Bang Bang

Tyson: "Dad, where are our BB guns?"  And thus commenced our day of practice.  FUN!!! 

I'm proud to say that I actually shot a straw sticking up above a can. I felt pride in my skill, which felt amazing after months of being discouraged with my fragility and perceived weakness.  Obviously Tyson and Randy are straight-shots.  They are so alike, those two!

Choice

 We returned last night from a Burrell family reunion in Utah.  We had planned for over a year to spend an entire week at Lagoon, once again parking our RV at the campsite for A/C, fridge, and rest.  It hit me just as hard this year as it did last that my childhood dreams have been far exceeded.  I never imagined that I'd ever use the campground, with an RV, and Season Passes purchased on Black Friday.  I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

However, what hit me most at this season of my life was the power of choice.  I have felt so broken, so lost, so less-than for 10 months now.  My body is still in a near-constant state of fear/panic/anxiety.  But... given the CHOICE to feel fear, and I felt strong, powerful, and in control-- all things I haven't felt for so long, I wondered if I'd ever feel them again.

I chose to walk to two rides I swore I could never do (on opposite sides of one another).  I chose to stand in line for both rides.  I chose to sit down in each seat, despite Ashlee's assurance that she'd walk off the ride with me if I was too nervous.  I chose to feel the fear as both rides shot me straight up and then straight down with only a lap secruing apparatus for each.  I CHOSE FEAR!

Quoting Caden's words for myself: "I WON!"

There is power in choice.

Written word

 Since our renter abandoned 2701 in April, leaving us with the task of cleaning out his junk and cleaning up his messes (which included me on my hands and knees wiping up puddles of now-sticky urine from the floors, as well as urine streaks on walls), I have been struggling with my mental health.  Big time.  In a way, it has taken me right back to rock bottom.  I can still function, but in some cases, barely.  In other cases, faking and crying inside with a smile on.

In an effort to understand, learn, and validate, I've been reading many books on mental health, the brain, and PTSD.  One book about PTSD, written for children, states that "the brain plays tricks on them.  They don't want to feel or act that way, but they cannot help it."  My brain keeps playing tricks on me.

My current book, picked up from the library less than an hour ago, has already wracked me with sobs.  Twice.  

Page 1: "One day individuals do not have PTSD, and the next day they suddenly have PTSD.  No other disorder in psychiatry has such a sudden, bewildering, and terrifying onset."  

One of the things that makes this so hard is that I remember who I was before, the idyllic life I was creating with Randy, I remember the exact moment that my brain broke and how SCARED I was, how scared it has made me since, and I remember how it felt to be in control of my mind and body.  I remember, and I miss the before.  It's hard to believe and trust all I've been reading, learning, and trying when things continue to make me feel like I'm drowning.  It's as if I am getting worse, not better.

And then I read page 2: 

"Nearly all of us have had the experience of using a computer or a smartphone and then, after using one of these devices for months, one day the screen suddenly looks different than it looked yesterday.  The typical reaction of users is bitter frustration at the software developers who made these changes without our permission.  The anger is softened considerably, however, because we are also confident that eventually we will get used to the new layout.  

Not so with PTSD.  When one's mind and body have suddenly been changed, as with the onset of PTSD, the anger and bitter frustration start at low levels because those individuals tend to believe the change will fade with time.  As with scratches and bruises on the skin and bad memories that fade with time, they think things will pop back to normal.  But when weeks pass and then months pass and things have not popped back to normal, there is often an indescribable sense of loss of control.  The anger and frustration increases with time rather than fade.  It cannot be overstated how frightening this can feel when you realize you have lost control of your own mind and body."

I am not crazy.  Though it doesn't feel this way, I'm "normal."  I'm not getting worse because things are getting harder, I'm feeling normal frustration in my abnormal reality.  I have been working at calming things down because I did believe that things would pop back to normal.  But they're not yet (7 months and counting), and it just makes me feel bereft.  There is an agony when one considers that PTSD doesn't have an expected recovery time.  I have no idea how long I will feel like this, and have true worries that it will be forever.  I'm sick and tired of being sick and tired.  I'm also tired because I am sick, and I'm tired of it.  I'm just SO TIRED!

Shaping

 I recently read a post from a girl who aspires to be, and considers herself an influencer.  She told of a story in which a man shapes and sculpts an elephant from a large slab of granite.  Astounded, those that admire his work asked how he had accomplished the magnificent feat.  "I just chipped away at anything that wasn't an elephant," the man had said, matter-of-fact.  She then goes on to mold and shape that story into what she thinks it means, giving examples of how we, ourselves, can chip away at anything that isn't what we want to become, making ourselves into whatever we are meant to be.  I don't agree fully with her.  While I have worked to gain attributes to become what I consider a beautiful soul, worked to make my own dreams come true, I have become so much more than I ever would have had I kept the "tools," or taken them out of the Master's hand to shape what I thought was meant to be.  

