On Human Kindness

I like to think of myself as a kind person. One of my absolute favorite quotes is by Henry James, “Three things in human life are important: the first is to be kind; the second is to be kind; and the third is to be kind.” In my dream world of hearts and rainbows (and chocolate), kindness would be the most esteemed achievement in life. Unfortunately, this week has witnessed a series of events that have challenged my views as well as my perception about my own personal kindness towards others.

Last Friday, Henry’s piano teacher, who also happens to teach music out at his school, pulled me aside after his lesson and asked if Henry’s teacher or the school counselor had gotten in touch with me concerning Henry. Completely baffled, I replied that they hadn’t and she proceeded to tell me that for the past several weeks, none of the girls in his class were willing to pair up with Henry when they practiced an Irish Jig that they are performing at the school’s St. Patrick’s Day party in a few weeks. She said she always downplayed it and just used him as her partner but she found it curious. I made a note to contact his teacher on Monday.

After conferencing with both his teacher and the school counselor, I learned that Henry has essentially been the class “cheese touch” since January (if you don’t know what a cheese touch is it’s from Diary of a Wimpy Kid. Basically, it means he is the person nobody wants to partner with, play with or sit next to at school). His teacher was obviously concerned about how this social isolation (which she says the kids are really good hiding when teachers are around) was affecting Henry...if he was acting out at home or not wanting to come to school and I could honestly say that it didn’t seem to be affecting him at all. He had confided in me a couple of weeks earlier that he had gotten in trouble with his teacher because he kept touching some girls’ hands and asking them to the valentine’s day dance (what dance???) after being dared by some of his classmates who said they wouldn’t be his friend if he didn’t do it. It’s quite a bit more complicated than I feel like sharing right now but, in short, Henry’s lack of social self awareness is both partly responsible for him being targeted and also the protective bubble that keeps him oblivious to the ridicule. I’ve always admired Henry’s unique personality but also worried if and when his charm and quirk would be labeled weird instead.  Turns out...third grade.  It made me so sad.

Then, the very next day, I got a call from Seth’s spanish teacher. Like all teachers, I feel like they try to lessen the blow by saying how much potential they see in your child but after buttering me up with assurances that he doesn’t think my son is a delinquent, he went on to say that he felt Seth was really underperforming in class and possibly bullying another student. I listened, acknowledged the likelihood of him not using class time wisely, but my heart hurt at the thought of him making someone feel stupid or small in class. It was extra surprising because the other boy mentioned by the teacher is a friend of Seth’s from cross country. I know my son well enough to know that he is not intentionally mean. Well, that’s not entirely true. He can be really mean to his brothers....but, he is mostly a huge tease and if he’s really comfortable with someone and thinks someone can handle it, he can say obnoxious things to them thinking he’s being funny. I’ve seen him do it with his cousins, coaches, church leaders, friends - and 90% of them actually think he’s funny.  I can’t tell you how many adult leaders have come up to me saying how much they love harassing Seth because he “can take it and dishes it right back at me!” And he can take it. He loves it. It’s like teasing is his love language or something. I told his teacher I’d be sure to have a talk with him about it.

It felt so weird to be simultaneously straddling both ends of the kindness spectrum. How was it that my boys were not recognizing the importance of kindness? After this Friday’s experience, I worry I may not be setting the best example.

The deacons and teachers had a fun, overnight trip planned for Friday night at one of the leader’s cabin. In the winter, the remote road gets snowed in and so the only way to access it is by snowmobile. All boys were told to meet at the church at 4:00 with their snow clothes on and all of their other belongings contained within a backpack. Because they were riding in and would need to use their hands to hold onto something, sleeping bags, pillows, snacks all had to fit inside a backpack. Jay and I made sure Seth and Sam were ready to go so I could take them straight to the church after I picked them up after school.  Jay even threw in an extra sleeping bag in the off chance that one of his deacons, who is on the autism spectrum, showed up. I couldn’t imagine that this boy would come. When he was in primary, he was always a challenge because he never wanted to be there and part of his personality is to loudly complain about what is making him uncomfortable. So...we and what we were doing in primary was often “stupid and boring.” It was hard to keep him in a seat because all he wanted to do was leave and wander. Mostly, he just wanted to play on his tablet. It was extremely difficult to get him to participate so we tolerated and accommodated him. His mom is a single mother who has her own mental health issues so it has never been something anyone could really take to the family for help. Tangent over, when I got to the parking lot, this boy’s mother was quickly driving away and her son was sitting on the sidewalk, with a stuffed pillowcase as his only luggage, ranting about how his, “big, fat, stupid mother” had left him and he wasn’t ever going to move and he wasn’t going anywhere until his mom came back to pick him up.

