Neffajawea

Twenty Years

2023-03-04T00:00:00.001-07:00

Twenty years ago today, I married my best friend.

I had known him for a total of six months, almost exactly.

I think a lot about the night we met. Sometimes I wonder if I'm embellishing it in my mind, or remembering it differently than how it really happened.

Rose-colored glasses and all that.

I tell this story to our kids often, and it always gets me misty-eyed.

Not because it was a romantic first meeting.

Or because anything truly earth-shattering happened.

Quite the opposite.

I get misty eyes because it was the night I met my eternity.

I went back and read old anniversary blog posts here, and they all made me smile with nostalgia. For our five-year anniversary, it was just four of us: me, Brett, Cohen, and Kembry. Another time, I wrote how I couldn't imagine our family without Kian, who was about 9 months old when I wrote it. I said, "Our family is complete!" Little did we know, we were not complete until Quinn joined us!

For a long time, I was afraid that Brett would one day divorce me. Not for any specific reason. In fact, we were too happy, which just can't last, right??? But it has. Over twenty years I've learned how to trust because Brett has proven to be trustworthy. I've learned to forgive because he taught me about imperfect people loving perfectly. I've learned how to say, "I'm sorry," because he's been the consummate example of repentance.

I've watched him grow into a truly amazing father. Ever since our babies were little, he's spoken to them as if they were grown souls, because he knew their little bodies possessed grown spirits. He's taught them the gospel; not just rote memorization of scriptures, but the spirit of the gospel, and how to live it in their lives, and made Christ the center of that knowledge. We've both had the opportunity to walk hand in hand with some of our kids through the process of repentance, and he was an excellent guide. He supports them, and me, through all our hyper fixation stages. With a house full of ADHD, those hyper fixation stages are many and varied! Patient man.

One time, during a particularly bad pain flare-up, I begged Heavenly Father to tell me one good thing that could possibly come through my suffering. The Spirit whispered to me, "Brett has become the man he is because of your pain." A humbling revelation.

Like two trees planted closely together, which then grow taller and stronger until their trunks eventually meld together, Brett and I have ceased being individual twigs and have become a single entity. It sounds corny, I know, but I can't think of a better simile. I feel much stronger because of him, and I know he's stronger with me.

So. Twenty years later. Where are we?

We bought a house in Arizona, and we've lived here for almost twelve years! We brought our last baby home to this house. All five flourish here now. We've welcomed others to live with us, and we have friends over all the time. Our home is always buzzing with life and family.

Our marriage is so much more than just the two of us. I can't talk about twenty years with Brett without talking about the lives we've made and watched grow. We have FIVE kids, which still floors me to this day. Our baby is six, and our first baby is almost an adult. For a woman who never thought she'd have or even want children, this is all a very big deal.

We have TWO doggos, Lily, and Lily Pup's baby, Cici (Carbon Copy or Cookies and Cream, depending on who you ask.) We have too many cats. Brett works from home. I'm working on my degree.

Every day and every night, I tell Heavenly Father how thankful I am for him. Twenty years of feeling this gratitude, and it never tarnishes.

Thank you, Love, for seeing in me what I could never see in myself, and helping to nurture her into a real human. I truly would not be who I am without you.

Happy Anniversary

ADHD

2022-09-01T23:04:00.001-06:00

Recently, I was diagnosed with ADHD.

That's it. That's the sentence. I was. Diagnosed. With. ADHD.

My entire identity leading up to that moment feels like a total fraud. I prided myself on being on time, excelling in school, and keeping a tidy home.

But behind all the prompt arrivals, good grades, and organized home, was an anxiety that drove me and pushed me harder and harder each day.

I had severe time anxiety. If we weren't at church 20 minutes early we might as well not go. If we weren't at Kanab 7 hours into our drive to Utah, we were behind! Must make up time! I went to my college campus two weeks before school started, and timed myself walking from class to class, just to make sure I'd have enough time. If I didn't get a good grade, I immediately felt like a failure. A b grade was b for "bad" and that was that. My sense of self would get beaten down for every point under 89%.

Let's not get into keeping a clean house. I could've easily driven away Brett and all of my kids if I had let my anxiety over cleanliness overcome me. Thankfully, I didn't. A good friend told me, "cleanliness is next to loneliness", and she wasn't wrong. The more I wanted it clean, the less my family wanted to be around me. I didn't want to be around me.

Maybe it was OCD? No...Must be depression. I didn't have the will to do much, and when I did "do", I was irritable and frustrated with myself and everyone around me. I felt terrible. I felt sad. Definitely depression.

So, for a little over a decade, I took depression medication. It helped with the irritability. It helped with moodiness. It made me tired all the time, so it was hard to care much about how clean the house was. But I still couldn't find the will to do...stuff. Adulty stuff. And my ADHD husband was zero help. We were both living behind a wall of dread.

After so many years of being tired and not finding relief, I finally went to a psychiatrist. Tenderly, carefully, with a ten-foot prod, my sweet husband recommended I ask my psychiatrist about ADHD.

"Say what?! I don't have ADHD. YOU have ADHD."

But I went ahead and asked the doctor, and he sent me the surveys for ADHD.

I passed! Or...failed. I was diagnosed! I was shocked. But...but...I got good grades in school. I never got in trouble. I never acted out.

I was surviving on pure people-pleasing skills, high anxiety, deep, deep self-loathing, and a terrifying fear of failure.

I took my first pill. Adderall.

And suddenly...

Life was easy.

Things were easy.

Doing was easy.

I could stand in a messy room, a trashed kitchen, and feel no anxiety. No over-powering desire to clean, clean, clean. My mind had been given new brakes.

I learned a lot about ADHD in women. It is NOT what I thought it was. I started to recognize what was going on in my mind.

The "h" in ADHD does stand for hyperactive, but for women, for me, it's a hyperactive mind. My brain is like a hamster on a wheel, running and running until the wheel unhinges from its post and rolls away in any direction. My brain would work three, four, or five steps ahead. And in doing so, I would skip steps one and two. And six. And twelve.

Existing in mess was overwhelming because my mind was too busy processing all the THINGS. Too many THINGS. Too many MESSES. My mind would explode! Then I would explode.

Life was untenable.

I thought for sure I'd take Adderall and get hyper, like the meth head I was becoming. But what actually happened...The wheel went back to the post. The hamster got on the wheel and went for a leisurely jog. My mind slowed. It went step by step, instead throwing itself down a steep stairwell. It felt like my brain was working, finally, for the first time in a looooong time.

All the shame I felt wrapped up in an ADHD diagnosis was immediately overshadowed by the relief that washed over me.

I could fix this. Easily. And with a zero copay!

My story is just beginning. And as much as I don't dwell on the past, I do wonder what the past 30 years would've been like had I known why I was so anxious, so frustrated, and so unmotivated. It's hard not to feel a little resentment toward doctors who misdiagnosed me. They wanted to help. And in their defense, I too thought it was depression.

I'm grateful for psychiatrists. I'm grateful for my diagnosis. I'm grateful for Adderall. I'm grateful the hamster is finally staying on the wheel.

Remember the time...

2022-04-30T13:30:00.001-06:00

For two years before the pandemic began, I served in a Relief Society presidency with three of the most amazing women I know. Part of our calling took us to visit with new friends who moved into the neighborhood and/or ward. On one of these visits, I met K (for her privacy, I'll just use the letter K.)

I adored her immediately. While visiting, her husband walked in. It was as if the room grew darker. The spirit of discernment warned me that this was maybe not a good person. I don't often get those feelings, but it was strong then.

Over the next few months, I came to understand more about the Spirits prompting. Eventually, K had to leave, and it was an immediate situation. I called Brett and said, "K is moving in with us. She's bringing the kids." His response was one I'll never forget. "This is the Lords house. Of course she can move in."

A very special woman and her son came and helped me clean out K's room in our house (a small den downstairs). We moved our three boys into one room, and our two girls into another, and put her three kids in the third room.

We were a full house, but a full house of love. Over the next 9 or so months, we watched as blessings rained down on K. Her trials had not been removed (the Lord frowns upon murder, but I sure wished a lightning bolt would've taken out the ex). In fact, her life seemed to spiral ever downward. But her faith in the Gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints and her love of her Savior was inspiring. She needed $5,000 for a lawyer. She got the exact amount from some fraud perpetrated by her ex, and the company was buying her silence (basically). This is just one example.

She needed a job. She prayed, went to the temple, and when we got out, she knew exactly what she was to do. She got a phone call 20 minutes after we left the temple, with a job offer.

She needed a place to live, and she found one, where she was surrounded by a group of people who offered her support and friendship.

In our own lives, we found peace in a hectic life. We learned to love children who weren't ours biologically. We got to give service, and we received so much in return. Our home was filled with peace (not the quiet kind, remember, 8 kids and 3 adults!) We were so blessed! I miss those days.

