My Least Favorite Holiday

I've never looked forward to the actual New Year's Holiday. I think it's because of the let down I've always felt. A little bit like a graduation experience. Somehow, by dressing up in a goofy robe, walking across a stage and being handed a diploma, I should feel different.

It may also have something to do with the idea that I'm staying up really late in anticipation of some change happening. The only thing that seems to happen is with less sleep, I'm a bit grouchier the next day.

Well, hopefully, this year will be a bit different in my recognition of my anticipation issues. I've scaled down my expectations in a big way--nothing is going to be changing with the year advancing. At least nothing is going to change with the striking of the clock. I've also added one resolution to my list this year.

That's right just one.

Perhaps it sounds weak--only one resolution?

Of course I have many more qualities and issues I need to change, but with years past I've found the more changes I attempted to make at one time, the less I actually accomplished. So, just one goal this year and I'm going to try my hardest to make it happen.

This New Year I'm realistic and I'm happy.

Little Sayings to Record

These are all courtesy of Owen--the resident 3 year old.

Two weeks ago driving in the car, from the back seat I hear:

Owen: "That makes Jesus really mad."

Me: "What makes Jesus mad?"

Owen: "When you cut down his plants it makes him really mad."

A little too much exposure to Al Gore or too many "green" commericals on Disney? Who's to know?

Last week while he and Eli are bathing in the tub, Eli starts crying:

Me: Why is Eli crying? (I can tell you that it's because Owen dumped a bucket of water on his head, but it's good to allow a child to confess right?)

Owen: I don't know. I think it's because he wants those things.

Me: What things?

Owen: Your things mom. Pointing to his chest, "Those big things you have here."

Me: Why do you think he wants those?

Owen: Because that's what you do, you give him those and he's happy.

Me: Well, Eli's too old to do that now. He just gets food now.

I could sense Owen's disappointment for Eli's loss. What a caring brother.

I Used to Be...

Fun.
I think I was anyway.
I sure hope I was.
I like to envision myself as fun, but now I am boring.
I must be because I can't think of anything to blog about.
Well, actually, I've thought of a few things to blog about, but before my fingers could hit the keyboard, I lost steam. Yeah, not even partial drafts of blog posts, but absolutely no blog posts.
Maybe that means I'm still fun, but lazy. Yeah, maybe I'm lazy, but I don't feel lazy. I mean sometimes I feel lazy when I find myself getting excited about putting the kids to bed, so that I can break out the foods I hide from them, so I don't have to share. (lazy and selfish a bit too)
I feel stressed sometimes during the holidays. I've been debating back and forth, back and forth. Do I do treats for friends? I've done them every single year since I started the tradition. Even when Owen was only three weeks old. Even when Eli was only a month and a half old. I did those treat plates and I really like taking a little bit of love to my friends, but I'm debating doing it at all this year.
I've been cold. Yeah, it's been cold for us. Down in the 50s or some other frigid temperature I don't want to feel. I want to have temperate weather. I endure those 100+ degree days to have winters where I wear my sandals everywhere. I've had to wear socks all week! Socks.
Phew, I sound really whiney. I'm not meaning to. The cold does this to me. Well, I'm also a bit hungry too. It's my first time fasting in about two years. Not that anyone is counting, but I've only got 53 minutes left to go.
I shouldn't even post this because it's really lame, but my mom requested I update my blog. Boy, she's going to be impressed huh? 52 minutes and counting...

Family Pictures!

Okay, it's time to vote again. Of course Derek and I don't agree, so which one is your favorite? I'm talking a picture of the whole family. The others are just for your enjoyment.

#1 (above)

#2 (above)

#3 (above)

#4 (above)


#5 (above)

72 Hour Survival

This last month our Bishop challenged us twice to live in various states of emergency. The first challenge involved having no water for several days--except the water we had on hand (although he didn't prevent us from going to the store to buy more). The second challenge was to live without power for several days.

Knowing that these challenges were going to be thrust upon me really got me motivated to get our 72 hour kits in order. I have never bought a single item towards this. I have worked on my general food storage, but never my GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE RIGHT NOW kit. Don't you think that's a more appropriate name? Anyway, I got the most fabulous book from my husband last Christmas called It Wasn't Raining When Noah Built the Ark. It's written, coincidentally by my Bishop's Wife's sister Tami Girsberger.

I have to say that the whole food storage, 72 hour kit, general disaster preparedness had always completely overwhelmed me, so I did what I do when coping with situations like that--try to forget it and then get really stressed out when the topic was brought up because I hadn't done anything. Well, when the book was published last year, the Bishop's wife brought it to book club to show us. I flipped through it and was drawn to it immediately because of the simple way it was broken down. I thought that doing the preparedness thing for my family may seem do-able after all.

So, I don't want to type out a huge list of items to tell you what I put in my bags, but I do want to say some of the general things I didn't necessarily think of that she tells you to put in.