Jay was working and there was no way he was going to be available by 4, so he had already planned on driving up on his own later and either walking in (the guy’s in shape. He could do it) or, hopefully, having someone come and pick him up on a snowmobile. Because he is the deacon’s quorum advisor and the leader who has handled this young man on Sundays (he doesn’t come to activities on Wednesday night), none of the other leaders had any experience with his social tantrums. Once they saw me, they asked me what to do. Irritation at the entire situation pulsed through me. I am not a mental health or behavior expert. Jay isn’t either. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t want to have to know what to do. I told several of the leaders that it was unfair and possibly harmful to have this young man go on this trip. I used the comparison of someone dropping off their handicapped son, who needs a wheelchair, without his wheelchair. He had no snow clothes other than his coat. He was mad but I might have felt just as mad. I was mad at his mother for just leaving him there (and not picking up her phone now when we tried to reach her). The other counselor in the YM presidency said they would do the best they could and if the situation turned impossible, someone would leave the activity and drive him home. That didn’t really help calm my unkind feelings. If anything, it just inflamed them more. I asked Seth and Sam that since their dad wasn’t there yet, could they be this poor, frustrating young man’s emotional ambassadors and help encourage him, or even just quietly ignore him while he ranted? They sort of glared at me but I watched Seth go and sit next to him on the curb and when they led him to get into one of the trucks, I watched Sam go and sit with him. When I got back into my car to leave, I called Jay to complain. He sighed and hoped for the best.

The rest of the story is both heartwarming and embarrassing. I was certain that this boy would be miserable and, in turn, make the entire activity miserable. I was wrong. By the time Jay got up there, ever other adult leader approached him independently and told him that Seth and Sam had saved the trip. By the time the group got to the cabin, this boy had calmed down, was laughing, and saying it was so much fun. He never snowmobiled and didn’t participate in any of the conversations or games but Jay said they eventually talked him into turning down the volume of his tablet and he helped the other boys make breakfast the next morning. Sure enough, when I picked up the boys the next morning and took this young man to his mother (who was at McDonald’s using the wifi and unable/unwilling to drive to the church to pick him up), he was happy. Not easy or socially adept or any less rigid in his conversation, but not angry and he kept saying, “I had fun.” I felt shame. Because I had been very unkind in both thought and deed.

I know I am not an unkind person. Perhaps, what I have realized is that all of us, to some extent, have unkind moments. The kids we don’t like have them. Our own kids have them. I think the goal is to try harder to show kindness to all.  I tthought of the words in a primary song, “Love one another as Jesus loves you. TRY to show kindness in all that you do. Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought for these are the things Jesus taught.” I think I am most kind when I feel secure in that love that Jesus has for me - when  I feel His spirit with me. I think of the sacrament prayer and the promise that it will be with me if I keep His commandments and always remember him. I need to do better at doing both. I didn’t realize how distant and distracted I’ve been lately and how infrequently I choose to “remember Him." It’s such a cycle. I think what I realized yesterday is that if I help my children feel Christ’s love, they will also be more likely to love others and themselves in the same accepting way Christ loves us. It’s easy to be kind to some people. It’s not as easy to be kind to others. I want to be better at being kinder to all.

The Problem With Depending On My Brain

Perhaps it’s only surface righteousness, but, on Sundays, when driving to church, I tend to try to listen to more uplifting programming than the normally tuned in pop music. Today, it was Henry who suggested I find BYU radio on Sirius XM (a recent addition to my car) and when we found it, they were rebroadcasting a talk Elaine Dalton had given sometime in the past. We didn’t get to listen to much, but as I turned onto 15th Street, she quoted her favorite scripture found in Proverbs.  It’s a very well known scripture and certainly not the first time I had heard it but when my ears got the signal, “Trust in the Lord with all thy heart, and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy path,” my heart received its truth. I didn’t even know how much I had been thinking about the Lord’s truth and how mankind usually bungles handling His truth until I was sitting in Testimony Meeting. Sam had just been sustained in Sacrament meeting to being worthy to hold the office of a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood and almost like Jason Bourne, my brain kept flashing to all these thoughts I’ve been having over the past two weeks that all had to do with the priesthood and that scripture.



Two weeks ago, I had the amazing and blessed opportunity to travel to Mexico with my parents and sisters.  We had a marvelous time and the majority of memories will be attached to the sand, sun and nightly order of fajitas, but we spent one day touring some Mayan Ruins at Chichen Itza and Tulum. I’m sure any tour guide would have provided an interesting interpretation and explanation of Mayan history and archaeologic discovery but we chose to have an LDS tour guide who added his own thoughts and interpretations from his understanding of scripture. Most of what he had to say focused on how the symbolism they used in building and their traditions in sacred worship could be recognized as perversions, lost truths and misunderstandings of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which I believe had been brought to this land by different peoples and from Jesus Christ himself after his resurrection. For instance, there is an idol placed atop the place where human sacrifices were offered inside their temples. They called him Chaac Mol and this idol sat in a reposed position with a box of a sort onto of his torso (I hope I am getting this right. If I take the time to research this, I doubt I will ever get back to writing. I just need to get this post out!). In the box, they would place a human heart. Our tour guide theorizes that they had been taught at one time that God wanted “broken hearts and contrite spirits” and after many generations without any priesthood authority to keep truth in check, this perverted human sacrifice came as a result. It’s an interesting thought.