Sometimes those feelings of "this is right where we should be" are hard to express. I want to remember dinner time when our dining table was at its max, and there was yelling and talking and laughing.

I want to remember family prayers. Doing yoga with little kids. Swimming in the pool with everyone. All the imaginative games Chloe and K's daughter would create. Bath time and combing out little 3-year-old curls. Being called Aunt Kelly. Crying and holding K and feeling the love of the Savior surround us.

Remember, Remember

2022-04-30T00:58:00.000-06:00

The last five years of my life feel like a garbled blur of pain, confusion, lost time, and opportunities. I found a journal (that I ended up replacing) and the last time I had written in it was 2018. I decided to start using this journal again, and as I sat down to catch up on the last several years, I realized my life has changed in ways I couldn't imagine.

I began writing about all of the world events that have taken place. The past two years have been a whirlwind of change, uncertainty, fear, confusion, and anger for most of the people in my life, and most of the world. We have had a pandemic. A quarantine. Homeschool. A fight for teachers. A fight for vaccines.

We've had a sitting President attempt an insurrection. Our White House was attacked. Our children talk about politics and understand more than elementary school children should have to understand.

Personally, I had fallen deep into a depression due to chronic pain caused by my sciatic nerve being impinged by my piriformis muscle. "If you can't make your own serotonin, store-bought is ok!" So I went with Effexor. The pain stayed, but the depression left.

As a family, we welcomed another family into our home to live with us. We experienced blessings and miracles. Brett was laid off in November before the pandemic hit. The pandemic brought with it greater amounts of unemployment benefits. His unemployment was almost equal to the amount we had lost from his layoff. We also received food benefits that have lasted through this year. All of this helped support our family and a second family living with us. Plus, Brett was home to help when I couldn't. Having him home and available was perhaps the greatest blessing.

This is the most succinct way I could summarize the last few years. It lacks all the nuances and blessings and miracles that happened. And those are the things I want to remember. The rest is for the history books. But for my posterity, I hope to give more light to Lord's hand in our lives through my next few posts.

One of my favorite Book of Mormon prophets, Alma, said, "then do I remember what the Lord has done for me, yea, even that he hath heard my prayer; yea, then do I remember His merciful arm which He extended towards me."

I want to remember, and I want my children to remember, that even though these have been the hardest years of our lives (so far), they have also been the most blessed years as well.

Why You Should Never Threaten to Call CPS

2016-08-19T22:41:00.000-06:00

Today I sat down and interviewed two amazing women who are at different stages in their fostering career. I'm writing an article that, originally, I had wanted to be light rather than overly informative; more about the people fostering rather than the numbers. But the interview went in another way entirely.

These two women are rare. I know that sounds funny, because it seems like everyone knows someone who is fostering. But realistically, these two women are a part of a whopping 4,500 people who foster in the state of Arizona. Sounds like a lot, doesn't it? Well, put that number up against the 19,000 children currently in foster care or in need of it, and you start to realize how rare my two friends really are.

So why the title of this post? Well, a few years ago, my then 1 year old took it upon himself to go out for a stroll. He made it five houses down when the neighbors there saw him and brought him back. Brett was passed out on the couch and I was upstairs asleep as well. The older kids had knocked over the gate to the front door in their hurry to leave and didn't bother to put it back up. We had been living in our new house a total of one month.

Our neighbors didn't know us. We didn't know them. They brought our 1 year old back, but it wasn't without a stipulation. "If you keep letting this happen, we're going to call CPS."

The dreaded words that NO PARENT wants to hear, whether you're neglectful or not. I'd like to think we aren't. Regardless, it was awful to hear those words.

My mother in law hopped on the phone and called CPS herself, mostly to calm me down, but also because she, like me, was wondering, "Can someone really get their child taken away because of one slip up?*"

CPS told her that, while I may not have had any of my kiddos taken from me, there would be an investigation opened up. That for any family the CPS is sicked upon, they must open a case.

This was terrifying. Brett and I became hyper vigilant to the point of not being able to sleep for fear our little run away renegade would be at it again. And it wasn't long before, despite our pain staking efforts, he did it again. To the same neighbors house. And you guessed it, the threat was thrown at us again.

Now, at the time, I was annoyed. Why can't neighbors just be kind? Why can't they just bring him back and let it be that? Dozens of my friends rallied behind me, telling me their own scary stories of kids sneaking away (one made it all the way to a busy street on his trike, following daddy to work, and was brought home by a police officer.) But it didn't soothe my fears that the dreaded CPS would be called.

In the end, they weren't. I know that in their heart of hearts, they were worried for our little one. I was too! But throwing out the threat of having our family investigated, and possibly torn a part, made things must more stressful than they had to be.

Stories like this, though, have been all over the news lately. About neighbors calling CPS on parents who are, comparatively, very good parents. We were by no means alonein this trial.

So, back to the title of my post.

Listening to my friend today tell me about the little boys she's fostering, well, it broke my heart. I had tears spring up in my eyes. Not just for the boys. But for my friend, for the boys' mom and family, for their other siblings, also in foster care. This world that they all live in can be a very scary world, filled with so many unknowns.

I learned that parents whose children are taken away must take parenting classes to get their little ones back home. What a blessing! What a curse! Because if they don't comply with all that's mandated (maybe it's just taking classes, maybe it's getting a job, maybe it's getting out of jail, maybe it's stopping drugs, maybe it's getting the kids away from a molester...) after 18 months, their kids are up for adoption. The clock is ticking.

Now, a lot of the time, this is great. These kids get a new start at life with a family who wants them enough to jump through hoops to get them. I've seen it often, and it's beautiful.

But sometimes these kids go back home. Or back into the system.

The point of this post is not a warning, but a plea. Please, please don't bog down CPS with petty parenting mishaps. I can't imagine the hours that would've been wasted by a social worker having to make their way to our home often, to investigate a normal, albeit loud and slightly out of control, family. These people need to be helping those children I mentioned above. They need to be helping those families. That money, that time, needs to go where it's meant to go.

If you see a healthy child wearing nice clothes playing with a younger sibling at a park, let it be. Or, if you must, watch and watch them until they leave. Follow them home to make sure they're safe. I'm sure no parent would begrudge you this. But for heavens sake, don't call CPS on them. Just don't. Now, if they're covered in bruises, malnourished, wearing scanty clothes and no shoes in the middle of winter and play for hours and hours and night falls and they're still not leaving, maybe invite them in. Maybe find out what's going on. Sit on it, think on it, maybe pray on it. Maybe this child needs some extra help. Maybe the family does, too.

Let the system work for the people who need it. Don't bog it down with unnecessary burdens. And if you happen to see a red headed 4 year old wandering around our neighborhood, know that he's figured out the new alarm system, and kindly return him to us.

*I definitely do not belittle nor condone 1 year olds wondering around. Trust me, it scared me. I thought of all the horrible things that could've happened.

She Lives! Ish!

2016-04-16T12:23:00.001-06:00

Well my friends, the inevitable has happened again.

I'm pregnant.

And on bed rest.

My last post was in September, 2015. To say four kids keeps you busy is an understatement. But throw in a pregnancy and you've got yourself a nice hurricane of insanity.

I am 33 weeks pregnant. I know because I have an app that reminds me. I need the app, because a fifth pregnancy gets put on the back burner, on low heat, until it's done. Being on bed rest doesn't stop the homework, the story times, the play times, the laundry or the dishes. In fact, I'm pretty sure it multiplies all of those things. Thank heavens for women willing to serve. Seriously, I had FIVE women from my church here cleaning for three hours. That's FIFTEEN HOURS of cleaning. While I sat in a chair trying not to puke, imagining five women cleaning my house.

I have issues.

This bed rest has been going a lot smoother than the others (she says, only a week and a half into her sentence.)

I was more prepared. The continuous contractions were a nice warning that it was inevitable, and so like any good pregnant woman, I nested before I could no longer move. My room was prepared. Brett carried my favorite, crappy lazy boy all the way upstairs so I'd have a comfy place to perch. I love him.

I got Quinns stuff all washed and ready. (Quinn, that's his name. Cute, huh? It means "five" which really makes the crazy OCD gal inside of me smile.) I bought grannie undies and Tux pads so Brett wouldn't have to (I'm super thoughtful that way.) And I cleaned my room.

This is my third bed rest sentence. I feel like I've got my stride. I have a schedule. I get up every morning, I brush my teeth, I even put on a bra. Then I follow a loose schedule of scripture listening while I crochet, planning out days and organizing rides for the kiddos. I've got great friends who've brought me good books to read. And Brett works from home. BRETT WORKS FROM HOME. This has made all the difference in the world, I think.

So maybe I'll have some more time to drivel out boring blog posts about bed rest and pregnancy and great books.

