Mom, the Intern

The freedom of not knowing.

2020-03-02T14:00:00.001-07:00

I grew up saying, "I know,"
And I said it so many times,
I started to believe it was true.

Then, the knowledge demanded
That I never question
Never wonder
Never see things differently.

If I did, I was unworthy;
If I didn't, I was good.
That's how it was.

Knowledge demanded that I give everything
And I did!
Oh, I did.
Until I had nothing left to give.
Just a hundred questions,
A broken body,
A broken mind,
And a broken heart.

Then one day,
In my shattered state, I decided:
Maybe
I don't need to know,
I don't need to worry.

If there's a God --
The parent of my spirit --
He, she, or it loves me,
And they won't care
Whether I know or not.

I exhaled.

I started to heal.
The pieces of my mind, body, and heart are coming back together,
Finally.

I am loved
I am safe
I am whole
I am free

And I don't need to know anything.

Learning to live, part III.

2019-09-23T11:34:00.000-07:00

Part I here.
Part II here.

Photo by Tanja Pearson of My MOD Images.

Have you ever moved before? I can't speak for anyone else, but each time I have relocated from one home to another, I've been confronted by the harrowing realization I have a lot of CRAP and it all needs to GO, immediately. A trait I inherited from my mother, actually.

It's not until the moment I have to put everything I own in boxes (of which there are never enough, I might add) that I get this insatiable urge to donate or discard every single one of my earthly possessions. Even things I once considered important or valuable. No object is safe. Each is a potential victim of what I call The Purge. The items which end up taped securely in the confines of cardboard survive The Purge. All others do not.

It's weird. Prior to packing for a move, I simply co-exist with all this junk in my house and it troubles me very little. But moving is one of those big life events that triggers the desire to eliminate stuff with wild abandon. And it turns out, similarly momentous events can trigger other types of purges in me, too.

When I lost my mom and consequently, my sense of safety and normalcy, I soon realized my mind had become a dire hoarding situation. I had collected so much extra stuff over the years. But in my state of grief, I had no idea what to do about it. It was like the movers had shown up with their truck, and it was time to go into this new phase of post-loss life, but not a single box had been packed.

I tried to manage this situation in several ways. One was to acquire more stuff, as if I could perhaps use new things to cover up the stench emanating from my existing collection of junk. I started saying "yes" to everything anyone offered me. More private music students? YES! A job playing piano for a high school music program? YES! Two social media management jobs? YES! More responsibilities at church? HECKIN' YES!

At first, it was fun. I felt an incredible surge of energy (I would later learn this was actually a form of mania). I was doing stuff, and doing it well. Not just surviving, but thriving. A rock star.

Take that, tragic, untimely death of my mother!

Then, it started to catch up with me. It was no longer fun. It was hell.

I was staring at my trash heap of distractions one day, and I realized they were covering up all kinds of torment I couldn't bear to address. Grief. Inadequacy. Doubt. Pain. I had some work to do. But I had just committed to so many shiny new endeavors, and I couldn't just walk away from them! Jenna Elizabeth Haney Foote DOES NOT QUIT. Ever. She sees things through. She is a badass. She can be counted on!

So I kept trying. And that's when the real trouble began -- the manic-depressive cycles.

I had never experienced mania before. I woke up one morning around 3:00 and I wasn't tired. Every day of my life prior, if I woke up before 7 AM, I was dead to the world. But not this day. I was not only not tired, but I was full of energy and devoid of any feelings aside from pure euphoria. It felt like a vacation! I woke up and single-handedly trimmed every bush in my entire yard. Which sounds awesome, I know. But for a grieving mother with chronic pain, anxiety, and depression who might get a single load of laundry done on a good day, this was highly unusual behavior. Especially on a sweltering day in August.

Also on that day, I cut then-3-year-old Clara's hair into a very short bob. VERY short. Mind you, I am not a hair stylist and have exactly zero formal training on the matter. Also, I USED CRAFT SCISSORS TO DO THIS. (It actually turned out super-cute, but that is neither here nor there.)

This abnormal behavior of waking up at unusually early times with boundless energy and unfounded ambition to Cut Stuff continued for a few more days, and then almost as abruptly as it began, it ended. I was left behind in a cloud of thick depression. Cold, painful sadness. Debilitating.

I saw this cycle -- a few days of sudden onset mania, followed by weeks of depression -- occur several more times over the next 15 months. Each time, the manic behavior got a little riskier. On the third or fourth occurrence, I decided it was time to sell our house and move, AND accept a job offer I had no time for amidst the multitude of other things I was already doing. I was making other completely reckless choices, which both alarmed and thrilled me.

All of this came to a critical point at the end of 2018. Side note: there was this memorable episode of Hoarders I saw a long time ago where the person would buy stuff from Target and not even take the new items out of the shopping bags before throwing them on top of an existing heap of stuff and running out the door to buy more. Well, that was my life. I would run from my problems all day, distracting myself with unhealthy coping mechanisms like social media, Netflix, and the acquisition of more responsibilities, only to come back to see my piles of crud right where I'd left them, and I'd panic. I'd start the destructive behavior over again the next day.

Run, run, run away. I stopped eating. My hair was falling out in clumps. I was really sick.

I fantasized about abandoning everything and everyone. My escape became an obsession, until one day, I snapped. It was a dark day. I was ready to metaphorically burn it all down. I believed this was my only option. I would just have to start over. I couldn't face those insurmountable piles of stuff overtaking my life. The memories. The pain. The questions. The mental illness. I couldn't do it.

Dillon saw what was happening. He stepped in, took the figurative blowtorch out of my hand and said, "Let's get you some help." He saved me.

In that moment I broke, and The Purge began. I quit my whole life, as I often tell people. I had to. I frankly don't think I would've survived much longer had I not.

My calendar was somewhat comical for a while there -- nothing on it except for psychiatric therapy. Blank. A stark contrast to the multitudes of color-coded blocks which covered every inch of it just a week before.

I had to spend time in therapy learning some harsh truths and going through all my stuff, deciding what to eliminate. Slowly, I started fitting some things back in where they belonged. And if something didn't serve me, I dismissed it. Not heartlessly, though. Like Marie Kondo advises, I held each one and thanked it for the time it served me and blessed my life. And then, I sent it away.

I added new things to my life that would help me heal and focus. Yoga. Meditation. Myofascial therapy. Time with friends and family to make meaningful human connections.

I learned to set boundaries and to say no. I'm aware that the eliminations I've made in my life are confusing and even painful to some people. Maybe someday, I will talk more about the specific aspects of my life I have parted ways with to answer some questions about it. But today is not that day. It's still new to me. I am not ready.

I sometimes feel guilty for letting people down. I am working on it. I remind myself constantly that I had to do this, because I don't know how much longer I could've lived if I hadn't.

Shortly after I began The Purge, I got a fresh, new haircut and hired my dear friend Tanja Pearson to take photos of me. I had already begun to feel rejuvenated by that point, and I wanted to capture the new, healthier me. I scheduled the shoot around Dillon's birthday to present the images to him as a gift. Little did I know, these photos would be a gift to myself, too.

As I sat in Tanja's studio in March and smiled for her camera, I had an out-of-body experience. I saw myself as my mom always saw me -- as a whole, good, worthy person. And I saw her in myself. Completely without prompting, Tanja mentioned she saw it, too. Toward the end of her life, my mom was unapologetically herself. She did what was best for her. Even in her sickness and in her death.

I resolved that day to own my existence. To live. To move through the hard stuff, but to support and care for myself in the process. To honor my own wishes. To be mindful. To take care of myself so I could give more to those who I love.

A wise man once said, "Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured." And that's what I'm doing these days. I'm not all the way there yet. But I'm learning. I'm learning to live.

Learning to live, part II.

2019-06-24T15:23:00.000-07:00

When I left off last time, it was February. I had just decided to attend yoga classes at a gym near my home. I was excited, but also nervous. I hadn't been very physically active in the months leading up to my mental health "detour," mostly due to the chronic pain I experienced pretty constantly. I worried I would be judged for my lack of flexibility and strength. I had done yoga previously and knew how demanding it can be. I hoped the teacher and other yogis in the class wouldn't be too hard on me.

Well, I couldn't have been more wrong in my assumptions -- the teacher, Leilani, was SO kind and understanding. We spoke outside the classroom as we waited for a Zumba class to finish up. She asked me was about what I hoped to get out of yoga and why I was there. I told her about my mental health struggles and the somewhat recent loss of my mother. She said that mental health was one of the biggest reasons she got into yoga herself, and I found that very reassuring.

People of all ages, skill levels and genders attended the class. Leilani emphasized that each student had permission to back out of any stretch or pose that felt uncomfortable, and that we could modify our experience for our own needs as she guided the class. I immediately felt like I could just enjoy myself and not worry about what other people were thinking. This would be a personal experience for each of us, free of criticism.

The first class was such a beautiful, healing time for me. I watched myself perform poses I didn't think I could and felt my confidence and self-love grow as the class progressed.

The end of most yoga sessions includes savasana, or corpse pose. This is where you lay on your back on the mat with your eyes closed, in total stillness, for several minutes at minimum. Stillness has always been difficult for me as I suffer from anxiety. But as I lay there on my mat in the dark room, I let go of everything I had been holding onto, all the stress, the worry, the sadness, the anger, the self-loathing. I felt total peace wash over me. I hadn't felt this in so long, it brought me to tears.

After such an impactful experience, I knew I would be coming back regularly.

Prior to class one of those first times, I overheard Leilani and another class member talking about the massage therapist and fascial stretch therapist who worked at the gym and how incredible they were. I had tried massage for my chronic pain issues, but it never seemed like enough and it only improved my symptoms for a day or so. I didn't know anything about fascial stretch therapy, but their discussion led me to look into it. I took a card on my way out.

Later in the week, I visited the therapist's web site, Superior Strengthening Systems, and read what it said about fascial stretch therapy (also called myofascial release). This type of therapy had been recommended to me by several people previously, but having been burned by alternative treatments and medicine so many times, I never bothered to look into it. But here it was, and it seemed to be exactly what I needed. And if not, what did I have to lose? I made an appointment for an hour-long fascial stretch session.

That session changed my entire life.

I met with Ian Lawson, the fascial stretch therapist. We talked about my symptoms, how long I'd had them, what kind of activities made them worse, etc. After the evaluation, he had me lay face-down on a massage table and began to work on the fascia in my upper back where I experience most of my pain. The best way to describe it was like the part of a massage that you want more of, that "hurts so good" feeling that seems to melt away the tension. Ian directed me to breathe low and deep and to relax into the pressure. He also worked on my shoulder joint, gently loosening it as the fascia released. It was difficult at first, but as the session progressed, I felt the pain dissipate.

When I left an hour later, I couldn't believe how amazing I felt. I came in at a pain level 8 and left at a 2. I was in complete disbelief -- I had found the answer to a problem that plagued me for almost eight years, a problem no other doctors or therapists could explain.

Since that day, I have been seeing Ian weekly for stretch therapy. The pain has drastically decreased. On days when it comes back, it is manageable and I know how to stop it before it gets out of control. Ian also located other areas of tight fascia and low mobility in my hips, which has contributed to my upper back and shoulder issues. Ian taught me some resistance exercises to activate and build the muscles that will prevent my pain from returning. I am now at the point where I can reduce the frequency of my sessions, and my symptoms are completely manageable.

This therapy, coupled with yoga 2-3 times a week, has all but eliminated the acute, debilitating pain that prevented me from having a normal life before. I no longer wake up wanting to go back to sleep to escape the pain. I do not have to rely on pain medication to get through the day or to sleep at night.

So, I'd found a real solution to my physical pain! But, I was still dealing with anxiety and depression. As I continued talking to my counselor, I learned a lot about myself and was confronted with some things I'd need to drastically change in order to heal my mind.

I'll talk more about this journey in Part III.

Learning to live, part I.

2019-05-16T14:15:00.000-07:00

"I want to change the world; instead, I sleep.
I want to believe in more than you and me.
But all that I know is I'm breathing.
All I can do is keep breathing."
-Ingrid Michaelson

I've been going through a really rough time, particularly over the past several months. Physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual. I am addressing the root of my issues one by one, and it's very tiring work. I'm hanging in there, but please be patient with me. I wish I could be more to everyone, and someday, I hope to share with you all my journey of healing. But right now, all I can do is keep breathing.
--
On February 21, I shared the above image and caption on my Instagram account.