1. N95 dust mask. This makes a lot of sense--what if there's something in the air that you're not supposed to be breathing? Especially in Arizona, there's a ton of dirt and if there were a windstorm and we had to leave you might need to have one of these handy. You can get them at Wal-mart in the painting aisle.

2. Road Map. I got a map of our local area and better yet I bought it already laminated. If it were raining or we threw the backpack down in a puddle of water, I'd be fine. If I have to leave on foot or in a car, then I can tell where I'm going.

3. Emergency Phone Numbers. Before the day of cell phones, I used to memorize phone numbers. Now I know about five phone numbers it seems. And, if I'm panicked? I know I wouldn't remember anything. I'm thinking poison control, police department, neighbors, long distance relatives...

4. Suitcase Tags. You know how hard it is to determine which of those black suitcases belongs to which person when you're at the airport? Well, I bought five backpacks (red for the men and purpley flowers for the girls). I'm thinking of a situation in New Orleans where everyone was thrown into the football stadium with what they had brought. With a tag on the bag, I can easily know whose bag it is and if it's lost, they can find me.

5. Cards. Playing cards. Who knows where we'll be and for how long? Better to have something to entertain the kids and it hardly takes any room.

Anyway, if you're interested in this--a great book for Christmas--you can get it from Deseret Book or on amazon.

What about your 72 hour kits--what did you put in that you thought was super smart, but not everyone may consider?

Hall-o-weenie

Ryanna was supposed to be this for Halloween:

a photo of some expensive Pottery Barn cupcake costume.

However, before OCTOBER even arrived, some smart mom in New Jersey snatched up every last costume from Pottery Barn and has been selling them on ebay for over $300 a pop! However, I did find a great replica on etsy!

And, since she wanted to be a cupcake, I was going to have Owen be his speciality--a hamburger--again. However, my mom, Queen of Halloween Costumes, thought Owen should have a new food costume, so he became:

And Eli, he did get to use an old costume--Ryanna's first ever Halloween costume:

What a scrumptious buffet! (It was COLD last night, so Ryanna had to wear pants instead of just cute tights or leggings.)

And these are some random Halloween ghosts I made for a little treat!

Tina + Me = A Winning Combination

My friend Tina posted a picture of a skirt she had made for her daughter Maryn a little while ago. Of course, I don't know how to sew (I've sewn a few things, but not in many years and I've never sewn anything you can wear--successfully sewn anything you can wear that is.). So, I had to tell Tina that I was in love with the skirt she had made and told her I wish she lived closer, so she could help me to sew such a cute skirt for my own daughter.

Tina, being the amazing friend that she is, emailed me and told me if I'd pick out some fabric and mail it to her, she'd send me back a completed skirt.

How could I pass up such an offer?

The hardest part for me was picking out the material. The first fabric that caught my eye was red and it was so cute. I tried and tried to get a winning combination going on, but it was not happening. Once I switched to blue combos it all came together. Then, I was really on a roll, so I picked out enough fabric for another skirt as well. Doesn't that show you what a good friend Tina is?

Anyway, here they are! SOOOO CUTE!

Stop Making Me Fat!

(This is my favorite photo of me and some of my closest friends.)

(I'm pregnant in both of these photos, but they show a lot of happiness!)

The other day I was feeling a bit glum because I had been trying to reach a good friend and she hadn't returned any of my calls or emails. Sometimes stuff like that bothers me, but other times it's no big deal. I stewed on it a couple of days and kind of let it get to me. Then, I decided it was silly to let some unknown explanation cause me to be down. I don't know what it was exactly that helped me to feel better or to just "let it go," as the saying goes. However, I haven't felt down since.

Now, I may have the answer. It's here. To sum it up, ('cause it's a rather long, but well worth the read 'cause it's a fascinating article) it may not have been my fault that I was glum. Perhaps it was because my neighbor's daughter had a bad day that I was feeling a bit blue. No, I'm not joking. There's a theory called the "'three degrees of influence' rule about human behavior: We are tied not just to those around us, but to others in a web that stretches farther than we know." In other words, the effect we have on other people doesn't disappear until three people later. Kind of hard to understand in the abstract, but here's a good example:


"Smoking, they discovered, also appeared to spread socially — in fact, a friend taking up smoking increased your chance of lighting up by 36 percent, and if you had a three-degrees-removed friend who started smoking, you were 11 percent more likely to do the same. Drinking spread socially, as did happiness and even loneliness. And in each case one’s individual influence stretched out three degrees before it faded out. "