In a similarly gruesome comparison, my dad sent me a link to a story exposing the relationship between a Utah husband and wife who killed themselves and all but one of their children this past year and Dan Lafferty, a man who murdered my cousin and her daughter because of religious perversion. They had become infatuated with his teachings and person and had visited him many times in prison. The article reminds the reader about the horrific Lafferty murders and I just felt so sad that such evil could stem from someone who had once been taught the gospel.

While that depressing train of thought was swirling on one side of my brain, I simultaneously recalled a funny conversation I had with the two women who help me clean my house once a week. They have been helping me with my poor housekeeping skills for years and we have become pretty good friends. They will frequently ask me questions about my religion and we always have honest conversations about what we believe. Last week, I could tell they thought their question was weird based on how they asked each other if they should even ask me, but I laughed when they asked, “Is it like a rule of your church that you have to own a piano if you are Mormon?” I laughed and said that I was positive all non-musical and non-piano owners could also be Mormons should they so choose and even though it was a silly question, it made me start to think about how easily something can seem like a tradition or even become a tradition.

The church has done a valiant job during the past year of acknowledging past mistakes and admitting uncertainty about how some past church policies came into existence. I think it is both commendable and concerning. Why are we doing things wrong...ever...when we have the restored gospel, priesthood authority and a prophet? You know? Oh, I know, I know, I know. The church is true but its people aren’t perfect. Past prophets’ policies and ideas have been implemented when they weren’t necessarily revelations but merely opinions of men. I get it. I hear it. I just wish it hadn’t happened.

It’s so, so, so tempting to rely on my own understanding. I think I come up with some pretty good stuff. Still, I believe that priesthood authority matters and that that authority exists on the earth today.  I believe Sam received that power today, through an ordination of power given to him by his father who was given the power by another worthy priesthood holder. Not only do I believe that Sam now holds the priesthood but I believe that this power is what allows Heavenly Father to bless His children and direct His church through revelation. Without it....if it didn’t matter....if we’re just left to our own understanding....if it gets perverted....all hell breaks loose.  That’s what history teaches me. Really. Being forced to own pianos would be the most benign.

I’m proud of Sam. I’m grateful he has great examples of worthy, humble, dedicated priesthood holders to teach him how to best bless the lives of those around him. I will continue to trust in the Lord and let Him direct my path.

Model Sam

Still modeling

Sam is the same size Seth was when he turned 12.

It kind of amazes me what changes are in store over the next few years.

Daily Gratitude - Day 15

Thank goodness for vaccines and healthy children. What an incredible time to live, when diseases that have ravaged populations for millennia can be prevented with sniff and a shot at a Saturday visit to a clinic, with free lollipops to boot!

Unfazed by shots. And definitely determined to handle it better than his older brother. 

Daily Gratitude - Day 1

Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy.  Things I would never let my children get away with, I actively allow in my own life. I suppose it’s easier to see and enforce what’s best for others than impose those same undesirable rules on myself. This is especially true for my current health and fitness woes.

Once lofty exercise goals have been reduced to a daily 2 mile walk. That’s it. That’s all I tell my brain I need to do. And yet, my indomitable idleness still often wins out.  If I have time to do something non house or calling or child related for myself, I will almost always choose to do something other than exercise.  I will read. Or take a bath. Call a sister. Online shop. I hate that I consistently treat my health and body as a lower priority to almost everything else.

A few weeks ago, I decided that I have to do better and that I could no longer solely rely on my erratic intrinsic motivation to get my 2 mile walk in. I needed some external influence. A moment of inspiration came that I sat on for a few days. I knew once I announced it, I would actually have to abide by it and my life and current habits could continue on, uninterrupted, if I didn’t say anything.  But, I said it anyway.

“Sam. I know you hate practicing the piano but you know I expect you to practice five days a week. You are not allowed to play the Xbox or computer or watch TV before you practice. You obey this rule and I enforce it because practicing is necessary to develop the talent that you have.  I choose the battle, knowing you would prefer to not practice, because I know it’s good for you.  But, I am not being fair because I am not expecting the same things from myself.  I need to exercise more. I need some accountability. I need to get my “practicing” done before I do the other things that I would prefer to do. I propose that if I do not go on a 2 mile walk...you do not have to practice the piano.”

He looked at me waiting for the catch.  “So...if you don’t walk, I don’t have to practice? But, if you do walk, I have to practice, which I already have to do anyway?” He couldn’t quite grasp what was in it for him.

“Yes,” I replied. “This won’t make you have to practice any more.  I am hoping my desire to have you practice the piano will eventually become my own desire to exercise.  At least, it will help me get into a better habit because I will panic if you never practice.  I think knowing you won’t have to practice if I don’t go for a walk will get me out the door everyday.”

“Um...ok,” he said.