Prior to this, I was in such an incredible amount of pain. Of all kinds.

Physically, my upper back and shoulders had hurt continuously for nearly eight years. It started in 2011 when my son Carson was a toddler. I thought I'd hurt myself by lifting him. The pain was unreal; my whole arm felt like it was on fire and the pain radiated from the top of my head down to my fingertips. I saw a chiropractor right away who ordered an MRI and X-ray. Both turned up negative.

A year later, I saw a general practitioner who put me on steroids and muscle relaxers. The pain returned full-force as soon as I stopped taking the medications.

I then saw a different doctor who told me it was due to low progesterone and hypothyroidism. He put me on hormones, which helped for a time, but things then got much worse. In addition to the muscle pain, I became exhausted and felt achy all the time. I couldn't get up in the mornings and needed a nap each day by mid-afternoon.

I took matters into my own hands. I stopped taking the hormones. I did a six-day juice fast. I quit gluten. I bought a Theracane. I got massages. I earnestly started lifting weights and working out, but nothing fixed it. I got pregnant with my daughter Clara and delivered her in 2014. The pain persisted.

A year ago, I saw a holistic nurse practitioner who took several vials of my blood and told me I was essentially normal, and she could prescribe CBD oil if I wanted.

I gave up. I was going to have to endure this trial for the rest of my life.

I quit my beloved job as an assistant and accompanist for a prestigious high school choral program. I also quit teaching private piano and voice lessons. Sitting at the piano put me in more pain than anything else, and the amount of hours and attention these jobs required created significant amounts of stress. I felt stretched thin as a mother and worried that my kids were getting only the very little that was left of me.

Emotionally, I was completely drained of everything except anxiety and depression. I didn't have energy for joy, excitement, anger or grief because living with chronic pain is so draining. It saps the life out of you. I felt constant anxiety over the many demands of my life I couldn't meet because I was hurting so much. I felt depressed because I had once achieved so much, but now, I could barely do anything. I perceived that I was disappointing so many people.

Spiritually, my physical pain and emotional sickness impeded my ability to connect with the divine. God seemed so far away. I couldn't feel His love anymore. I started to think maybe He wasn't there, because my endless pleas to be cured were met with silence. Attending church was exhausting. I felt like I had to put on a brave face and endure hours of discussions about how if you're righteous and good, everything in your life will work out and you'll be happy. Here, I had done everything expected of me for my entire life, and I was as miserable as I'd ever been. I would go home after these lessons and cry, feeling like the world's biggest failure.

In hindsight, I see now that I was enduring the effects of a traumatic incident -- losing my mother to cancer. The mental illnesses and chronic pain I'd already had for years became unbearable in the wake of losing a parent. But I didn't feel like I could fully process the trauma. I had to be strong and "get over it." I pushed it down and tried to ignore it. I just wanted to "move forward."

Towards the end of last year, I began to unravel. I was desperate to escape the pain. I wanted to die or to run away. I envied my mother and her escape from this wretched life. I fantasized about leaving my family and going somewhere far away where no one knows me, somewhere I could start from scratch and be totally alone. A place where the people who loved me wouldn't have to suffer with me and my problems. I honestly believed everyone was better off without me.

It was a dark, horrifying and lonely place to be.

Thankfully, my husband Dillon saw what was happening and guided me toward professional help. He saved me.

I started seeing a counselor in January, in the middle of this breakdown. She helped me understand the trauma my mind had endured, and how I could alleviate this suffering. I had to acknowledge some painful truths about myself and make some big changes. Most importantly, I had to learn to live differently. I had to understand my limits, set boundaries with myself and others, and take care of myself.

You see, I had always been very good at taking care of others. Even as a small child, I wanted everyone to be happy. I wanted to do everything expected of me, because it meant people would accept and love me. I was a teacher's pet, a straight-A student, an exemplary worker, always on time, always dependable, always said "yes." This pattern continued on through my life well into adulthood.

In the meantime, I habitually cast my own needs aside. I didn't have time to sleep or see a doctor or exercise or even EAT sometimes because other people -- clients, church congregants, family, friends -- needed me first. And I could manage this type of life before. But post-loss Jenna couldn't hack it, and at the end of 2018, it all came crashing down on me.

My counselor first gave me some ideas about how to manage my anxiety, process my grief, and begin to heal. One exercise that particularly helped was free-writing. She instructed me to set a timer for five minutes and write whatever came to mind, without editing or analyzing. I often spent more than five minutes doing this, and the time was fraught with strong, painful emotions. But at the end, I felt lighter.

She also suggested I begin practicing yoga. I immediately bristled at this idea, because I had tried yoga in the past and hated it. I couldn't enjoy the practice because I'd get caught up in whether I was doing it right, breathing right, holding the poses long enough, and so forth. It felt like torture to me. But I wanted to get better, so I decided to trust her. I signed up for yoga at the gym just up the hill.

That's when things started to turn around for me.

Three cheers for adopting pets!

2018-10-08T12:24:00.001-07:00

This post is sponsored by Nakturnal. All expressed opinions are mine.

Confession: I am a dog lover. When I was a kid, I desperately wanted a dog of my own, but my parents insisted for years that it just wasn't going to happen.

Then, one day, when I was about eight years old, the perfect opportunity to adopt a dog fell into our lap. A friend of my uncle found herself unable to give her 3-year-old black Labrador retriever the type of life she felt she deserved, and she was looking for a family to take care of her sweet dog. We happened to fit the bill, so Isabel joined our home!

Isabel, chilling in her baby pool. She loved the water!

Isabel was the most perfect dog. So happy, friendly, quiet and gentle. She never barked or growled at anyone. She didn't ever need a leash when we would take her out because she would faithfully stay near us. She adored children, which was essential considering there were five in my family. I always felt like she was a loyal friend to me. I spent many days telling her all my problems, and she always provided a listening ear.

The best part about Isabel's story is that we were able to adopt her instead of buying her from a breeder or a pricey pet store. Truth is, there are so many pets out there already that need homes. Pet adoption is both an ethical and inexpensive way to add a furry friend to your family.

If Isabel had been taken to a shelter, she may have never been adopted and could've missed out on a wonderful life. According to the Humane Society, 2.7 million shelter dogs and cats are euthanized in the United States every year because there aren't enough people adopting the numerous pets that come into the shelters. What a sad fact!

Besides the opportunity to save an animal's life, there are plenty of other reasons to adopt a pet. They help you maintain a healthy, active lifestyle, for one thing. You also don't have to house-train them since most shelter animals are adults, and you likely won't need to spay or neuter your pet since shelters often take care of the procedure for you.

Today, there are also numerous sites which allow for direct pet adoption, meaning you don't even have to go search the shelters for your new companion. You can pull up your browser and see if any cats or dogs look like a good fit for your family without even leaving the house.

Last year, we added a pet to our own family through adoption, too! Her name is Tilly, and she's a miniature schnauzer. She's spunky, energetic, cuddly and so much fun. We can't imagine life without her, and we're so grateful we were able to give her a loving home.

If you're thinking about bringing a pet into your family, please consider adoption. So many pets with a variety of personalities fill the animal shelters, and you can be the one to rescue a pet who might not otherwise get the chance to have a loving home!

The reality of metastatic breast cancer.

2018-10-03T09:28:00.000-07:00

It's October, which means it's breast cancer awareness month. Those aggravating pink ribbon shirts have already started popping up in stores. I'm now to the point where I only grit my teeth and walk briskly by when I see them. Before, my eyes would fill with tears of rage at the mere thought of them. Progress, I suppose.

Unfortunately, my family members and I are more aware of what breast cancer means than most people. And while many might think it's a "cute" cancer, I'm here to tell you it's not. It's ugly, it's painful, it's humiliating and it's very often deadly. And on that last point -- you're not as in control of your fate as you think you are. The cancer is in charge. Make no mistake about it.

When my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer in December 2014, the initial prognosis wasn't too bad. Stage 2, they'd told her. She'd need a mastectomy, chemotherapy, radiation, etc. The usual. It would be terrifying and brutally hard, but she'd get through it. We'd all help her. Family, friends and strangers rallied around her, bringing care packages and meals. Wigs were in her future. Maybe I'd shave my head to show support as she lost her hair.

We'd seen this story play out time and time again for many other women, and it would be the same for my mom.

Except, there was this lingering feeling I couldn't shake -- my maternal grandmother had already succumbed to the disease nearly five years prior. Her mother, my great-grandmother, died from breast cancer at age 56. Deep down, I knew where this was really going. I just didn't expect it to happen so quickly.

A few weeks after my parents gathered us in their family room to break the news the first time, I got a call from my mom -- it was actually stage IV cancer. It had metastasized, and not in a way that is treatable. It was all over her skeletal system.

There would be no surgery. No chemo. No hair loss, no nausea and vomiting, no debilitating side effects from the treatments which make cancer notoriously unbearable. A cruelly ironic silver lining we'd all have gladly traded for a cancer that could be treated.

Instead, her oncologist attempted to prolong her life by prescribing hormone blockers to prevent the cancer from spreading as quickly as it would otherwise. That was the best they could do. They gave her 2 - 5 years to live.

The first year was almost normal. Aside from knowing she had terminal cancer, my mom frequently expressed that she felt no different than she had before. She even saw her markers go down, and some of the cancerous lesions shrank.

Then, around the beginning of the second year, the hormone blockers stopped working, and that was that. Slowly but surely, the disease progressed, sapping the life out of my mom day by day. Radiation -- the only treatment option to help with the excruciating pain in her hips -- fried her bowels to the point she couldn't keep any food down. (So much for avoiding the nausea and vomiting that come with chemotherapy.) She spent a lot of time in the hospital trying to rehydrate and regain the ability to be nourished, but for every step forward, it seemed she'd take several back.

My mom wasted away. She starved. Within months, she lost the ability to speak correctly and she lost her vision. She couldn't control her bowels anymore. She got thinner and thinner until there was nearly nothing left of her. She couldn't walk anymore. She was in a hospital bed. She couldn't answer calls or respond to texts. She was on pain killers around the clock. She was asleep more than she was awake.

And then, she died. Just like her mother and grandmother before her.

My family in December 2016, less than one month before my mom passed away.

This is what breast cancer awareness month fails to address -- metastatic breast cancer. Did you know breast cancer can spread to other parts of your body? I can't tell you how many times people I'd discuss my mom's case with would say to me, "It was in her bones? I thought your mom had breast cancer."

That's the thing about cancer -- it's complicated. It starts in one place and then spreads to other organs and parts of the body in different ways. You can't fix it by simply removing the breast tissue and replacing it with implants. It's not as easy as going through chemo, losing your hair for a few months and then happily ringing a congratulatory bell to signify you're in remission.

But the weird thing is, in the worst case, it is simple. Stupidly simple:

When you're stage IV, you're terminal. There's nothing left to do but die. Slowly. In diverse, painful ways. But, you're going to die, and that's that.

You don't get to buy a wig or a cute scarf. You don't get to ring a bell. People don't know how to help you. They don't know what to say. You are a ticking time bomb.

This is a chapter of the breast cancer story many people aren't even aware of. So, I write this blog post not to be morbid, but to help you understand -- to bring awareness.

Here's what you need to know: 1 in 8 women develop breast cancer during their lifetime. If you don't detect breast cancer early, you could die. So, make sure you conduct regular self-exams. The provided link tells you what to feel AND look for, because it's more than just lumps (with my mom, the cancer presented as an odd fold in her breast tissue).

And, if you feel a lump that doesn't show up on a mammogram, pursue further testing. This is KEY. My mom's lump never showed up on routine mammograms, and actually, 10 percent of breast cancers don't. It was eventually found through an ultrasound exam, and far too late.

I HATE that I lost my mother to breast cancer. I hate it. It's been almost 21 months that she's been gone. I miss her even more now than I did the day she left this earth, which is kind of weird to imagine if you've never lost someone.

But, I've learned some things from this real-life nightmare. One of those things is breast cancer isn't fancy, cute, or sexy -- it's serious, and it can kill you. It's devastating. So please, take care of yourselves. If something feels off or looks strange, go to the doctor. Don't wait or think it will resolve itself. It won't.

