approach that, and they presented it for me.  They told me they saw me as an extension of their family, and they were excited to meet the rest of my family.

But as the actual date approached, I sensed some resistance from her family.  I began to get anxious.  I wanted everything to be perfect, but what if she didn't like me?  What if I wasn't pretty enough, stylish enough, cool enough?  What if I was a disappointment?  What if her parents resented me, didn't trust me?  What if my kids thought it was all kind of weird?  I mean, family reunions can be kind of weird, and this was definitely not your typical family reunion.

Then we were there.  And everything was wonderful.

The truth is there were some random awkward moments, but Abbey was so sweet.  Being with her, I was truly on a high.  Seeing her, her strength, her beauty.  I can't even tell you!  The Spirit whispered to my heart, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant."  So many prayers were answered for me in those few short days we were able to spend with her.

And then it got really awkward.

And I didn't hear from Abbey for several days.  After communicating at least once a day up until the time we met, that was hard.  I missed her, and I didn't know if she would communicate with me again.  Although our families had had some wonderful moments together, the time that I spent alone with Abbey was the best part of my visit there--but it was also the worst.  Abbey and I were on such a high, enjoying our time together, in our joy we unintentionally caused pain for someone in her family.

I don't know how to explain this to you.  I am powerless in this.  I knew I would be.  I take what I can get.  I am grateful for it.  But I thought you should know, it has been hard.

I have disappeared into myself.

I have been hiding out in my house.  I go through the motions, still make it to exercise class, work on work stuff, go to church, serve in my church callings, attend the temple.  Oh, I am so grateful for the temple!  I may be in a funk, but the temple keeps me afloat more than you can know!


My husband did this wonderful thing for me.  He took me to Hawaii.  Before we left, I thought, I should be more excited; we should be happier.  But it was hard to get there.  And then, at first, it was stressful to be there.  I mean, I should have been thrilled that I got to fly first class, but instead I just felt out of place (and guilty about having all that leg room, food, drinks, and snacks, while I knew my husband was crammed in between strangers back in coach).  I should have taken advantage of the opportunity to see the flight deck, but I was too timid to speak up and ask the woman next to me if she minded me going past her.  The sad thing is, in that almost seven hour flight, I didn't even talk to my seat mate until the plane was about to land.  I don't know why.  It was the beginnings of me feeling out of place and out of sorts.

Of the people we would be spending the week with, I knew two of them.  And to tell you the truth, I was a little bit intimidated by them.  I am not worldly enough.  I don't dress in the latest fashions.  I don't keep up on the trends.  I get my hair done about once a year.  I knew I wasn't cool enough to hang out with them, and I figured their friends would be the same way.

Now, let me tell you, everyone there was awesome.  They were all interesting people, and I sincerely wish I had known how to be more social.  And Hawaii was beautiful, and relaxing, and enjoyable, and I kept telling myself it was time to relax, to enjoy myself.  But for some reason (or maybe many reasons), it was really hard for me.  It started at the rental car company, when the workers there refused to budge on the price, even though we were supposed to have a lower rate, based on the amount Jeff reserved it for online.  Then, the traffic--only one road with construction, making it tricky sometimes to get where we were going.  And I kept thinking it was going to be this romantic getaway for Britt and I, but it felt like we just never quite synced.  I am sorry, Britt.  I even realized there were moments when I came across as uptight and unhappy when I truly did not mean to be.  So then I kept wondering what was wrong with me.

We had plenty of amazing, wonderful moments there in Hawaii.  Don't get me wrong.  I did enjoy myself.  It was a trip of a lifetime.  And I can't wait to go back.  I really am grateful to my sweet husband for taking me there.  And I apologize to anyone else along for the ride if I didn't seem like I was enjoying myself.  Because I was.  I loved Hawaii.  I love my husband.  And I am thankful for those who made it possible for us to go on this trip.


Back home.  I am kind of a mess.  Seems I can't do anything right.  I screwed up keeping track of one of our accounts, and we ended up getting hit with several overdraft charges.  Ouch!  I believed one of my kids when he told me he was doing his work at school, only to find out he has not turned in any assignments all quarter, and when he finally decided to get some work done, so he could be eligible to go on an out-of-town school trip, most of it was so long past due the teacher wouldn't give him credit for it.  (He has a 504 plan; the teachers are supposed to offer some leniency in this, but I have been feeling too crappy about myself to get in there and advocate for my kid.  I know I would just let them walk all over me about it).  Well, the same kid ended up getting reprimanded by the school after he attended the drama conference at BYU when he wasn't actually eligible.  Parent of the year award over here, you know.

