Reupholstering is a tricky thing by itself. It's trickier when you run out of staples at late o'clock and the new ones you bought earlier, when the stores were all open, are the wrong size. Tricky compounds when your sewing machine randomly decides to do things that look fine on the top-stictch and after a few inches of stitching you realize that something's wrong so you look at the bobbin thread and it's totally WACKED. And then you mess around with it for twenty or so minutes, throw your hands up in frustration, and move on to stapling with your brad nailer/air compressor setup (this is the next night from the previous staple part so you now have staples). You are moving along nicely and then your nailer runs out of staples which you go refill and discover that the tricky nailer no longer wishes to push out the staples for reasons unknown. Tricky turns trickier still when you wake your husband up (who fell asleep watching a movie on the couch) to see if he can fix the nailer, and he gets as frustrated as you are when he discovers that he has not a clue why the nailer is no longer cooperating.
Then you might just cry.
And then you pull your own trick out of your sleeve by saying out loud to your husband as he journeys back to the couch and the movie, "Maybe the sewing machine just needed a little rest. I'm going to try it again."
Turns out that resting was just the thing for the old Singer.
Off to stitch a little more.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Technically...
...I could say that I've already done my four posts for this week, if you go from Saturday to Saturday. Or, technically, I could say that I failed because I've only posted three times since Sunday, the start of the week.
But, oh! Look at the time. 11:59 is the time I STARTED this post, so I win either way, technically.
Right now I am reupholstering a chair that must be from 1968. It's a messy business that makes your back sore. Too much floor time. I've never done this before so I'm a little nervous. I've sewn enough that I have confidence that I can do it, but there's the little details that I thought I'd figured out and now I'm wondering if it's going to be all screwed up.
I took a pattern from the upholstery that I pulled off, but now that I've cut some of those pieces out of the new fabric, I am worried about it. I didn't account for how the old fabric was all stretched out. It won't lay flat. So, what if I made it too big? Then the piping won't be right on the edge. I guess I could measure it.
Rachel! Where are you? Oh yeah, you're in Farfarawayville, Egypt. Don't you hate it when some of your best friends move? Far away?
Rachel! Where are you? Oh yeah, you're in Farfarawayville, Egypt. Don't you hate it when some of your best friends move? Far away?
And when your sister moves to Reallyfarawaytown, Egypt? That REALLY sucks too.
Guess what's funny and kinda ironic? Rachel and Lacy, my sister, only live about 45 minutes from each other.
But that doesn't help me with my current reupholstery project.
And neither does this totally random subject change. (There is a correlation that you can see at the end, so it's not as random as you might think at first.)
For Christmas, we bought our Ella a bunch of various art supplies. She gets art supplies every year for her birthday and Christmas, it seems, but these Christmas gifts for Ella were a little less "Crayola-ish" and a little more "pro-ish". (Not that they are professional quality things, for the most part, but they are much nicer than the very elementary things she's used in the past...) She was so darling when she opened them. The bigger present was an travel art kit that came with a big canvas shoulder bag containing several different mediums of paints, canvases, brushes with a nifty brush-keeper and a travel easel. When she opened it she squealed with delight, squinting her eyes, and hugged herself, jumped up and down and exclaimed with great conviction, "OH!!! Now I'm an ARTIST!" It was one of the most genuine reactions I've seen from her and it completely melted my heart. It was a good moment among many others that Christmas morning.
So, a few days after that (a week?), Ella wanted to do a painting. I also had ordered her a painting technique book and so we experimented with some techniques, she and I. Mac and Rohan joined the party later and we had ourselves a family art day, which I enjoyed immensely.
So, a few days after that (a week?), Ella wanted to do a painting. I also had ordered her a painting technique book and so we experimented with some techniques, she and I. Mac and Rohan joined the party later and we had ourselves a family art day, which I enjoyed immensely.
In my enjoyment with my children, I couldn't help but think of my darling little sister, Lacy, who moved (to Reallyfarawaytown, Egypt, if you recall?) not so long ago. Lacy is one of the most creative people I know. She is an artist. In our shared childhood, we had a good relationship. We were friends, for the most part and I sorta looked out for her. (Did her hair, helped her pick her outfits, walked to school with her trying the whole way to get her to move faster so we wouldn't be late...) She was most often completely content to be by herself and draw pictures, paint, make some amazing sculpture out of paper, etc.