And if you don't care if you get cancer or not? Perform your checks for someone who does care -- your spouse, your children, your parents, your siblings, your friends. I wouldn't wish the loss of a loved one to cancer on anyone.

This October, there will be no pink ribbons for me; just the painful reality that my vibrant, hilarious and beautiful mother's life was cut short by breast cancer. But if I can help even one person avoid dying this way, then telling this sad story is worthwhile to me. Do your checks, and if you see something, say something. That's all I ask.

Mother's Day can be hard.

2018-05-10T13:19:00.001-07:00

My mom with my brother Josh and me.

Over a decade ago, when I first became a mother at the young age of 20, I couldn't fathom why anyone would feel pain on Mother's Day. Sure, some people struggle with their fertility, I thought, but why can't they just celebrate their own mom, or any other mother figures they know?

As life went on, I met single women who longed to have a family. Women who had lost children. Women who had spent tens of thousands of dollars to get pregnant, only to come up empty-wombed again and again. Women whose mothers abandoned them or mistreated them. I began to see how the second Sunday in May could be hard for some.

Then, my mom got sick and died. And last year, Mother's Day became incredibly difficult for me.

It's not that I don't have other mother figures to honor. It's not that I don't appreciate my own role as a mother. It's just ... complicated.

The day is filled with memories of happier times which cancer later ripped away from me. There's also an accompanying dread that I, too, could die early and leave my family behind to pick up all the pieces.

And, there are those nagging reminders of my own inadequacy as a mother -- I don't spend enough time with my kids, not a good enough example to them, not as kind as I should be, not teaching them well enough ... and, the list goes on.

And then, there's church. I love my church with all my heart and I love the people in my congregation. But, I've found that well-meaning church people make really insensitive comments sometimes.

A common one I hear is that I shouldn't despair because I'll get to be with my mom again someday. Well, the truth is, I do have a lot of faith that I'll be reunited with my mother, and the gospel gives me so much hope. But, it doesn't make me miss her less. In fact, this idea that she's in spirit form "just around the corner" or on the other side of a thin veil actually makes me miss her more!

It frustrates me that even though she's so close, I can't talk to her. I can't reach her whenever I want. Three of my mom's five children got married after she died. Was she there? In spirit -- probably. But, she couldn't help her daughters put on their wedding dresses and freshen up their makeup, she couldn't greet loved ones with big hugs in a receiving line at the reception, she couldn't fret about all the preparations with the rest of us ... none of that. It's heartbreaking.

When people say, "It's so sad your mom died! But, aren't you grateful for the plan of salvation?!" Well, I am! But, I also miss my mom, especially on Mother's Day, and her death still brings me great sorrow. I CAN FEEL MANY EMOTIONS AT ONCE I AM NOT A ROBOT.

It's unfortunate to me that Mormons especially seem so averse to suffering that they feel the need to annihilate it for everyone else with trite comments like this. For one thing, you can't wipe out someone's troubles with a canned statement about a gospel principle. Healing the hearts of others requires you to get down in the trenches with them, understand their pain, mourn with them, carry their burdens and comfort them.

And though the sender might intend to comfort with their comments, hearing them can actually hurt the receiver quite a bit, especially on days when they may already feel sensitive. The anxiety and discomfort caused by those remarks is a big reason women like me don't want to attend church on Mother's Day.

Church should be a safe, warm, judgment-free place for everyone. So, if you're prone to saying things that could be hurtful -- even if you don't intend to -- take a second to think before you speak. What you can say to someone you suspect might be struggling is, "Hey (insert name here), happy Mother's Day. I hope it hasn't been too difficult for you. I love you and appreciate you." Look them in the eye. Be sincere.

Since my mom first got sick, the one thing that has always brought me comfort is the assurance that people are aware of me and care about me. Be it a simple smile or hug, a text, a call, a thoughtful gift, a treat ... any effort to reach out has given me strength and mended my heart in some way.

I also appreciate when people acknowledge how sad it is that my mom's not here. It shows that they see my pain and they aren't trying to dismiss it. It also helps me process the loss. Yes, bringing it up is actually healing for me.

I don't want to forget my mom, and I don't want anyone else to forget her. When I saw Coco for the first time, I sobbed pretty violently at the end -- not because it was so beautiful, but because of how tragic it is when people are forgotten in death. Hearing others talk of my mom reassures me that her memory will live on. I have heard others who have lost children or other close loved ones express the same. They cherish those tokens of remembrance that others give them.

I don't think Mother's Day will ever be easy for me again. But, I do look forward to remembering my mom on that day, as well as spending time with my own precious children and reflecting on my Mother in Heaven.

Just remember -- Mother's Day can be hard for some people. Give hugs and say kind words. Share a memory with them. Those are the best gifts.

(And also, treats and sleep.)

On choosing compassion.

2018-02-28T08:41:00.000-07:00

Photo credit

As a youth, I was very sensitive to others' needs. If I saw someone with a disability or a health issue, or a homeless person, it would bring me to tears. I couldn't bear the thought of people or animals suffering. I cried, a lot, and it didn't take much to get the waterworks going. I shied away from arguments. Simply existing was exhausting for me because I felt EVERYTHING on such a grand scale.

Somewhere along the line, I became convinced I needed to shut that down and toughen up. I believed logic is king and anything else is heresy. I felt ashamed of my emotional vulnerability, and I trained myself to perceive the world logically, tuning out any emotional components. If people were suffering, it was sad, but I believed was ultimately their fault. I would readily engage in civic discussions, but only to defend my positions, not to actually hear what others had to say. I viewed anyone who disagreed with me as an enemy to the cause of freedom.

But, I was born an empath, and living this way was taxing on my tender heart. I hated how I felt when people seemed hurt by my assertions, or when rude comments crossed my path. But in response to my discomfort, I continually chose to close myself off to any sort of emotion. Disregard. Ignore. Unfriend. Block. Don't you dare cry, I admonished myself.

As I married and had children, I found this cold approach contradicted the sensitive compassion the roles of spouse and parent required of me, and it also contradicted my faith. I believed the Savior wanted us to love our neighbor, and I believed charity was God's ultimate commandment. But, my heart was hardened, and I couldn't make it soft again.

And then, my mom died.

Her death changed me in so many ways, but the best way was that it gave me back my empathy. It once again allowed me to "mourn with those that mourn." I've stopped trying to hold back my tears. I've warmed up again to showing and receiving affection. I no longer care about being right.

I care about being compassionate.

Two weeks ago, on Valentine's Day, my nephew Austin was in a regular day of class when a shooter entered his school and ruthlessly took the lives of 17, including four of his close friends and his coach/teacher. It has been absolutely devastating for him, as you can expect. The press is focusing on those who are channeling their grief into revolution -- which is commendable -- but so many students from Stoneman Douglas High are suffering privately in the aftermath of this tragedy, and Austin is one of them.

Every student, teacher, administrator and staff member at that school lost people to whom they were close on February 14. Parents and siblings of the victims didn't get the chance to embrace them or say "I love you" one last time before the ammunition ripped through the victims' bodies and ended their lives.

Yet, if you take a quick glimpse at the comments on various news articles and social media outlets, you'll see many who seem to have forgotten that REAL PEOPLE are in the worst kind of pain imaginable because of this senseless horror. Instead, they are hellbent on defending their positions -- even to the point of insulting those who disagree and callously questioning the credibility of the outspoken victims. It's ugly and heartbreaking.

Politics should act as guiding principles in civil matters. I do believe it's important to know where you stand on the issues and why you stand there. Yet too often, we hide behind our political philosophies, or even wield them as weapons. The become the end and not just a means to it. We insist our way is the smartest way, the only way for our country to be successful. And we completely throw compassion to the wind.

Logic is not king. Love is.

Yes, logic is important to a well-functioning society. We should learn to think rationally and not allow our emotions to totally run the show. But God gave us emotions so that we could connect with one another. As His children, we are all spiritually related, but we forget this. Our anger and determination to best each other extinguishes any inkling of the innate compassion we hold in our hearts. Emotion has a place in reconnecting us to one another; it allows us to truly "see" each other and to put our hard-line stances aside to work together.

As I have allowed kindness to guide my political beliefs, some of my positions on matters have migrated toward the center. For instance, I no longer believe guns should be completely unregulated. I do not support a total ban on guns, but I advocate regulative measures such as the taxation of weapons and ammunition, a higher legal age requirement for the purchase of weapons and ammunition, and proper training and licensing. This shift in my beliefs has come as I have realized the unencumbered right to bear whatever arms and as many arms as you want at whatever age or mental capacity is not as important as the right to life and safety.

As I've softened on my political stances, allowing my empathetic side to appropriately weigh in, I've actually become more confident in my convictions. I no longer feel the need to bend to a specific party's platform or ideals. I have taken a reasonable approach, and it's no longer tiring to engage in discussions about what I believe. Yes, I still support a system of limited government, and I believe in the science of economics. But I acknowledge kindness needs a place at the table, too. Without it, we just aren't human.

I imagine how different the world would be if we could all come together at times like these, put our differences aside and work towards something bigger than all of us. The scriptures tell of how the people of Enoch attained this state: "And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them. (Moses 7:18)" I look around and see how broken we are, and I wonder if achieving Zion is even possible today. I actually believe it is, but it would require us ALL to cast aside our pride and embrace our compassion for one another. We'd need to fully see each other, spirit to spirit.

At the end of my life, I don't want to be known for being RIGHT all the time. I want to be like my mom, who people always remember as kind and giving. Yes, she had her beliefs, and she was strong in them. But she followed the Savior's example and let love lead the way. And though I am still heartbroken to have lost her, I am grateful that her death has reminded me I can, too.

Photo credit

Mom cooks: seashell soup

2018-01-25T08:00:00.000-07:00

Well, I told you all I was going to cook more in this the Year of our Lord 2018, and ... I know it's only been 25 days since the 1st, but I'll have you know I've actually done really well with this resolution so far! We've only eaten out maybe three times, and I've even tried some new recipes.

Please applaud my success.

Thank you.

If you're in the "I want to cook more but I need easy, fool-proof recipes HALP" camp, I'm sharing one of my favorites today -- seashell soup. My mom often made a very similar soup when I was young, especially on cold and dreary days. You call it "seashell soup" to get kids to eat it, and then the name sticks, and you just keep calling it that until you're old and gray. At least, I plan to.

Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?

Seashell Soup
1 lb ground beef or turkey
1/4 c. onion, roughly chopped
3 tsp minced garlic (about 3 cloves)
1 32 oz carton beef broth + 1 c. water
1 can tomato sauce
1 can diced tomatoes
1 can corn, drained (or 1 1/2 c. frozen corn)
1 large carrot, peeled and diced
2 medium potatoes, diced
1 lb small shell pasta
2 tsp dried parsley flakes
1 1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp oregano
1/2 tsp black pepper
1/8 tsp cayenne pepper

Sautee meat, onions and garlic until well browned. Drain, and set aside.

In a large stockpot, combine all remaining ingredients except for the shells. Bring to a boil, then reduce to simmer. Add meat, onions and garlic. Cover and simmer for 15-20 minutes. Add shells and simmer for an additional 5 - 10 minutes (or until shells are just soft).

PRO-TIPS:

I chop my onions real big so my picky eaters can take them out if they want. You could also use onion powder to avoid complaints, but as to how much? Your guess is as good as mine.

I dice the potatoes and carrots fairly small so they cook faster (though this photo is deceiving, cuz that carrot looks GIMONGOUS). Also, I use Yukon gold potatoes so I don't have to peel them.

Could you do this in an Instant Pot? Probably, but I have yet to try. Will report back if I ever do.

The leftovers of this soup tend to soak up all the water and it turns into a (delicious) goulash. If you don't like goulash and want actual soup goshdangit, just add some water back to it before reheating and it's good as new!

365.

