It's not nice to kiss elves.

I took Jane to Primary Children's last week to meet with a dermatologist about her birthmark. We killed time by reading--Mom always brings a book to the doctor's office, so Jane wanted to also.

There came a point when the book wasn't quite interesting enough, so Jane told me her own story. I was impressed, so I wrote it down so I could share.

From Jane...

"Once a long time ago there was a princess named Snow White Rose. She was lost in the forest and didn't know her way home. She had to run because three elves were trying to kill her. She hid in a house and covered her face with blankets. The three elves sneaked in and pulled the covers down and they saw  Snow White Rose! But then in 12 seconds the prince came and saved Snow White Rose, then the prince kissed her. The princess, not the elves. It's not nice to kiss elves."

And in case you are wondering, the doctor did say that it would be possible to at least decrease the size of Jane's birthmark, even if it can't be removed entirely just yet. We're trying a new medication that has recently been shown to help reduce this type of hemangioma while we wait for word from the insurance company on whether or not they will authorize the laser treatments. We'll keep you posted if anything interesting happens.

In Case of Emergency

Chris and I have been working on re-evaluating our financial situation and setting goals that will be most advantageous to our family in the coming years. Not the most fun to post about, but I will say that it feels really good to know that we'll be done with student loans long before the estimated 10 years and that we'll be able to still have fun along the way. (Moab, we're coming!)

Ironically, one of our goals required spending over $5,000 in one shot--and not on loans. But, if we find ourselves in a state of emergency, we at least won't go hungry.

We purchased a family supply of food storage from Daily Bread. The food is freeze-dried, requiring only water to reconstitute. It has a 30-year shelf life and, possibly more importantly, it actually tastes really good. That's good when it comes to not letting my kids starve.

And, I'd like to note, picking up said food storage comprised our Valentine's Day holiday celebrations. Amy took Ben to work with her and I dropped the girls off (we even had an extra one) at Liz's house--Thanks again!!--while I went to pick up the food since it wouldn't fit in the van with all the car seats. Lucky me, I happened to drive past Chris's work and when I called to say hello, he decided to come with me. Yay! Spontaneous date!

(You know you don't get a lot of alone time when picking up food storage at a warehouse, unloading it at home, and driving back to work is considered a date.)

A moment to brag: I carried all those boxes downstairs myself. They weigh 20-30 pounds each, and there are 14 boxes. That was at least 28 individual trips on the stairs. It certainly covered my workout for the day.

In other news, Ben can sit up now. Life is much more entertaining when your head is more than five inches off the floor.

This is Madisyn. I watch her now Monday through Friday.

My goodness, she is the easiest child I have ever babysat. Often a lot easier than my own, even. Jane and Megan have fully adopted her. She blends right in--except for that adorably curly hair. I always wished I had curly hair instead of boring old straight hair. Sigh.

And...I had this picture on my camera from an Elders' Quorum game night. Have a good laugh. You're welcome.

P.S. Happy Birthday to Sarah!

Pause before Part III: In which I reflect and ask a question

I have received quite the response to my first two posts about depression. Again, I thank you all for your kind words and caring concern for me and my family. It is greatly appreciated. I know that I have not personally responded to many of you who have sent me private messages and emails. Please know that I have read them all (several times!) and I feel for you. I do hope to write personal responses eventually, but I’ve learned to not expect too much out of myself…so please don’t be hurt if you haven’t heard back from me.

And let me again reiterate that I am doing well now. I had several phone calls after my last post from friends concerned that I am still very much in the middle of the worst—that’s just not the case. No, I am not all better, and yes, I still have bad days, but for the most part, I am managing quite well and continue to move on past the worst of it. Perhaps even more importantly, I know now how to recognize when I need help and I will ask for it. So no worries. Please. J

Chris says that I repeat myself often if there is something that’s on my mind a lot. (Well, he doesn’t say that so much as “You already told me that.”) I apologize in advance if I write something to this same effect every time I post another part of my story. Ha.

I’ve been considering for a while now (before I wrote Part II) what order I want to tell my story in. There are so many different pieces that I feel deserve sincere attention. I also find a significant amount of healing in writing those pieces, though it can be very difficult for me.  My debate comes in what order to post things. I want it to make sense, but then I have the whole picture in my head (since I lived through it) and I have a hard time knowing what will make sense to those who haven’t heard any of it.

Basically, it comes down to a decision that I’ve made to write a book instead of just a string of blog posts. That way, I can elaborate as much as I choose without necessarily posting it on the internet, and I can rearrange chapters however I choose once they are all written. No real thought of publishing or anything, I just needed a structure that makes real sense to me in which to write.

If you haven’t picked up on it, writing this story has become very, very important to me.

Having already posted two parts, I know that there are many people who want and even need to hear my story. I am absolutely willing to share. I just don’t know how to go about it in a way that will be understandable to those of you out there who do still want to read, and yet still be useful for me in writing it.