AND


"But how, exactly, could obesity or happiness spread through so many links? Between one immediate peer and another, some contagious behaviors — like smoking — seem pretty commonsensical. If lots of people around you are smoking, there’s going to be peer pressure for you to start, whereas if nobody’s smoking, you’ll be more likely to stop. But the simple peer-pressure explanation doesn’t work as well with happiness or obesity: we don’t often urge people around us to eat more or implore them to be happier. (In any case, simply telling someone to be happier or unhappier isn’t likely to work.) Instead, Christakis and Fowler hypothesize that these behaviors spread partly through the subconscious social signals that we pick up from those around us, which serve as cues to what is considered normal behavior. Scientists have been documenting this phenomenon; for example, experiments have shown that if a person is seated next to someone who’s eating more, he will eat more, too, unwittingly calibrating his sense of what constitutes a normal meal. Christakis and Fowler suspect that as friends around us become heavier, we gradually change our mental picture of what “obese” looks like and give ourselves tacit permission to add pounds. With happiness, the two argue that the contagion may be even more deeply subconscious: the spread of good or bad feelings, they say, might be driven partly by “mirror neurons” in the brain that automatically mimic what we see in the faces of those around us — which is why looking at photographs of smiling people can itself often lift your mood. "


Sure, you could say, oh just a coincidence. Or you could go a bit further and say what's the causation/correlation there? Do we gravitate toward people who share similar interests and that explains why we tend to spend time with people who share our views, our builds, our beliefs? I'm not quite sure myself that I'm sold on the whole idea, but it is fascinating to think about.


You might then say, "Well, I want to be thin, so I'll only hang out with skinny people," but according to the theory that may not be enough right? After all the people you're hanging out with are being influenced by their own three degrees of influence which may be putting pressure on them to eat more.


Another idea that was presented in the article that fascinated me dealt with friendship. I've always treasured friends because none of my siblings are close to my age, so I was raised as an only child. I would say I have a large group of friends that are important to me. I'm very intrigued by people and their decisions. I like to know everyone's story. So, what else did the study find?


"The subconscious nature of emotional mirroring might explain one of the more curious findings in their research: If you want to be happy, what’s most important is to have lots of friends. Historically, we have often thought that having a small cluster of tight, long-term friends is crucial to being happy. But Christakis and Fowler found that the happiest people in Framingham were those who had the most connections, even if the relationships weren’t necessarily deep ones.
The reason these people were the happiest, the duo theorize, is that happiness doesn’t come only from having deep, heart-to-heart talks. It also comes from having daily exposure to many small moments of contagious happiness. When you frequently see other people smile — at home, in the street, at your local bar — your spirits are repeatedly affected by your mirroring of their emotional state."


So, what I'm saying is, let's be friends. But please, watch what you eat, I'm trying to get thin!

What Happened?

Remember this?

Yes, just one year ago I had my third child. He was so cute and tiny! Now, he's grown and grown and grown some more (though he's still quite tiny for his age). I really can't believe he's a year old today. Yesterday I mourned the loss of my baby. Not that he's that different from yesterday to today, but reaching that year mark signifies a lot of changes that have occurred and will yet occur.

It's amazing how a person can grow and develop so much in only one year. We love you Eli.

Finding My Roots (the Finale!)

So, I don't know if you are all bored to tears about hearing about this story, but I really need to get some of these details down while I can.
So, you may remember in the story of my dad's adoption that his birth mom was married at the time she gave birth, but she wasn't married to my dad's biological father. Does that all make sense? This story is so clear in my mind and these people are so real to me now that I find myself feeling them and telling their story so easily that I forget not everyone is following as closely as I am. So, for convenience sake, I'm going to provide some code names to make the story more easy to follow.

Biological Mom: Marie
Biological Dad: Alex
Man Married to Biological Mom: Lyle

There, clear as mud? Okay, so on with the story...
Lyle is a 20 something year old truck driver living in Colorado. His route takes him to destinations in Memphis, Tennessee, and Dallas, Texas. However, his loading port is in Arkansas.
One day while Lyle is waiting to get his truck filled in Arkansas, he decides to get a limemade. He ventures over to the local pharmacy which has a soda fountain in the back. Working at the soda fountain is the most beautiful blonde he's ever seen (No, it's not me, I'm not even born yet! It's Marie). He buys his limemade and chats with the woman for a while.
From that point on, every time he's in town, he stops in and chats and pretty soon he begins to date Marie. At some point in their dating, Lyle encounters Alex who makes it quite clear to Lyle that he is infringing on his territory by dating Marie. Lyle is not deterred by this and continues to date Marie anyway.
After they date seriously for quite some time, Lyle decides to ask Marie to marry him. She agrees. He drives back to Colorado to get the ring and places it on her finger making the engagement official. They never get around to setting a date, but after dating for several months, something changes. On one trip to down to Arkansas, Marie gives Lyle back his ring and says she can't marry him. She offers no other explanation. Lyle is heartbroken. He is in love, he wants to be with Marie forever.
Luckily for Lyle, his route is changed right after this happens and he doesn't have to go to Arkansas anymore. He still thinks of Marie and what could have been, but he hears nothing more until about a year later when he gets a letter in the mail.
Marie writes that she's made a mistake. She loves Lyle. She still wants to marry him. Would it be possible? Lyle is thrilled! Of course he wants to be with Marie. His only condition is that they get married right away. Marie agrees. He drives his truck down, picks her up and brings her back to Colorado and within a short time (a couple of weeks?) they are married.
Married life is great for the young, happy couple. Lyle is still gone often because that's what truckers do, but he knows he gets to come home to his gorgeous wife. Then, only two months after they tie the knot Lyle gets the strangest impression that Marie is pregnant. Hmmmm... He knows that's not a nice thing to accuse a woman of. Besides, he's probably wrong. Maries eats hardly anything at all and since they've been married she's only had the very slightest of a bump show. Perhaps if there's something amiss he should give her the opportunity to talk to him when she's ready. So, Lyle says nothing.
Flash forward to a month later. The newlyweds have just enjoyed a great dinner and Marie heads to the bedroom to change for bed. All of a sudden she's back out in the kitchen, crying.