One year when cottonwood trees were dropping their cotton, Lacy wandered around and picked up little bits of this fluff from around the yard (or wherever it was... can't recall). She collected enough of these bits that she decided she wanted to make something out of it. So, in true Lacy fashion, she got some brown fabric and drew herself a little pattern for a bear. Then she cut the pieces out, got a NEEDLE AND THREAD, and stitched this little bear up by hand, one limb at a time. She then stuffed the limbs, body and head with her treasured pile of cotton that she worked so tediously for, and she hand-stitched all the limbs on to this little tiny bear that she created. As if that weren't enough, she proceeded to embroider a nose and eyes onto the face. This bear was probably a total of about 6 inches in length. It was the cutest thing, and when I was helping Lace pack up her house to move (Reallyfarawaytown?), we stumbled across this little treasure of bygone days.
One year when cottonwood trees were dropping their cotton, Lacy wandered around and picked up little bits of this fluff from around the yard (or wherever it was... can't recall). She collected enough of these bits that she decided she wanted to make something out of it. So, in true Lacy fashion, she got some brown fabric and drew herself a little pattern for a bear. Then she cut the pieces out, got a NEEDLE AND THREAD, and stitched this little bear up by hand, one limb at a time. She then stuffed the limbs, body and head with her treasured pile of cotton that she worked so tediously for, and she hand-stitched all the limbs on to this little tiny bear that she created. As if that weren't enough, she proceeded to embroider a nose and eyes onto the face. This bear was probably a total of about 6 inches in length. It was the cutest thing, and when I was helping Lace pack up her house to move (Reallyfarawaytown?), we stumbled across this little treasure of bygone days.
That Lacy of my youth woke up as my children and I made watercolor creations and she's been walking with me ever since.
And I miss my Lacy so dearly. And love her so.
And I miss my Lacy so dearly. And love her so.
Goodnight.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Lots to Say?
I have a blog-friend, Travis and he is a wise fellow, indeed.
He commented on my post yesterday and said, "I figure one blogs when one has something to say. I hope you have lots to say."
This was a very thought-provoking comment for me. Am I just wanting to blog for the sake of blogging or do I actually have something to say?
I'm not sure.
But I have this to say, now.
There have been many things going on in my mind these last few years where I've blogged so little. As I chew on Travis's comment, I can't say what my true motivation is, but I am ready to be heard again. The trick is, am I ready to look at myself and form those thoughts into words? For some reason, that is the true effort here. That is the push.
Words used to spill from me like a fire-hydrant. I thought in blog-posts. I carried around a little notebook to jot things down that I wanted to post about... both funny and thoughtful things, trivial and important. There were so many things to say that I would forget them if I didn't write them down. And, as of late, I have forgotten I even have a blog. I have forgotten I even liked to write. I have forgotten, in many ways, how to process all these thoughts. I've been dormant again, and I think I'm feeling a thaw.
So, maybe I'm forcing the issue a little bit.
I remember my mom getting out her square-nosed shovel and busting ice out of our gutter, aiding Mother Nature in her annual transition out of winter and into full-on spring. My mom is so great like that. Her own mother called her "Miss Fix-It" because she was always one to take action when she felt like something needed to happen.
And I think this is me right now. I am getting out my shovel and chipping away at the ice that has covered this place inside me. This Me who once had lots to say, and who now only has a desire to have lots to say.
Here's to Travis. Thanks for the food for thought.
He commented on my post yesterday and said, "I figure one blogs when one has something to say. I hope you have lots to say."
This was a very thought-provoking comment for me. Am I just wanting to blog for the sake of blogging or do I actually have something to say?
I'm not sure.
But I have this to say, now.
There have been many things going on in my mind these last few years where I've blogged so little. As I chew on Travis's comment, I can't say what my true motivation is, but I am ready to be heard again. The trick is, am I ready to look at myself and form those thoughts into words? For some reason, that is the true effort here. That is the push.
Words used to spill from me like a fire-hydrant. I thought in blog-posts. I carried around a little notebook to jot things down that I wanted to post about... both funny and thoughtful things, trivial and important. There were so many things to say that I would forget them if I didn't write them down. And, as of late, I have forgotten I even have a blog. I have forgotten I even liked to write. I have forgotten, in many ways, how to process all these thoughts. I've been dormant again, and I think I'm feeling a thaw.
So, maybe I'm forcing the issue a little bit.
I remember my mom getting out her square-nosed shovel and busting ice out of our gutter, aiding Mother Nature in her annual transition out of winter and into full-on spring. My mom is so great like that. Her own mother called her "Miss Fix-It" because she was always one to take action when she felt like something needed to happen.
And I think this is me right now. I am getting out my shovel and chipping away at the ice that has covered this place inside me. This Me who once had lots to say, and who now only has a desire to have lots to say.