A few years ago, after the hardest of the hard was over, when it didn't feel as if I was burned and bashed any longer, I thought back on all that I'd been through and made a list of all that I'd learned through cancer care and Caden's death.  Many times throughout those excruciating years, I'd ask "What am I supposed to learn," instead of "Why?"  Because I knew even then that I was being shaped by the Refiner's Fire.  Even though it was a trial not of my choosing, I could still see His Hand in my life, leading, guiding, shaping, and carrying at times.  I was flourishing with new-found, hard-earned strength, deeper, more understanding love, and eyes to see.  Because the Master chose, not me.

And then PTSD hit me.  In an instant, my life was thrown back into sorrow.  It has been so, so hard, but once again I am looking for what He wants me to learn.  Perhaps I hadn't quite learned back then, or this was always meant to be my trial to learn something new.  Either way, I choose faith in the face of my fear because I trust the Master.

While at The Center, my mind kept going back to D. Todd Christofferson's talk, The Will of God.  I probably listened to that talk three times a week the entire time I was there.  Similarly, this is a trial not of my choosing.  However, because I am the one that is suffering while those that love me watch and support, I felt acutely that I had been cut down.  

Written January 31, 2024-- 10 years since Caden was flown to Seattle Children's.

"Dear September Stephanie,

As I look at my life over the past 10 years, I see wonderful growth in the way I raised my kids.  I became the shade tree that provided them a place to come to, a place to hide at times, a place to rest.  I can say emphatically and without an ounce of regret that I am proud that I was emotionally present for my kids in all the ways I needed and wished for as a child that had lost her little sister and became scared of what might happen.  Despite the struggle, I was accomplishing all that I put my mind to, all that I added to my plate, all that I expected of myself as I survived my grief with an imagined grace.  But that "grace" held non of the proffered grace of a loving Heavenly Father, my Master Gardener.  My life was all growth, but no berries.

When I came to The Center, I was ashamed of my pruning, seeing only stumps through my blinding tears.  But my Heavenly Father knows who I am, and what I am meant to be.  He saw what I was giving up in order to willfully pay attention to my perceived purpose instead of my true potential.  I know that He pruned me not to punish, but to prepare.

As I look forward with hope to be "laden with fruit," I can humbly, gratefully, and mindfully say, as Hugh B. Brown said all those years ago, 'Master Gardener, thank you for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.'"  

I am becoming what I'm meant to be because He knows and loves me.  It is not me that makes it a masterpiece-- it is Him, the Master.  I trust and I choose Him.  Always.

Tribute

 We got a call on Monday that one of our renters had abandoned the property, leaving us with a ton of work not only getting the rest of his stuff cleared and cleaned out, but also to bring the home back to liveable once again.  This isn't the first time that that home, the safe haven Caden and I would come home to after being trapped (and one of us tortured while the other watched) in Seattle all those years ago, has been trashed, but it is the first time it has been smoked in.  And my fragile mind was broken once again.  Walls beaten with a bat can be patched in a weekend, leaving only slightly noticeable scars.  But smoke permeates and lingers for YEARS.  It hurts more this time.

I know my love of that home is not rational, and that my tender emotions are far too much for the situation (we haven't removed the air filter that is black from years of smoking without changing, nor have we had the carpets shampooed professionally), but I cannot help how it feels any more than I could stop that man from sneaking around after signing a contract that clearly stated that there was to be no smoking on the property at all, not in the garage, nor the backyard.

I have cried so many tears since walking into the home Monday at Noon.  I have worked many hours, loving the home with all of my heart as my Clorox Wipe came away yellow from washing walls and my nose inhaled smoke and weed scents.  Feeling hopeless and defeated, I remembered my time at the Center when I changed my hopelessness by changing my perspective.  It worked so well then, that I hope it will work this time.

My last post was the perspective change I mean.  From the moment I realized I needed to become the safe haven for my fearful self, I started to see myself differently.  Not something to feel disgust by, but someone to nurture and bring back to life.  There is a ceremony every week for those that are leaving called the Coin Out Ceremony, where you say a few words about what you've learned (if you choose) and they give you a coin to remember your time there.  Here is my speech.