"What's wrong?" asks Lyle.

"My water has broke. We have to go to the hospital. I'm in labor." states Marie.

Without throwing a fit or passing out from shock, Lyle helps his new wife to the hosptial. As soon as they arrive she tells the staff that she is not keeping the baby. The staff ask if she wants to see or hold the baby.

"I don't want to see it. I don't want to even look at it," she says.

By the next morning, my dad makes his entrance into the world. Small, but completely healthy. He is whisked away never to be seen or touched by the woman who carried her secret for so many torturous months, never revealing to the father, to her parents, to even her own husband what she probably couldn't face herself.
As for the rest of the story. That's for me and my family to know. Who is this man Lyle? This man who had this wild and difficult situation thrust upon him as a new husband. This man who stayed with his wife for a week after the baby's birth to care for her. This man who forgave her and never brought it up again. This man who readily spoke with me about intimate details that mean more to me than he'll ever know. It has been life altering. I can't imagine someone who could be as quick to forgive as he was. Someone who is so sweet and kind.
Here he is, nearing 80 years of life and I walk into the picture and he not only provides a story, he provides friendship. Yes, he too wants to meet me and my dad. I can hardly wait to meet this man and give him a huge hug. He's a sweetheart.
This whole experience....It's been hard for me to put into words. Sure, I can tell the story without any problem, but the emotions that come with it are so deep. I don't know if I've ever had feelings like this before. I feel so blessed. I feel so loved. I feel so peaceful.
Oh and one last, tiny detail. Lyle said that I solved a huge problem for him. You see, he has these wedding photos of him and Marie and he didn't know what would become of them when he died. There are no children that would need them, so he figured they'd probably just be thrown away. Instead, he's sending them to me. Yes, I will have a wedding photo of my very own grandma. Amazing. Simply amazing. Call it a coincidence if you like that he's held onto that picture for 50 years and through two other marriages. I call it divine intervention. I can hardly wait. So peaceful? Yes, but still so excited!!!

Ready to Fall In Love

Fall is about so many things that Arizona isn't. Fall is about beautiful leaf changes. Fall is about soup. Mmmm-mmmm. (I made a batch of homemade potato soup on Monday. I had forgotten just how much this made and we've been eating it all week.) Fall is about long sleeves. It's about darker colors on your clothing. It's about chilly nights where you eat your yummy soup. (Yes, most everything in life revolves around food for me.) It's about those beautiful leaves crunching under your shoes as you walk. It's about jackets. It's about homemade chocolate chip cookies and milk (although for me this this last theme pretty much runs year round.)

To contrast this, fall in Arizona is about so many different things. While most of the people I know are starting to venture inside from their beautiful summer weather, we Arizonans are finally emerging from our air conditioned homes. My Grandma was telling me that her garden froze this week. In return, I told her how it had finally cooled down to the 90s so that we could play in the park without my kids getting third degree burns. The plants, instead of dropping their leaves, can finally bloom. I wear the same clothes I did all summer only I don't sweat quite so badly while wearing them.

So, what's the difference? The only difference really lies with my choices. I can cook soups and bake foods that will fill the house with heat without needing to turn on every available fan. And let's not forget about decorating the house. I think I finally get why my college roommates from Arizona would be giddy over decorating our apartment with pumpkins and gold and red items. It's a fake it till you make it attitude down here in the desert.

So much of how we perceive the holidays really does come from our memories of those seasons from our youth. Growing up in Colorado there was such a contrast between summer and fall, winter and spring.

Growing up here, my kids will really only know the difference between hot and wonderful. All those in between times of year are a bit lost on them. My kids will not have the images and memories that I have of fall. It'll be different for them. Makes me want to move them further north, so they can gain an appreciation of this wonderful time of year. But then I see black ice and people stranded by blizzards when winter comes and then I shake my head, put on my flip flops and walk outside to water my flowers.

The Prize Winner From Defiance, Ohio

Last night we watched The Prize Winner From Defiance, Ohio. A random selection from the library. It ended up reminding me of how many qualities or lack thereof that I would love to improve or change in myself.

The mother, Evelyn Ryan, raised 10 kids by winning competitions during the 1950s for writing lyrics or jingles for different brands. She was married and a lot of the movie focused on the relationship between her and her husband. He was an alcoholic who really loved his family, but couldn't get over his addiction enough to ever help his family to have what they needed. His heart was mostly in the right spot, but his flesh was weak as the saying goes.