Here's to Travis. Thanks for the food for thought.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
Attempt
Shh. Don't tell anyone. I made RESOLUTIONS for this, the lovely 2012, and one of them is to blog. At least 4. Days. Per. Week. (GASP!) I used to do this regularly. Why does this seem so hard?
You've probably forgotten, in my long absence, that I have never been a goal girl. In fact, I sorta cringe at the word. (goal, not girl) But, in my heart of hearts, I have a bigger goal than blogging and I need to "prime the pump", so to speak.
You've probably forgotten, in my long absence, that I have never been a goal girl. In fact, I sorta cringe at the word. (goal, not girl) But, in my heart of hearts, I have a bigger goal than blogging and I need to "prime the pump", so to speak.
So, priming commence.
Happy 2012.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Pics, Cameras and Blogging
Dustin and I got a new camera for Christmas. It's awesome. I haven't had a camera except the one on my Droid phone for about two years now. Guess what that meant? My quantity of picture taking, which left something to be desired when I used to have a camera, went to almost zero. I rarely took pictures. Sad stuff. Thank goodness my mom was better at it than I and so there is some record of my children and, particularly, my baby growing up.
So, now I have a new camera. I've taken almost three hundred pictures in just two weeks. Amazing. I wish that I could say this blog will now be filled with pics, but I'm not making any promises. I'm just going to shoot for some words again. Pics? A possibility I don't dare dream of yet.
So, now I have a new camera. I've taken almost three hundred pictures in just two weeks. Amazing. I wish that I could say this blog will now be filled with pics, but I'm not making any promises. I'm just going to shoot for some words again. Pics? A possibility I don't dare dream of yet.
The end.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Back Together
You'd think I'd be writing about my Christmas adventures (they involve puking and leading a choir... not the best combo...) or perhaps some poignant thought about the close of 2011. But no.
All I really feel like saying is this:
Remember this bit from back in '08?
Well, never mind that.
It's over between James and I.
Hugh and I are officially back together. We've settled our differences and he is my Movie-Boyfreind once again.
*Sigh*
-Clancy
(I know, I know. You've missed me, right? Since I always have such important things to say...)
All I really feel like saying is this:
Remember this bit from back in '08?
Well, never mind that.
It's over between James and I.
Hugh and I are officially back together. We've settled our differences and he is my Movie-Boyfreind once again.
*Sigh*
-Clancy
(I know, I know. You've missed me, right? Since I always have such important things to say...)
Friday, November 11, 2011
Flow of Thought... RANDOM ALERT!
Dustin and I went, a couple weeks ago, to a four day karate course. I thought I might die... it was so hard. My legs have never been so sore in my whole life.
I'm doing karate again, did you know? Did you know, in the first place, that I did karate? When Mac was about 9 months old I started. I practiced until he was three years old and then I stopped until about three months ago. Dustin started this style shortly after I did and he didn't stop. He's a black belt. I'm an orange belt. It's really fun and very difficult and technical. And it makes your legs SO SO sore.
Brynja has recently started talking more... or jabbering more. It's the cutest thing ever.
Pretzel season is upon us.
We refinanced our house and I'm fairly excited that, for the same payment we've been paying, I can now pay off my house 8 years earlier. Flippin' sweet.
Mac is taking ballroom dance. His first performance is next week and he's excited. But I might be more excited. I haven't really seen him dance yet. Today he tried on his costume. I asked him what it looked like and he replied, "You'll see next week!" The stinker wouldn't tell me. And he won't show me his "moves" either. He's excited for us to have the whole experience. He's so cute and grown up. ♥
My mom is healing and getting better. She deals with tiring more easily than she used to, but she's doing quite well considering what she went through.
I wish I could hug my grandma and stay at her house when I go to Salt Lake. I wish I could smell the scent of her, the scent of her home and of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.
Today a thunderhead mood rolled into my heart and I was angry for inexplicable reasons. Then it rolled away almost as fast as it came.
I miss writing. Or, rather, I miss feeling that unquenchable desire to write and create beauty with words. I miss the sated feeling I always got from it. I want to be that girl again.
We, after 7 years of living in our house, FINALLY painted the living room. We also installed new bamboo floors. Loveliness.
I had my eye on a new couch since we finished the basement and took the upstairs couch downstairs. I eyed it and eyed it for about eight months. I actually had the money to buy it, but kept holding off. Then in August I found a couch at a yard sale that's SO awesome! It's from 1966 and I love it. Teal colored and in near perfect shape. And guess how much I paid for it? $10. Yep. I saved myself $600 on the couch and paid for new floors with it instead. Life is grand.