Maybe not. We'll see.

In the meantime, if you live within a ten mile radius of me, COME AND VISIT! I'm lonely. A lonely introvert is a rare thing to see, so buy a ticket and come on over. I could use the company!!

2015-09-02T11:25:00.001-06:00

Parenting is hard. In case you didn't know.

If you could create an effective if/then flow chart of parenting do's and don'ts, you would become the most famous person in the history of the world forever and ever. Monuments would be erected of you. Dr. Who would probably have an episode dedicated to you.

I used to think that having the internet was such a huge blessing because you have all this amazing parenting advice right at your finger tips.

But after a few years I've realized it's not so great because you have all of this parenting advice right at your finger tips.

It's like having nine million mothers in law yapping in your ear, giving you conflicting advice and judging you all the while. *Note: not my mother in law. I adore her and her advice. End Note.*

And then I made the ultimate mistake of posting on FB. This only exacerbated the problem. I had no idea so many people had such strong opinions about how to raise kids. Oh wait, yes I did.

I actually had to take a break from FB. We were having relationship problems. I spent way too much time with it, and in return it made me feel worse about myself and the state of the world. I think Satan is winning the round entitled "Social Media". The whole #IstandwithCherish debacle was the last straw. That poor woman. The world is so cruel and shows no mercy.

But back to parenting. Even with having the added blessing of prayer and personal revelation, I still stare into the parenting abyss, completely dumbfounded by the total lack of guidance reaching out to me. I know I have experience, I know I should know this stuff, but I just don't. It's that math test I swear I studied for and totally flunked anyway, all over again. So I binge watch Friends and eat copious amounts of foods that aren't good for me. Rinse and repeat.

I actually Googled "nervous breakdown" just to see if I'd find a picture of myself. I wasn't listed, but give it a few more weeks of hours upon hours of homework with tired kids, 40 more loads of laundry, and endless sleepless nights spent with useless worrying and I think I might make the headline, "Mother of 4 head explodes. Parenting Flow Chart could have saved life."

How have thousands of years of parents done it? Seriously. I want answers. And they had to deal with things like famine, plagues, oppression, pig poop, lack of clean water and all other manner of ickiness that I just don't even have to worry about.

Our lives are so different from theirs. Their little babies died and here we are just murdering ours because they're an inconvenience to choices we consciously made. Somehow we have an excess of babies. Just doesn't make sense.

Our worries are so different from theirs, too. We have to worry about too much information. Too much offense taken. Too much homework. Too much skin showing. Too little mercy, love and understanding. Because we're not busy with all that pig poop, we have more time to worry about nice houses, coiffed hair, pretty makeup, perfect clothes. This is what we're doing instead of taking that extra time to serve, love, show mercy, and play with our littles.

Wait. Is that an answer? I don't know! I'll go try it out and see how it works and let you know. In the meantime, if you have any parenting answers, feel free to share them. Especially if it's in flow chart form.

This was a depressing post. Let me leave you with one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite ladies, Marjorie Pay Hinckley. She was a neat woman who professed that she didn't have all the answers but I swear she did! Mostly she relied on our Heavenly Father's love and personal revelation and the sweet atoning sacrifice of our Savior. She made it look so easy.

Happy Mother's Day

2015-05-10T17:58:00.000-06:00

Motherhood is hard.

Freaking hard.

I don't know what I'm doing half the time. Often, I literally stare dumbfounded into the abyss of my infinite lack of knowledge, and question whether or not I'm cut out for it.

This is sort of what that looks like.

Add on top of this the fact that I'm a Red personality and struggle with anything I can't conquer. Motherhood is, like, the perfect example of the unconquerable. I'm the Don Quixote of Motherhood. It's my giant my windmill. I'll never win, but I'll never stop.

I guess it's not so bleak as all that, friends. I mean, it's bleak. But not that bleak.

I have this quote hanging in my kitchen (where I tend to feel most of my overwhelming moments).

Often I read this quote, and break it down, listing each way I've done that very thing during that day to give me encouragement to keep on keepin on.

"Motherhood is a choice you make everyday to put someone else's happiness and well-being ahead of your own."

I got out of bed this morning.
I dressed the kids and did girl hair.
I didn't complain or comment on Cohen's wrinkled church clothes, his dirty face, or the fact that he was full on Alf-alfa in the back of his head.
I didn't yell. Not once. I wanted to. Heaven knows I wanted to. But I didn't.

"Teach the hard lessons to do the right thing, even when you're not sure what the right thing is..."

I rarely know what the right "thing" is. Should you stay home from school today? I don't know, do you really have a headache? Or maybe you're overwhelmed by something? Do you have a bully? A gaming addiction? Or do you just need to totally take it cool for an entire day? Do you want to stay home to bother me, or are you going to let me force you to stay in bed all day, and, subsequently, out of my way? If I let you stay home, and you don't really have a headache, are you going to grow up to be a hamburger flipper that requires a better salary than the Pope? If I make you go to school, will your subconscious despise me for being a horrible mother for the rest of eternity? Ok, go to school. If it still hurts, have the nurse call me and I'll get you. (No phone call! Success!)
You have a bully? Did you try making them your friend? Are you telling me you haven't done anything to annoy or otherwise tempt said bully into being a bully? Do I intervene? Do I teach a wise and valuable lesson I'll have to go and learn about from a book because I have no idea. Will this end in suicide notes? Guns brought to school? Run aways? Teen pregnancy? (Boy, that escalated quickly.) Oh, your bully didn't bother you all day today because you totally ignored them? Sweet! I'll tally that as a success!

"...And forgive yourself over and over again for doing everything wrong."

This is where I almost always fail. I lay down to bed during that special time of night, called the "let's think of all the things we did wrong today" hour, and I list them. I yelled. I cried. I hid myself in my bedroom. I didn't read all the words in the book. I let Kembry go to school in her swimsuit. Kian probably needed a diaper change way earlier than I gave him one.

But I almost never forgive myself. I pray for forgiveness. I pray to do it better the next day. Secretly I know I probably won't (old dogs/new tricks type of thing). I wonder if adding a fifth child to this array of misery and mistakes is really the best way to go. (Not a pregnancy announcement, I swear.)

But I'm always blessed with a little slide-show of sorts. Memories brought to me in pictures by my Heavenly Father.

Reading with Cohen. Wrestling with Kian. Dinner as a family. Going to the bathroom alone (sweet!) Kissing owies. The library. Feeding ducks. Playing at the park. Swimming together. After school arguments over who gets to tell me about their day. Listening to piano practice. Clean kids after a bath. Lots of love and kisses and prayers at bedtime.

Motherhood is not grand. It's not perfect.

It's messy. Crowded. Loud. Exhausting. Confusing. Frustrating. Hard.

It's bittersweet, full of happy and sad tears, and lots of hugs.

So many mistakes.

And so, so much love.

Happy Mother's Day, troops. We fight the hard fight ever day, and we're raising amazing kids because we choose to do it. Carry on.

Mindfulness VS. Anxiety

2015-05-02T11:00:00.000-06:00

This was a fantastic discussion.

Can Mindfulness Help My Raging Anxiety When My Kid Gets Sick?

I have my own personal experiences in this area.

It was about 11:30 at night when I heard the strangled cries coming from Chloe's room. She was only 3, but she could still scream like a grown man whose leg had been cut off. So I knew, probably instinctively, that something was horribly wrong.

Already mostly asleep, my grogginess was immediately replaced by that mom-adrenaline: panic. She was sitting up in her bed, and I could tell she couldn't breath. Her large eyes were bulging from her head, veins were sticking out on her fat, red cheeks, and her mouth was drawn back in a silent scream. She looked up at me with tears pouring soundlessly out of her eyes.

My heart was clocking in at 1,000 BPM. I grabbed her and brought her into my room, where my husband was already out of bed, waiting for whatever would walk through our door.

"Get your oil, give her a blessing," I said. I was impressed that my voice wasn't shaking like the rest of my body. As he did, I picked up the phone and called 911. I had never called 911 before. It was almost taboo. "ONLY IN EMERGENCIES!" But I had never in my life experienced the sense of emergency I was having now.

The operator was kind and patient. I told her, "My daughter isn't breathing. She's not choking, but she can't breathe."

She verified my address and said the medics were on their way. Brett began giving her a blessing, as she laid on the bed, her little chest straining for air. Now tears started falling from my eyes. The sweet woman on the other line talked to me. She asked me my daughters name, "Chloe." Chloe. Chloe. Chloe.

Within one minute I could hear the wail of the firetruck. Within seconds of that, they were in our bedroom. They were huge, looming men and women. Four of them, all dressed to the nines in fire gear. They worked fast, one told the other to call and ambulance, then the biggest picked up my baby and carried her outside, knelt down and laid her across his knees. "The cool air can help the inflammation."