It hasn’t worked perfectly. There are days my stubborn, willful and disobedient self decides not to care.  I can tell Sam feels sorry for me on these days although he happily accepts his day off.  He is getting to a level in piano where daily practice really makes a difference so I think about the consequences of not going on that walk. Every day.

Today, I walked. He practiced. And, I’m glad.

A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston:A Letter About Boston

Written by Jay and posted with permission

April 16, 2013.
A letter to my boys:
So that someday you will understand…

A right on Hereford, and a left on Boylston…

On Monday, April 15, 2013, I changed why I run.

On that day, terrorists detonated homemade bombs on the sidewalks of Boylston Street as runners finished the Boston Marathon. The bombs were planted near the finish line, and were designed to inflict the most damage on innocent spectators and contestants.

The second of two bombs exploded directly across the street from where your mom, Seth and Sam stood three years ago, cheering me on to my first Boston finish.

I have had a love affair with the Boston marathon for nearly my whole life. I read about the heroics of Alberto Salazar winning when I was only 8 years old. Every year, I read with increasing interest and stronger desires to join the throng on the hallowed streets from Hopkinton to Boston.

I first tried to qualify in 1998, but fell short. I tried again in 1999, but was even slower. I gave up marathon running, deciding that a Boston run was not in my future, and focused instead on starting my family and completing medical school and residency.

After 14 years of training, three boys, some disheartening personal experiences and two frustrating illnesses, I started running seriously again. I ran to restore some dignity in my personal life.

Sam, your shock at learning that I had run a marathon before was a big motivation. I wanted you to SEE me run a marathon. And remember it.
That soon changed. I wanted you to see me run BOSTON, and remember it. I trained longer and faster and harder. I know it took away time from you. But I was stricken with a Boston fever.

I was thrilled, and relieved, in the fall of 2009, when I qualified for Boston by several minutes. Finally, a major life goal achieved!!! Charles River, here I come. Boylston Street, here I come.

Running my first Boston marathon in 2010 was almost an out of body experience. I tried to soak the whole experience in. Scenes play back in my mind like a trailer for a personal movie. Riding the bus to Hopkinton, and waiting for the gun to fire at the starting line across from the little white church. The biker gang in front of the bar (there is nothing better than being cheered on by heavily bearded and tattooed men and women (yes, bearded women) in leather chaps)! To the shrieking tunnel of college girls in front of Wellesley College with their signs screaming “Kiss Me” (okay, I did sneak a peck on the cheek of one girl – because I thought I might not ever get another chance, and I’d regret it if I didn’t. She wasn’t anywhere near as good looking as your mom, though!). To the right hand turn at the Lower Newton Falls Fire Station, and starting up the first of not one, but three separate Heartbreak Hills that ascend Newton. Cresting as I ran by Boston College, being heavily cheered by heavily drunk college guys (these guys are way to drunk for 11 AM). Descending into Brookline, and finally seeing that CITGO sign in the distance. Seeing it, but never quite reaching it. Seeing it and knowing that it is at mile 24. When is that sign going to get here? Who put up that stupid sign, anyway? Is that really the right sign? And then finally passing the sign, crossing under the highway, and then the most blessed two turns in all of distance running:

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON

Turns so sacred that they actually sell t-shirts with those words printed on the back. Turns where the sound of the crowd actually seems to lift you off of your feet and push you from behind towards the finish line. Cheering, clapping, bells ringing. It is like the whole world is there to watch you finish.

And unlike almost every other sporting event, there are no boos. No catcalls. No references to new glasses for the referees. No wishing that the other guy will fall or fail. No jeering. No negativity. Strangers running with strangers clasp hands because you did it. Stronger finishers encourage the injured. Signs everywhere explode with messages of inspiration. Go mom. Go dad. Go son. Go Bill or Jane or Frederico.

It is just your cramping calves, twitching hamstrings, and tens of thousands of Bostonians, Americans and foreigners propelling you to finish. How anyone can run down Boylston Street with dry eyes is a mystery to me.

Tears were already flowing when I saw you with your mom in front of Lord and Taylor’s. Yes, that Lord and Taylor’s. The one across the street from the second bomb. Seeing you, hugging you and giving you a high five made every one of those previous 26 miles worth it. Reuniting with you after the finish line, with that heavy metal around my neck, made me proud to be your dad. And I think you were a little bit proud of me. I hoped that you would always remember that day. And that your dad finished Boston. And that Boylston Street is a special place. A place to be revered and treasured. A place unlike any other in the world.

I went back to Boston in 2011, but without my personal fan club to cheer me one. Because I was alone, I noticed even more than before, how much the people of Boston and surrounding areas supported the marathon runners. The number of spectators is amazing. The cheering is continuous and incessant for 26.2 miles. The signs, extra water bottles, messages written on the road in chalk; everything about the race screams loudly how much Boston loves their marathon. And how much the marathoners love Boston. I think it was that crowd that pushed me onward. Onward to break 3 hours for the first time. Another goal I thought I might never achieve.