2018-01-10T07:21:00.001-07:00

365 days
without you here.
It happened in the winter --
cold
dark
and sad.
The sky was crying
the day we put your body in the ground.
I slowly trudged to spring,
trying to remember
who I was
before we lost you.
(It's all a blur)
Then, summer came --
that reliable, blistering Arizona heat.
You used to say
"It's better than being cold"
(it is)
The warmth seemed to thaw me out
and recollect some parts of me
that froze when you died.
As the days grew shorter again
and the morning air
chilled,
the days
and weeks
turned into months;
the fear of forgetting loomed.
(it still does)
Fear of forgetting
your voice, your smile, your laugh.
I keep an old kitchen towel
you once bought for me,
stained and worn,
because it reminds me of you.
Now it is winter again,
and on this 365th day without you,
the sky cried again
and so did I.
But just the thought of seeing you again someday
makes tomorrow
more bearable.

New Year's Resolution: cook more, eat out less!

2018-01-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

This post contains affiliate links. All prices subject to change.

When I was first embracing stay-at-home parenthood, I LOVED to cook! I was eager to try all the recipes my mom had made before and enjoyed looking up new ones, too. I was keen on using fresh ingredients and a variety of flavors and textures. I even made my own bread for several months after Carson was born!

Then, the kids got older, and this mom got busier. Still, I would find it within myself to cook at least five nights a week, even if it was something simple. I was bound and determined to save money and keep our family healthy.

Well, the combination of suffering from depression/anxiety related to the death of my mother and getting a new part-time job playing piano for a high school choral program made 2017 the Year of Taco Bell 'round these parts. Every day around 4:00 in the afternoon, I would run into a massive brick wall of fatigue accompanied by a headache and joint pain, and cooking was the absolute last thing I wanted to do. So, take-out was the answer.

At first, I considered eating out as a form of self-care -- I was grieving and needed to be gentle with myself! And yes, that was true, but eating fast food on a regular basis is NOT self-care. In fact, it was making me feel worse. And my family was suffering, too. My kids stopped enjoying fruits and vegetables as much as they had before.

So this year, I am resolving to cook MORE and eat out LESS, and I am inviting you to join me!

Now, I'm not going to assign any specific requirements to this resolution here on the blog, because everyone is different. It's up to you to determine the details of your own cooking goals. But, allow me to offer some suggestions -- things that have encouraged me to cook for my family more often instead of relying on the nearest fast food chain for dinner.

1) Plan your meals. Have you ever decided you'd like to make dinner, only to realize all you have in your pantry is a half-rotten potato and can of soup? Yeah, we've all been there! Success in regular meal-making requires you begin with the end in mind. Write the meals you want to cook on the calendar, make a list of the ingredients you need to purchase for each meal and add it to your weekly shopping list. Or, if you'd rather use the power of technology, there are TONS of apps designed to help with meal planning! Try Yummly, MealPlan or Pepper Plate.

2) Ease into full-time meal preparation with 'hybrid meals.' You don't want to eat out so frequently, but you also aren't quite read to jump into from-scratch Martha Stewart mode just yet. Understandable! Luckily, there are a lot of options to help you prepare a meal so you don't have to do all the work. For example, you can buy a rotisserie chicken from the store, but make your side dishes at home. Or, do the reverse -- make the lasagna yourself, but buy a loaf of sliced French bread and a bag of salad to go with it.

There are also meal kits you can use. My favorites are the Street Kitchen Scratch Kits which you can get at Walmart for under $3! They basically come with all the spices and sauces you need to make various ethnic foods (curry, stir fry, Korean barbeque, etc.) -- you provide the meat and anything that accompanies the dish, such as rice. The package tells you what is included and what you need. It's simple and YUMMY! We are big fans around here.

3). Use a slow cooker or Instant Pot. I recently mentioned I got an Instant Pot on Black Friday, and boy, has it really helped me out! So far, I've made pasta, rice, chicken and a tri-tip roast in my Instant Pot. Because it's a pressure cooker, it cooks food VERY quickly -- the tri-tip went from raw to beautifully cooked in under an hour! It's so efficient and the food turns out wonderfully.

The Instant Pot also has a slow-cooker function, but if you don't already have an Instant Pot, you can use a good ol' Crock Pot instead! Put your meal in the pot in the morning, forget about it, and have it ready to eat by dinnertime. A time-tested cooking method for the busy parent!

4) Enlist the help of your family. Making an entire meal is a daunting task, but many hands make light work.

My friend Tiffany at A Family Team is an amazing example of this. She teaches her children from a very young age how to cut produce, make meatballs and do all sorts of grown-up tasks around the kitchen so she never has to cook alone. And as a wonderful bonus benefit, she gets to spend that time bonding with her kids!

Image via: A Family Team blog

On both her blog and YouTube channel, Tiffany offers tons of suggestions for teaching kids to safely complete various kitchen tasks, and she also has a lot of family-friendly recipes to try. Additionally, she talks a lot about grief because she delivered two stillborn babies during 2017. She has been such an example to me of how to persevere through the sorrow of loss while also being kind and gentle with yourself. I am so grateful to call her my friend!

So, what will your 2018 cooking goal look like? Perhaps it will be to eat out only once a week. Maybe you will resolve to use more fresh ingredients in your cooking, or more whole grains. Or, you could resolve to learn one new recipe every month! Share your ideas in the comments.

Thanks for joining this New Year's Resolution Blog Tour, hosted by Cheryl at GraceFull Parenting! Be sure to follow the link to her blog for more goal ideas from other bloggers. Happy new year!

Last-minute Christmas gifts from Amazon Prime!

2017-12-13T12:07:00.002-07:00

This post contains affiliate links. Lots of 'em.

As a musician, the month of December is exceptionally crazy for me every year. Concerts upon concerts, recitals, Messiah sing-alongs, planning for church services ... I'm up to my neck in musical activities! By the time mid-December rolls around, I inevitably realize I haven't finished my Christmas shopping and sometimes have yet to even begin. Whoops.

(Next year, I vow to do less! Next year ... it's always next year.)

If you're in the same woefully unprepared boat as me, here's a quick list of unique and thoughtful gifts you can get right now on Amazon Prime. Procrastination won't be your demise today!

1. Orabrush Tongue Cleaner (4-pack for $19.50)

I've blogged about this one before as a Friday Favorites, but I can't sing its praises enough. The Orabrush is the ONLY answer to bad breath. Just trust me on this one. All other tongue scrapers are inferior, and brushing your tongue with your toothbrush just doesn't cut it. Everyone needs an Orabrush. Make it a family affair and buy a multi-pack. It makes a perfect stocking-stuffer!

2. Instant Pot pressure cooker 6 QT ($99.95)

I didn't think I needed this. I really didn't. I don't forget to thaw my chicken -- oh wait, yes I do. I forget all the time. And dinner is one of those things that takes ages and I dread making it. Dillon picked up one of these bad boys on Black Friday and let me just say ... TOTAL GAME-CHANGER. I've only had mine for a few weeks and I'm excited to use it to its full potential. But yes, the other night when it took four solidly frozen chicken breasts to fully-cooked and deliciously juicy in under 15 minutes, I knew I'd discovered the secret to success ... it's the Instant Pot!

3. 32 Degrees Tech Fleece Jogger Pants (starting at $17.18)

This one, I can't take credit for. My friend Brandilyn (find her on Instagram at @thedailybran) talked these joggers up BIG TIME when they were at Costco (they still might be). When I saw them at Costco a few weeks ago, I remembered her post and checked them out. I knew they would become my go-to pants. So I picked up a pair of black ones (they were only $10 then!!!) and quickly fell in love. They're thick, but not too thick. They're comfy, but the tech material is nice enough to be dressed up or down -- very versatile. POCKETS. Perfect rise. I flipping love these pants, and so will you!

4. Codenames ($14.88)

If game night is a regular occurrence in your family or circle of friends, you need this one! I've played Codenames a few times now, and every time I enjoy it more than the time before. It's a critical thinking game based on words and it's a BLAST. It's both competitive and cooperative, and it can be played with rather large groups of people. They also have a Disney version I'm considering getting for my family so the kids can get in on the fun!

5. UE BOOM 2 portable speaker (starting at $79.99)

This mobile Bluetooth speaker is awesome! The sound is so crisp and lively with a nice, solid bass. I love that I can take it anywhere in my house. It's also waterproof so you can take it poolside or out on the lake. And the best part is, the battery lasts FOREVER. I rarely have to charge mine. I use it during my voice lessons, while I'm making dinner, for impromptu dance parties ... anything that calls for music, the UE BOOM rises to the occasion.

6. Fire TV stick ($34.99)

Can I tell you a secret? We don't have cable. We don't even have an antenna. Whenever we're watching something on TV, it's through this little gadget. It allows you to download apps for streaming services, like Netflix, Sling, ESPN and Hulu. And, if you have Prime, you can access content on Amazon Video for free!

"But, if you don't have TV, how do you watch General Conference?" you smugly ask. Well, there's an app for that -- actually, two! BYUtv or the Mormon Channel, take your pick.

I thought I would miss having cable news, but it turns out I get most of my news from the Internet. And if I really want to watch something, like a political debate or the Olympics, I can stream it through any number of apps. The Fire TV stick and similar devices have revolutionized television. Kiss your cable bill goodbye this Christmas and get yourself one of these!

Gratitude in the face of grief.

2017-11-22T12:30:00.001-07:00

Just one year ago, on Thanksgiving Day, my world shattered when I was faced with the truth: my mom had entered hospice care. As the weeks wore on until her eventual death, I began to experience the crippling symptoms of grief even before she passed. Those symptoms -- pain, sadness, emotional detachment, loss of appetite, depression, fatigue -- increased and consumed me in the months following her death.

I honestly don't remember most of what happened between the middle of January until about May. When I think back, I only see small blips: attending a concert with my sisters. Disneyland. My 30th birthday. Clara's 3rd birthday.

Until this year, I had a very impressive memory, even the ability to recall every address and phone number I've ever had. But grief took it from me, maybe as a coping mechanism, because what you can't remember can't hurt you.

When I went to Utah in June, I felt a slight shift to a new part of the grief wheel. It was as if instead of constant clouds and rain, the sky was beginning to part for some occasional sunshine. I felt a desire to be happy again. The whole experience was incredibly healing for me. But before that, I felt spiritually dark, like I could not feel the influence of the Holy Ghost anymore.

I remember attending the temple in early April on my 30th birthday, thanks to a sweet friend who offered to watch Clara so I could go. It had been months or maybe even over a year since I had attended. I struggled to stay composed during the session, feeling very on-edge and anxious. At the end, instead of feeling peace and joy as I passed into the celestial room, I experienced a deep, guttural pain that caused me to sob. I sat in a chair in a corner and let the tears fall, clenching my throat so as not to let any sound escape. A kind temple worker offered me a tissue, looked me in the eyes and said some things that touched me deeply. But I didn't want to hang around for long. I was still so angry.

Around the time of my birthday, I had also started seeing a therapist to deal with my feelings and rein in some unhealthy coping mechanisms I had developed. It was with her help that I was able to feel that light again. And there was an internal change, too. As some of the weight of my grief fell off my shoulders, I started seeing my beautiful blessings again. My husband, who was patient and compassionate towards me despite the fact I was a shell of my former self. My children, who are kind, inquisitive, funny and innocent. My beautiful home. The gift of music. Selfless friends and neighbors. The beauty of the world around me. The truth of the gospel.

As I chose to approach life with gratitude -- embracing those happy moments of recognizing my blessings instead of willing them away in my anger -- the dark clouds started to depart. It was a miracle, one that I hadn't intended. Just by being thankful, my heart could heal. I believe now it was because it was softening my heart, allowing the Savior in to do His work of putting the pieces of my life back together again.

There are still hard moments and even a hard days here and there. I'm not done healing, but I'm on the road to recovery. I still have a long ways to go, but when I look back on how far I've come, I am grateful for the progress I've made and hope it can continue.

I miss my mom so, so much. How is it possible I still want to call her when I run into a family member at the store, or when I have good news? At times, it feels like she is on a long vacation and will be back any day. And then, I realize she's actually gone.

But, I am grateful for the time I did have with her. I am grateful for her example, her legacy. I am grateful for all she taught me about life. And I know she wants me to face my grief with gratitude, not anger. Because despite the tragedy of losing my mom before my 30th birthday, I have much to be thankful for. I have a truly beautiful life. And someday, I think I'll even be grateful for what I've gained through experiencing the death of a parent.

I also want to express my thanks to all who have buoyed me up in some way through this year. You've been instrumental in my healing, too. Thank you for bringing glimmers of joy into my life so I can learn to feel happy again. You are His hands, and your love has not gone unnoticed.