And I have spent several days cleaning up dog pee spots all over my house.  Ugh!  I just couldn't handle the smell.  But it still stinks to me.  And I sit on the floor, trying to be productive, thinking how nasty my house smells.  I have actually gotten a lot of cleaning done in this past week, which you would think I would feel pretty good about, but no, I am instead wallowing in the misery that I cannot manage to keep my house clean for a very reasonable amount of time.  I mean, my kids' rooms?  Seriously scary!  Anyway, it just feels like another reminder of how pathetic I am.

It's circular over here.  I don't want you to think I hate myself.  And I don't want you to think I am just a whiner, complainer, a person that can't enjoy the gifts that are abundant in her life.  I am usually not like this.  But for this time, for now, I am.  So, I would appreciate a little compassion.

I cannot get my visiting teaching done to save my life.  The guilt is eating me up.  And then today, I find out that one of my cub scouts had his feelings hurt the other day, because I gave treats to the boys that brought their books, and he never got a book.  In a way, that is my fault.  I have been harassing him to get his Bobcat done and he and at least one other boy don't even have their books.  The bishop just asked me how my calling is going on Sunday, and I had to ask him which one?  Then, he told me it is okay to say no when asked to sub in Primary--I teach in Primary more often than not--but I have been in the Primary Presidency and I know how impossible it is to find subs.  I just can't be the bad guy, even though I will admit I am getting burned out on all of this.

Every time I go to Relief Society (granted, it's not very often, because I keep subbing in Primary), I realize I am sitting by myself there, in a room full of wonderful women.  Why am I alone?  I even tried to sit by someone the other day, and she ended up having to leave early, so I was still all alone.  What am I, the strong, reserved woman?  Why am I so isolated?  I do not mean to be.

I think of all the people I care about, think about, dream for, hope for.  I do not always reach out to you, but I am praying for you.  I wish I could do better about reaching out.  I am going to work on it.  I don't mean to close myself off so much.  It really makes me sad that I have.

This doesn't start with one incident, so as I said, don't blame anyone for that.  If I have given the impression that I find someone else responsible for this depression I am struggling through, I apologize.  That is not my intention.  I guess I am just seeking a little forgiveness.  I mean to be real.  Just be aware, real doesn't always mean sad.  It will get better. . .

Letting in the light

"Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair."

                                                                                                              --William Shakespeare

This is the post where I thank all of you have been praying for me, worrying about me, reaching out to me.  I have found hope again!  Prayers have been answered.  Real contact has been made.  My letters to my birth daughter and her family really are going to make it into their hands.  Thank you!  Thank you!  Thank you!  I want you to know I truly understand that my Heavenly Father knows the righteous desires of my heart and delights to own and bless me.  I have been blessed a thousand times over, I know.  Before this moment, and especially in this blessed day.

Thank you again.  I love you all.

Company Retreat

Some of you may know that I work with my husband at his mortgage business, Primary Residential Mortgage, Inc.  We recently spent some time in Moab with all of Britt's employees.  The word all sounds pretty serious, but it amounts to Kayela Bradford, his processor, Beverly Digiambattista, his underwriter, who lives in California and flew out for a meeting we had with local realtors, and Merri Shumway, his new assistant.  Yes, he just hired Merri to work in the office full time.  Does that mean I am out of a job?  Not exactly.  I just get to work on stuff at home now, which is lovely.

We spent a wonderful couple of days getting to know each other better, outside of the work environment, as we toured some of the awesome sites around Moab.  Of course, Arches is one of our new favorites:

I love this guy

Inside the frame created by the arch, if you look way in the distance, you can see two other arches on the horizon.  I guess Arches National Park is supposed to contain over 2000 sandstone arches within its borders. 

 Britt looks like he can take on the world, doesn't he?

This bowl beneath the arch is pretty cool, too.  It kind of seems like it ought to be a natural pool you could jump into.  Merri said the whole place reminded her a lot of Lake Powell, except without the water.  She used to practically live at Lake Powell.  Her father was the original owner of Halls Crossing Marina.