That is why what happened on April 15, 2013, was such a shock and personal devastation to me. I was crushed for the people of Boston. Crushed for the race that I love. But disturbed that someone or someones wanted to change the most special street in Boston. Someone wanted to take Boylston Street from us.

And Boylston Street is a special street. There have been more cheers on that street than perhaps any other. Personal triumphs, joyful reunions, tearful struggles, people helping strangers, dogged determination, fist-pumping elation, and weary completion are all witnessed on Boylston Street. Everything that is positive about humanity is found there. And none of the negative.

Until last Monday. When two bombs blew the innocence and joy of Boylston Street almost off the map. Almost.

Tragically, those terrible bombs did end the lives of three. Martin Richard, age 8, reminds me in many ways of you boys. Smiling. Wearing an Under Armour hoodie. Cheering on strangers running by, because that is what you do on Boylston Street.

Krystle Campbell, age 29, was there to cheer on friends, like she had done almost every year since she was a little girl.

And Lu Lingzi, a graduate student from China at Boston University studying math and statistics, there with friends just to take in the spectacle that is Boylston Street.

All three had their bright futures tragically dimmed.

As I went to bed Monday night, before I knew all of the details we later discovered, I thought to myself, “I need to go back to Boylston. My kids need to go back to Boylston”.

The next morning, your mom said to me, “I think you should run Boston again next year.”

I checked the website. My last marathon in Denver still meets the Boston qualifying standards by 5 minutes. Registration opens up in September. I have until then to try for a better qualifying time so that I can increase my chances of making it in. I’m going to give it everything I’ve got so that next year I can make…

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON

I hope you will be there to cheer me on. On Boylston Street. By the Lord and Taylor’s. And I hope that you soak in the cheers. The American flags that I’m sure will be waving. The Boston t-shirts. The Red Sox jackets. The positive wave of humanity crushing the weak will of terrorism. The triumph of runner, spectator, official as we complete another Boston.

I’ll be thinking of you as I climb Heartbreak Hill(s). But my heart won’t be breaking. I know you’ll be on Boylston Street. Cheering on the elite winners, surrounded by strength. Because I know that we are strong. Our family is strong. Our country is strong. Our faith is strong.

This world might be scary at times. There are people that do things that we don’t understand. There are evil people that try to rob our innocence and steal our victories. There are places to avoid. Places to be scared. Places to wonder if we’ll make it back.
But Boylston Street is not that place. And I will not let terrorists or anyone else turn such a positive place into a place that should be feared or shunned.

And so, now, I run for Boylston Street. Next year, we will return to claim that street back. I’ll run down it. You’ll stand on the sidewalk among strangers and feel confidence, not fear. You’ll hear cheers, not boos. We’ll claim it back for runners. For cheerleaders. For supporters. For friends. For families. For the Johnsons. For Boston. For America. For all that is good in humanity.

A RIGHT ON HEREFORD, AND A LEFT ON BOYLSTON!!!

Minuet and March

Seth and Sam both learned a piece to play during the student recital of this week's local Bach Festival. I love listening to Bach and even though some of the songs start to sound the same, the melodies and harmonies are so pleasing and easy on the ear that I enjoyed all hour and fifteen minutes of it. It also helped that Jay had Daniel. :)

I thought some fans of the boys might enjoy hearing them perform. I thought they did a great job. Seth gets so nervous but I think each time he performs, he gains more and more confidence in his ability to calm his nerves and do his best under pressure. Sam may sweat it, but he doesn't let me know.

12 of 12 - March - Sam's Eye Surgery With Bonus Pictures

I have 12 pictures for the 12th of March, which is the day Sam had his eye surgery, but I also have a few taken on the 13th and one on the 11th plus a few more than the 12 and I'm not going to write an entirely different blog post for those few pictures so I'm being flexible.  Besides, I don't do the 12 of 12 the right way so it shouldn't even matter.


My mom came to help during Sam's surgery so Jay and I could both go and be with Sam and we left right after school on Monday. Sam and I were looking forward to continuing on with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix and it didn't take very long for Jay to get into it as well. We arrived in Grand Junction, where Sam was having surgery the next morning, at 7:30 pm and chose Outback for dinner because steak is Sam's absolute favorite food and because he had to fast in the morning, we wanted him to have a nice, big dinner. We succeeded and even topped it off with a gluten-free chocolate thunder from down under for dessert.



We didn't have to be at the surgery center until 10 am so we all tried to sleep in as much as possible. We got there in plenty of time.



Sam felt a mixture of apprehension and excitement for his surgery. He was very tired of wearing the prisms on his glasses but I could tell he was nervous too. He really handled it all like a champ.



They took all his vitals.  84 pounds and 4 ft 11 (and 3/4 - Sam is keen to include the almost inch) inches tall.



He is so modest he was embarrassed to change into his hospital gown in front of me.  I turned my head and Jay helped him with all the snaps and ties to ensure as full coverage as possible. He liked the heated blanket.