Ella and Rohan have been taking piano lessons. Rohan was a little slower to get excited about it than Ella, but his enthusiasm has been increasing as he learns. Ella took off like a shot from the start. They are both doing so great. Ella started on sharps today and she couldn't stop talking about how excited she was about that fact. Adorable.
Dustin is the best husband ever. Still. In fact, I think he's like fine wine... gets better with age. He turned 38 last month. That's two years from 40. I can't tell you how that trips me out. I always thought passing birthdays would be no big deal, but I'm thinking that I had no clue because I was young and getting older was still awesome back then.
Choir Christmas prep is in full swing. Maria helped me look at my music stash today. She's such an awesome resource and an awesome friend.
We need to expand our karate group. We don't know exactly how, but it needs to happen. Anyone who lives near me want to do karate? Let me just interject (on my own monologue? I think interject might be the wrong word choice...) and say that when I started karate I thought doing karate was lame. My mom was taking it and I went because I seriously needed an outlet... I felt like I was lost in a sea of diapers, baby food and baby talk. My mom said come, so I went. I didn't expect to like it, but to my great surprise, I did. This is not your run-of-the-mill karate style. It's not a style full of HI-YA's! and tension. We work on relaxing our bodies. Can't really explain it, but if you're local, COME try it! You might just like it. And it's super cheap.
I feel a hovering sadness at the outskirts of my awareness. It's not always there, but, like a hummingbird, it zips in and out. I'm not sure what that's about, but I am just noticing it. It's like it just touches on my brain and says, "Hey, I'm here." and then goes away. It's like out of the blue I almost burst into tears for no reason at all and then just as suddenly, I'm totally normal again. I don't get it.
I sit here and wonder at the things going on in the hearts of people... people I love, people I just know a little bit, people I know pretty well, people I don't like. There are things going on in my heart and head all the time that no one but me has any awareness of, like that hummingbird-sadness that flits in and out. Everyone has something like that. Everyone is hurting or fighting some battle in their hearts, and we all just walk around and act fine. I watch my baby Brynja move through the world and she has none of that. If she feels sad, she cries and tells me about it in her jabber-cute way. If she's happy, she shows it with her whole body, galloping circles of joy around the house. If she's mad, she screams and, recently, attempts to throw her fist at something. When does that change? What would the world be like if we just walked around acting out what was going on in our hearts? Expressing it with our whole bodies, like babies do? When do we start holding everything in and stuffing it in our physical shell?
I don't know.
And I still have a problem with dinner. We are still not friends.
I wish I knew my grandpa better. He's still alive and I need to make more of an effort with him. He's an aloof man who is not easy to get to know, but I want to try.
I wish that it could be winter without being so cold. I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for this.
The End.
I'm doing karate again, did you know? Did you know, in the first place, that I did karate? When Mac was about 9 months old I started. I practiced until he was three years old and then I stopped until about three months ago. Dustin started this style shortly after I did and he didn't stop. He's a black belt. I'm an orange belt. It's really fun and very difficult and technical. And it makes your legs SO SO sore.
Brynja has recently started talking more... or jabbering more. It's the cutest thing ever.
Pretzel season is upon us.
We refinanced our house and I'm fairly excited that, for the same payment we've been paying, I can now pay off my house 8 years earlier. Flippin' sweet.
Mac is taking ballroom dance. His first performance is next week and he's excited. But I might be more excited. I haven't really seen him dance yet. Today he tried on his costume. I asked him what it looked like and he replied, "You'll see next week!" The stinker wouldn't tell me. And he won't show me his "moves" either. He's excited for us to have the whole experience. He's so cute and grown up. ♥
My mom is healing and getting better. She deals with tiring more easily than she used to, but she's doing quite well considering what she went through.
I wish I could hug my grandma and stay at her house when I go to Salt Lake. I wish I could smell the scent of her, the scent of her home and of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.
Today a thunderhead mood rolled into my heart and I was angry for inexplicable reasons. Then it rolled away almost as fast as it came.
I miss writing. Or, rather, I miss feeling that unquenchable desire to write and create beauty with words. I miss the sated feeling I always got from it. I want to be that girl again.
We, after 7 years of living in our house, FINALLY painted the living room. We also installed new bamboo floors. Loveliness.
I had my eye on a new couch since we finished the basement and took the upstairs couch downstairs. I eyed it and eyed it for about eight months. I actually had the money to buy it, but kept holding off. Then in August I found a couch at a yard sale that's SO awesome! It's from 1966 and I love it. Teal colored and in near perfect shape. And guess how much I paid for it? $10. Yep. I saved myself $600 on the couch and paid for new floors with it instead. Life is grand.