Why didn't I think of that?

Tears still streamed from her eyes and she reached out to me, her lips starting to go from swollen red to a pale blue. I held her hand and told Brett to get her blanket. My voice was still calm. He came back. I looked up at his scared face and said, "Call Karen and ask her to come over to the house to stay with the kids. Follow us in the van." My mind worked like a fine honed soldier about to go into the trenches.

The ambulance got there. They told Brett we were going to the Banner Gateway Emergency room as they loaded me and Chloe into the ambulance. And then the ambulance driver said to the biggest fireman, the one who held my baby, "We have no place for mom to ride. She'll have to come separate."

Chloe found her voice then. She screamed and screamed and screamed. The screaming made her chest seize up even more. I was almost afraid for the ambulance driver when the big fireman got up in his face and said, "This mom is coming with her. I don't care what you say. I don't care if I get fired, or if you get fired, I don't care. She's staying with her daughter."

I cried harder but still silently as they strapped me into a makeshift chair and buckled Chloe in. She started crying again because she couldn't see me. I reached over as much as the restraints would allow and started petting her head, as the ambulance jutted to life and began driving quickly out of our sleeping neighborhood.

Then I heard it. Well, I didn't hear it. Her crying had become strangled and quiet again. One of the EMT began quickly filling a syringe with something, while the other pushed an intercom and told the driver to go to the nearest Emergency Room, there wasn't time to get to Banner. The ambulance flipped around, and I just kept talking to her.

In my mind, she was dying. In my heart, she was dying. But my voice told her it was okay. "It's going to be okay, baby girl. It hurts, I know. But it's going to be okay. Mommy's here. Daddy's coming too. Mommy's here." I sang her favorite primary songs while my heart was seizing inside of me.

For five minutes I watched as the EMTS tried one thing after another. The big fireman said, "Her lips are blue," but I could still hear her strangled, forced cries. She's a fighter.

I kept talking to her. Kept praying in my heart. Praying that she would be ok, and that I would stay calm. Just stay calm and love her. Help her be calm. Help her stay calm. Somehow, my head petting and slow, assuring words and singing helped bring her panic down. We pulled into the emergency room. They got us back and immediately and put on an oxygen mask filled with Albuterol. She had petechiae all over her face from suffocation. Baby veins had burst in her eyes from straining for air. But she was calm. She was breathing.

And then I walked out of the room. I left her because if I didn't cry, if I didn't let that small scream inside of me out, I would do it in front of her, and it was upset her, and she'd panic. So I walked out of the room, and there stood my giant fire man, the one who probably saved my babies life. He was crying and shaking. He didn't mean for me to see him, but he looked up, embarrassment flooding his face. And then he said something I will forever be amazed of, and grateful for.

"You were the calmest mom I've ever seen. Ever."

And then I cried. I cried and cried and cried. I gave myself that one minute of anxious pain and fear. Then back into her room I went. She was calmly holding her mask. She looked over at me at smiled a little. The emergency had passed completely.

The next day, she was nearly back to normal. She had had croup and the combination of swollen trachea and the panic of not being able to breathe closed her lungs completely. She was blue before we got to the hospital, almost unresponsive.

My Chloe.

Panic and muddy emotions in that moment would not have helped Chloe. "Muddy emotions," says Dr. Orsillo, "are the ones that aren't giving us particularly useful information. They also tend to be pretty intense and distressing."

If I had panicked, would I have had the fore site to call 911? To recognize that my upset would fuel Chloe's fear and panic? Would I have been able to talk and sing calmly to my suffering baby? There was a mindfulness in my calm and actions. I know it was a mindfulness brought by the Spirit, calming me. But wherever you find your mindfulness, know how to get to it, and fast.

Dr. Orsillo says, "Most people define mindfulness as paying attention to the present moment with curiosity and compassion, just allowing the moment to be as it is."

My mind began spiraling out of control for an instant. She can't breathe, she's going to die. She's suffering so much. She's so scared. She hurts. I can't do anything. I'm helpless. My baby is going to die and I can't do anything.

These thoughts are not mindful, not helpful, but they're real. I can, for a few minutes, suppress these emotions and let the mindfulness create a clear path for me. But it's important to eventually acknowledge these emotions, because burying them will only cause them to fester and become stronger and more dominate.

Dr. Orsillo continues, "I think what sometimes happens...partially we think, 'It's really important for me to feel this fear, because what if, what if?' But another part of us feels, 'I wish I could just push this away, I don't want to feel this way.' And those responses to our emotions also make them muddy and intensify them. There's a whole line of research that shows the more you try not to feel something, not to think it, the more you feel it and think it, and the more you're distressed by it."

Dr. Markham* says that we have to acknowledge these emotions. We have to allow them to be. But we don't have to give into them. It's called empathizing. And surprisingly, we need to be empathetic and compassionate even to ourselves.

Dr. Orsillo says we need to "[acknowledge] where your mind is going, bringing some compassion: It's hard to be a mom. It's hard to accept that there are steps we can take to keep our children well and safe, and then, at some point, we have to let go and accept that not every scary future event is preventable. That's hard."

It is so hard, but so much more useful than muddy thoughts and emotions. When I panic, I get confused, frustrated, and even angry. I yell. I scare my kids. This isn't something they need when they're already sick, hurt or afraid. They need a mom who is compassionate with herself. A mom who puts her trust in God, but who also takes all the steps within her power to secure her child's life, happiness or comfort.

I highly recommend clicking on this link and listening to the whole discussion.

*Dr. Markham, the author of AhaParenting, wasn't mentioned in this article. But she gives great advice and steps to help you empathize with yourself and with children. She's my favorite!

Turn That Frown Upside Down

2015-04-29T09:42:00.000-06:00

(That post title is way too perky.)

I'm having a "I-feel-like-I've-failed-at-everything" kind of morning.

I look around at my house, and it's a disaster.

My kids: total rag-a-muffins.

My dog keeps licking my hands because she's probably so desperate for attention, and I'm just annoyed. Another thing that needs my already-scarce time.

And I'm mad at myself. Not my today self, she's the one suffering. She's the victim.

I'm mad at my yesterday-self, and my day-before-yesterday-self. And all of my last-week-self.

Then I start to notice this familiar theme: the downward spiral into the self-loathing/woe-is-me depression. I recognize it because I've been to this park before. There's the "why is this happening to me" swing, and the "my life is so unfair" slide. It's really not a great park, I don't know why I keep coming back here.

Anyway, a few years ago my present-self had a long convo with my past-self and they battled a few things out. Present-self really thought past-self could step it up a notch, and past-self did that obnoxious thing of pointing out the obvious: no time like the present.

Start now? Like...right now. Help my future-self out? That chick is so dang needy.

I wrote this post a few years ago about trying to change, and recognizing that I'm not a tree, so I can change where I am, and other catchy memes. I'm one of those slow people who have to continually be reminded of my own good advice. So I'm gonna take some past-me advice and move forward.

Today, I'm going to:

Recognize three things I did yesterday for my family, for my friends, and for myself. It sounds like a big task, but when you think about it, "waking up" can count as a high five for myself. Making my bed, BOOM! Another high five. How about that time I got to pee in privacy. I call that a win. Not to mention all the great stuff I did for my family last night, like getting some much over-due R&R with a pal. How is this helpful to my family? I think you know.
Recognize three small ways I succeeded yesterday, that seem to be making today easier. Well, I cleaned a lot yesterday, but it wasn't the "out in the open" kind of clean. I went through the clothes. The kids clothes. I separated, folded and stored (complete with a printed label for each!) into those nifty vacuum bags. Sure the rest of my house was destroyed, but the top of those closets are...cleaner. I also did some other stuff. But I won't bore you with it. Cause closet cleaning and clothes sorting is all sorts of interesting
List three things I'm going to do for my tomorrow-self.

Read with the kids.
Go to the library - with the kids.
Make dinner and eat - with the kids.

Making these lists always draw my attention to reality and truth. Sure I didn't out perform perfection yesterday, and I'm positive I won't today. But I did succeed in small ways. The small stuff, in the end, is quite literally what life is made of. You know, like atoms and stuff.

So buh-bye life-sucks-me. You are of no use to me here. But I do have a self-loathing day coming up. I've scheduled it off as "Netflix" binge. *Need to remember to buy Puffy Cheetos*

Mormon Monday: Fast Offerings

2015-04-21T17:38:00.000-06:00

Once a month, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints are asked to fast with a purpose and give a fast offering.

This is one of the most powerful blessings given to us.