What stood out to me was Evelyn's attitude. Here she is married to an alcoholic who spends money on his liquor before thinking of his own children or wife, yet she continually tries to show him love. In one contest she wins a timed trip through the supermarket which allows her to fill up one cart full of items. She asks each child what they want and even when her husband feels silly about the whole thing, she finally gets out of him what his request would be. Given that she's got a family of 12 to consider, this trip would be a great opportunity to fill her cart with necessities--hamburger, beans, etc. But, she uses the experience for more than that and fills the cart with items that they've never tried because they've never been able to afford them. Even though the kids don't necessarily even like the items she brings home, she still provides them with an opportunity to experience something new.

At home, as they are all trying out the various new foods, her husband is angry--who knows why, it appears that he's jealous of her success--and throws out a bunch of the expensive food she wins while everyone is celebrating with her. It is a perfect opportunity for her to be angry and feel slighted. A great chance to yell at him and justify how at least she provides something for her kids to eat while he only thinks of himself. But what does she do? She ignores his outburst and instead goes and gets him the item he requested as a special treat and graciously and lovingly hands it to him telling him to enjoy his dinner.

How often am I turning the other cheek when I feel slighted? How often am I looking at mistakes my children or others make that interfere with my schedule and shrugging them off because we all make mistakes after all.

I find it amusing and frustrating all at the same time when Owen throws a fit about a situation not working out how he's pictured it in his mind, yet don't I show a little bit of the same emotions when I get impatient with someone else? Aren't I just as much a child in my progression when I envy someone else's talents, but not take into account the discipline and dedication involved in the pursuit of that accomplishment? How often, in an argument, do I try to justify my own actions and point out faults on someone else's part, instead of turning the other cheek? How wonderful is my ability to notice detail if I only use it to criticize negatively?

I love these movies and I hate them all at the same time. I really want to have this woman's can do, patient attitude, but yet I find myself being frustrated and upset over inconsequential things. I tried really hard to be sweet and slow to anger for at least the first half of the day and then I got tired and my kids were being really loud and I yelled. Would Evelyn have done that? Probably not, but I did. Here I am raising three kids and I can't make it a single day while she happily raised ten kids with an alcoholic husband.

I'm not naive enough to believe she was infallible, but it does cause me to sit back and question my own person and how much I need to work on. It also causes me to feel extremely grateful. I have a husband who is reliable and cares for my needs. I have friends that I get to visit because I have time. I have a wonderful life that is much easier than Evelyn's, so I need to step it up and appreciate what I have.

Labor Day Activities

Labor Day dawns and of course everyone feels slightly sick and mostly sick and I don't want to do my exercises. So I cheat and we go on a "family walk" which means we walk a little and talk a lot to neighbors. Oh I'm definitely sweating by the end of the walk, but not because of exertion.
Why is it that my plans to rock as a parent and plan the most fun Labor Day in history--based around entertaining my kids and not entertaining me (I would be entertained by napping and venturing to Sonic)--never go as planned?
Within the first ten minutes of Labor Day dawning, my two year old has thrown three fits. I'm not exaggerating either. He has some serious bi-polar issues going on in his life right now. Plus, he has these HUGE lips he inherited from me and they are really extra good for pouting, so should I really stop that talent in action? When he isn't pouting about me asking him to do something really hard like not cough in my face, he's throwing a tantrum about how he can't perfectly kick a ball or his legs don't run fast enough. Seriously. He throws fits about how his legs don't run fast enough. What kind of a wacky perfectionist am I raising here?
We do manage the walk I mentioned, so part one of my plan is accomplished. Then, we hurriedly eat lunch to go to the dollar theatre to see Up. Only, we get there in time to be persons #1,467, 1,468, 1,469 and 1,470 in line with only one poor soul working the ticket booth. I quickly reassess and determine that we can get a Red Box movie and eat snacks at home.
The kids each pick their favorite snack--Ryanna picks popcorn and Owen picks dried fruit. Yes, dried fruit. Apparently there's some good parenting going on sometime at our home. I watch about 20 minutes of the movie and fall asleep.
Finally, we end the day by visiting Organ Stop Pizza. The kids love, love, love this place. The pizza's not Papa John's, but it's fine and the organ is really cool for the kids.
Whew, I'm ready for those kids to go to sleep! What a day.