"I came to the Center in crisis mode, broken and scared.  Because of the somatic reactions raging through this body-- feelings without thought or logic-- I did not feel like myself.  I truly felt crazy, and I was so, so scared.  I walked in, practically screaming to be taught skills to beat this PTSD down, cruelly referring to myself as Part-Time Stephanie Dirks.  

I imagined my capabe self floating away on the wind while the string that held the girl I had always been to the ground slipped through the fingers of the broken body I was trapped in.  I was powerless in this mind and body, powerless without her capability in all things, powerless as a wife, as a mother, as a human being.

It took one person here at the Center, compassionately saying as they looked me in the eye, "I understand how scary it must feel.  But, know this-- This is you.  And you are going to be ok."

Oh, I knew I was going to be ok!  After all, I had checked myself into a partial-hosptilization, residential treatment program to fix and cure myself in just four weeks!  Because, what not many people here know is that I was a Stephanie that had faced all-consuming fear and overwhelming odds not once, but thrice, and survived!  I may not be as young, fresh, and strong as I once was, but once I learned skills, I'd beat this thing back as I'd done before, and prove it to myself and my world, again.

(Left) This Stephanie packed her husband and nearly 13-year-old son into a jet headed for Seattle, and then frantically found sitters to watch her other four kids for an indeterminate amount of time.  Then, she faced each of those kids and spoke surreal words that terrified them more than they terrified her.  As she drove the four hours to Seattle using printed off driving instructions, scared and alone, that Stephanie wondered how she would ever be enough for the Boy in the Bed affected with cancer, and her other loves affected by cancer.

(Right) After walking back into the house where her Caden had just been taken from for the very last time, this Stephanie wondered how she would ever be enough for her four babes as they navigated their grief when her own was so immense, so all-consuming, so overwhelming.  Once again, she forced aside her needs to be fully present and actively engaged in whatever capacity their needs required, just as she had for Caden.  She willingly, whole-heartedly gave them everything she had to give.

6 years later, this Stephanie, whose body was ravaged by adrenal fatigue either raging out of control without thought or so exhausted she couldn't function, once again wondered with deep fear and completely overwhelmed, "How am I ever going to be enough when I have nothing left to give?"

And now, 6 weeks later, not cured but with a fixed mindset and hope-filled future-- for which I am eternally grateful:

Thank you to the Center-- Those that used my name to my face and those that used my name to place me exactly where I needed to be each day.  Thank you to those that cleaned up my physical spaces in Promise Place C and Hope House, as well as those that helped me clean up my mental and emotional spaces in Track B.

Thank you to the Center instructors who did not teach me to beat down, and to my Center friends for filling my soul and helping me build myself up.  I have found my "Why."

Where I once called her PTSD, I now lovingly call her Stephanie.  I wish to thank her most of all.  Thank you for stepping up to be Caden's everything caregiver.  Thank you for being the non-judgmental ear, the compassionate, supportive shoulder, the empathetic, soothing heart, and the soft, comforting, encircling arms that held so tight and embraced our babes as they beautifully weathered their fear and grief.  You were amazing.  It's safe to let go now.  I'll carry you from here.  Because you were enough for them, I know: I AM Enough!  

THIS IS ME!"

Rocking Chair Reminders

 I thought I had a sort of "road map" that I would tell, a chronological way that would show how I got from the Facebook post to now, but today was particularly hard to get myself to even consider sitting at the computer and a memory came to mind.

One of the things that drew me to The Center was the daily, intense therapy I would get.  In four weeks, I got a 9-month course of Gold-Standard DBT therapy, 3 hours of talk therapy with licensed counselors with specialties in PTSD each week, multiple "college" courses on subjects to heal my whole self, not just my mind, as well as twice-weekly appointments with a psychiatrist (which I didn't end up needing, since I didn't take any medications, but that were required by our insurance).  When I divided the hours by weeks in a year, allowing for one hour of talk therapy a week, it was more than 3 years of therapy in just four weeks, to say nothing of the classes.  

The first few hours and days were intense.  It was overwhelming, and my mind and emotions were being pulled in all directions.  I just wanted to cry, simply because it was so much change, not because of PTSD.  Day after day of intense therapy is not for the faint of heart.  At the first appointment I had with my Counselor, Matt, on Day 2, he asked me to tell him why I hated the Stephanie who was sitting there in his seat, why I felt she was so weak, why it bothered me that she couldn't handle even the tiniest amount of stress anymore without feeling like the world was ending, and why I felt that she couldn't be the mother and wife she once was.  Comparing who I was in that seat with who I was during cancer care, and who I was pre-2014, I found myself to be loathsome, embarrassing, weak, pathetic, and I was there to beat this girl down and get back to who I'd always been.