Looking at these pictures has been reminding me of something.  Several years ago--it would have had to have been 15 or more years--I tutored a Western Literature class at the college.  One of the books we read was Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey.  Toward the end of the quarter, we took a class field trip to Arches National Park, and hiked to Delicate Arch.  It was the first time I had been in the park, I remember, and my little brother Tim was one of the students in the class.  I loved the book!  In some ways, it is hard to think of the wonderland Edward Abbey loved so well being changed as it has since this park has become more popular.  Still, I have to say, we are grateful that we can enjoy the natural beauty that is contained within Arches National Park.

We are also grateful that our own little backyard, San Juan County, is mostly undiscovered.  When we want to go explore our world, we don't have to pay to enter a park.  We don't have to do litter patrol, or try to find animal tracks amidst all the human tracks.  We just pull out the GPS and wander to our heart's content, very rarely running into any other hikers along the way.  Call me selfish, but I like it this way.

I also remember that when we entered the park all those years ago, we were supposed to get a discount for being on an educational field trip, but the ranger there said she had to charge full price.  I remember about a week afterward, I wrote a letter of protest to the park, asking that they recognize the educational nature of the trip.  I even included specific references to the book in my arguments.  I wish I still had a copy of the letter.  Yes, I am bragging, but it was pretty well-written, if I do say so myself.  A few weeks later, the instructor of the class received a refund of the money she had been charged.

I think I am going to dig out some of those old pictures, just so I can show you my young self and my cute little brother Tim on our first hike out to Delicate Arch.  Not for a few days, though.

From now on, my Sundays will be computer and phone free.  I promised my husband, and now you are all witnesses.  I won't even be blogging.  Sorry.  See ya later.

Closing the door

It has been a rough couple of weeks for me.  I am not yet ready to tell you why.  I am still holding out hope that something good will eventually come out of the grief I have been experiencing.

Today, I made a phone call.  I didn't even ask to talk to her, because I knew it would be a wasted effort.  I have been playing a vicious game of phone tag with her all week.  This time, I simply asked to be sent directly to her voicemail.

Today,  I requested that Sandy send my letters to my birth daughter and her family back to me.  I left my address on the voice mail just in case she has lost or forgotten that, too.

I am closing that door.

It is not worth it.  Not worth believing she really will do something about it.  Not worth trying to get her attention.  Not worth feeling like I am harassing an agency that once promised to do anything and everything for me.  It is so not worth it.

I am closing the door.  I am letting go of that struggle.  Now, I am hoping with that door slammed shut, there will be some wide, clear-paned windows opening soon, because it is getting awful dark around here.

What does REUNION mean to you?

Don't get excited.

Those of you who might follow my blog because I occasionally post about my life as a birthmother, there is no reunion in my future.  Yes, this is another one of those posts.  But, sad to say, it is not an inspirational, full of hope post.  Right now I am in a sad, almost bitter kind of place.  I try to keep these kinds of moments to myself usually, because I really don't like being this way, and I know you guys don't really like reading poor me posts.

Letting go.

Letting go does not mean to stop caring;
it means I can't do it for someone else.

Letting go is not to cut myself off;
it's the realization I can't control another. . .

Letting go is to admit powerlessness;
which means the outcome is not in my hands. . .

Letting go is not to deny,
but to accept. . .

Letting go is not to adjust everything to my own desires;
but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it. . .

Letting go is not to regret the past;
but to grow and live for the future.

Letting go is to fear less and live more.


I can't do it.  I know I said I was going to let it go.  I guess I lied.  It is not so easy.  And though I try to stay away, it seems like every time I start wandering around on the internet, I come across stories of birth parents being reunited with their birth children.  And I don't get to have that.  And it makes me mad.  It makes me furious.

You see, for the past 18 years I have walked around holding onto this notion that the day would come when both of us (myself and her family) would run back into each others' lives.  We would be so grateful that the agency policies could not hold us hostage anymore.  Enough time would have passed that we could re-establish our relationship.  I know I am the only one guilty of selling myself this crock of you-know-what.  I am the one who convinced myself all those years ago that it was all okay because some day we would meet again.  And I really did believe that that someday would be sooner rather than later.  I didn't think that they would be one of those families who were afraid of their child's birth mother.  I thought our relationship was strong enough to survive the agency-imposed separation.  I thought THEY would want to know me again.  I never thought they would say they didn't want me in their lives.  I believed in a fantasy.