About a year ago, my husband counselled me about all the amazing blessings that can come from fasting. He opened up to Isaiah, Chapter 58. Read some of the promises that come from a true fast:

6: ...to loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke.
8: ...Then shall thy light break forth as the morning, and thine health shall spring forth speedily: and they righteousness shall go before thee; the glory of the Lord shall be they reward.
9: Then shalt thou call, and the Lord shall answer; thou shalt cry, and he shall say, Here I am...
10:...then shall thy light rise in obscurity, and thy darkness be as the noonday.
11: And the Lord shall guide thee continually, and satisfy thy soul in drought, and make fat thy bones, and thou shalt be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose water fail not.

So here's the run down: wickedness can't touch you. Your burdens will be lifted. If you're oppressed, you'll be set free, and anything weighing you down will be gone. Your health "shall spring forth speedily"(this resonates with me, a lot!). You'll get the glory of God. Heavenly Father will answer your prayers. The darkness in your life will be as "the noonday". And you will have Heavenly guidance, continually.

Say what? And all I have to do is fast once a month? Of course with every blessing, Heavenly Father asks of us an offering, a sacrifice. In our case, we give a fast offering that is equal to or greater than the meals we would have eaten had we not fasted.

For example, if I spend $15 a meal on our family of six, and we fast for three meals (technically the littles don't all fast for three meals. The older really only fast for one or two...) then we would offer a fast offering of $45 or more. Isn't it fun when religion turns to math? I know, right?!

Anywho...the amount you offer is between you and the Lord. But when you get in return is all the above. Blessings are poured down upon you. It's awesome.

Mormons use these fast offerings to lift up the afflicted, clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and help the poor. 100% of the fast offerings given go directly to this cause. It's beautiful. I'm so thankful for Fast Sunday, however you can fast any time. Anytime you need extra strength, and answer to an important or deep prayers, or added love and guidance.

Our Savior set a beautiful example when he fasted for 40 days and 40 nights. Having met with the greatest of temptations by Satan himself, even in his weakened state, the Savior withstood. Truly each blessing promised by the Lord in Isaiah rained upon the Savior, and he was strengthened and blessed. We are promised the same the blessings. They are ours for the taking. Anyone can do it.

In April of this year, we were blessed to hear from leaders of our Church. One of the kindest most compassionate men, Elder Henry B. Eyring gave this beautiful talk: "Is Not This the Fast I Have Chosen?"

Again, you can leave any questions you have in the comments. Or visit LDS.org for more information.

Magnetic Airhead

2015-04-21T17:16:00.001-06:00

Hello Friends.

Did you know that I'm a natural blonde?

And that I also have a magnetic personality.

No. Literally. I produce heavy magnetic waves that essentially effect all electronics around me. Also, I'm a ditz. You put those two things together and you're met with a lot of broken or lost cell phones, and posts that don't get posted.

My husbands blog, which is a lot more sciency and boring than mine (just kidding, hun!) automatically posts HIS posts for him. So I thought, "Genius! I shall do as much!" This is how I think.

So I scheduled my Monday blogs to go out on Mondays. And somehow, it did not happen. I am only just now realizing this.

Anywhoooooooo...my son threw my cell phone into the toilet.

Why are two years olds sometimes jerks? I mean, he looked right at me when he did it. Like, "I'm going to throw this electronic time waster into the pot, where it belongs, and you're going to watch me do it. And you're going to like it. Got it, mother?!" Cause that's how he thinks. He's a ginger. That's how Ginger's roll.

And now I can't call out. Le sigh. Whatev's. You gotta make lemonade with broken cell phones, ya know?? So I'm gonna go and do just that.

Mormon Monday: By Their Fruits Ye Shall Know Them

2015-04-07T17:13:00.000-06:00

One of the reasons I love the internet, and blogging, is that I get to meet and befriend so many people from all over the world. Along with this blessing are ample questions brought to me about my religion.

And it's no secret that I love my religion. 2 Nephi 25:25 says it all. "And we talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ, we prophesy of Christ, and we write according to our prophecies, that our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins."

This blog, I hope, is a testament to my love of Christ, and my desire to share that testimony to anyone who reads these posts.

So in an effort to answer mass questions brought to me daily, I'm going to spend each Monday for awhile sharing a bit about our Church. If you want even more information, please visit LDS.org, or hunt down the handsome men and beautiful Sisters with name badges in your area. They'll tell you everything in exchange for food ;) If you want a free Book of Mormon, message me, and I'll get one out to you myself. On to Mormon Monday...

One question, concern, or even sometimes accusation I get is about our tithing. We give ten percent of our increase (for us, we choose our increase to be the gross amount of money we earn) to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Here are some of the things our tithing goes towards:

Building beautiful buildings where we can attend meetings each Sunday to partake of the Sacrament and learn more about our Savior and Heavenly Father. We also use these wonderful buildings for weddings, baptisms, games, Ward activities, and occasionally they can be used for shelter.
Temples. Our beautiful Temples are where we go to make promises with God, and then to help our deceased ancestors make those same promises they were denied while alive. I'll talk more about Temples on another post. Suffice it to say, I would give 100% of our earnings if it meant I could have a temple near me. Thankfully, this isn't required. I have two beautiful temples a short drive away from me, and I'm so grateful for them.
To sustain missionary work. There are roughly 84,000 sons and daughters serving missions across the globe. They need places to live, food to eat, and bikes to ride.
On every tithing slip is the option to donate to specific areas, like missions, temples, buildings, education, etc.
We also have the opportunity to give a Fast Offering each Sunday. This will be it's own post as well.

Something not listed here are the enumerable blessings we've received from the Lord because we payed our tithing. Those are sacred blessings, that I would love to share with anyone privately. But for the sake of the audience, I'll keep them close to my heart right now. Feel free to message me if you would like to know more.

But here is what you really need to know about tithing. Look at the Gospel of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Look at our fruits. Are we purchasing jet planes to send our prophet around the world to ask for more money? Heavens no! Do we offer humanitarian aid across the globe? You bet! Do we provide help for people who are struggling? Absolutely! Are we, as members, provided with books about the gospel, lessons, manuals, pictures, paintings, pianos and music to help us grow to know Him more? We sure are! Do we do anything differently from the ancient church that Jesus himself was head of? We do not!

Things we do not do with our tithing funds: finance bishops or other leaders. Our amazing leaders, who spend hours and hours away from family and home, are a lay ministry. This means, they do it on a completely voluntary basis. Bishops usually serve for five years, Stake Presidents can serve for up to 10 years, Mission Presidents uproot their families and move to foreign countries to serve for 3 years. This is all done to build up the Kingdom of Zion, it is all done "free of charge" and on a voluntary basis. And I am eternally grateful for their service to me.

If you would like to know more about tithing, click here: tithing

I struggled with paying my tithing when I was first married. We were already dirt poor and I often thought Heavenly Father would understand. In the end, I am the one who didn't understand the blessings and promises that come from paying my tithing. When Brett and I started consistently paying our 10%, we were blessed. I know it's from our faith in this law that we were blessed with a house, that Brett was blessed with a lucrative job, and that we were blessed with innumerable other things pertaining to revelation and the Spirit.

This is a law that should only be obeyed when it's done with faith and love. It's hard for someone outside of the Church to feel the Spirit testifying to them of the wonders of tithing, so I'll do it for you! It is a sweet blessing! It is a simple thing to do! And we are so grateful that we get to pay our tithing!

**Interesting Facts** In the early days of the Church, shortly after the restoration, people were asked to tithe their time and work in place of money. They each spent every tenth day building a beautiful temple. What an amazing way to give of yourself to Heavenly Father and to your fellow members.

My War Against Depression

2015-02-13T09:30:00.000-07:00

Friends, I struggle with depression.

Not like the, "Blech, I feel depressed today."

But the clinical depression. The one where the chemicals in my brain make it hard for me to think straight and make good decisions.

For example, non-depressed me thinks clearly and has motivation to follow through. I need underwear? I'll do the laundry! What? No dishes? No problem! You spilled eighty gallons of milk? Meh, I can handle that.

But then the chemicals in my head meet to go over this years fiscal earnings, and they get all uppity and upset and wonky and then suddenly, going to the bathroom seems like a chore. "Why me? Why do I always have to get out of bed to go to the bathroom? Why don't I just call a spade a spade, and wear depends?"

Depression is a real problem. It is for me, even if I do deny it really well.

When I'm depressed, everything is exacerbated. Being a mom is the worst burden. I feel like a disappointment to my kids and to my husband. They have to pick up my slack. All those little nagging thoughts we usually can just push to the back of our minds, come running to the forefront and become my only reality.

I've failed. I'm a failure. Just give up. What's the point?

Basically, Satan just gets to have his way with my thoughts. My guards are down, and any and every bad feeling becomes the only feeling.

But I do know one thing that does help.

My faith. I'm a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, and it's pounded into my brain every day that Heavenly Father loves me. We're advised to do certain things every day: pray and read our scriptures. Pray and read our scriptures. Pray and read our scriptures.