Matt then asked me to take a few minutes and write a letter to the Stephanie I was now, full of compassion, love, and acceptance.  Grudgingly and trusting he knew what he was doing to guide me back to Capable Stephanie, I got out my notebook and pen, and... went blank.  Frustrated and embarrassed of further proof that this Stephanie was a loser, I asked, "So, what sort of things should I even say?"

"Write to her as if she were your sister or best friend."

Immediately, things started flowing into my head.  I could do this! I know how to love others!!  I LOVE loving others!!  And so I began,  "Dear Part-Time Stephanie Dirks," (pause) and burst into tears.  It was a moment of great clarity and sorrow.  I know how to succor everyone else, but me.  I know how to build everyone else up, to help them see the best in themselves, but I never do it for myself.  I don't tear myself down, per se, but I don't take the time to build myself up either.  Everyone else is more important than me.  The needs of everyone around me are more important than my own.  When Kimberly's son was born still, I literally fell to the ground and just sobbed with her.  My heart bleeds for her to this very day.  Never once have I ever thought she was weak, pathetic, playing the victim, or needing too much, but I felt that way about the Stephanie sitting there in that seat.  

"It's been six years since Caden's death, ten years since diagnosis.  You had already healed from that grief, with a dignified grace if I do say so myself.  Your life was better than ever, remember?  Isn't that what you felt and told others when asked?  Get over yourself.  You have always been so raw and honest about everything, it's going to look like you were trying to hide this all of these years.  Don't make yourself a liar!  You are a girl who accomplishes all she puts her mind to, so hurry up and figure this out!! If others see you for what you are now, they'll think you are milking it, think you are nothing but drama, get tired of your needs, and leave.  You are too much.  I hate you so much." 

It was at that moment that the reasons I willingly went to The Center changed.  I felt a shift in my very soul.  It was a tender mercy that let me know that Heavenly Father knew me, loved me, and was still carrying me.  I was led to and meant to enter on December 13, 2023!  That's not to say that it became easier, or that I never felt hatred for myself/my situation again, but it did change the way I viewed what needed to happen during my days-- I was not there to beat down, but to build up the amazing part of myself that I HAD BEEN beating down and silencing to stay present for my babes as they navigated their grief.  I learned a lot about why I see my emotions as "too much," "too deep," and "something that needs to be kept quiet if it could make others feel uncomfortable."

Today was a day where I planned to push aside what I felt needed to come out so I could tell the story how I felt it should be intellectually told.  But I now know that my emotions need time to speak the moment they are felt and that they need acceptance and love.  I have learned it's safe to let go of all of the fear, helplessness, and overwhelming grief that has been trapped within myself, buried in the belief that everyone else's needs were more important, that I should be there for them, the moment they need me, no matter what I have to give, and that my grief would work itself out as I gave of myself to help others.

As I write these tender words, tears streaming down my face, I am using the skills I learned that day with Matt.  My emotions need to be loved by the same mother I was with my kids- the only job I ever aspired to, the only dream I have ever had.  When I am feeling deep emotions, I imagine Capable Stephanie, the girl I became to be everything to my family but who is so, so tired, sitting in a rocking chair, cradling a newborn baby.  Capable Stephanie gently, tenderly, lovingly rocks, soothes, sings, and feels soul-deep love for the crying infant in her arms.  When the sweet, precious infant begins to cry again, with no logic or reasonable understanding (just as it feels in this body that has broken from my mind), she doesn't get frustrated or annoyed, she doesn't scoff, she doesn't feel ashamed that her efforts aren't working the way she thinks they should, she doesn't stop loving or wish the time away, she doesn't think the baby should feel shame for crying when she is so obviously safe, no, she simply gathers the babe up more tenderly, bringing her closer to her heart, and whispers the words spoken so often to Caden, Keilie, Shelby, Brennon, and Tyson-- I love you, I love you, I love you.  And the Stephanie that I am now is soothed again.  As many times as it takes.  No matter what.  Always.

My Journey

 This has always been a blog meant for family-- a way for Dirks' and Burrell's to know their grandkids growing up states away, but also for my own posterity to look back and know that they were loved and cherished beyond words.  I also allow myself the occasional daydream that my grandkids will see a story about their parents and that it begins a fun tradition or inside joke that brings joy and laughter and endearing love.

Between the years of 2014-2017, this blog became Caden's Cancer Care Central.  Not only was it meant to relay messages that were too difficult to speak aloud, but it also became a therapy for me.  I still cannot read what was written during those years.  Because it was so raw then, I'm wounded and fragile now.