Ella and Rohan have been taking piano lessons. Rohan was a little slower to get excited about it than Ella, but his enthusiasm has been increasing as he learns. Ella took off like a shot from the start. They are both doing so great. Ella started on sharps today and she couldn't stop talking about how excited she was about that fact. Adorable.
Dustin is the best husband ever. Still. In fact, I think he's like fine wine... gets better with age. He turned 38 last month. That's two years from 40. I can't tell you how that trips me out. I always thought passing birthdays would be no big deal, but I'm thinking that I had no clue because I was young and getting older was still awesome back then.
Choir Christmas prep is in full swing. Maria helped me look at my music stash today. She's such an awesome resource and an awesome friend.
We need to expand our karate group. We don't know exactly how, but it needs to happen. Anyone who lives near me want to do karate? Let me just interject (on my own monologue? I think interject might be the wrong word choice...) and say that when I started karate I thought doing karate was lame. My mom was taking it and I went because I seriously needed an outlet... I felt like I was lost in a sea of diapers, baby food and baby talk. My mom said come, so I went. I didn't expect to like it, but to my great surprise, I did. This is not your run-of-the-mill karate style. It's not a style full of HI-YA's! and tension. We work on relaxing our bodies. Can't really explain it, but if you're local, COME try it! You might just like it. And it's super cheap.
I feel a hovering sadness at the outskirts of my awareness. It's not always there, but, like a hummingbird, it zips in and out. I'm not sure what that's about, but I am just noticing it. It's like it just touches on my brain and says, "Hey, I'm here." and then goes away. It's like out of the blue I almost burst into tears for no reason at all and then just as suddenly, I'm totally normal again. I don't get it.
I sit here and wonder at the things going on in the hearts of people... people I love, people I just know a little bit, people I know pretty well, people I don't like. There are things going on in my heart and head all the time that no one but me has any awareness of, like that hummingbird-sadness that flits in and out. Everyone has something like that. Everyone is hurting or fighting some battle in their hearts, and we all just walk around and act fine. I watch my baby Brynja move through the world and she has none of that. If she feels sad, she cries and tells me about it in her jabber-cute way. If she's happy, she shows it with her whole body, galloping circles of joy around the house. If she's mad, she screams and, recently, attempts to throw her fist at something. When does that change? What would the world be like if we just walked around acting out what was going on in our hearts? Expressing it with our whole bodies, like babies do? When do we start holding everything in and stuffing it in our physical shell?
I don't know.
And I still have a problem with dinner. We are still not friends.
I wish I knew my grandpa better. He's still alive and I need to make more of an effort with him. He's an aloof man who is not easy to get to know, but I want to try.
I wish that it could be winter without being so cold. I'm pretty sure I'm not ready for this.
The End.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Recently in Clancy's Life...
My baby girl, Brynja, is so darling. I marvel at the fact that she is 19 months old. I wish I was better at taking pictures so I could share her charms with the world, but, for now, writing will have to suffice. She has been my latest bloomer in the speech department. Not to say that she's not communicating, because she most certainly is. She has the most precious ways of expressing herself and telling us what she wants. She hums and squeaks and signs, and very recently, has started to open her world even further by trying to use a few more words. I swear that she tried to say "street sweeper" today as she and I giggled at the machine sweeping our leaves from the gutters. She is my pal on these long days with the other kids in school. We have so much fun.
Just today we played with a plastic elephant and a stuffed armadillo. We made them run like horses and I would try to make elephant noises. Brynja thought this was hysterical. She laughed her big, open-mouth laughed, exposing her new molars and her yet-to-be-I-teeth holes. It's the cutest thing. She laughs with gusto and gallops around the house like a joyful little horsey. She brings delight to our home like sunshine warming the sidewalk. I love her so much.
Bedtime or nap time is my favorite. As soon as I turn off her light and settle in the glider next to her bed, she snuggles her little head into my neck or chest and calms herself down. Sometimes I sing her a song, other times I simply rock her and wonder at the love flowing between us. It's like a force of nature that is impossible to resist. Not that I'd want to resist it. I just jump in and bask in the glow of that love. I just want to squeeze her and never let her go. I often feel a sense of loss as I lay her in her bed, the heavy weight of her small body taken from me and put down for her autonomous nap.
I get it now. I really get it.
People used to say to me when my other kids were small, "Oh... treasure this time! It goes so fast. Before you know it, they'll be driving and then off to college!" or something like that. They said it all the time! I'd smile at them through clenched teeth as I heard these words for what felt like the thousandth time. They really meant well, but I just wanted to punch them or tell them to shut up. They didn't know how hard those days were! And they were hard. Mac, in particular, was a challenging child, and I just couldn't wait for each day to end so I could see my little kids asleep, looking angelic and not fighting with each other. (He definitely had his sweet moments too... I don't want to discount those, but I remember the challenging times best, it seems!)