Some people think this is a ridiculous thing. They wonder, "How on earth is that going to help you, in any way? See a doctor, not an imaginary God. Take drugs."

Well, I'll tell you. When soldiers are trained in drills, it isn't for their health. It isn't for fun, they don't get kicks and giggles out of it. They don't LOVE doing it. People wonder and may even ask the, "Why? It's so pointless." But they do it. Because they know when they're in a war, under attack, being shot at by enemies, watching their friends die, and probably feeling the pinnacle of fear, they know what to do. They know what maneuvers to make. They know how to fall down, crawl, dig a trench, aim, fire, hide, run, fight. These things are a part of them now because of their constant drilling and training. Under the barrage of fire, they don't have to think. They act.

And that's how it is for us.

Pray.

Read our scriptures.

Even in the depth of my depression, when I wonder why I ever made the decision to come down to this earth, to get an imperfect body, and to be under the constant onslaught of Satans' power, I know what to do.

Pray.

Read my scriptures.

Like a soldier trained to reach for their gun, my arm naturally reaches out and grabs my scriptures. My legs naturally bed and my head automatically bows and suddenly, I'm no longer completely alone. Suddenly darkness doesn't sound so appealing. Suddenly I feel like I can do one more day.

He doesn't solve my problems, He just helps make them bearable.

He doesn't take away my chemical imbalances, but He helps me manage the side effects.

He doesn't remove the obstacles, He just helps lift me over them. Sometimes, all I need is that encouragement.

Heavenly Father is real. He knows us. He loves us. He waits to help us. I'm grateful I've been trained like a soldier, because I am living through a war. A literal war where Satan runs rampant, and a very personal war...where Satan runs rampant. In my brain.

My body is heavy, my mind is cloudy, and my house is a disaster. Most people don't understand this. But I'm not alone. We are never alone.

The One About Burdens

2014-06-17T18:42:00.000-06:00

I stop myself whenever I want to blog about spiritual things. I've become more guarded knowing less and less about the audience that reads them. But I think if my troubles and answers helps others, then it's worth it. Even if it's just one person.

Lately I've been pretty...we'll say frustrated, with my body.

Of course you know I had my ovary attacked by a cystic teratoma in January. It ate the whole thing, so the doctor ripped it out. Which was fine.

Then February through May marked a sort of see-saw approach to getting sick. First I'd get the stomach flu, then my back would go out trying to reclaim the house from the stomach flu. Then I'd get the stomach flu again...well, you see how it went.

I missed a lot of life, it felt like.

I was pretty grumpy a lot.

And then other physical ailments struck me. I was feeling a huge desire to shout to the Universe, "C'mon! Enough already!"

But I didn't really think I had any right to complain or be frustrated. So many other people were suffering so much more in other ways, I just couldn't bring myself to feel, "Woe is me."

I sort of lost my own identity, if that makes sense. I was still a mom, a wife, a Sunday School Teacher, but...when it came to me, I just had to deal. No time to fret and worry or feel down. I didn't feel like I deserved a pity party.

And maybe I didn't.

Maybe I don't.

But I realized recently that it's not a pity party I was denying myself.

I was denying myself a very special relationship with my Heavenly Father.

I lost that identity someone in there. Because I didn't want to "bother" Him with this stuff. I didn't want to sound ungrateful for a pretty great body. I was afraid if I opened up, the "why me" statement would slip out and then I'd get the plague.

I didn't understand that, "We are not and never need be alone. We can press forward in our daily lives with Heavenly Help. Through the Savior's Atonement we can receive capacity and "strength beyond our own"." -Elder Bednar, April Conference 2012

What he said later in this talk really slapped me in the face, "I wonder if we fail to fully acknowledge this strengthening aspect of the Atonement in our lies and mistakenly believe we must carry our load all lone - through sheer grit, will power, and discipline and with our obviously limited capacities."

I feel like I've missed so many opportunities to humble myself and ask for help. Because I didn't want to be healed, necessarily, I felt like those blessings weren't for me. "The unique burdens in each of our lives help us to rely upon the merits of mercy, and grace of the Holy Messiah."

Physically, I feel beaten. I don't want Heavenly Father to take away my burden but I have forgotten that I can be strengthened in it. "And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord" (Mosiah 24:15)

What am I going to do with this information? I'm going to ask for a blessing from the Priesthood. I'm going to pray and be grateful for my body in the ways that it functions, and asked to be strengthened in the area's it lacks. I'm going to, hopefully, learn to rely more on my Heavenly Father. Not because I don't want my burdens, or feel that I can handle them without Him, but because, why would I?

One last quote from this fabulous talk:

"Thus, the Savior has suffered not just for our sins and iniquities - but also for our physical pains and anguish, our weaknesses and short comings, our fears and frustrations, our disappointments and discouragement, our regrets and remorse, our despair and desperation, the injustices and inequities we experience, and the emotional distresses that beset us."

If you can say you don't suffer from any of these in your life, then you are truly blessed. But if you do, then you also are truly blessed. Because you get to rely on our Savior, the Atonement, and our loving Heavenly Father. No better help, love or support can be found.

The One All About Brett

2014-06-15T14:34:00.001-06:00

Father's Day.

I have many excellent fathers in my life. My own dad, who gave me life and could easily take it away again. My step-dad, who helped my mom raise me; not an easy feat. My father-in-law, who taught me the art of shoving toys in babies diapers.

But most of this week my mind has been on Brett, and the type of dad he is.

When I was about to give birth to my perfect angel first born, I had low expectations of Brett as a father. Not because he wasn't an awesome man. On the contrary, it was because he exceeded perfection that I naturally assumed he would have to lack in some aspects of life.

Also, his dad thinks babies look like aliens with giant heads. So, having been raised by a non-baby-lover, I thought, "Like Father like Son."

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Oh boy, I couldn't have been more wrong.

Brett held Cohen to his chest within the first minutes of his little life. He clung to him, kissed his tiny bald head, looked into his eyes and talked to him.

Like a man.

He talked to my new born, precious angel baby like a man. And hasn't stopped since.

His goal in life is to not let his children feel unnecessary sadness. I mean, maybe he didn't set out to do this, but he's accomplished it. If they're upset over something trivial, he bangs his head into the wall to make them laugh. He pops his nose. He makes fart noises. He is obnoxiously loud and hilarious. He warns them not to laugh, which, invariably, makes us all crack up.

But he also cares very much that they understand the why's behind everything. Before any of our kids can whine, "But whhhyyyyy!" Brett is three steps ahead, saying, "Do you want to know why we're doing this?"

Often he explains it in simple terms.

Sometimes he attaches scriptures to it.

Always, he backs it up with love.

He hugs. He high fives. He drives them to soccer, to dance. He goes out at night to bring home ice cream. He keeps us knee deep in candy.

He wakes up with them at night so that they have a happy(ish) mom in the morning. He reads bed time stories.

He works so hard. He chooses to work from home to be closer to us. He takes time to be with his kids. He takes time to read scriptures, to join FHE.

He kisses me in front of the kids. He shows them how to love their future spouse by loving me in front of them.

He gives us all confidence. He helps us all grow.

He is a great example of Heavenly love. I'm so grateful for him. And I know are kids are.

Happy Faja's Day, sweet man. I love you.

The One With Sulfur Burps

2014-02-02T14:40:00.000-07:00

Today I have lysoled:

My entire bathroom
The kids entire bathroom
The changing table
The wipeys
The Aquaphor lid
The Aquaphor container
The diaper genie
Every door handle
Every sink handle
Every and any surface

The Neff House is under attack. The Sulfur Burp Flu, or, The Aguado Flu, has hit us hard.

Real hard.

It started with me, maybe. It's hard to track it back. The CDC would struggle with this one.

It hit me hard Friday night. I have never thrown up so much, or done the...other thing so much. And it was awful. It was black.

And now my poor Kiki boo has it. Break my heart. His little belly is so bloated and hard and in between spouts of happiness is whining because he just doesn't know what is going on. So sad.

A picture for the grandparents. Like kids and books, they only read blog posts with pictures ;)

The One Where Six Hundred Of Us Went To The Zoo

2014-02-01T21:51:00.000-07:00

My good friend Clarissa does preschool out of her house, because she's slightly insane, and she got us all into the zoo for $5 a pop. Sweet!

Clarissa and William

"Grace, scootch over so you're in the picture."

"Grace, scoot over so you're in the picture!"

"A little more..."

"Almost..."

Aaaand she blinks. Poor kid.

After we took a trip into the desert...in Arizona...we went to pet the sting rays. Because nothing says, "Come and pet me!" like a STING. RAY. So soft and cuddly.

Actually, it was sort of the highlight of every ones day.

Kian got in on the fun, too. So cute.

There were three or four little baby sting rays. They were so fun to watch. They would swim in the opposite direction, and swim under/over the older sting rays. One swam right up to Kembry and ran into the wall trying to crawl up. It was so funny.