Since my mom died, I have started to appreciate the beautiful sunsets we have in Arizona. I now see them as gifts -- from her, from God, a sign that I survived another day. I like to stop and just drink them in, savoring the hues until they fade to inky blue. It's like a moment of reprieve, a reminder that not all is lost and that life is still beautiful.

Going to paradise.

2017-10-06T08:13:00.003-07:00

credit

A week or so before my mom died around New Year's, Dillon and I took the kids to see Moana at the movie theater. I had been told it would make me emotional, and it definitely came through on that front.

There were a few themes within the film that resonated with my situation at the time -- namely, being required by a higher power to do a very hard thing and somehow surviving it all. Plus, the loss of a family member (they portrayed Moana's grief of losing her grandmother so perfectly, by the way).

The timing of that movie's release was impeccable for me. I didn't realize how much I needed it at the time. I thought I was in for a mental break from the depressing reality of my mom's terminal illness, but in reality, seeing Moana caused me to delve even further into my emotions than anything else could. Art has that effect on people, you know. I still can't watch the baby Moana scene at the beginning of the movie without losing it, nor the end when she sings her song to Te Ka. Daaaang.

When Moana was released to Blu-ray a few months later, my then-2-year-old daughter Clara unsurprisingly took a liking to it. Well, it was more of an obsession, in true toddler fashion. She watched it at least 2 - 3 times every day. Morning, noon and night. I would occasionally try to persuade her to engage in a more educational activity or even to just watch something else, but nothing beyond casual encouragement. I was too overwhelmed with grief and depression to care.

But, I didn't really mind that Moana was basically on repeat for a month and a half. The movie is visually stunning, the music is inspiring and heartfelt, and moments of hilarity abound (that Hei Hei is too good). So, having Moana in the background of my life for about six straight weeks was not the worst thing.

Maybe it was the manifestation of Stockholm syndrome, but there was a day about three weeks into Clara's Moana addiction when I suddenly decided I needed to visit Hawaii. I became as obsessed with the idea as Clara was with the movie. I couldn't stop thinking about it and looking up flights online.

Now, I know Moana isn't set in Hawaii specifically, but it's close enough and I've always, always wanted to go to Hawaii. Call me basic or whatever, but I've never been and from what I hear, it's magical. Plus, we have some family ties to Oahu and I've longed to see it for myself for decades.

So when things fell into place around my 30th birthday thanks to a very generous gift, I decided to book the trip. That was back in April, nearly six months ago. And on Monday, Dillon and I are hopping a plane to paradise for an entire week (direct flight, too!).

A student at the school where I work (oh yeah, I work at a school now. More on that later) told me the air in Hawaii is different -- "It's rejuvenating!" he said excitedly. I wanted to cry because that's exactly why I am doing this. I have clung to this upcoming trip for so long for its promise of revitalization. My soul needs it. It needs a week to decompress, unwind, sleep, move slowly and savor its existence in this beautiful world.

I do feel that being alive is a real privilege -- not to say the "other side" isn't wonderful, but mortality offers us experiences that God knew we could only enjoy in a physical state. And yes, traveling can be a huge sacrifice and I recognize we are very fortunate to be able to do it. I know how privileged we are to be able to take the time and resources to go see another part of the wondrous earth God created for us. That fact is not lost on me.

So, it's finally happening! It feels like Christmas. We're going to eat our weight in delicious poke, we're going to lay on the beach, we're going to enjoy some fire dancing and we're going to breathe in as much of that rejuvenating Hawaiian air as we can fit into our lungs. And when we get back, I'll tell you all about it.

In the meantime, you were all so helpful when I went to Utah over the summer that I'm going to ask you again -- tell me where we HAVE to eat and what we HAVE to see and do. We're staying half the time on Waikiki and the other half on the North Shore, and we're renting a car so the sky's the limit. The trip is pretty well-planned already, but we may have missed something. And let's be honest, I don't know that I will get the chance to go back any time soon. So, lay it on me!

Giving up vs. letting go.

2017-09-14T08:08:00.000-07:00

via

"She's going to beat this. She's a fighter."

When my mother was first diagnosed with terminal cancer, so many people -- well-meaning, I'm sure -- offered these words of support to my family and me. I know they didn't intend to hurt us and were probably just trying to be hopeful. No one wanted my mother to die. No one. We all wanted her to "beat" cancer.

But the reality was, her diagnosis was terminal. Cancer would most likely cause her death, barring some freak accident or other unforeseen tragedy should take her first.

Our family learned her cancer was in the latest stage very soon after her initial diagnosis, but it seemed others did not understand what it meant. I would explain to them that her diagnosis was much worse than we initially believed, but they'd still express that she could fight the cancer and be cured. These were confusing sentiments that at first brought a glimmer of hope, followed by that gut-sinking feeling you get just before every shelf in your world comes crashing down. I knew in my heart even the strongest people die from cancer, no matter how determined they are to outlive it. And I also understood that my mom's prognosis was very bleak.

Shortly after receiving the news that my mother had cancer, a wise woman told me that every person's cancer story is different, and no two are the same. She warned me that people would come crawling out of the woodwork to share the experiences their loved ones had with cancer. Sometimes, the outcome was a long life simply managing symptoms and having periodic scans. Other times, it was death. But, it would be important not to assume that because X happened to a friend's aunt that it would also happen to my mother. The "what-ifs" would make me crazy if I dwelt on them.

I often had to remind myself of this as my mom's health deteriorated and she eventually chose to enter hospice care. You may recall that I was quiet about it, and that was intentional. I chose not to share the information publicly for a number of reasons, even though you might remember that she asked me to write about her experiences with cancer on this blog. One of the biggest reasons I chose not to talk about it was I knew people would judge her, saying she "gave up" in her fight against cancer.

My mother was one of the strongest people I know. She was determined to finish whatever she started. She could move mountains. She wasn't afraid of anything or anyone. People knew they could count on Liz Haney to get stuff done, and when she fell ill, they counted on her to defeat her disease. So, when she decided she was ready to die, I didn't want people to think my mom was weak.

See, there is this very public and widespread idea that if you have cancer, you better fight it with everything you have. We call people "cancer warriors" and assign them with the Herculean task of achieving remission as if it's somehow in their control. Oddly enough, we don't treat any other disease this way -- we don't require people to "fight" MS, Lou Gehrig's, juvenile diabetes or asthma. But cancer is a different story for some reason.

I have news for you: CANCER cannot be "beat" by sheer force of will. For my mom, it was never in the cards. But even when it is possible for a patient to recover, consider what it takes in order to become "cancer-free." Remission requires surgeries, intense medications, radiation treatments, tests, scans, and many other painful and taxing medical interventions to keep the patient well enough to eventually find themselves in remission -- IF it's even a possibility for that person. Often, the grueling side effects of treatment are worse than living with the disease. It's a LOT to ask someone to suffer through it just because we want them to live.

Sure, optimism on the part of the patient and their loved ones is crucial to enduring the horrific and debilitating effects of cancer and its required treatments. But there is very little that the patient, doctors, or anyone can control when it comes to cancer. It has a mind of its own and it's determined to grow and spread. It often does, and it takes lives with it. That is the reality here.

It's been eight months since my mom passed away. But she did not lose a battle to cancer. She wasn't ever in some kind of fight where the valiant win and the quitters lose. She was stricken with a horrible disease and she succumbed to it. And at the end, she decided it was time to let go. She believed there life beyond mortality, and she was ready to move onto the next phase. And that desire does not make her weak. It makes her human.

Her decision to enter hospice care and die with as little pain as possible while in the peace and comfort of her own home is hers and hers alone. Our family's support of her decision does not mean we allowed cancer to "win" or to take over our lives or do whatever else people claim it does. My mother was as sick as can be, in excruciating pain, unable to eat, walk, use the bathroom or bathe. How debilitated does a person have to be before hospice is "acceptable?" The answer is simple: it's the patient's choice, and no one else should judge them for that determination.

Likewise, if a terminally ill person does not want to enter hospice care, that is also their choice. They shouldn't be judged for wanting to live for as long as possible. Their life belongs to them and no one else.

We need to reconsider how we talk about cancer survival. It's important to understand that it's not as much within our control as we believe it is, and that it's a gruesome disease that requires the use of literal poison to even attempt to treat it. It wreaks havoc on people's bodies, and it doesn't matter how strong they are, nor how determined they are to get well again. It doesn't even matter how skilled their doctors are a lot of the time. Strong people can die, and dying does not make them weak.

I miss my mother every day. I still think to call her or text her several times a week. The pain that follows the realization that I can't see her, talk to her or be with her right now is starting to become less severe. Or maybe I'm just getting used to it. Either way, I'm thankful for that.

Of course, I wish she could've been healed. I wished and prayed and hoped and prayed some more that she would and well, it just didn't happen. God had a different plan for her.

But her death has taught me many important lessons about how to interact with those who are enduring similar situations. First, people can be quite insensitive when your loved ones are sick or dying. But, they can also be very kind, even more kind than you believed they could. So, instead of running my mouth when someone tells me their loved one has cancer, I can get to work and help them. I can offer a listening ear. I can cry with them when they feel all hope is lost.

Second, people can do everything right and still die, but that doesn't mean it's their fault. And, it's more important to respect and love people than it is to be right. So, even if I think I know what's best for someone who is going through this nightmare, it's really not my place to say it. The only thing they need to know is that they are loved and supported.

Third, cancer is not some enemy that you can defeat if you just fight hard enough. The fact is, cancer kills, and it doesn't care if you are an accomplished marathoner or a helpless child. And a person suffering with cancer doesn't need any added pressure to survive or "kick cancer's butt" or anything like that. If I hope for someone to achieve remission, is it because I want what's best for them and their family, or is it because I'm uncomfortable with the idea of them dying? Remember that remission comes at a cost, and treatment can be more unbearable than the disease itself.

How often do we think of the act of dying as "giving up" when maybe that person is just "letting go?" We are always supportive of those who choose to let go of what they can't control, let go of negative feelings, let go of toxic relationships and behaviors and so forth. A dying person knows their time is up and they're ready to move on. Allow them the freedom to do so, with dignity and grace and without judgment.

Girls in STEM: A Snapology Franchise Giveaway!

2017-08-17T09:00:00.000-07:00

This giveaway is a partnership with Nakturnal. All opinions mine.

Growing up, my parents never discouraged me from math, science or tech -- educational pursuits typically geared towards boys. In 6th grade, I was selected with a few of my peers to be a Mathlete in district-wide math competition. In high school, I took honors math and chemistry and AP physics, and I was also the Physics Club president my senior year. And when I took the ACT before applying to college, I scored highest in -- you guessed it -- science and math. So, yeah ... no surprise I was into science-related toys as a child. To me, they were just a way of life, and they were fun. They weren't specific to any gender in my eyes.

When my twin brother and I were in elementary school, LEGO® was responsible for quashing the boredom of many summer days for us. My husband Dillon also enjoyed LEGO® toys, K'Nex and other building activities a whole lot as a child and teenager. So naturally, our kids are into the same types of things.

We start them out as babies with Megablocks (basically giant LEGO®-like bricks for the little ones) and work our way up to regular bricks by the time they're in preschool. All three of our children -- yes, even our daughters -- enjoy these engineering-themed toys. And I'm a big fan because there's no better way to learn and understand Newtonian physics than by building something with your own hands.

Over this past summer, I enrolled my two big kids in a week-long summer camp through the City of Mesa where they got to learn about robotics using the LEGO® Mindstorms system. Audrey and Carson both had a blast building AND programming robots with their peers. Yes, they even learned basic coding!

Audrey didn't mind being one of few girls in her age group -- she was actually very excited to team up with the other girls for each of their building activities. Hearing this warmed my heart because I feel it's so important to get our girls involved in STEM (science, technology, engineering and math). Why?

According to this CNN article in which a panel of female STEM experts are interviewed, certain toys and games encourage the development of spatial logic and other skills which directly apply to STEM fields. Unfortunately, though, many girls aren't being introduced to these types of toys at a young age like their male peers are, so they are already at a disadvantage by the time they reach school age. They often lose interest in STEM and don't perform as well in those subjects as their male peers as they get older, which means they don't end up majoring in science- or tech-related degrees in college.