I can't cite the source, or perhaps even the correct quote, but recently I heard something that went like, "Motherhood is full of the longest days and the shortest years."
How true that is! Each day can feel like an eternity, and then you blink and your oldest son, who used to be so full of challenge, is 11 1/2 years old! What? And my Ella is 9 1/2? Huh? My baby Rohan is 6 1/2? How did that happen?
They were right. It really does go fast.
And so, I hold my Brynja a little closer. I ache when I put her down to bed. And most of all I cry for my other babies, Mac, Ella and Rohan. I look at theses big kids and wish so hard that I could hold them as infants just one more time. I cry for that time that is gone from me. If I found a magic lamp today, I'd rub it and wish for one day with each of my kids when they were small.
And so with Brynja, my last baby, I hold her tighter knowing that time will slip through my fingers anyway, but at least I know it this time. I don't think the knowing makes it any easier, just more poignant.
Just today we played with a plastic elephant and a stuffed armadillo. We made them run like horses and I would try to make elephant noises. Brynja thought this was hysterical. She laughed her big, open-mouth laughed, exposing her new molars and her yet-to-be-I-teeth holes. It's the cutest thing. She laughs with gusto and gallops around the house like a joyful little horsey. She brings delight to our home like sunshine warming the sidewalk. I love her so much.
Bedtime or nap time is my favorite. As soon as I turn off her light and settle in the glider next to her bed, she snuggles her little head into my neck or chest and calms herself down. Sometimes I sing her a song, other times I simply rock her and wonder at the love flowing between us. It's like a force of nature that is impossible to resist. Not that I'd want to resist it. I just jump in and bask in the glow of that love. I just want to squeeze her and never let her go. I often feel a sense of loss as I lay her in her bed, the heavy weight of her small body taken from me and put down for her autonomous nap.
I get it now. I really get it.
People used to say to me when my other kids were small, "Oh... treasure this time! It goes so fast. Before you know it, they'll be driving and then off to college!" or something like that. They said it all the time! I'd smile at them through clenched teeth as I heard these words for what felt like the thousandth time. They really meant well, but I just wanted to punch them or tell them to shut up. They didn't know how hard those days were! And they were hard. Mac, in particular, was a challenging child, and I just couldn't wait for each day to end so I could see my little kids asleep, looking angelic and not fighting with each other. (He definitely had his sweet moments too... I don't want to discount those, but I remember the challenging times best, it seems!)
I can't cite the source, or perhaps even the correct quote, but recently I heard something that went like, "Motherhood is full of the longest days and the shortest years."
How true that is! Each day can feel like an eternity, and then you blink and your oldest son, who used to be so full of challenge, is 11 1/2 years old! What? And my Ella is 9 1/2? Huh? My baby Rohan is 6 1/2? How did that happen?
They were right. It really does go fast.
And so, I hold my Brynja a little closer. I ache when I put her down to bed. And most of all I cry for my other babies, Mac, Ella and Rohan. I look at theses big kids and wish so hard that I could hold them as infants just one more time. I cry for that time that is gone from me. If I found a magic lamp today, I'd rub it and wish for one day with each of my kids when they were small.
And so with Brynja, my last baby, I hold her tighter knowing that time will slip through my fingers anyway, but at least I know it this time. I don't think the knowing makes it any easier, just more poignant.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
The Burrowing Cry
I keep sitting here, not sure how to start this, so I guess I'll just start.
In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack." She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again.
I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess. She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.
My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless. You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help. Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water. It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat. My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort. I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing. My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them. I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:
"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."
"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids." I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night". ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."
My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless. He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said). As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax. He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now. She was held by the Power of God.
Even still, the night was agony. My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing. She felt like it would never end. But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end. Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina.
Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep. He asked him if there was a Clinic close by.
"Why?" the Ranger asked.
"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad.
The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock. The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat. He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.
She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what. In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."
Mom was in a drug induced haze after that. She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me. My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo. I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin. Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby. Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop. I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.
My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon. Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...) I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening.
My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love. She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her.
Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back. We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery. This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate. They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year. How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.
As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was. I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered. And she was. She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things. It was rough. More rough than I realized at the time. Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew. But she improved so much on Monday. She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist. Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday. It was an amazing transformation. Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day.
As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion. I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up. I was "puddley". I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired. I also felt like I was made of blown glass. All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch. I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.
My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc. He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home. It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was. As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out. But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.
I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it.
And so, I swallowed it.
I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that. I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.