That’s kind of vague—that’s what happens when you get stuck inside my head.

My question, then, is what do you want to know? Without already knowing the details, what parts of the story do you wonder about? What might be helpful for you, if that’s what you’re going for in reading?

I really am interested in getting feedback on this one. I fully intend to write a book one way or the other, but as far as blogging, I’d like to have a little help in choosing a direction. Please leave a comment, or send me a message.

And Britta, I’m waiting and pins and needles for that email!

Like Mother, Like Daughter

It is a long-established fact that I am a dreamer. Not a world peace kind of dreamer, a last night I walked to Jupiter kind of dreamer. In high school, I had a group of friends who would spend their entire lunch hour trying to interpret my dreams using a dream dictionary I had been gifted.

For curiosity's sake, I looked up possible interpretations of a few of my recent dreams using the site www.dreammoods.com.

Dream 1: Lion Wrestling

"To see a lion in your dreams symbolizes great strength, courage, aggression, and power. You will overcome some of your emotional difficulties."

Well, that would be nice. Alternately...

"To dream that you are attacked by a lion suggests that a force may be driving you to self-destruction."

Yeah, that sounds closer.


Dream 2: Navigating a Maze (specifically a maze of office cubicles)


"To dream that you are in a maze denotes that you need to deal with a waking task on a more direct level. You are making a situation harder than it really is. Alternatively, the maze symbolizes life's twists and turns. It represents indecision, confusion, missteps, feeling lost or being misled."

Now, that one might have some measure of truth to it. But how about this?

"To dream of a work office indicates that you cannot seem to leave your work at the office. You are overworked."

Umm...I don't have a job.


Dream 3: Playing trumpets with Denzel Washington

"To see or hear a trumpet signifies some sort of warning. It may be your subconcious trying to get your attention."

"To see a celebrity in your dreams represents your beliefs and understanding about him or hear. Consider what the celebrity is famous or known for and how you relate to that quality."

So, my subconscious is trying to warn me that I might soon turn into a wealthy black man?

OR Chris and I were talking about when he used to play the trumpet, and I had recently watched Much Ado About Nothing in which Mr. Washington portrays Don Pedro. That seems more like it, don't you think?


Dream 4: Transformation

It would appear that this particular character trait--vivid and frequent dreaming--has been passed on to at least one of my children. Or at least the one with an extensive enough vocabulary to vocalize it.

Jane (you guessed that, right?) came knocking on our bedroom door in the middle of the night to inform me that she had had a bad dream. In her own words:

"I was a grown-up and I was in the car with my friends and suddenly we all turned into animals. Animals! Remember, like Kuzco. I turned into a llama."

Interpretation...

"To see a llama in your dreams represents deep trust, strength, and endurance. It may also mean that you are worrying too much and carrying too many problems."

It may also mean that you watch Emperor's New Groove a little too often.

P.S. Jess, I totally thought of you.

Part II: In which I run away from home

Click here forPart I

Before I continue my story, I would like to note that I have Chris’s full support and encouragement in writing down and publishing my story for so many people to read. It is a very personal story that goes far beyond myself alone, with many details that greatly affect our family life—our home, our children, and especially the relationship between Chris and myself. I would not write this if he was uncomfortable about it in any way.

Love you, Christopher.

It probably goes without saying, but I would also like to mention that this story is mine. I know that many people have struggled with depression, postpartum depression, and trauma—even if they didn’t know it at the time. Many of the details will sound familiar. I don’t proclaim to know all there is to know about PPD or PTSD, however. I have no college degree or professional training to give me any kind of authority on the subject. This is not the writing of an expert. Please don’t take it as such. It’s just my story.

In my experience, there are two very difficult aspects of dealing with PPD:

1. How you feel

2. What you think about how you feel

Honestly, it’s a toss-up on which has actually been harder to work through for me.

How I felt…

This is one of the harder things for me to write about. Not necessarily because I have a hard time describing the feelings, but more to the point, I have a hard time remembering the feelings. I was so far down, I did not have a clear perspective of myself or anything going on around me. This is one part of the story that Chris was more aware of than me, I think.

Looking back now, I know how bad it really was. I managed to get up every day, but I only got dressed because I didn’t want to walk around in my underwear all day. I only showered every once in a while—it didn’t matter to me because I never left the house. 95% of my day was spent sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the computer or mindlessly watching PBS with the kids. Hour upon hour upon hour, I never moved more than a few feet—from one end of the couch to the other and back. Every few hours, I might make it as far as the kitchen or bathroom. Maybe.

My mind was completely numb. I had moments of lucidity in which I realized how unhappy I felt and how out of control of my life I was, but for the most part, I just didn’t even notice. Sometimes I cried, sometimes I was really angry, but when I could manage it, I didn’t think or feel anything. I just existed—it was too hard to do anything else.