I wanted to get a picture of what his eyes look like without glasses before the surgery straightened them. This is pretty typical of what his eyes do.  Both eyes cross but his right eye is dominant and his left eye is esotropic and crosses inward when the glasses don't force it to work.


We still had a little time to kill once everything seemed done on our end. I think he is so awfully cute right here.

The surgery was quick. Only about 45 minutes until a nurse came to get Jay and me to meet with his doctor.  She cut the medial rectus muscle on each eye and moved it and reattached it about 5 mm closer (at least that is how she explained it to me). I would have taken a picture of the doctor but she isn't the relax and stay for awhile sort.  Even Jay was a bit taken aback by her abruptness and says he takes more time to explain things and answer questions when he's doing something as simple as a barium enima or breast biopsy. While it's nice to get a both super friendly and super competent surgeon, I'll take super competent if I have to choose one.  And I do think our doctor is super competent.

Sam was a bit hard to wake up. He kept wanting to roll over onto his stomach, which messed up all his cords and made it hard for the nurses to check his vitals. We'd roll him back onto his back and kept trying to talk to him to wake him up.  His eyes really hurt and bothered him and he had bloody tears if he tried to open them even a little.



Jay tries to coax him to wake up. We asked him what the last thing he could remember and is crinkled up his nose and said, "The stinky gas they gave me!"



The nurse puts a cold compress on his eyes which helps.



He didn't want anything to drink but we thought he should at least have a sip of water.



His class was so sweet. They each made a card with drawings and sayings on it for Sam to read after his surgery. I read them aloud which helped wake him up.


This was as much as he would/could open his eyes and only for a second. He will hate this picture because of the exposed shoulder.



They wheeled him out to the truck. We were only at the surgery center for a little over 2 hours total!



He immediately fell back asleep back at the hotel and slept for the next four hours.



Meanwhile, I used the thoughtful gift cards from Sarah and went and got everybody lunch at Cafe Rio. It's funny but when you live in a small town with no chain restaurants, you kind of crave chain restaurants when they become available. We discovered Outback in Denver, so it always reminds me of going out to dinner with our friends Cory and Libby, and discovered Cafe Rio in Utah. FYI - if you want the meal to be gluten-free, you have to request them to soften the hard corn tortillas they use for tostadas. The soft corn tortillas they regularly use for enchiladas or tacos have wheat in them. So does the red enchilada sauce.  No wonder Jay used to get sick eating there. He was fine this time, though!



When Sam woke up, he didn't want to open his eyes at all and Harry Potter was on CD and I was without old-fashioned CD playing boom box so I downloaded another book from itunes that Sam would enjoy and he lay there and listened to it with the washrag over his eyes.



I also enjoyed the quiet and read my own book.  This is really good!

It took a good half hour to convince Sam to try and open his eyes. I think he was mad and annoyed that they hurt and stung as much as they did but I knew he'd feel better if he moved around a bit and also that it would be good for him to put the scary surgery behind him. After sitting on the bed and looking at me for awhile with half opened eyes, he realized his eyes didn't sting nearly as much as he worried they would and he could just wipe away the tears that came every few minutes. This realization greatly improved his mood and he was happy to get out of the hotel room for dinner. We went and enjoyed another favorite chain restaurant of ours - Red Robin where both he and Jay can get gluten-free burgers. It reminds me of living in Spokane and was our favorite restaurant there.



Sam got a gluten-free cheeseburger and chocolate milkshake. His inner whites of his eyes are very bloodshot and will be for a few weeks but his eyes are definitely straighter, even without glasses.



We had a post-op appointment with this doctor the next morning but had plenty of time to get breakfast before we went. Jay doesn't usually eat breakfast so went running instead but Sam wanted bacon. He tolerated the hashbrowns and eggs:)



This was the side order sized cinnamon roll.  They had a meal-sized cinnamon roll that I guess is the size of an even bigger plate.



I'm realizing this post could also have been titled Sam's surgery and where and what we ate.  I don't normally document our eating habits so well. I only took a picture here because we stopped in Montrose for lunch and I left my purse there.  I haven't done this sort of thing since college! I didn't realize I left my purse there until we were an hour and a half away in Silverton. Jay was so kind and didn't get grumpy and Sam was glad for the additional 3 hours of Harry Potter we got to listen to as we drove all the way back to Montrose to get my purse. It had hundreds of dollars in it ( I took our health care envelope to pay the hospital part of the bill) and nothing had been stolen. Most people really are honest and good.




We also saw these amazing big horn sheep on the drive. They are our state animal and it is simply incredible to watch them climb these cliffs. I don't know how they do it. They blend into the scenery, so it's a bit hard to see, but you can see one of the three climbing up. Truly inspiring.