But I didn't.
And the emotions burrowed. They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body.
Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday? Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might. I've felt like that ever since. I do cry, just a little bit. But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on.
I did get some release yesterday. My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!). In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks. And I started to cry. She hugged me for a long time. She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort. And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet. A new level of settling in. My mom so nearly lost her life. She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay. She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.
My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.
I love you more than words can express, Momma.
In the wee hours of the morning (1:00ish?) on September 23rd, my mom, on a houseboat vacation with my two older siblings in Lake Powell, Utah, woke up to discomfort and a voice telling her, "This is a heart attack, you're having a heart attack." She had already thrown up a couple times before she went to bed (thinking she was just sick but actually was experiencing angina) but, as she woke up more and started to try and rouse my dad and tell him what was going on, she began throwing up again.
I wasn't there so I can only convey bits and pieces without much timeline accuracy, but I know that she continued throwing up many, many times throughout the night... 30 or so was a guess. She had intense chest, arm and back pain and it was hard to breathe.
My dad was terrified and felt rather helpless. You see, they were on this houseboat on a night with just a sliver moon that wouldn't even rise until about 5:30am., no spotlight and a VERY treacherous lake, twenty miles from the closest marina and medical help. Lake Powell is full of unknowns under the water. It can be a dangerous lake to navigate in the daylight, much less the darkest of nights with no light on the boat. My mom relates now that my dad was trembling and he tried to hold her and offer her some sort of comfort. I can only imagine the anguish that they were both experiencing. My mom wrote up a summary of events as she remembered them. I hope she doesn't mind if I put some of that here in my own record of things:
"I was pretty freaked out, panic was rampant for a while. [As time passed,]I got to a point that I saw a really cool mosaic of blues & blue-green looking spots that formed a spiral. It moved ever so gently & beckoned me... I thought with great clarity... "So this is what it's like to die from a heart attack" There was no panic at that point. It was a peaceful, resigned, calm place & feeling."
"I don't know how much time passed but I started feeling & then speaking out loud to Brayt "I CAN'T die on this boat" "I can't do that to these kids, my kids & grandkids." I knew with certainty, at that point, that they would heap some kind of guilt on themselves about not doing something different... [so] I knew that I couldn't die on the houseboat. I asked Brayt to give me a [priesthood] blessing. He obliged & then later he felt like he should go consecrate some oil & do the full ordinance, so he did. Then when he said his blessing he stated: "I bless you that you will survive this night". ...[and] something shifted after that. I was in agony for more than 8 hours and I survived the night. I didn't die on the houseboat."
My dad, in the retelling, says that he had so much fear as he tried to do something but felt so helpless. He gave the first blessing without oil because he forgot to bring it, and later felt commanded by the Spirit do the full ordinance (as mom said). As he gave her the second blessing, he told me that he felt the powers of heaven pour into my mom and felt the fear that gripped him relax. He said it felt that it wasn't up to him now. She was held by the Power of God.
Even still, the night was agony. My mom said she kept looking at the sky, hoping to see some light, some signal of time passing. She felt like it would never end. But, as all hard things do, the night finally did come to an end. Morning came and they got her on the power boat and to the ramp at Bullfrog Marina.
Upon arrival, my dad ran up the ramp and found a Ranger sitting in his Jeep. He asked him if there was a Clinic close by.
"Why?" the Ranger asked.
"Because I think my wife is having a heart attack." replied my Dad.
The Ranger asked where she was and my dad pointed to the power boat bobbing at the dock. The Ranger, who happened to be a Medic, jumped in his Jeep, radioed for an ambulance, drove down the ramp, grabbed his bag and ran to where she was in the boat. He, on the bobbing boat, started an I.V. of something, and then the ambulance was there and they were loading her onto the gurney.
She was taken to the small clinic at Bullfrog and was given some sort of pain meds and who-knows-what. In short order, a life-flight helicopter crew arrived and, in Mom's words, "They were the BEST! Light, good energy, competent to the max & the let me joke with them & they seemed to get it! The pilot came in & asked "How do you feel about a helicopter ride?" Me: "That's probably the best part of this whole thing so far!" Pilot (laughing): "Now that's my kind of patient!" Whoosh..... off to the chopper..."
Mom was in a drug induced haze after that. She remembered snippets of things... being unloaded from the chopper... flashes of the Cardiac Cath-Lab... the Cardiac ICU with no familiar faces around... and then seeing my dad (who had driven the five hours from Lake Powell to Provo, where she was taken).... and then my dad walking in the room again, followed by me. My Dad had called me Friday afternoon at about 1:00 to tell me what was going on and that Mom was in a helicopter on her way to Provo. I called Taylor and Lacy, my siblings, and then Dustin. Dustin could tell I was rather shaken and suggested that I call my friend Rebby. Rebby offered to watch my baby Brynja and pick up my kids from their bus stop. I took her up on the offer and was on the road by about 2:30.