In September, I read a Facebook post that changed my life.  Not only did it break my heart, but it broke the reality of the girl I have always been, leaving me beaten and desperately scared.

In 2014, when speaking of Caden's diagnosis, the resident doctor explained it like this: "Undifferentiated-- cells of an unknown origin.  Embryonal-- cells in their infancy.  Sarcoma-- solid tumor.  Of The Liver-- cells began growing in the liver.  They could have "landed" in any part of the body."  

September 5, 2023, it was written by another mother on the UESL cancer page that her surgeon had explained it like this, what I now know to be the correct explanation: "During the embryonal stage in-utero, the liver cells did not become actual liver cells (Undifferentiated)."  Caden was born with dormant cancer in his liver, most likely activated by a viral infection.

I knew then and I know now that there was nothing I could have done differently while pregnant, nothing we could have done differently during the years of great sorrow, but I do know this-- It felt, in that moment, as if Caden was diagnosed all over again.  Time slowed down.  I felt as if I was in a dream.  My heart rate skyrocketed, I felt like I was choking, and I broke.

I thought the next few weeks would be the typical "September leading up to October 4th."  I usually struggle more than normal during this time frame, always feeling a bit of a reset on October 5th, a gratitude that I survived another year.  But things kept getting harder and harder, my body feeling more and more alien.  As the weeks passed, I felt increasingly like I was living a nightmare, that I was trapped in an alien body, living someone else's life, that I was truly going certifiably crazy.  I was waking each morning in full-blown panic, having hours upon hours of anxiety, all without logic, thought, or prompting events.  I could no longer handle any sort of stress, breaking down if anything was "sprung" on me.  The thought of going to the grocery store was too much.  I could no longer get myself to do things that I normally love.  It even came to the point where my kids coming home from school was pure dread-- I had nothing left to give, I was failing as their mother, the only "job" I ever wanted in life.  Where I once could fake, I now could not.  Nothing felt right in my body or life.  My every waking minute was a deep, dark, scary hell.  

 Over the next few months, as often as I can force myself to sit down at the computer that once was a lifeline but now feels like torture and fear and remembered heartache (hence the YEARS of silence, because it was just so, so hard), I plan to use this blog as therapy once again.  I hope that I can release the all-consuming grief and reset my mind so that this can once again become a blog for my family.  There is so much that has happened during the years without written words, and there will continue to be beautiful experiences that I hope to add to our present and future, but for a time, it's going to be about me.  Perhaps this will touch the lives of my family in just as beautiful a way as candid pictures and good and bad, real-life, everyday magical mundane.  Because, if there is one thing I have learned since that fateful day in September, it's this: I wouldn't change a single thing that has led me to this point.  I know what I did and why I did certain things that brought me to this break.  I'd happily and willingly sacrifice all that I have, all that I am, for them.  Always. 

I thought I knew what PTSD meant, and was.  I didn't.  I do now.  While my PTSD isn't as severe as Multiple Personality, it is similar in some ways.  My body and mind are "broken."  My body reacts either to remembered events or simply because it feels the world is a constant barrage of life-threatening events, without any thought, emotion, or logic.  I cannot reason with my mind or body anymore, to, in essence, assure myself that I am safe.  My "job" now is to bring them back together as one.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, with "side effects" of Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Panic Disorder.  My panic and anxiety are present because I have PTSD.  I now have an unknown amount of healing time (it could take years, they say, which scares me to death) where I work to calm my body down, to convince my mind and body that all is well, all is safe, that we are ok, and that nothing is lying in wait to take another child from me.  

I have other diagnosable PTSD characteristics, but Trauma Reactions are my main response, the biggest reason I felt I was going crazy, and the most pressing issue that drove me to check myself into a 6-week, partial-hospitalization program over Christmas and New Year's.  I entered practically screaming in rage and fear, "This is not me.  This is not my body.  This is not my life.  I need skills to bring back Capable Stephanie because this Stephanie is a failure that is ruining all I have ever been, known, and wanted.  I'm going to call this time of my life Part-Time Stephanie Dirks!"

I may feel helpless at times-- it is so big, so deep, and scary, with an unknown amount of healing time-- but I do not feel hopeless.  Because I know that He who carried me, my son, and my family, then, is carrying me now.  

"I am not broken, I am healing."  

Come with me as I share with you how I learned to believe that statement for myself.  This is me.  The weakness I feel now is proof of my strength.  I still believe I'm the luckiest girl in the world.