Oh BROTHER!!! (Sequel to Finding My Roots)

Imagine coming home from your job. You're tired, you want to just relax. Your mom comes over for a visit and tells you that she has a letter for you to read. She hands you the letter and you wonder what in the world this could be. After reading the letter your mom tells you that she's checked with other family members to make sure that this information is accurate and then you realize that today you gained a relative--a half brother to be exact.
Last Friday I received a call from my dad's BROTHER!!! You'll remember from my first posting that his biological mom had no other children. However, his biological father married and had one son. They were unable to ever have any other children, so their son was raised as an only child. Now, 49 years later he discovers he has a brother.
I can't tell you how completely overwhelmed and shocked both my dad's brother and his mom were (still are!). He said to me, "I never had a brother before." They both told me numeous times that their dad/husband never knew that my dad ever existed. They said he's not the type of man to abandon a child. He and his wife were married for 50 years and she said they didn't keep anything from each other.
Now, do they have any information to help me fill in the gaps? A little, just a few scant details told from his sisters who are still living. These sisters remember my dad's mom and their brother dated for a while. One sister said she even remembers that after the relationship ended, she overheard a conversation where someone has said that there was a rumor that my dad's biological mom was pregnant. The sister forgot about it and never did follow up on it. Turns out, as we all know, it was no rumor. No one was ever able to verify the information anyway, because my dad's mom married a different man and moved across the country.
As I said, I feel like with the little bits of information that are coming in, I just keep having more and more questions. Obviously she never told the biological father that she was pregnant, but why? I'm not upset because without everything happening the way it did, I wouldn't be here writing this. It's just all such a mystery and the people with the answers have all passed away. There's very little information left.
When I called my dad and told him I had just talked with his brother, he was excited. How could he not be? He's never had a brother before either.

He said, "Well, I guess you're done now."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you've found everyone. There's no one left," he said.

Hmmmm...I guess I'm done. But they are family, I don't feel like I'm really DONE per se. Just a little bit further in the journey. Now we get to schedule a trip to meet everyone. I'm excited. What a crazy trip--meeting my uncle for the first time. Meeting a great uncle for the first time. Cousins and cousins and cousins too. Will they look anything like me? Will my dad's brother have similar characteristics to him? I'm extremely curious to meet everyone and just get filled up with information.
With such a find I have to say how grateful I am to God. Seriously, the last couple of weeks I've felt so overwhelmingly blessed by the Spirit. It's amazing to have this opportunity.
Pictures will be coming...we're still planning the trip!

The Reluctant Hero

Apparently even if your blood pressure is really low normally, you are still able to give blood. Even if that means that your blood pressure is say 91/58 like mine was this morning. Is it really trying to do a good deed when you go into it hoping that they will send you home? You know, like the kid who lost his right eye in 6th grade wood shop, but still tries to enlist as a sniper for the marines. Well, that was me about 6 hours ago.
I don't like needles, I can't watch them draw blood or give me shots or I pass out. My blood pressure is never high. Doesn't that disqualify me? Dang it, sorry, but I tried. I'll be going now, but where's that treat table that you have for everyone who comes?
WHAT? I can still donate with blood pressure like that? Okay then, ask me those questions again, maybe I forgot that I recently visited Europe and stayed there for over 5 years. I'm already feeling a little nauseated over the whole thing and perhaps it slipped my mind...
All right I'll follow you but, I go, like a lamb to the slaughter, to lie on one of those glorified lawn chairs while the girl tries to get one of my veins to pop out. No luck on the right arm. No duh, my veins are hiding, they know better. Stupid left arm veins. Can't you stay down there where you belong?
Why do you need to scrub my arm for 30 seconds? Isn't that the kind of torture I endure on my exercise videos? Hold that push up for 30 seconds, come on...you can do it. No I can't and I don't want to and please don't put that thing in my arm.
Too late, okay then, where can I look to not think about this situation? Let's see that guy straight across from me...Ugh, no I don't want to watch the blood flowing out of him. Why is he smiling? Show off. What is the deal with the blood see saw thingy? Is that supposed to help me throw up? What are we making cocktails for vampires later?
Why is it that blood can look so pretty, bright and red when it's only a drop or two, but when you see it flowing through a tube it looks like you've consumed serious Hershey's and your blood is mixed with equal parts chocolate? Ugh, why am I here again? Oh yeah, help the community, do a good deed, don't faint, don't look anywhere but to the people who are helping to check us in. Why did they dim the lights in here anyway? What are they trying to hide?
How much of my blood are they going to take by the way? My hand can barely squeeze that little contraption they've given me and I'm not feeling so hot. I'm sure they've taken every last ounce out of my left arm...can my arm work with no blood in it?
I'm done? YAY, let me the heck out of here. NO, I don't feel well. Was the first clue the fact that my arm shriveled up and looks like a six year old's? My face is white because you took all the blood out of every part of me? All right, I'll lie here for a minute, but only because you're making me.
Okay, I feel all better. Why can't I go? Baby steps? What? I have some grocery shopping to do, a cake to make at home, lots of things to do. All right, all right, I'll hold off for a while and try to relax while you drain the life out of everyone else. Maybe I should yell out a warning to those innocent victims waiting to be put through this same torture.
Phew, I made it out of there. This was a lot worse than I thought it would be. I hope whoever gets that blood really needs it because I don't think my body is keen on giving up what it worked so hard to make.