My mom was in the Cardiac ICU from Friday until Sunday afternoon. Sunday they moved her to the regular Cardiac Floor (which was bustling and crowded... and her new room we not-so-lovingly called her "Harry Potter cupboard-under-the-stairs" because it was so small...) I stayed in Provo the whole time and was at the hospital all day, every day until she was released on Tuesday evening.
My dad and I took turns being the information liaison for everyone who was calling to inquire and send their prayers and love. She had many visitors and love and prayers being said for her.
Because she went so long without any medical intervention, she did suffer some damage to her heart, but it is improving and she is working to get her heart function back. We learned after her surgery (where two stents were placed) that the problem was in her lateral anterior descending coronary artery. This is the artery that is also dubbed "the widowmaker" because it has a VERY high mortality rate. They tell us that it was 100% blocked by a blood clot that had developed on the stent they had placed there last year. How my mom survived so long with such a thing and how she is currently doing as remarkably well as she is... TRULY a miracle.
As for my own experience and the title of this post... I had NO idea, in the midst of my own hospital "supportive role" experience, how taxing to my own psyche it was. I thought my mom was doing fairly well on Saturday and Sunday, all things considered. And she was. She was not really eating, though, and battling nausea, chest pain (from Pericarditus, they think, but were never sure...) and drug-effects, among other things. It was rough. More rough than I realized at the time. Monday rolled around and she showed such improvements from the weekend that I had a dawning understanding that she had been worse than I knew. But she improved so much on Monday. She started eating more, had less nausea and started walking more with her cardiac therapist. Then Tuesday she was WAY better, even, than Monday. It was an amazing transformation. Her spirits were higher on Tuesday and we got word that she was most likely going to be released that day.
As I, unconsciously for the most part, started to relax about my mom's condition Monday evening and into Tuesday, I began allowing myself to feel my exhaustion. I felt like I had been a piece of cloth that was spray-starched into rigidity for support and suddenly someone poured water all over me, releasing the starch that was holding me up. I was "puddley". I had permission from the universe to be tired and, boy-oh-boy, was I tired. I also felt like I was made of blown glass. All my emotions were suddenly right at the surface, and I would shatter at a touch. I worked at "keeping it together" to some degree for the rest of the day, but all I wanted to do was cry my eyes out in someone's arms.
My dear husband was at home with the kids these five days and trying to work and juggle schedules, etc. He was anxious for me to come home, so on Tuesday night at about 8:30, I left Provo for my trek home. It was late to be leaving, tired as I was, but I didn't want to stress D out any more than he was. As I was driving, my tears, held together most of the day, were bursting to come out. But to drive safely, I couldn't let them come.
I wanted desperately to stop at a friend's house who was on the way home, but the late hour and other circumstances didn't allow it.
And so, I swallowed it.
I know it was a mixed blessing to be able to do that. I needed to not delay my drive any more since I would be home very late as it was, but I also felt like I really needed to cry.
But I didn't.
And the emotions burrowed. They went subterranean and I can feel them there, like a splinter in my body.
Did you ever watch a movie called The Holiday? Cameron Diaz's character couldn't cry, try as she might. I've felt like that ever since. I do cry, just a little bit. But then those tears just dry up as quickly as they came on.
I did get some release yesterday. My mom came over to my house to help me dip pretzels, of all things to do post-heart attack (bless her, but she saved me!). In my gratitude for her help, I hugged her and said my thanks. And I started to cry. She hugged me for a long time. She said sweet-mommy things to the child in me who needed comfort. And I 'got it' in a way I hadn't yet. A new level of settling in. My mom so nearly lost her life. She was spared by the power and grace of God and her own will that made the choice to stay. She was here with me in my kitchen offering me comfort instead of me desperately seeking the slippery peace I would have been had she merged with the blue/green mosaic that was beckoning her on that turbulent night in Lake Powell.
My tears went underground, but my mother stayed, and I will wait patiently and in gratitude until those tears would like to come forth.
I love you more than words can express, Momma.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!
To my dear Dad! I love you pops. I'm sad that you're away on this day, out in the oil fields where you are working your long long hours, but I'm so proud of you for doing what needs to be done, even if it means being away from family on your birthday.
I love you so much. Thank you for always being a support to me and my family.
Love,
Clancy
I love you so much. Thank you for always being a support to me and my family.
Love,
Clancy
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