Brennon

Brennon still wasn't feeling well yesterday, so he stayed home while we cleaned booger walls.  While we were there, Brennon got news he had been waiting for, news that Randy and I had prayed with our whole souls for, news that had the ability to make his dreams come true, only it wasn't the right kind of news.

Back in May, while at the Forte show on Caden's birthday, Brennon informed us that he was planning on auditioning for Forte.  Tyson leans over him and proclaims he's going to join the Middle School arm of Forte, Amplify.  We turned to Shelby and asked her if she was going to follow after her brothers and try out for Forte as well!  She'd been asked by another friend last year to apply but didn't.  In her normal teenage girl attitude voice, she told us "No, she doesn't sing in front of people anymore."

As Brennon gathered more and more information from his friend group about auditions, as he practiced more and told us more of what he was to expect, he told Shelby that they had only a few spots left to sign up for auditions.  In a moment of miracle, Shelby got on and registered to audition two days after Brennon's audition.

Over the next few days, Brennon worked every single day, singing, dancing, and just trying to get better and better.  Shelby would sing every once in a while and kept telling us that she'd work on the dancing later.  We always heard Brennon, we rarely heard Shelby.  Brennon has ADP and can't hear very well.  Shelby used to sing solos in Sacrament meeting and was in a choir.

Brennon found out first, on the weekend he wasn't feeling well-- He did not make it.

Shelby found out second, while out with friends on the first day she could drive others-- She did make it.

I worried for Brennon's heart.  He had told us that his friend group had spoken about the fact that because there are so many of them, the chances of them all making it were small.  It's cruel to say, but I'm "happy" one girl and one boy from the group didn't make it.  It softens the blow that Brennon isn't the only one.

When I asked Brennon how he was feeling about it, he told me that he was sad, because he really wanted just one more regular activity to do with all of his friends, but that he wasn't crushed.  "I never allowed my hopes to get up too high, I just kept reminding myself that not all of us would make it, so I couldn't be crushed if it was me."  

When I softly broached the subject of how he felt that Shelby, who signed up last second and didn't yearn for it as badly as he had, made it, Brennon once again did what he always does-- He blew me away with his rare-soul personality!

"Oh, I knew she'd get in.  She has such an amazing voice!  I am SO HAPPY for her!"

And he meant it.  No one ounce of jealousy, not one ounce of pity for himself.  He truly was so proud of her.  As I turned to look at him, astonished at his maturity that few possess, I praised him with all the love and admiration I have.  He has always been our Peacemaker.  He calms situations down, never fans the flame of any negativity, and truly just makes people feel seen, loved, understood, and accepted.

When I got home, my eye caught on this week's 52 Modern Manners for Today's Teens by Brooke Romney.  For all other topics, we've had a discussion about the topic before going throughout the week.  It's placed where we can all see it often.  But this week, we were busy with Keilie, Dallin, and Bailey on Sunday, August 27th, so I just turned the topic page, hoping the kids would see it on their own.  I know, though, that Brennon didn't have to read it, that it is something that he is just born with, that he innately knows, that he taught me in action and deed--

Celebrate Others.

When something good happens to someone, celebrate with them.  Don't rationalize, downplay their success, or say they just got lucky.  Don't act like you deserved it more.  Let them have their moment and talk it up.  Give them the chance to be the star and feel the joy of accomplishment.  Few things show emotional maturity more than being happy for the good fortune of others.

Brennon told me that he wants to volunteer as an usher, make and sell cookies for the concessions, and just do anything else that he can to help.  If he isn't part of the show, he wants to make the show work in other ways.  As I reflect on Brennon from birth, on all of my kids' attributes and personality traits, I have seen proof again and again that it isn't anything that we are doing as parents-- Our kids come from Heaven with their own gifts, talents, and personalities.  I may be his mother, but Brennon is my teacher and example in so many ways.

"We hold in our arms the rising generation.  They come to this earth with important responsibilities and great spiritual capacities.  We cannot be casual in how we prepare them.  Our challenge as parents and teachers is not to create a spiritual core in their souls but rather to fan the flame of their spiritual core already aglow with the fire of their personal faith." ~Neil L. Anderson, April 2010

How grateful I am that I was chosen to be their Mother.

Booger

One of our renters vacated early after buying a house.  Because they broke their contract early, we had the choice of whether to hire a cleaner/handyman to come in and get the house ready, or do it ourselves and earn the money.  Because it is Labor Day weekend, we decided to make it a true Labor. Day. Weekend and do the work ourselves.  And let me just say, I have a new-found love and respect for cleaning ladies that willingly go into all sorts of homes to clean.  