We learned that baby sting rays are called "pops" and when they're born they look like little toquitos and then they open their little fins and are ready for life!

Here's lookin' at you, kid. Don't mind his face. We beat him.

I love my Cohen. He is such an awesome big brother.

Kem and Em. Cohen snapped this lovely picture.

Everyone, I'd like you to meet Eddie. My future son in law.

Chloe is Eddie's "favoritest girl ever!" Don't blame ya, kid.

This pose created by Eddie himself. "Take our picture!" he hollered. It's their future engagement picture.

Kembry and a water bottle! Yay!

Weirdos.

Hangin' out with Philip. The Orangutan. "People of the forest." They're my favorite exhibit.

"I got a boo boo so I'm hiding in my blankey."

"You takin' my picture? You takin' my picture?"

Blue Steel!

We had a blast. Tons of friends, tons of fun. Followed by tons of naps!

The One Where Brett Wants To Give Me A Lance Armstrong Bracelet

2014-02-01T20:33:00.000-07:00

It's fun finally updating the blog.

NOT!

It used to be so easy. Oh well, here's another day in the life...

Before our fabulous Christmas vacation in sunny Utah *snort* I had an MRI on my back to get an update on my spinal stenosis (it's moving along quick awfully), when they found a cyst on my right ovary.

*Shrug*

I've done cysts before. Not too concerned. So we went our way to Utah, froze ourselves nearly to death, or at least we tried, suffered miserably from the swine flu, and then made our way back to Utah.

Que cyst.

It burst.

I went to the E.R. to request euthanasia, they gave me morphine instead, so I settled down. During the ultrasound to check and make sure the cyst had burst, they found a cystic teratoma on my left ovary.

Bummer.

So a little over a week ago I had to go under the knife yet again to have it removed. Unfortunately, it had eaten away most of my ovary, so they took it and my tube, the thieves.

And so now Brett wants to give me a Lance Armstrong bracelet. I feel a little lopsided, but not too upset. Surgery is never fun, and the recovery wasn't great. But at least I can still ovulate.

I rhymed! I still got it!

The One Where Brett Is Right

2014-02-01T20:26:00.000-07:00

Oh, that's every time, though. He's always right. Cause he's da bomb.

Anyway, last Tuesday Brett got the AWESOME opportunity to serve as a parking attendant at the open house for the new Gilbert Temple.

We went to lunch before I dropped him off, cause, that's how we roll. And we had a fabulous conversation.

I was telling Brett how I wanted to be better at certain things. One of my biggest problems is having grand intentions, worthy desires, and then, blip. No follow through.

I wasn't sure where it was coming from, or what exactly it was. For example, I have general desires to raise my children to be righteous, beautiful children who have perfect testimonies of the Gospel. Simple, right?

But it seems like life just keeps getting in the way.

So this is where Brett's advice came in.

D&C 82:10
"I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise."

Brett told me to hold the Lord to his promise. Pray to him with my desires, which were good and worthy desires, and He could help me figure out what it was I needed.

Once I had that feedback, he then instructed me to go back to the Lord, and request help overcoming those obstacles.

So I did just that. Dropped him off at the Temple, headed home, and prayed for guidance. My answer was immediate. I knew exactly what I needed to do to become overcoming my blip attitude.

I realized I needed more courage to say no to the good in order to accomplish the best.

The Lord never fails to follow up promptings and revelations with real-life, hands on experience. So just shortly after this happened, I got a text from Brett:

"Guess what! They said I can take you guys through the Temple and we don't have to wait in line. Get the kids ready, be here at 6."

Sounds simple, right?

Enter obstacles. I had a girls night planned that night. My monthly girls night. My beacon of all things laughy, girly, and full of delicious food. It was my good friends last GN before her belly burst and she gave birth, and my others friends birthday bash celebration. I had been waiting and waiting for over a month for this night.

*Lightbulb*

Aw, now I see. Time to hold the Lord accountable. If I do what He's told me to, I know He will help me. So, post-surgery, highly uncomfortable, I got myself and four children ready to go to the Temple.

And was it hard to choose the best choice?

Surprisingly (or not, I guess, depending on where your faith stands) it was not!

Cohen bathed, without argument!

Kembry, too!

Chloe let me choose her dress!

Kian didn't have a blow out diaper!

All sorts of miracles started taking place. A lot of you may giggle at what I constitute as a miracle, but these were tiny sweet blessings all for me following revelation.

We showed up at the Temple at exactly 6 o'clock. It was peaceful, beautiful, and amazing. I cried. My kids were so excited to see the Eternity mirrors in the sealing rooms. It was the most wonderful feeling to show them the alter where mommy and daddy knelt (upon a similar one in the Salt Lake Temple) and were sealed together for time and all eternity. I touched it's soft velvety surface and let the tears fall. I was so grateful to be in that room with my family, I can't even describe the joy I felt. I honestly don't think I've ever felt anything like it. And I know they felt it, too.

My heart nearly burst when I saw Kembry reach out and gently brush the velvet of the alter. Her tiny hand on such an important and simple piece of forever. It was incredible.

And then we went to dinner. The Spirit followed us, our dinner was so peaceful (even though poor Cohen puked right before we went in.) And even though I had planned on meeting up with some awesome women later, I just didn't want to be away from my family. I wanted to kiss my kids goodnight and snuggle with Brett. And so I did.

Heavenly Father had given me direction on how I should act, and followed up with amazing blessings.

D&C 82:9
"...I give unto you directions on how you may act before me, that it may turn to you for your salvation."

This experience was almost immediately followed up by another where I had already RSVP'd to a rockin' birthday party for a good friend. But then Brett signed us up for the marriage class the Stake offers, which we've been wanting to take. I could have easily missed it. In fact, there were women who did miss it in order to go to our friends bash.

But I knew Heavenly Father had made me a promise, and I knew what I would get in return when I held up my end of the bargain.

Brett and I don't really need a marriage class (cause we're rockstars. Ok. He's a rockstar, but I get some glitter now and then.) We just love learning about the Gospel and ways to improve ourselves. And I did learn just that. Like a waterfall, more of my prayers and concerns were answered.

I got an answer to how I can better study my scriptures with Brett.

I realized we were lacking in saying prayers together.

And I learned again how very, very much our Heavenly Father loves us.

I'm so grateful I listened to Brett's advice, and so grateful that Heavenly Father blessed me with guidance and promises to help me succeed. I have a loooong way to go, but I also have that same feeling I get when I'm in the Temple.

Everything is possible. It's almost...easy. With His help, I can do anything. Even say no to a party or two.

....And Then I Realized....

2014-01-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

So I'm laying in bed the other night thinking about all the stuff I didn't do with the kids that I had wanted to.

I really wanted to do some kiddie crafts with my little ones.

I really wanted to have Kembry help cook dinner (she did help with the cookies...ish.)

I really wanted to read two chapters with Cohen since I missed two nights in a row.

I really, really, REALLY wanted to clean the kitchen. But that's not with the kids, that was for my own sanity.

I really wanted to read our scriptures together.

I really wanted to say a family prayer.

And then it was 11:30, and I was in bed, not sleeping.

And then I realized...

I never did any of those things when I was kid. Like...ever.

My mom tucked me in every night until I was like 10, but I don't remember reading chapter books with her.

Pretty sure we never prayed together, or read scriptures. Ever.

My mom was a working mom, so I don't remember ever doing kiddie crafts with her.

But you know what, I still really love my mom. I still turned out pretty okay...ish. My kids still think I'm pretty cool and love me.

So even though there are still things I want to do just because I want to do them, I've kind of accepted that, hey, I turned out okay without ever learning culinary arts at my moms elbow. And maybe my lack of craftiness doesn't stem from not weaving when I was a toddler. Shoot, I can crochet a wicked hat of a random proportionate size.

And because most of this lamenting was poured out in prayer, Heavenly Father helped me recognize some other things:

I haven't yelled at the kids in a long time.

Kembry gives me hugs every fifteen minutes and tells me she loves me.

My kids love going to school.

My kids love coming home from school.

My kids have friends. And they're good friends.

My kids smile more than they cry.

My kids are beautiful. And they're mine. And I adore them.

So I'm on my way. I'm on the road. And on that road may be the occasional, and I do mean, occasional kiddie craft. Perhaps when Kembry is 16, I'll teach her the art of crock potting. Cohen and I may just finish the Leven Thumps series before he graduates college or have his fifth kid.

All in good time. There is a reason we have eternity. There is time.

And because everyone loves inspirational quotes (okay, maybe just me?) I'm throwing this in here. My friend Shine posted it on facebook just when I needed it. Another tender mercy of the Lord.