Thank you to all who prayed for Sam and wished him well. We'll know more about what the future holds in terms of his eye care at his next appointment in a month but the doctor was very happy with his surgery and considered it a success. He'll wear glasses for now and may always wear glasses. I'm grateful for many things - my mom for coming, teachers for caring and supporting (he missed the state standardized testing for the two days we were gone), Jay for worthily holding and administering the priesthood, competent doctors and caring nurses, good restaurants and the money to pay for meals and hotels, good roads and happy brothers who behaved well for their grandmother and all the family members and friends who called/texted/emailed.  I am mostly thankful for Sam and his calm, good self. I hope this surgery will make his future better, easier and straighter:)

What We're Up To

My throat really hurts.  For the past week, it has been hurting but only at night.  Anywhere between 4-6 pm, one tonsil (but never both) would seem to get bigger and bigger, making swallowing and talking really painful.  Ibuprofen would help and since it never really bothered me during the day, I didn't really care. It seemed like a pretty benign cold.

Then, last night, the huge lump on one side of my throat actually woke me up at 3 am it was so painful. I took some more Advil and some Nyquil for good measure and could. not. wake. up this morning. I did wake up just enough to get Sam and Henry down to the bus and probably dangerously drove Seth to school but then I went back to bed and slept until 10:30 this morning.  I had the strangest dreams I had in a long, long time.  I was out in public wearing my winter nightgown (long sleeved, mid calf) but also had on a pair of mid-calf garment bottoms on that the nightgown couldn't cover and I kept trying to get into a sitting position where I could curl my legs up so no one could tell.  It was so stressful!  Especially when a dog kept crawling onto my lap.  I think I was in a nursing home of some sort because older people kept coming up to me wanting to pet the dog.  That is what a 3 am Nyquil dose will do to your subconscious brain!  And my throat still hurts today. I am so desperate I may even attempt at gargling salt water. This has not gone well in the past.

Besides my throat pain, it's been a good week. A bit stressful, which has me stressed. You see, February was my month to host bookclub and it is always on the fourth Thursday of the month...so...it was last night. The way our bookclub does it is whoever is hosting chooses the book and then puts on dinner for everyone. As our group currently has 14 members, it can be overwhelming if everyone decides to come.  Lucky for me, only 5 decided to come so it was a very doable dinner for 6. I don't know when I turned into a person who gets anxious having people over but I definitely do now. All week long, I was dreading Thursday night and mentally couldn't wait for it to all be over. I have done some reflecting and think it boils down to a few things. One, I am simply out of practice. Having people over must follow Newton's first law of motion: an object at rest will stay at rest unless an external force acts upon it. The external force was five ladies coming over to discuss (maybe. You never know how much the book will actually get discussed) Beautiful Ruins and their imminent arrival led to me finally putting some pictures in frames, getting a few new serving bowls so I didn't have to have pots on the table, and coving my very worn table top with a tablecloth.  It also involved lots of food shopping, cleaning and then cleaning up. The evening went fine and I think everyone had a nice time but the forced object in motion is craving its usual rest again. But, I know it'd be better if I stay in motion and become more social again.

Jay has had some A.I. (Artifical Insemination) success already.  This is a big week for him as the heifers he impregnated by insemination are due to deliver if his technique and fancy bull sperm worked (that sentence needs to be taken in context or else it seems very weird). Out of the ten he attempted, three have delivered.  Unfortunately, all three have been heifers (he is trying to breed club steers for the boys). All ten got pregnant but if they don't deliver this week, then they got pregnant from his dad's bull a month later.  Every day, he is this funny mix of excited and worried and is over checking on the cows all the time as two of the baby heifers born this week had to be pulled because they were too big.  I'm a thousand percent certain that he wasn't quite as worked up any of the four times I delivered our children.

Seth competed in History Day this week and made a documentary on Jesse Owens success at the 1936 Nazi Olympics as a turning point of attitude towards blacks and competitive sports and did so well that he and his partner qualified to go on to the state competition. He is quite pleased although I don't think he has the kind of competitive spirit or natural fascination with history to spend the time making the kind of improvements he needs to make to make his project really good and coherent.  I was relieved when on of the judges echoed my own advice and said having "Teenage Dream" by Katy Perry play during slides of Owens racing wasn't really appropriate. His story telling and research are definitely the reasons the judges ok'd them to state and not his annotated bibliography that includes the name, "Dogg, Snoop" on it (he must have produced the Katy Perry song).



Presenting the documentary to the three judges, including the superintendent of our school district.



Seth and Jack with their award.

Sam is on track for getting eye surgery in 12 days. He is still wearing the prism stickers on his glasses and his eyes still look crossed but at his last appointment, the ophthalmologist felt assured that she had all the information she needed to get the best alignment for his eyes. That meant no more missing Tuesdays to drive to Grand Junction and back and not missing basketball practice.  Unfortunately, a nasty fall after a ski jump sidelined him this week after he severely bruised both heels. He wouldn't put any weight on them all week and walked on his tip toes. The tipping point to normal walking came when his calf muscles became more sore than his heals. He is healing nicely and will hopefully be walking and seeing straight soon.



Eyes are a little straighter with this prism stickers.  His doctor said that his eyes "eat prisms" which means that he adjusts quickly but will adjust even more than they need to, which skews the data.