On the surface, the home didn't look too bad, especially having clear memories of the first time we walked into that home after buying it from the Auction.  But when you start wiping walls and realize that there are boogers on the walls not only in the room where stickers of little kittens were plastered all over the window but in the Master Bedroom (both sides of the bed) as well, I now understand why they charge what they charge...

Randy said he wasn't sure we could charge for all of the man hours, as they are really adding up.  He said we would track them and see what we can actually charge.  I told him to show Alan, our property manager, a picture of booger walls in the Master because I knew he'd understand all that we really had to do to get that house back to renting standards!  I want to be an example of good to my kids, but I do not believe that includes the art of booger art at bedtime.

Third Day

 Brennon's third day of school:

I can't see this...

Without seeing this...

Sometimes memories can knock me out and make me anxious.  I know Brennon's is just a little thing, but the way he wanted the heater and to just lay in the front room makes me jittery.  I don't know that I'll ever recover fully from cancer care.

Keilie

Keilie came over to drop Bailey off so we could watch her while she went to work.  She is a Paraeducator for Richland School District and will be working at Tyson's Middle School today.   As she snuggled with Bailey in her new "Fall" outfit she was excited to show me with her newly-natural hair color, I was struck by how beautiful my daughter is as my girl and a "mommy."  She loves her little Bailey so much.  She is going to make a wonderful Mommy someday.

I'm the luckiest Grand-Paw-rent in the world!

Subtitles

 I have a hard time hearing sometimes, so we always use Subtitles.  Always.  I read along with them to better understand what is being said, but I also learn little tidbits as well.  For example: we learned from Seinfeld last night that a particular tune that is well known not only by sound but also by taps/knocks/honks has a name!

Shave and a Haircut

"Shave and a Haircut" and the associated response "two bits" is a seven-note musical call-and-response couplet, riff, or fanfare popularly used at the end of a musical performance, usually for comedic effect.  It is used melodically or rhythmically, for example as a door knock.

Subtitles are knowledge!

Happy-Sad

 The kids are back in school.

I remember a time when I counted down the days to First Day.  I was exhausted and overwhelmed from the daily grind of raising five littles.  The messes they made that were "too big" for them to clean up without my assistance, the clothes they wore that needed cleaning (especially socks), the food they needed to eat; the necessities were hard enough.  But wanting to be a Fun Mom, I would set aside those necessities until it became a chore so I could focus on them, my beautiful babes, as much as possible.  This meant I was swimming in the current of wonderful activity, yet drowning in waves of unending chores.  School was the breath I so desperately needed between those crashing waves.

But today, my house is clean.  The kids made their own lunches, packed their own backpacks, and chose their own clothes that they washed themselves.  I've had years of easy breathing, especially without cancer care.  I don't need a break.  I'm no longer drowning.

Motherhood: I'm happy they are happy, even when it breaks my heart.

Shelby- Junior, Brennon- Sophomore, Tyson- 8th (last year in Middle School)

What heat?

 Tyson had his very first soccer practice tonight for the Libby Middle School team  We've had warm temps the past few days, but tonight was the hottest we've had for a few weeks at 103 degrees.  Because school doesn't start until tomorrow, we needed to work out getting the kids to and from practice.  I took one for the carpool moms team and signed up to take and pickup, thinking it would be good to get a few steps in by walking around the track.  Did I know it was going to be so hot? NOPE!  

Randy was a good sport and came with me.  When I was getting water bottles ready, ours and Tyson's, they both asked if someone else was going because I'd gotten an extra water bottle filled with ice and water as a backup.  They scoffed.  Even that was not enough.  How grateful Randy and I were that they built a corner market just up the street from Libby because we went through all three water bottles within the first HOUR of practice, and there was still half an hour to go.

I was a nervous wreck the entire time because of how Randy and I were feeling.  Just walking around a track, not even trying to get our heart rate up, had us feeling beaten down.  Each time we took a drink, I worried that Tyson hadn't had as many opportunities and was simply miserable.

Tyson, telling Keilie all about practice: "I didn't even notice the heat until we stopped for a water break, and there is Mom and Dad complaining about walking around the track!  I was running and it wasn't even that bad."

103 degrees, running in full-on sun, for an hour and a half.  Incredible.

He may not care, but I am beyond grateful that tomorrow's high is supposed to be 82!

Reunion

 The Sunday after Shelby returned from FSY, one of her "Company" asked if they could do a reunion down in Nampa, ID because her Grandparents were leaving for the weekend and they could use their house as an Airbnb of sorts to host everyone.  With a prayer that it would turn out better than her week at FSY, we handed her money for gas, food, and fun, and sent her on her way.