This is why it's important for parents to provide these educational opportunities for their daughters. When girls are encouraged to explore subjects typically reserved for boys and men, they will further study them and eventually enter those fields after graduation. And we want more women in science and tech! You know what they say -- two heads are better than one. Gender diversity in every career field makes us all better.

When I heard about the Snapology franchise, I thought it was a great way to get girls involved in STEM on an extracurricular level. Schools are increasingly promoting STEM curriculae these days, but there just isn't the time or resources to provide students with hands-on, interactive experiences -- the kind that most effectively teach STEM concepts.

Some girls enjoying Snapology at their Pittsburgh location. Photo from here.

Snapology ensures kids of all ages get lots of hands-on STEM interaction with LEGO® bricks and K'Nex. They offer these experiences through classes, workshops, camps, field trips, Scouting events and even birthday parties (I'm sure my kids would have a total blast at a robotics-themed birthday). They also have programs for video game design, anti-bullying and team-building, and they accommodate kids with special needs, too. And Snapology is fun for everyone -- boys AND girls alike! I would love to see a Snapology franchise location in my area sometime soon.

As part of this post, I'm giving away one LEGO® set of the Snapology mascot, Sebastian the Gator (for ages 6+)! All you have to do is comment with your favorite STEM subject from when you were in school -- mine was obviously physics. You can also earn an extra entry by tweeting about it! Use the Rafflecopter Widget below as I'll be using it to determine the winner. Giveaway ends August 24!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Friday Favorites: Bookshelf Tees (a giveaway!)

2017-08-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved to read. The first book series I ever fell hard for was Beverly Cleary's Ramona Quimby books. I spent the whole summer between third and fourth grade willfully sequestered in my room, buried in the tales of the unruly, whimsical Ramona (who I wanted to be) and her older sister, Beezus (who I am really more like). It wasn't long after that I became enchanted by Harry Potter's wizarding adventures, devouring each book within days after its release.

During high school, I was in honors and AP English classes, so we'd have additional assigned reading to complete during the summers. It was usually two or three novels, classics like Fahrenheit 451, Jane Eyre and Anthem. Most kids reviled this extra work, but I secretly loved it. A couple of new books to entertain me during the long, inhospitably hot summer months? Don't mind if I do!

For me, reading feels like an emotional and mental escape into another world. Even if it's a stressful or sad book, it gives me a break from my own stress/sadness. It's more interesting to me than watching a movie because I get to cast the characters in my mind and decide what the setting looks like. It's almost like its own work of art that only I get to enjoy. I also like non-fiction because it allows me to focus my mental attention on some new concept, person or historical aspect I don't know about. No matter what genre, a good book allows me to relax and forget my cares for just a bit.

When my friend Lauren introduced her company Bookshelf Tees, I was ecstatic. Finally, a graphic tee I could relate to! I ended up modeling the Library Card shirt for her site -- my absolute favorite.

Takes me right back to being a kid in the '90's! Coolest shirt ever. It's even in a light oatmeal color, just like the manila cards we used for checking out books back then.

Another thing I like about Bookshelf Tees -- the shirts are so soft, comfy and unisex! These are some high-quality shirts. I have washed mine several times and they show no signs of wear. They also don't shrink or pill. They're just great. I could live in mine. And if you follow me on Snapchat, you know I practically do.

And Lauren's really thought of everything, because Bookshelf Tees even has its own virtual book club! WHAT?! If that's not brilliant, I don't know what is. You can check it out and join here.

Today, I'd like to give away $25 shop credit to Bookshelf Tees! I actually earned this credit by modeling, but since I already own two tees myself (Girls Just Wanna Have Books is my other one -- clever as all HECK), I decided to share the wealth with you all. What better way to show my gratitude for my readers than by giving you stuff? Right?

To enter, browse the Bookshelf Tees shop and leave me a comment HERE -- on this blog post -- telling me which one is your favorite. The winner will be chosen and announced on Monday, August 21 at 9 AM!

Happy reading!

Mom goes to Utah.

2017-07-18T14:45:00.000-07:00

Long ago, I lived in Utah while I attended school at Brigham Young University. That's where I got the broadcast journalism degree that allowed me to later become Mom, the (News) Intern.

While I lived in Utah, I despised about 80 percent of it. I hated the winters. The unapologetically careless drivers. The potholes all over the roads and the trench-like gutters that line the streets of Provo. I-15. The nasty industrial areas that are completely unhidden and provide a ghastly contrast from the beautiful mountain scenery that surrounds them. The plastic Barbie doll culture. The abysmal customer service at any and every restaurant.

I did enjoy MOST aspects of BYU, and the summers in Utah were glorious. But when my time came to be done, I was outta there in a hurry. I missed Arizona something fierce and didn't even care that it is literally Hell on Earth from mid-May to late-September every year. That's why air conditioning was invented, people. And tell me, have you ever had to scrape sunshine off your windshield?

I stayed far away and hadn't been back since the year I graduated, which was 2009. And then, I finally had cause to return last month. It was for a concert tour and album recording with Millennial Choirs and Orchestras, of which I am a part and have been for six years. We performed in several concerts at the Mormon Tabernacle and recorded an upcoming album at the University of Utah.

Those experiences alone were incredible. But just getting away from here, by myself, was something I needed. I just didn't know it.

I flew into Salt Lake on a Tuesday and didn't have any choir commitments until the following day, so I was free to do whatever I wanted. This was also the first time I had ever rented a car for myself. I was so nervous about it, but of course it was totally fine. I ended up loving that little Chevy Sonic with its fancy back-up camera and screen that told me the artist and title of every song played on the radio. And I loved the freedom having a car provided me.

As I pulled away from the airport and headed downtown where my Airbnb was located, I actually started to tear up. I was in Utah again! And I was glad about it! The weather was great, the scenery is just breathtaking (there was even still snow on the mountains! In June!) and the happy memories flooded back. See, when you've been away from something for a while, you tend to forget the bad and remember the good. Thanks, Brain, for that helpful evolution. Were it not so, the human race would cease to exist because CHILDBIRTH.

I arrived at my Airbnb a few hours before check-in, so I decided to hit up City Creek. What a lovely mall! It felt a bit too fancy for me, but it was a nice place to hang out and also very close to where I stayed. I liked that it had an actual creek running through it. For lunch, I ate at the small Red Iguana in the food court there because I was starving by that point. It was actually pretty decent! I called Dillon while I ate and remarked how every person I saw looked like someone I know. I guess we Mormons tend to resemble each other.

After that, I shopped a little, and then made my way to my place. It was right in the Avenues just off of South Temple. I had never stayed in an Airbnb before and didn't know what to expect. It turned out to be a really positive experience and I would definitely do it again!

When I walked in, I was greeted by original hardwood floors, a beautiful fireplace and mantle and lovely white built-ins and moulding. The bedroom was comfy and inviting with curious little furniture pieces. The kitchen was quaint but stocked with all the necessities. It was SO CUTE and looked exactly like the pictures in the listing. Behold:

I looked forward to coming back to this place at the end of each tiring day. It felt like a little sanctuary where I could be alone with my thoughts (I know that sounds scary but trust me, I needed it) and just unwind without the needs of others weighing on my mind.

My sister Mariah lives in Provo so I also got to visit with her on several occasions. We did have our mandatory sushi date at Tsunami and it was SO GOOD. You guys weren't kidding!

We also went to Music and the Spoken Word on Sunday morning, and then Mariah showed me around BYU later that day. It's changed so much since I was last there. It's beautiful!

That last picture is the brand new Life Sciences Building on the south end of campus. The coolest thing about it was how they used a ton of living plants and taxidermy to decorate it inside. It felt so swanky and it made me want to go back to school and study biology or something.

Singing in the 150-year-old Tabernacle was an incredibly moving experience. Those Mormon pioneers built it with their bare hands. The pipe organ was magnificent. I can honestly say performing with so many accomplished musicians and beautiful human beings on those hallowed grounds was a spiritual highlight in my life. I wished my mom could've been there in person, but I have no doubt she was there in spirit.

The whole MCO crew packed into the Assembly Hall. Photo c/o Steve Porter

Libby Gardner Hall was an absolute joy to record our album in! The pipe organ was beautiful to behold, which is good because I got to stare at it for about five hours. I'm definitely a Cougar for Life, but hanging out at the U wasn't all that bad (though I was concerned about bursting into flames while walking around on campus, and y'all got some scary-steep hills).

I had the chance to visit the Salt Lake temple during some of my free time and I also got to see the new Provo City Center temple! Wow. I remember when it was just a wee tabernacle. We used to have church meetings there, and I even performed there as a BYU student. Amazing that they were able to restore it to a temple after it burned down. It is truly magnificent!

I ended up dining at some of the places that were recommended to me by everyone -- THANK YOU! -- but I didn't get to try them all, unfortunately. Sometimes, I only had a minute, or I was in a different part of town, or it was more convenient to eat somewhere else than travel around. However, I got to try some really yummy food at some unique places, and it was a ton of fun!

L to R: Rockwell's Ice Cream (Provo), Sodalicious (Provo), Cafe on 1st (SLC)

L to R: Pig and a Jelly Jar (SLC), The Pie (University of Utah, SLC)

Going on this trip ALONE was something I desperately needed. There were a few times I wished I had Dillon, my kids or a close friend with which to eat a meal, go to the temple or just hang out. I did meet up with several people as I had the time, which was a lot of fun. But for the most part, I was by myself. And I needed it, especially when I became vocally fatigued and had to rest my voice. It was really healing to just think and process things, too. Plus, I only had to worry about myself, which is unusual. I am always thinking about my family, my kids and others and my own needs tend to slip by the wayside.

The best thing I could have done at this particular time in my life was spend a week rediscovering myself. Having just lost my mother, I was swallowed up in my grief. I had begun to forget who I was. I lost my sense of joy and wonder. I was just going through the motions of everyday life. I needed respite from the horrid storm.

But this trip to Utah was more than just a getaway. I learned that it's okay for me to feel sad, but it's also OK for me to feel happy again, too. I learned that it's okay for me to be alone and it doesn't make me a bad person for enjoying it. I learned to appreciate my musical intuition and skills that I often discount. I learned that people are mostly kind and often misunderstood. I learned that God loves me.

I am so grateful to Dillon who took an entire week off work to be with our kids, and not just "watching" them, but taking them on so many fun adventures while I was gone. He is such an involved father and a phenomenal husband. I am grateful for that time all those months ago when my mom was dying and he told me if I needed to go on a trip by myself, he would fully support it. My heart leapt. I knew this trip was coming up and I held on until then.

I am so glad I did. I feel refreshed. I feel ready to take on whatever life throws at me. Like the Provo Tabernacle-turned-temple, I feel like I am being rebuilt into something amazing.

Friday Favorites: CommercialSilk.com

2017-07-07T09:23:00.001-07:00

Prior to last year, I had never had a live houseplant that survived for more than a week or two. But death has a way of bringing plants into your life. Did you know? No one had ever warned me about this. Let it be known: if you lose someone close to you, you'll probably become the adoptee of many green children. It's both heartwarming and also a little frightening.When Dillon's grandfather unexpectedly passed away last year, we inherited his corn plant. It is quite a mature plant and is about five feet tall now, more like a tree. At the time, it was fairly neglected, but I could tell it had some life in it and that it would make a lovely addition to our home, so I accepted it with open arms. It happens to be one of the most low-maintenance plants on earth, requiring only about two cups of water every few weeks and very little sun. And it really does liven up its little corner of the house.

Then, my mom died six months ago, and many people gave me lovely houseplants as bereavement gifts. As such, our plant family size tripled in a few days. This was an unexpected aspect of bereavement that I hadn't anticipated. All these plants are beautiful, and keeping them alive is like keeping Grandpa's and my mom's memories alive, in a way. Actually, when I think of them wilting and dying I feel the beginnings of a panic attack so I guess you could say I'm doing really well these days hahahaha

It's fine, I'm fine.

Anyway.

The plant-growing has been going so well, I decided to add a few more live plants of my own -- a small cactus with an orange ball on top, and a spiky, tall-ish thing from IKEA which we named K.K. Slider. All are currently alive and thriving, and I am officially a Crazy Plant Lady.