Finding My Roots

February 6, 1958, a woman delivers a beautiful little boy. He's perfect as most babies are with 10 fingers and 10 toes. He weighs 6 pounds 12 ounces and is 21 inches long. Perhaps his mom holds him gently before signing the paperwork to relinquish her parental rights. Perhaps the pain associated with knowing he's not hers to keep prevents her from daring to even look at his face. And what about the father? Where is he? Does he want to keep this little bundle? Does he wonder if this baby has his talents and vices? These facts I may never know, but I do know that this baby grows up to be my father.


Yes, my father was adopted when he was six months old. Raised in a home with another adopted child. His adoptive mother died from cancer when he was only nine years old. I have the privilege of being honored with her name.


My dad provided me with all of his adoption paperwork about five years ago. I played around on the internet trying to see if I could locate his birth parents, but nothing could be found. I helped my dad to register for every free database that exists for adoptees, but I never felt we'd find anything there and my intutition proved true.


Flash forward to 2008. It was one of those nights where I couldn't sleep. I felt prompted to look through that adoption paperwork one more time. I always tried to read it and let my mind do some thinking to see if I could feel any questions spring to mind. I felt prompted to see if there is anyone out there who would be willing to help me with this quest for free. I know that locating this information can cost thousands of dollars and that's money I don't have. I locate a woman in Denver who emails me back at 5 am--apparently she's an early riser herself--and instructs me on all of the paperwork I need to fill out to make sure that I've done everything I can.


All of this paperwork doesn't bring me any closer to finding either of my biological grandparents. Then, she tells me that I can actually get what's called non-identifying information about my dad's adoption. We send away for the information in April of this year and six weeks later a few more puzzle pieces are revealed.


The key piece for me was the clue that my dad's birth mom was already married to another man when she gave birth to my dad. When I read that, I got another feeling that perhaps the last name that we'd had for her wasn't really her maiden name at all. However, having this clue still doesn't help me to know her name.


Then, in June another adoptee from Colorado wins his court battle against the state for the right to have access to his adoption file. This case changes the law in Colorado allowing all adopted children whose adoptions were finalized between 1950 and June of 1966 to get their original birth certificates. I am ecstatic. We're going to find her.


That birth certificate arrived at my dad's house on Monday and revealed that my intuition about her name was correct. I now have her maiden name in front of me and my dad is on the phone with me. I'm shaking so hard, I can hardly type; hardly think. I type in her name and the very first hit that google gives me is her obituary.


I have to pay to view her obituary and the next day, after much struggle with learning the hard way that gmail hides your spam folder, I gain password access to the obituary. I can hardly read. My eyes are jumping all over the page: Where are the names of all of her kids? What did she do for a living? Who else is alive that I can talk to about this?


I locate a current phone number for her brother. I dial and I am having heart tremors. What kind of a reception am I going to get from this man? Will he tell me he's not interested in digging up the past? Will he just hang up on me? I don't know if I can let it go with just that.


He doesn't answer his phone.


I call the nursing home where my great grandma is living (Yes she's living! Can you believe that? 92 years old and still very with it) and ask to talk to her. A male voice gets on the phone.


Him: "Hello?"


Me: "Hi. My name is Audrey."


Him: "Who?"


Me: "My name is Audrey. I don't really know how to explain this, but let me try. You had a sister named ______ (I'm choosing to not reveal this information on my blog for privacy reasons)."


Him: "Yes."


Me: "Do you remember that in 1958 she had a baby that she gave up for adoption?"


Him: "Yes."


Me: "That baby is my father."


Him: (excited voice) "Is that right?!"


I breath a huge sigh of relief and my heart rate goes down slightly.


Me: "Yes! I can't tell you how excited I am to meet you. To talk to you! I'm dying to find out some information if you're willing."


Him: "Well, yes, but this is the nursing home phone. Let me call you back in a few hours. When is a good time to call you?"


Me: "ANYtime you want to call is a good time for me."


Perhaps none of the rest of you noticed, but the next couple of hours crawled by. Did anyone feel the earth turn a bit more slowly on Tuesday?


My uncle has a southern drawl that I find adorable and is willing to share all of the information that he has available--which is hardly anything unfortunately.


I find out that my grandma was an extremely private woman who never told a sole she was pregnant until she went into labor--not even the man she was married to knew she was pregnant. She never spoke of the adoption or pregnancy again--at least to her brother or her own mother. She never revealed who the father was either though her own mother deduced the name from remembering back to the man she was dating. She never had any other kids for reasons that no one who is living seems to know. In other words, I know so much and I know so little all at the same time.


Within a few hours after locating her, I was able to locate my dad's biological father as well. He too is deceased. He died less than a year ago. I can't believe he only passed away less than a year ago! The question in this situation is whether or not he even knew that my dad existed. I have no idea if he did. His wife, whom he married the same year my dad was born, is still living, but her phone number is unlisted. I have written a letter and now all I can do is wait. Boy, I hope she knew about this because I can't imagine the shock it would be to find out about a child your husband fathered 51 years ago.


I hope she's kind. I hope she understands I just would like to see a picture...find out about his personality...see if I recognize my own features in him. I certainly am not interested in butting in where I'm not wanted, but my curiosity is insatiable about this situation.