"By their fruits ye shall know them" Matthew 7:17; 3 Nephi 14:16
"Have you ever bitten into a fruit that's not ripe--a hard strawberry or a green melon or something like that? It's gross! All you really want to do is spit it out. If you were judging the fruit based on that appearance at that time, you might think the fruit was not good. But if you waited until the fruit was ripe and then tried it, you would see how delicious it could be.
An important thing to understand about raising children is that children are the slowest-ripening fruit there is. Those precious fruits of our mothering take a long time to mature, and what's more, they all ripen at different rates. So it's unproductive and even dangerous to base our feelings of mothering confidence on where the fruit is at any given time." - Emily Watts "The Slow-Ripening Fruits of Mothering," (p. 10-11)

And then of course, there's this:

Post by Successful Stay At Home Moms.

"Let Them Know Me"

2013-12-01T05:56:00.000-07:00

I know I'm not the only mom out there who worries her nails over the state of the world.

I love reading books from the 1800's whose mother-characters worry over the state of their world. What did they have to worry about? Hems raising above the ankles? The deplorable state of mud roads? Horse poop?

I guess they worried about their spinster 18 year old daughter and if she'd ever get married.

I worry about all sorts of stuff. I reserve a special time of day for it.

It's called bedtime.

But I'm grateful for a revelation that I keep receiving, giving me comfort. I'm especially grateful that Heavenly Father is kind and patient enough to continue to remind me.

Whenever I worry about the state of the world, if my children will come home safely from school, if they'll grow up to be politicians or worse...like...what's worse? I dunno, serial killers.

Anyway, when I worry about these things I pray and ask Heavenly Father to lift my burden and tell me what to do.

Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it.

And every time He tells me the same thing. "Let them know me."

And the rest suddenly doesn't really matter. Because if my children know their Heavenly Father, they know who they are. And I know who they are. I'm reminded of the power that is in place to protect them, and all of Heavenly Father's children. I'm reminded that I was married in the Temple, that my children were born under a promise that we would be together forever. A promise.

No matter what happens here, we have forever. We have repentance to bring us to forever. And we have repentance because of our Savior.

"Let them know me..."

It sounds so effortless. Like all I have to do is step off to the side, and let their spirits feel His divinity and love. Like I just have to reinforce those good and beautiful feelings. Like I just have to show them that I know Him.

What a powerful reminder.

New House Woes

2013-11-26T11:18:00.000-07:00

We recently moved from a 1,200 sq. foot home to a 2,500 sq. foot home.

It's like this house was actually built for 6 people!

In our old house, there was one tiny, iddy biddy little linen closet. I think it was meant for an old man to store his stamp collection.

Here, we have two HUGE linen closets that I couldn't fill up even if I tried. No, really. I put my craft stuff in our linen closet in our gi-gahugic bathroom (that IS a word...in the Kelly Dictionary) and I still have 3 empty shelves.

In our old house, I could tell where the kids were at all times standing anywhere in the house.

Here, they have closets to hide in, a back yard to play in, neighbors to run away to and their own bedrooms.

In our old house, we had 2 kitchen cabinets. Ok, slight exaggeration. We had 3.

Here...I have several that are still going unused.

Now, you would think I would be thrilled, and I am, over the top thrilled. But, change for most people is tough. This change has been weird for me.

For example, our bedroom. The light is all off. I'm used to our little bed lamp lighting up the entire room that was painted in a soft, light sea-foam green. We could steam up our tiny bathroom just by washing our hands in hot water.

Our new room is ginormous. We could quite literally put our entire living room set in here, along with our bedroom set, and be quite comfortable (ironically, every man that went on the tour of house said as much. Every MAN, mind you, not woman. So I guess it's a mans dream to have a living room set in their bedroom. Who knew?)

Don't get me started on the stairs...actually, the stairs haven't been too bad. Kians a fast learner and can go up and down those things like a little tiny stair-pro.

We have a play room upstairs now. An office downstairs. A separate dining room. Gone are the days of the formal/living/playroom/office all bundled up in one huge room where we could always be together.

I guess I just miss the closeness. It's nice to spread out, to breathe a little. But...well...my kids are only little for so long, ya know? And sure our old home was like living in a sardine can, but now I feel like I hardly see the kids, even when we're in the same house.

I know I'll get used to it.

And probably wonder how we ever lived without it.

But in the meantime, my kids are just going to have to get used to me sneaking into their beds and night and snuggling them. Fodder for their future therapy sessions.

Why We Should ALL Be Grateful for Idiots

2013-11-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

In today's world, it's not difficult to find things for which to be grateful.

My two walk in closets.

My beautiful home. My mini-van.

My t.v. My cell phone.

And of course, the other things I usually take for granted:

My healthy children. My even tempered, hard working, faith building husband.

My church. My beliefs.

But there's one very important thing I think we all take further than granted. We take it to the other end of the scale. We actually HATE them.

WELL NO MORE!

This season I'm working on my gratitude for all the idiots in the world.

I'm grateful for that idiot in front of me who leaves on his stupid blinker. Will he turn, won't he? Who knows! But I do know one thing, I'm thankful for the reminder to make sure MY stupid blinker isn't on. Where would I be without these idiots?

I'm grateful for the moron who ran the red light and nearly side swiped me and my precious cargo. I'm grateful to be reminded that no matter how late we're running, our lives and the lives of other drivers are never worth the luxury of being on time.

I'm grateful for the dumb people who over share everything and anything on public social sites like Facebook and Twitter. I'm grateful that they remind me to hold still, contain my emotions and think through those hurtful and moronic words I'm typing up. To subdue my passive aggressive tendencies and think to the future and not dwell in the present. All because of their fine example.

Thanks dumb dumbs.

I'm grateful for all those myopic haters, those bigots, those brainless lemmings who follow blindly any and all wildly provocative ideal. Because they remind me that one solution does not fit all; except for love. That's a fabulous daily reminder.

I'm grateful for those stooges who try to shove their philosophy down my throat. I get to be even more grateful for my own free agency; to know I don't have to follow anything anybody says, that I'm free to follow my conscience.

I'm even free to love the idiots. What a world. What a world.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

What are YOU grateful for?

I'm Tired. Here's Why...

2013-11-10T13:43:00.001-07:00

Somewhere between "Let's buy us a house," and "We're all settled in our new house," comes...REMODELS!!

And can I just say, because it's my blog and yes I can just say, that I was totally project horny.

In our old house in Utah, we did lots of projects. It was the best. It's been a looooong 2 years without any projects.

So without further ado, I give you the last 3 weeks in PICTURES!

Our living room fire place. I've never understood why Arizona would even have fireplaces. But there it is. A fireplace. In Arizona. It also happens to be the only place in the entire living room where we could hang our TV. Therefore, we tore out the "mantel". It's mid project.

This is the view from the fireplace towards the kitchen and nook.

Same view, just towards the stairs. If you look real close, you can see a Kian.

The front door. Through those double doors is the den/office/guest room. To the left of that is the half bath.

The kitchen nook.

Le kitchen. The "Before".

Before....

During....PS, 24 doors and 13 drawers. Kind of a huge task.

During...

During....

Getting closer! You know how when you're planning a project, like say, oh, staining the frames for your cabinets. And you're like, "Oh, this should only take an hour or so."

Well...4 hours later...

We slowly start to make progress....

And then BAM! 24 doors and 13 drawer fronts, waiting to be stained. It. Took. FOREVER!

During...

Not pictured: screwing in all the knobs and handles. It took quite awhile. But here is my handsome and amazing husband, hanging up our doors so that I could see a glimpse of what our future kitchen would look like.

TA-DA! 5 down, a million more to go! Meanwhile, we had some painters come...

(Remember how Brett tore out the mantle? That's why there's no mantle. All caught up? Good, let's move on...)

Picking paint colors was not fun. It tested our marriage. Just kidding. Well, only sort of. The light colors on the walls are actually a light gray, and the blue you see is really not quite that blue. In real life, it looks AMAZING.

The light gray and the background color is dark gray. The dark behind the light really gives dimension to the room. It was Brett's idea and it looks incredible!!

Still dark gray to the right. It's hard to tell in the pictures. It's definitely dark gray ;)

Now brace yourselves...for...

YELLOW!

The Jury is still out on the yellow. It's growing on me though.

So there you have it. We've owned this lovely huge new house for 3 weeks and yet we still don't live in it. Alas. Upstairs features new carpet, fresh coats of paint, and a master bathroom the size of a shopping mall. Complete with two walk in closets. HEAVEN!

It's like it's a house MADE for 6 people. We're so excited and so, so thankful for our new home. It's still in our ward, which we love, and it's right across the street from the kids school, which they love.

We live about 1 minute (walking distance) from the house we've rented for the last two years. We get to keep all our wonderful friends and get to know all new people at the same time.

Sometimes I don't know how we got so lucky.

More pictures to come!