I have spoken to many people over the years who say plant husbandry (?) is just not for them, that they have a black thumb and a real knack for killing houseplants of all kinds, even succulents. And to you, I say, know your strengths. Don't force it. Just invest in some quality artificial plants. No one will care. But people WILL care if you boast about how you ruthlessly kill plants, so going the silk route is a smart move if you want to protect your reputation, too. Wink, wink.

In fact, even though I do pretty well with houseplants, I still own several fakies that get the job done. So when CommercialSilk.com reached out and asked me to review a 3-foot Sansevieria, I couldn't pass it up. I've been looking for one of these for a long time! The usually don't look real enough for me, but this one definitely passes the test.

As you can see, the light even passes through it in a realistic way! And it feels soft and rubbery to the touch, too, as a real snake plant would. I also like the way they styled the mulch so that it hides the fact the plant is fake but it isn't overdone.

I could see this plant really classing up a boring office space, too. And CommercialSilk.com definitely has that arena covered! They've got everything from small tabletop plants to full-sized trees. So, if you're a business owner who doesn't want to deal with watering and cleaning up after plants (YES THEY CAN BE SO MESSY, WHO KNEW) in addition to your numerous responsibilities at the office, definitely consider checking this site out.

Alright, dear readers. Do you own any live houseplants? Do you sing to them? Have you named them? Do you consider yourself a Crazy Plant Person? Should we start a support group?

This post was written in exchanged for product. All opinions are mine, as usual.

Return of the Intern.

2017-06-19T10:03:00.002-07:00

Do you remember when I graduated from BYU in April 2009? I blogged about it here, in case you need a refresher.

That was the last time I set foot in Utah.

Crazy, right? The place of my birth, the place of my people, the place of my alma mater and yet I haven't had cause to return for the past eight years. Until now.

And, I'm pretty stoked about it!

The choir I sing with (Millennial Choirs and Orchestras) is performing in six (SIX!!) concerts at the historic Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City this week, and as such I am hauling myself to Utah to join them. ALONE.

Yes, a trip for me, by myself, no spouse, no kids -- just me, navigating the Beehive State like the legit adult I supposedly am. I'm also renting my first AirBnb (LOOK AT HOW CUTE IT IS!!!) and my first car. Which kind of makes me nervous, but I'm sure it will be fine, right? Please tell me I can't screw this up.

Aside from enjoying SLC, I'm excited to see my sister Mariah and take a gander at the BYU campus because I hear it's changed a whole lot since I was there. And, let's be honest -- I miss BYU. Sometimes, I long for the sunny, pristine atmosphere of BYU. It's like the Disneyland of college campuses. Everyone is nice and good-looking, the landscaping is perfection and it's not uncommon for a group of students to bust out in song, Broadway musical-style.

(A lot of people there also live in Fantasy Land, but that's another gripe for another blog post.)

Anyway, I am excited to report back about the AirBnb experience and tell you all about my travels, but I need some help from you! I'm going to be eating out a LOT during the week, and I value high-quality food experiences, so give me your dining suggestions from Provo to Salt Lake City! Especially sushi, because Mariah and I have this tradition where we get sushi together any chance we get, and we're definitely going while I'm there. Fire away!

Friday Favorites: Basic Invite

2017-05-26T09:00:00.000-07:00

Last year about this time, I was helping host a baby shower for my sister, Sarah, who was welcoming her baby girl, Ivy, into the world. I was in charge of the invitations, which is fine because I know my way around Photoshop. But, I soon realized designing the invitations myself was a bit of a time-suck and I wished there was a web site where I could order something cute, modern and affordable that would be sent right to me, envelopes and all.

Enter Basic Invite!

This site has it ALL. Not only are their templates beautiful, but you can customize the color of any element to your liking! With over 180 color options to choose from, you can't go wrong with the design of your invitation or announcement. This is HUGE for me as I have very particular tastes and sometimes, though I might adore a specific template, I might not be crazy about the default color scheme. Problem solved!

Speaking of colors, Basic Invite also offers 40 different colors of envelopes you can choose from! Say, what?! I don't know about you, but when I get a bright aqua or coral pink envelope in the mail, I'm super-excited to see what's inside. Plus, these envelopes are peel-and-seal, so you don't have to lick any disgusting adhesive. And you know it's going to stay shut!

Also, if you're skeptical of your computer monitor and want to know exactly how your invites will turn out, you can order a sample. No need to doubt how the finished product will look when you can see for yourself ahead of time! By the way, Basic Invite is one of few online stationery companies to offer this service.

The last (and probably coolest) feature of Basic Invite I want to mention is their free address collection service! Request your addresses with just three simple steps -- share a link with your recipients, collect their addresses, and get free envelope printing, too. Nice!

Ok, check out some of these adorable customized baby shower invitations. Sure would've come in handy for me last year! Remember, you can change the color of any element, as you can see in this screenshot:

If you want to keep the invitation gender-specific, you can search the templates for baby boy shower invites or girl shower invites. Save you the hassle of having to sort through yourself! I absolutely adore these.

And you'll definitely want to check out the luxury birth announcements for when Baby makes his or her debut! Stunning!

Of course, a year later, you'll be needing those 1st birthday invites for Baby's 1-Year Bash! Some of those are just too cute for words -- check them out for yourself! And on that note, I can't believe my sweet niece Ivy already turned 1 this week. Where does the time go?!

Hurry on over to Basic Invite to see the rest of their beautiful designs. Use code '15FF51' to save 15% on your order!

This post is sponsored by Basic Invite. As usual, the expressed opinions are 100% mine.

To the motherless children on Mother's Day -- I see you now.

2017-05-12T16:02:00.001-07:00

First Mother's Day without my mom.

I've tried not to think about it. Tried to busy myself with other things. Tried to play it cool.

But last Sunday, as I listened to the children in my church congregation practice the Mother's Day songs they will be singing to the whole ward in two days, I felt that familiar lump rise up in my throat, the burning tears forming at the corners of my eyes. Look down. I tried to breathe calmly, but the breaths became faster and more frantic, like I was smothering. I felt like a child myself.

How am I going to get through this day?

Last Mother's Day is not a fond memory, either. My mom had just been through a week of radiation and had lost control of her bowels, couldn't keep any food or water down, and was an emotional wreck. We brought her gifts of pajamas and a "grabber" she could use to reach objects on the floor since she couldn't bend over anymore. My dad compiled a nostalgic collage of photos of us with our mom -- a collage that we'd later see again when she died.

Things looked grim last year, and I found myself knowing deep down it would be the last Mother's Day with Mom.

2016 was a year of "lasts," and 2017 is a year of firsts. First Easter. First birthdays. First Halloween (her favorite holiday). First Thanksgiving. First Christmas.

First Mother's Day.

Without her.

My past self honestly (and shamefully) never considered how the motherless must feel on this day. I was blind to their pain. But this year, it's all I can think of. The day hasn't even come, yet I'm agonized already. I regret that I ignorantly went about my life before, not stopping to think about those who struggle on Mother's Day.

If you will be motherless this Sunday, just know I see you now. I see your trepidation as you enter the chapel at church, avoiding glances and dreading conversation. I see that single tear rolling down your cheek during the Mother's Day song. I see you wanting nothing more than to run away. I see the forced smile as your kids shower you with breakfast and handmade gifts. I see the memories behind your eyes, the ones clawing their way out as you will them to stay away, at least until you can be alone.

I see you now, and I know it hurts. If you want a hug, I'm here with my arms open. If not, just know that I'm in the boat with you -- the boat no one wants to be on. You can take comfort in my company.

This photograph features two objects that have provided me with peace lately. The first is the vase of pink carnations -- my mom's favorite flower. A friend brought them to me yesterday. She knew the upcoming holiday would be tough for me and thought of this easy yet profound way to let me know she cares. In my grief, I have appreciated the outreach of others more than anyone will know. Even the simplest gestures are incredibly helpful in healing my broken heart.

The second item is a print called "We Are All a Part of God's Family" by Caitlin Connolly. It depicts our Heavenly Parents and all of their beautiful children. I have found comfort in believing that whether my mother is on earth or beyond, she is mine for eternity, and that all of us have a Heavenly Mother who loves us beyond measure.

When I look at this gorgeous print, I think about how much my mom would've loved it. She is the one who taught me of Mother in Heaven as a child. It was her confidence in that doctrine that allowed me to never question it, and to never question the divinity within myself. Because of my mom, Heavenly Mother is as real to me as the rising of the sun.

Sunday is going to come and go. It will be painful in some ways and surprisingly easy in others, I'm sure. (These "firsts" are also kind of unpredictable.) I will honor my mother and the motherly figures in my life, both living and deceased. But I will also hold space for those who are hurting, because sometimes these wonderful days of celebration are painful. I've only just begun to understand. I just wish it hadn't taken 30 years.

Book Review: Worth the Wrestle

2017-04-04T10:06:00.002-07:00

You may be wondering where I've been lately. Truth is, I've been struggling. I have never suffered a loss so impacting as that of my mother, and I am currently deep in the trenches of the grief experience.

I didn't realize it until now, but grief actually gets harder before it gets easier. A few months after the loss, you actually experience more pain than you did initially. I know this because not only am I living it first-hand, but I'm also currently in therapy where a professional counselor has helped me attach a name to what I'm going through and elucidate the whole process.

Side note: Psychological therapy is wonderful and everyone can benefit from it. I highly endorse it.

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The first phase of grief is shock, and you tend to feel more numb than anything. You lose your appetite, you have emotional outbursts, but you're mostly in denial. It's a protection mechanism.

Once all the dust has settled, you're left in the protest phase, and that's where I am now. It's exactly what it sounds like. You are angry, you yearn for what is lost and you can barely think of anything else. You experience an increase in the shock symptoms mentioned above as well. On top of it, the physical effects of grief begin to take their toll. You feel extremely tired, you are in physical pain and you have a constant headache. You move into disorganization, and you can see above just how fun that phase is.

So, if you're wondering where the heck I've been, the short answer is at the bottom of a deep, dark pit of despair.

Naturally, a trying experience like this can easily result in a questioning of faith. I'm about to get real honest here, so be prepared.

Spiritually, I have felt torn between wanting to be my very best and continue to do all the right things so I can be centered with my Savior, who can continue to carry this burden for me. Also, there is a motivation to one day be worthy of being with my mom again, because there's no doubt she made it to heaven.

But another part of me -- the depressed part -- is too tired to go on. This part doesn't see the point in studying the word of God, attending church, praying or anything "churchy." This part of me is so exhausted, she just wants to cry, sleep, feel angry and do nothing. And often, this is what happens.

When a representative from Deseret Book reached out to me to review Sheri L. Dew's new book, Worth the Wrestle, I was hesitant to accept. Don't get me wrong -- I love Sister Dew and her inspired, prophetic words, and it seems like they always find their way to me whenever I need them. But I could tell by the title that I would feel moved to make some changes once I finished the book.

Problem was, I didn't know if I would be physically able to act on my impressions. See, depression is a tricky thing in that it immobilizes you from doing even the simplest tasks. So, I didn't want to open myself to receiving a spiritual prompting and then find myself unable to follow through with whatever it would require. Something to do with my perfectionism and fear of failure, I guess.

A little over a week ago, leaders of our stake came to our congregation to deliver sermons and lessons specifically targeted to our needs. I had been so frustrated with this new depression, as I drove myself to church that morning, I lamented out-loud. I said, "God ... I am going to church today, even though I don't want to. Please send me some comfort, peace -- anything so I can know that this is all worth it."

I've found in my life that when I am very sincere in my prayers, I get answers. I know others may not experience this and I don't intend to pass judgment on them for their struggles. I can only speak for myself and for me, this is true. I consider it a spiritual gift, one I honestly do not tap into enough.

Within hours of asking, my prayer was answered. What topic did the stake president choose to address with the adult Sunday School? Was it something to make me feel even more inadequate, like the importance of scripture study, service, church and temple attendance, fulfilling callings -- all the things I had been struggling so mightily to understand their value?

No. His lesson was about depression. And not how it's some shameful, hush-hush thing tied to unworthiness, but how it's actually a common, widespread issue many people suffer with and how we need to be more open, understanding and loving in how we accept and manage it in our families and congregation.