She drove an hour to Walla Walla on Friday and met up with Sadie (the host) who drove them down to Nampa where they hung out for the rest of the night with all of the other friends that could make it.  Saturday morning, at 6:00 a.m., they did a Baptism for the Dead session at the Meridian Temple and then went boating, getting nice and burned for a back-to-school glow.  Sunday, they all attended church and then made the trek back to Walla Walla, Shelby arriving home at 8:00 p.m. Whirlwind weekend of FUN!!!

When telling the dentist about her weekend, he asked how long it had been since she'd seen these friends, to which Shelby replied: 24 days.  Not a reunion of that much time, but one just the same!

Dudes

 Randy isn't one that does much with other guys.  I can think of only one or two guys from both Casper and here that he's become close enough with to do stuff with, and even then, it's few and far between.  Matt Porter is that friend here.  In fact, in all of the years we've traveled, Matt is the only friend he's ever purchased a souvenir for, asking my opinion if I thought Matt would like a certain Belizian Hot Sauce flavor.  It wasn't a big bottle, but it was a BIG gesture from a guy who basically doesn't even want to buy his kids souvenirs!

7:00 am- 5:00 pm, Randy was out enjoying dirtbikes and nature while I stayed home and got much-needed work done that normally gets put off because Randy is such a goer.  Win-win!  

How grateful I am that Dara and Matt moved into our Ward.  I found out just a few weeks ago that they had a home Under Contract in Kennewick.  Matt said, "Let's just go look at this house," and the rest is beautiful history.

Perspective

When I saw these drone pictures Cameron captured of an angle of the temple I have never seen before, I was once again just blown away that I not only live close to a temple but that I now get to work there!

I'm the luckiest girl in the world!

Fair

 Brennon's friend group made plans to go and support a little sister at the fair, so we decided to tag along later in the afternoon for our first-ever trip to the fair here.  Brennon met them there at 8:00 a.m., we met Brennon there at Noon.

Throughout the day, Randy would make his way to the entrance to see if he could talk with a mortgage guy about investment opportunities that have just come up.  I laughed that with all that was there to see, eat, and do, this was the thing that brought him the most happiness.

We shared Dole Whip, funnel cake, pizza & breadsticks, soda, and maybe something else that I can't remember right now.  It was a true Fair Experience.

When I asked the kids if they felt like they'd missed out the last 10.5 years that we've lived here and haven't gone, they all said that the Fair is a one-and-done for them-- three rides in and they were all nauseous!

And just like that-- we never have to take our kids to the Fair again!  Sweet!  $207, and that didn't include food/drinks.  No wonder we have never gone...  One thing we learned about the Fair-- prices are anything but!

Boys at Barbie

 I have wanted to see Barbie in theaters for a few months now.  I'm not sure why, exactly, I just think it looks fun.  Due to schedules and such, and maybe a lack of real motivation, I haven't gone yet.  So I find it so funny that Tyson, my teenage son, put together a friend-group date to go see Barbie in theaters before anyone else in our family has seen it.  Three teenage boys met at the theater to see Barbie!

Not only that, but Tyson asked if he could purchase a shirt just for the occasion while we were school shopping.  "It's not just for that, because I really do like it, it's just not one that I'd normally buy without a reason."

After the show, I asked if he liked it.  "Yeah, it was good.  I wore sunglasses the whole time."

As one who needs to wear sunglasses in theaters, because I have flashes and floaters in my eyes that really hurt without ambient lighting, I worried that he, too, had the same issues.  When I asked him why, his response made me smile:

"I just wanted to look cool."

Brunette Keilie

I woke and immediately called Keilie to wish her a Happy Birthday only to hear the kids in the background.  She'd come home to play with her siblings!

Cheater's Edition of Monopoly.  I do NOT understand why they like to play this!  Monopoly is one thing, but to hear the bickering and arguing because those are the rules just drives me insane.  But it is Keilie's birthday, so they played the game Keilie wants.  At one point, Keilie joked, "Today is all about me, Brennon," which got us all laughing for minutes and minutes.

Bailey is just the cutest.  Napping with her nose in Keilie's "shoes."  So funny!

Do you see a difference between Monopoly Keilie and Token Picture Keilie?  She dyed her hair back to her dark brown.  "We just don't have the money for me to do my hair every six weeks."  Adulting is lame sometimes!  But I do love her dark hair-- I have missed it.

We went to Greek Islands for our family dinner and then had her cake choice-- half Regular and half Strawberry cheesecake.  I sure do love my Keilie-girl!

HAPPY 20th BIRTHDAY, KEILIE!!!