Actually, I think at some point, they were buying into that fantasy, too.  Or at least her dad was:

June 11, 1994

Dear Amy:

I hope life is treating you well.

I hope this day passed for you without too much event.  It was a lovely day for us, but somewhat bitter-sweet, too.  I thought of you quite often as we celebrated the life of this wonderful little girl.  I can't believe it has been a year!  I guess today isn't just a celebration for her, but it's also a day in which we celebrate you, too.  You have allowed us to expand our possibilities and see and experience something in a way we couldn't otherwise.  Now, we can't imagine life without this child, or without you for that matter.  You have become a part of us.

So thank you, again.

I looked over my shoulder and it's been a year so quickly.  It's been a good year filled with a lot of wonderful living. . . .

Still, it has surprised me how quickly life leaks:  You can't fully grasp it (even though you try), you can't completely cherish it, you can't entirely look at it, but you do love it nevertheless.  The final constant is it doesn't stand still no matter how much you'd like to.  It slowly leaks onward in some unshapeable fashion, never allowing you to stay in the same place.  You can only look back once you've lived--and not for very long.

If you're like me, you'd like to try and shape life more, but the verity is you're shaped by it.  After a while you smarten up and just drift with it and don't fight it.  It's part of a plan you have faith in.  Anyway, I can't believe she's 1 year old today. . . .

It's absolutely wonderful and absolutely difficult to see her grow up.  It must have taken a lot of courage for Heavenly Father to let us leave the pre-mortal existence, knowing what we had to face.  I'm not sure I could have done it if I had the power to control all things.

What a year it's been! . . .

Shifting gears.  How's your writing going?  I really enjoyed your stuff.  I've since read it again.  I've kept a file with all your letters and literary works.  I just got a new fire-proof gun safe which has guns in it, of course; the videos we've taken of her and Mouse; and I'll be transferring our correspondence--along [with] copies of all our letters.  I think they'll provide an interesting history of our association.

I really don't know what the official LDS Social Service Rules are about pictures and letter writing.  Things in this field are shifting so fast to meet the needs of both sides it seems that nothing is etched in cement.  For example, things we are doing now would be unthinkable, out of bounds and against the rules, when we got Mouse.  For the record, we have greatly enjoyed our relationship.  You don't threaten us or worry us.  You are our friend and partner.  We love sharing what's going on and are very interested in what's happening in your life.  We hate to see stuff start to shut down at the arbitrary deadline, the one year mark.

We want to keep in touch!  So let's do it . . . (his ellipses)

. . . I guess I better run.  I need to go help "Holly" with the dishes.

Please keep in touch with us. (his italics)

Your life is part of our life, now.  I can't quite bear to sever the connection or our relationship.  I'm really looking forward to meeting you face to face again.  We've some catching up to do.  Please take good care of yourself.   Keep to your high goals and don't get discouraged or weighed down.  I'm pleased you've got the first leg of your schooling done.  Go on and do whatever it is you want to do.  I hope you'll keep writing.  You've got a great talent for it. . . .

I hope you enjoy the summer.

Love,

Gary


And this from her mother:

. . .We love you and hope the memories have not been too painful for you.  It's still hard knowing that so much pain had to be endured for us to be so happy.  We're eternally grateful to you for all that we've been given this last year.

Love,

Holly


Another from her dad:

. . . As you know, we think you are really swell.  Please keep in touch with us so we can update you on all the latest developments.


Another from "Holly":

. . . If possible, please let us know what is going on with you.   We'd love to hear from you.


And from the last letter I ever received from them (written by Holly):

A while ago I asked "Cozette" what she would like to tell you.  She wanted you to know she loved you and wanted you to come visit our house.  She talks about her birthmother rather matter of fact--as if everyone has a birthmother like her.  It takes some people by surprise at first.  I'm glad she seems to understand the concept already.  She talks about it with "Mouse" every once in a while, too.