We watched the video below and discussed it. Many people shared their personal experiences. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I could only sit with tears streaming down my face, fully knowing that God is aware of me and loves me.

Later, my mom's cousin Kimberly, the stake Relief Society president -- she leads the women's organization -- presented a lesson to us about the very concept Sister Dew addresses in her book. And actually, she specifically mentioned Worth the Wrestle, which was a big fat sign from God that I needed to just buck up and read the book.

So, I did. Amazingly and miraculously, I did. The book is short and written in a conversational way that makes it quite easy to read. You can just imagine Sister Dew sitting across from you in your living room, holding your hands and talking to you in a direct yet loving way. It feels like conversing to your best friend as you take in her poignant words.

The premise of the book is simple -- no one is going to pass through life without ever questioning what they believe. No one. Life is just hard, and the things we encounter will often confuse and deter us. But, it's what you do when you're in the midst of the refiner's fire that makes the difference. Do you acquiesce to your doubts, or do you wrestle with them? Wrestling requires humble seeking, studying and praying in earnest. It's difficult and uncomfortable.

Throughout the book, Sister Dew shares many heavy questions she's had regarding Church doctrine and history, and how she humbly searched, studied and prayed on repeat to get a personal witness from God on these matters. It's humbling and also encouraging to read how such a spiritual giant as Sheri Dew can have struggles akin to my own. It gives me hope that I can also find reassurance.

Chances are, you are also going through something that's causing your spiritual foundation to shake. Maybe it's a death, or divorce, or a health challenge, or a loved one who is causing you pain. If you're not struggling with something, you will be. It's just the nature of life. And when those storms come, you can be prepared. Worth the Wrestle asserts that not only can you come to grips with your faith amidst a crisis, but that it's worth it to hold onto it. It just requires you to do some serious legwork.

I now feel empowered to slowly but surely take those steps back toward God, back to those things that once brought me comfort and strength in difficult times before. I know I can do it, and I know my questions have merit. God is ready to answer them if I am willing to do the work.

I believe it's worth the wrestle.

This post is sponsored by Deseret Book. Expressed opinions are, as usual, 100 percent mine.

When breast ISN'T best: our baby formula story

2017-02-17T09:42:00.000-07:00

“This giveaway is a partnership with Nakturnal, with a prize of a gift certificate."

*CLOSED*

Before I had my first baby, Audrey, I was certain I would do everything right. I would have a non-induced vaginal birth, I would never put my baby to sleep on her stomach, I would use all-natural soaps and detergents and I would for SURE breastfeed until she was at least year old.

Well, right off the bat I ended up with an emergency C-section. I should have known right then to scrap all my carefully-laid plans, but I clung to the rest of them. I truly wanted what was best for my baby, and I was determined to make it happen!

Within the first few weeks of Audrey's life, it became very apparent that my daughter wasn't tolerating my breast milk at all. Each time I would feed her, it would only be about 15 - 20 minutes before she would start screaming her head off in pain. She also threw up a LOT. I mean, Exorcist-style projectile vomiting every day. I couldn't keep up with it all.

In addition to the cracked, bleeding nipples and latching trouble that accompany newborn nursing, I was also recovering from a C-section and couldn't easily hold Audrey in the traditional cradle hold. That little problem further complicated things for us. She seemed to only want to eat from a bottle, so I started pumping a lot and this reduced my milk supply. Plus, she was still crying and throwing up frequently.

All these issues led to crying spells, exhaustion and immense guilt on my part. So, it wasn't long before we decided to switch Audrey to a non-lactose formula. As soon as Dillon and I made this choice for our daughter, things started looking up. My baby was suddenly happy and stopped upchucking every drop of milk she ate. She slept better and cried a lot less. And we all began to bond so well! It was clearly the right decision for us. And although I did breastfeed my next two children (and I LOVE breastfeeding), I am so glad baby formula allowed Audrey to thrive.

Since that experience, I have made a point never to make a mother feel guilty for choosing to formula-feed. It turns out, sometimes breast isn't best.

Of course, in theory it is. According to this WebMD article, breast milk contains "a nearly perfect mix of vitamins, protein, and fat -- everything your baby needs to grow." La Leche League International's Web site also asserts that breast milk is full of antibodies which allows it to support a baby's developing immune system. The human body is a living miracle!

But for some families, breastfeeding is either too difficult on the mother and/or the baby, or it's not possible due to food allergies, adoption, low milk production and a host of other factors. Thankfully, scientists have developed a solution to these problems -- baby formula! It really is a healthy alternative to breastfeeding and nothing to be ashamed about. (Also, science is cool, am I right?)

Today, there exists a wide array of baby formulas for a variety of needs. I remember staring at the massive wall of baby formula at the grocery store and having no clue where to start. It's always a good idea to consult with a pediatrician on matters like this, but Diapers.com is also a very thorough resource for helping you select the best baby formula for your child.

Speaking of Diapers.com, they're giving away a $50 gift card to their Web site, which you can use to purchase diapers (duh) as well as just about any other baby-related doo-dads! Serious when I say they have everything. All you have to do to enter is leave a comment telling me your favorite part of parenthood or taking care of babies. It's that simple! You can also earn an additional entry by sharing this post on Twitter. Please use the Rafflecopter widget below! The giveaway starts TODAY and ends in one week, on February 24 at midnight!

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Love and loss.

2017-01-18T11:37:00.001-07:00

I've started this blog post several times, not sure exactly how I want to proceed to tell the end of my mom's cancer story. I've decided that chronologically is probably the best way.

Thanksgiving 2016, my life changed forever. That day, I arrived at my parents' house early in the morning to help with Thanksgiving dinner. I knew my mom was pretty sick, which is why I was preparing dinner at their home and not my own as I did the year before. But I didn't fully grasp just how sick she was until that day.

I walked in to find a hospice bed in my parents' bedroom, a Do Not Resuscitate order on the fridge, and my mom, who looked nearer to death than she ever had before. Gauntly-thin with sallow skin, immobile, in pain.

I always knew that day would come, but I hadn't planned on it being so soon. My brother was newly-engaged, my sister had a new baby, Christmas was around the corner ... there were too many life events for my mom to miss if she were to die in the near future. Maybe this is just palliative care, I assured myself. She is going to get well enough to make it to the wedding in January. That's what she was saying, too. That's what we were all saying.

My dad, sisters and I pulled off Thanksgiving dinner that day for about two dozen people without a hitch - except for the 10 pounds of mashed potatoes that were accidentally prepared. My mom was able to come out and join the family for some of the time, but she mostly laid in her bed.

I went home that evening feeling all sorts of emotions -- fear, anxiety, sorrow, anger, guilt -- and the cycle of these emotions continued for weeks afterward. Physically, my stomach was wracked with near-constant pain and I wasn't sleeping. I was rock-bottom depressed.

The Christmas season came and went with Mom deteriorating rapidly. By mid-December, she was hardly eating and could not get out of bed without the assistance of a walker or wheelchair. We took our last family picture on December 17th and my sister and I had to dress her, style her hair and apply her make-up for her. She was very sick that day. We took the picture in my parents' front yard and my mom was only out of bed for about 20 minutes, yet the whole event took an enormous toll on her.

About a week later, on Christmas Day, Mom couldn't get out of her bed at all. We all gathered at her bedside to help her open her gifts -- things we all knew she wouldn't be able to use much or at all. She was so weak, she couldn't even remove tissue paper wrapping from a gift bag. I created a photo book for my parents as a Christmas gift, and I had to hold the book and read it to her as if she were a small child.

My heart was so broken for her, for my kids, my siblings and especially my dad. It was very apparent in that moment that we were all too young to be going through this.

A few days later, my mom's brother came to town to see her. At my dad's request, we gathered on New Year's Eve to discuss her funeral arrangements. The reality of the situation became even more harsh at that point and we were all very emotional.

The next day, January 1, we met up again at my parents' home to bless our sweet mother with peace and comfort in her final days and say our goodbyes while she was still lucid. That was easily the hardest thing I've ever gone through. No one wants to weep over their mother, the woman who bore them, cared for them and taught them all they knew. No one wants to watch their children lay across their grandmother's frail body to hug her for the final time.

The following day was my parents' 32nd wedding anniversary, so I stopped by for a visit then. In her frail voice, my mom slowly explained she'd eaten some Bahama Bucks shaved ice a little while before I came over. I asked her how she liked it, and she flashed me a thumbs-up. It wasn't long after that she became too tired to converse and fell asleep again.

We were able to see her a few more times during that week, but the last day she was fully lucid was Saturday, January 7. I had blocked out the whole day to spend at my parents' home and I'm so glad I did. My dad and I actually had some pretty good conversation with Mom that day. For some reason, she wanted me to administer her medications (she was picky about who she trusted), so I was able to give her some Dilaudid in a dropper just like a little baby and squirt some Biotene in her dry mouth. My dad noticed her ears were kind of dirty, so I swabbed them with a Q-tip. After I was done, she said "Thanks, Jenna" and I told her she was welcome, and she said "I'll talk to you soon."

That was the last thing she ever said to me. I left the room with a lump in my throat.

On Monday, she was completely incoherent. My dad and sisters said she hadn't been awake since the day before. I knew it would be soon. I delivered her burial clothes to the house -- a white temple dress worn by my Granny, her mother, many years before. It was the only thing small enough for her gaunt frame. The skirt and blouse she normally wore to the temple was far too big.

The next morning, at 4:00, I woke suddenly. A feeling of peace washed over me. I felt like my mom was probably drawing her final breaths at that time. I went back to sleep and woke a while later to find my phone ringing -- it was my dad. He told me Mom had passed away around 4:30. She was 55 years of age.

The days following her death were full of miracles large and small, many I don't feel I can discuss due to how sacred they are to me. From Tuesday to Friday, Dillon and I spent every day with my family, helping my dad with funeral arrangements and other household responsibilities. We ran errands, organized things, and talked a lot. We grew closer as a family than we ever have been.

Back at home, women in my church community were cleaning my floors and bathrooms, delivering meals and groceries, and taking care of my children. The doorbell rang with frequent flower deliveries. My phone and Facebook were flooded with messages of condolence, comfort and kindness. I have never gone through something so hard as losing my mother, but I have also never felt more loved and supported in my life. It is a precious gift I will always cherish, this feeling of being carried.

My mom's service last Friday was so beautiful and well-attended; she was loved by so many people. Again, it was a very difficult day, but it was made lighter and memorable because of the kindness of others. My parents' church congregation put together the most beautiful display of my mom's special things and photographs. They also prepared a beautiful luncheon with centerpieces of pink carnations, my mom's favorite flowers. My best friend compiled a slideshow of hundreds of pictures from my mother's life. My in-laws purchased a beautiful pink flower arrangement to accompany a large portrait of my mom at the front of the chapel.

When I was growing up, I never considered the possibility of my mom dying. Even until a few years ago, I thought Mom was invincible. Her cancer diagnosis two years ago woke me up to her mortality, and then, last week, I actually lost her. It seems impossible. I still catch myself wanting to call or text her several times a day, even though it's been about a month since she could even use her phone. My heart aches when I think of a future without her in it.

I do believe my mother is in a far better place now, doing very important work. I know she is looking out for us as the "pennies from heaven" have been raining down on us. And I know I will see her again.

However, it's still hard not having her here with us now.

But through this trial, I have learned more about love than I had in my 29 years of life. I learned that love means cleaning your mother's ears out while she is on her death bed. Love means going with your dad to the funeral home to help him choose your mom's casket. Love means watching your friend's toddler for hours while she spends time with her bereaved family. Love means bringing food and flowers and sincere condolences. Love means letting your friend sob on your shoulder. Love means attending her mother's funeral even though funerals are hard for you. Love means creating a beautiful arrangement of flowers for the casket because you care for her so much. Love means praying for your friend over the pulpit at church as she mourns the loss. Love means mourning with those who mourn and comforting those who need comfort.

Love is tender, kind-hearted, patient and without judgment.

I know, because I have felt it. And not just any old love, but charity -- the pure love of Jesus Christ.

I have experienced loss, and I will experience more, because that is part of life. But I have also experienced love in the purest form, and it has truly made the loss more bearable.

My mom's obituary: http://www.horizonfuneralcare.com/single-post/2017/01/13/Liz-Haney