So, even though I'll never be able to meet either one of my biological paternal grandparents, I have gained a sweet uncle and a great grandma. Not to mention all of the family that comes from them. Perhaps I'll get to meet them? I certainly hope so.

My dad with Ryanna.

8 Great Years!

Happy Anniversary to you Derek--you lucky man you!

And, now for the top eight reasons you're the perfect man for me:

1. Just my height! I never have to stand on my tippy toes to kiss you and I never have a sore neck from giving you a kiss.

2. You make me laugh.

3. Your deep thoughts--I wish that we could share these before 11 pm at night, but there's something about going to bed that makes us philosophical.

4. Your kindness toward me. You've never yelled at me and you always say sorry first.

5. You balance me out even when I don't like it. I want dessert and you want more of the main course, I want chocolate and you want water, I want to be mad and you make me see the other side, you're the big picture thinker and I'm all about the details, etc.

6. You are such an incredible dad and huge supporter for me as a mom.

7. You're always trying to improve yourself. You never make me "just deal" with how you are. You always try to be a better person.

8. You love BYU football and really, the rest is just details.

Love you!

Dying for More?

My friend Lara is moving across the country right now. I'm talking packed up her entire house, husband and three kids and moved from Utah to Michigan. Anyway, she asked me and a couple other friends to be guest bloggers on her blog while she couldn't be there. She has some sort of fancy contract because she's such a fabulous blogger that requires her to blog every so often. I was, of course, completely honored and intimidated, but I eeked out a piece about suitcases. You'll notice, if you read the woman who posted below mine, that hers is very deep and heartfelt, while mine is my typical whimsical nonsense. If you want to see it for yourself, go here:

http://lalakme.blogspot.com

It All Started With One Phone Call

Me: "Hello?"

My Mom: "Hey. What're you doing?"

Me: "I'm getting my new dishwasher installed. What are you doing?"

My Mom: "I'm on my way to your house."

Me: "Wait, what?"

And that my friends is how our fun, quick weekend started. My mom and dad showed up in this:

For those of you who don't speak car this is a very, very fast Corvette. I'm talk 60 miles an hour in about 1/2 second. Almost faster than my Toyota minivan.

Then we did a little eating namely at such places as TC Eggington's, Jamba Juice and Chino Bandido (all in the same day).



We also did a little of this and I conquered with a very pitiful score which was barely over 100.



Then, just like Cinderella's gown turned into rags and her coach into a pumpkin, they disappeared on Sunday morning. They even took their race car with them. We were left with our minivan and clothes that barely fit due to the excess in consumption. It sure was fun though.

So Much Older

On Saturday I turned 31. I'm old now. No really, I am. Let me tell you how the sad truth of this was discovered:

1. I was conducting in Primary last Sunday and I was reading the names of everyone in Primary that was going to have a birthday the coming week. I read my own name and got confused. Seriously, I didn't realize my birthday was only a week away.

2. About two months ago, I played a little backyard soccer with Derek and the kids. I was trying to steal the ball from Derek and he pushed my shoulder some weird way and my arm hurt for three weeks straight.

3. For my birthday, I was super excited about getting some projects done around the house.

4. My reason for putting blonde highlights in my hair has changed from looking cute to masking gray.

5. I don't buy cute shoes unless they are comfortable.

6. I drive a minivan and feel cool.

7. While I'm driving that minivan, I find myself changing radio stations all the time saying, "What is this garbage?"

Yes my friends, I'm old. I've reached that age where the young couples at church don't even think about befriending me because they look at the three kids and assume I couldn't be friends with them because I could never text back and forth with them. And, they are right! I have found the wonderful benefit of relaxing in my pjs all day after church and mostly anytime after dinner every evening. I don't go places to "be seen" only to try and find diversions for my brood. I look at college athletes and young policemen and think, "Do you even have your driver's license?"

Could be you're old too. Maybe you relate to some of this. Or, perhaps you're thinking, "Yeah, my parents do that stuff." I'm old. Old, but happy and that's the most important thing. No wait, happy and comfortable--now I'm complete.

Nursery--It's About Time!

The other day Eli said to me, "Mother, it's been more than nine months since my arrival when do you plan to create a dazzling nursery for me to rest in comfort?" To which I replied, "Wow, I thought your first words would be 'Mom' and 'Dad'!"

Anyway, I decided I'd give it a try with some paint colors (Lolly I picked them all by myself and I expect a comment from you!) and this is what happened. The first picture is the before and you'll note that the green sheet hung over window shows what classy people we are. You'll be looking for the broken down car on blocks in our driveway next right?

Look at me so hard at work!

Now it's yellow with lines taped off for the upcoming stripe...

Inspiration and just plain cute! My friend Stephanie made these. She sells other artwork too. You can see her talent here.

The cute quilt my mom bought me.

The blue stripe.

The finished room. Although Owen is sleeping there until I get him a toddler bed. You can't see the stripe because of my mad photography skills.

Not too bad for a Saturday project!