Wait, actually the last letter I got from them was a Christmas card later that year:

We want you to know how much we really do think of you.  The mouse is jealous because we met you and not his birthmother.  We're very thankful to have this rambunctious, constantly on-the-go blonde "extremely a little girl--constantly changing clothes, trying to be pretty, wanting lipstick, wanting to be pretty, etc. etc--girl in our house.   We are so grateful for the sacrifice you made to allow us to enjoy her.  She has blessed our home so much.  We will never be able to properly express our love and thanks to you.  We are trying so hard to bring her up in the right way--to love the Lord and to love His church.


Okay, so maybe my hopes weren't completely delusional.  It's too bad they are now.  That is what makes me angry and unhappy.  My expectations were for something else.  And this nothing that I'm stuck with now, it hurts.  It hurts that we can't get back to where we were.  I truly thought that was what we all wanted.  How did we get here?

Eighth Grade Football Games, Parent Teacher Conferences, Root Canals and other fun stuff

 I don't mean to give the impression that I classify watching eighth grade football with root canals, 'cause I don't.  It has just been that kind of a week.  Add into that trying to keep up with homework--Suddenly I am the Algebra expert?  How did that happen?--getting the oldest eligible for Cross Country and drama activities, talking with teachers all day Tuesday trying to find out what I need to do to help the kids succeed in school, attending extra-curricular activities, getting kids ready a couple of times while Britt was out in the morning hunting with Cole (Cole drew an elusive bull elk tag), and working on a couple major projects for Britt at work, by the end of the week I was something beyond exhausted.

These pictures comprise two football games Cole played in.  The first was Thursday, September 15 against Moab.  It was a tough game.  The boys are still kind of figuring out how to work together as a team.

 Time out on the field

Stop him!

last minute instructions 

 Almost the final score (since they turned off the scoreboard last time before the game was over, I wasn't taking any chances)

 caught

but we couldn't quite make anything happen.

The team's game this past Thursday the 22nd (Happy Birthday to my brother Drew and my Aunt Nancy) went a little better:

 Cole's on defense

 Oops!  He just missed this tackle

 still on defense

 Go, Mustangs!

 Cole was frustrated that he spent so much of the game on the sidelines.

 But you know he had missed part of some practices during the week because he was elk hunting.

 We held them to no score until the final play when the clock ran out and our defense just let their man run into the end zone.  It was craziness.

But we still won.  Yay!

And I was in pain the whole time.  That morning a back molar that has bothered me slightly for several years (like since I was a teenager) really started hurting.  Thursday night I went to bed in moderate pain.  Early Friday morning, like 3:00 in the morning, I realized there was no way I was going to get any sleep with the sharp shooting pain penetrating my jaw.  I asked Britt if he had anything stronger than Tylenol and he gave me some old pain medication.  Then I asked him for a blessing.  That Friday, he and Cole went out early to hunt again.  I called Garrett on his cell phone and had him get the kids up and fed.  They came into my room for prayer.  Then Garrett drove to school (yes, he has his learner's permit) and I made it home safely on my own.  I spent the entire day "sleeping" and taking pain medication.  Tried to eat, threw up a couple times.  By late afternoon that day, I decided I would rather eat than take pain medication.  And I was actually okay without it! (for a few hours, anyway)

My dentist was able to get me into an emergency appointment later than night for a root canal.  By then, I had decided that I wasn't hurting that bad anymore, so I didn't really want to do the painful procedure. But I wanted to be able to sleep that night, so I figured I better just do it.  He said my nerve was actually dying and that was why it wasn't hurting as bad at that point.  But, he said eventually it would have abscessed and got infected and then I would have felt worse.  I have to say, that was the most pleasant root canal ever!  No joke!  It was such a relief!  And oh yeah, I slept like a baby that night (even without my husband who was camping out in hopes of finding some elk early in the morning--no such luck).

Saturday was a busy day between a cub scout baptism, the Stake Relief Society Humanitarian Project, and the General Relief Society Broadcast, which was so worth attending!  Sunday, I spent the whole time after church trying to create a DVD of our motorcycle trip for my father-in-law Joe.  I have never done that before, so it turned into quite the project.  Just got it done today.  I am also still working on some projects for Britt.

The fact is, I am tired.

But life doesn't slow down even for a root canal.  We just have to keep going.  And that's okay.  We'll get there eventually.