Henry came home with a very bad report from his teacher the week before our winter break. I'd blame it on me being gone, as he has had those kinds of reports from teachers in the past when I am gone and his routine is off, but it was the week of Valentine's and so probably had nothing to do with my absence. I don't know what set him off but when his speech teacher, reading teacher and 1st grade teacher all report that he is surly, uncooperative, talks back and says everything is "boring" and "he already knows everything" then mom and dad don't let it slide. He also had a bad report from his ski teacher two weeks ago and screamed the entire ride home that he "hated skiing" "skiing is stupid" and "I never want to ski again!" only to be perfectly fine this last week.  It's all about his mood and I don't know what sets him off.  Mood or not, he can't be disrespectful like that and he's been cut off from all electronics this week and his bedtime moved from 8:30 to 7 pm to ensure a well rested psyche. He really is a charmer but he can also be quite difficult if he's unmotivated or tired and it is sort of embarrassing when he shows this side of him to his teachers. He's had a good week so far.  I'm hoping he doesn't get the winter blues because this seems to happen almost every year at this point of the school calendar.




His teacher sent this picture to me. I guess he can be happy some of the time.  He's in the blue coat.

Daniel is at a super fun stage. He's still not talking or saying any words, including mama or dada, and while I don't think that's a red flag, having gone through Henry's speech delay discovery has me a bit wary. He does mimic intonation and you can tell he's trying to say, "Where's Daniel?" and "Peek-a-boo!"by the way his voice rises and falls. He's super expressive and loves to give a funny glare or pout with his eyebrows down and furrowed only to raise them up and smile when his internal comedic timer dings.  He loves his stuffed elephant and it has become his comfort object at night. I don't know if I just sleep through his wakeful periods at night at home or he quietly self soothes but whenever we travel, he  does not sleep well. We spent the February 8th-14th up in Denver and he didn't sleep through the night once. It makes this girl who likes to travel not like travel quite as much. Sleep or no sleep, I'll keep him because he is so darn cute.



Fun little mess maker. Good thing the tablecloth from bookclub dinner was still on the table this morning!

Double Digit Sam

I think we were both concerned when the realization hit that I would be gone on the day of your tenth birthday. You're anything but demanding but a birthday is also a "yes day" and I wondered if you'd feel like it couldn't be with only one parent around. Lucky for you (and me) your dad never fails.

We had to do the celebrating early. Instead of doing what I prefer, which is to have all the festivity - party, school treat, family dinner and presents - contained within the actual anniversary of birth, your birthday got celebrated three different times. Friend party on Monday. Cupcakes to classroom on Friday. Yes day, including presents, custom dinner and any reasonable request granted on the big day itself, Saturday. As I left early Friday morning, everything but the friend party happened on Dad's watch. I wish I had pictures of the other events but I did capture some moments of your party.

The date crept up on us, like it seems to every year. With your busy schedule, the only free afternoon was Monday and you invited three friends over for what was essentially, a glorified play date. There were no pre-arranged games or activities planned but you did request to have those few hours with your friends be "brother free." That was harder to grant than I imagined it would be. You are all so used to playing with each other that it was hard for Seth to leave you alone during your basketball game and it was harder for Henry to stay away when you went outside to jump on the trampoline and sit in the hot tub. There were definitely tears and glares from both when the basement, where you were playing the Xbox with your friends, was forbidden.

You did allow their presence for dinner and cake. In spite of the difficulties in dealing with your bored and jealous brothers, it was fun to watch you interact with your peers. You are a natural leader and definitely a fun kid to be around. I was proud of your graciousness while hosting and think you've chosen some kind friends.

Dad filled me in on the rest. The cupcakes were a hit but Daniel visiting the classroom was even more of a hit. Saturday was a crazy day but Dad made you your beloved bacon for breakfast and got you to your soccer tournament on time. Even though he was tired and you didn't say anything about what you wanted for dinner, he remembered (with help from Henry) that you had requested Chicken Fried Steak and got it made, much to your delight. You really can eat meat like no one else. It's as if that gluten-free diet makes even more room for large quantities of carnivorous protein.

I sure do love you. It's not hard work. You are a joy and a song and a wonderful son. Happy Birthday, my ten year-old Sam.

It's amazing how sunshine makes even winter feel warm.

All your friends are just as competitive and athletic as you are so you had a pretty intense game going on.

For dinner, we had chicken nuggets (gluten free as well as regular), carrots, and soda.  Hey..,everyone ate.

Then came cake.  Your favorite - spice cake with cream cheese frosting.  A couple of your friends didn't care for it.

Make a wish!

Then it was hot tub time.  This was a last minute idea I had and was lucky that I got a hold of two of your friends in time for them to bring a swim suit.  We only had to provide a swimsuit for one friend.

Of course, just sitting and chatting wasn't nearly exciting enough for a ten year-old.

So, some trampoline bouncing was the natural enhancement.

I can see how the conversation would go.

Hey, guys, check this out.

Into the snow.

So cold!

Now for the warm up.

A good time was had by all.