This time was obviously hardest on Chris and the kids. My poor kids! Jane was essentially responsible for feeding her and Megan all day. They lived on bread or toast, goldfish crackers, and whatever fruit Megan managed to dig out of the drawers of the fridge. On good days, I would microwave some chicken nuggets or corn dogs. On bad days, I have no idea what they ate.

There finally came a point—I have no idea when, really—that I could no longer stand being in my house. I would suddenly have an intense and insatiable need to be gone. With no warning, I would fly into a fury of packing, loading up a diaper bag, making a bottle, finding shoes and coats. Within moments, my kids and I would all be loaded in the van and we would drive away.

It’s not that I had anywhere to go. I just drove. No one could get into any trouble if they were securely buckled into the five-point harnesses of the car seats. If I turned the radio up loud enough I couldn’t hear them talking to me. And, if I was lucky, they would all fall asleep anyway.

Interstate 215 through the Salt Lake Valley is a wonderful thing. I could drive and drive and drive without ever getting more than 10 or 15 miles away from home. I once detoured to Park City, and another time we actually made it as far as Logan. In four months, I single-handedly put over 1,000 miles on my van having only left the valley twice. That car was my sanctuary when I had no escape.

This could only go on so long, though. There were other, much darker and stronger, emotions at work. I refer, of course, to the trauma. This is not that post, however; those details must wait still. But suffice now to say that there came a day when I could no longer guarantee the safety of my children when left solely in my care.

Do you have any idea how terrifying such a realization is? The honest acknowledgment that your children, your own children, would be better cared for by someone else? That they truly are not safe with their mother?

Enter Amy.

10 Year Anniversary

On February 10, 2002, I finished reading The Book of Mormon for the first time on my own.

It was a rather significant day--those of you in Marysville, Washington at that time may remember that to be the day that the Marysville 3rd Ward was dissolved and combined with the 5th Ward.

As you might guess, this was not a terribly exciting thing for those of us in the 3rd Ward. It was kind of an in-your-face "You're not good enough to be a ward anymore" moment. There was a lot of anger and anxiety that day that I can clearly recall. I was 16 at the time.

I read the last few chapters of Moroni only hours before we went to the meeting where this change was announced. Because of the Spirit that came to me from reading then, I managed to keep myself out of much of the emotion involved in changing the wards. I knew, beyond a doubt, that the Church and the gospel were much larger than what building you happened to meet in and what number was listed at the top of the Sacrament Meeting bulletin. The wards are only a tool to facilitate members in growing closer to the Savior and in caring for families and those in need. Testimony that is based on doctrine and comes through personal revelation cannot be shaken by shifting ward boundaries.

It was a powerful lesson my teenage self learned that day. Ever since, I have had a strong connection to the Book of Mormon and its standard for containing the full and complete Gospel of Jesus Christ.

On February 10, 2012--today--I finished reading The Book of Mormon again, having it read it enough times in the last ten years that I've lost count. My testimony of that book has never wavered, and every time I read, I find new insights and delicious words that strengthen my soul. In honor of this anniversary today, I want to share a few of my favorite verses.

* * * * *

The Book of Mormon gives clarity to principles taught in the Bible. 1 Corinthians 10:13 states,

"There hath no temptation taken you but such as which is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it."

This is a wonderful promised from God, proving that we will be given all the help and tools will need to succeed in this mortal life. However, I have occasionally heard this verse used almost as an excuse or catch-all for giving in--something to the effect of not needing to try too hard because we won't ever be faced with temptations or decisions that are that hard to bear.

In the Book of Mormon, we can find clarification on that idea in Alma 13:28.

"But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit..."

We have to do our part--humble ourselves and call on God--in order to receive that promise of strength. Once we have done as much as we can ourselves, God will take over the rest.

* * * * *

Particularly in the last six months, many verses have stood out to me as reminders that God truly is in control, like Mormon 5:23,

"Know ye not that ye are in the hands of God? Know ye not that he hath all power, and at his great command the earth shall be rolled together as a scroll?"

and other verses that show how much God loves us, like 3 Nephi 17:7.

"Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy." (bold added)

The most powerful verses, though, are the ones that seem to be speaking directly to me. I first came across this verse, that seemed as though I could have written it myself, for it so very much sounded exactly how I felt in dealing with depression and especially trauma--2 Nephi 4:26,

"O then, if I have seen so great things, if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?"

Why, oh, why.

Peace comes only a few short verses later, if you'll let it--2 Nephi 4:30,

"Rejoice, O my heart, and cry unto the Lord, and say: O Lord, I will praise thee forever; yea, my sould will rejoice in thee, my God, and the rock of my salvation."

If you have a copy of the Book of Mormon, I strongly encourage you to read the rest of that chapter, 2 Nephi 4. If you do not have a copy of the Book of Mormon and would like one, call me!

Karmic Siblings

Picture this...

Megan
holding the ribbon bookmark of a hardbound book
spinning and twirling all around the room

Jane
getting too close

hello, second black eye

recovery consists of pillow, blanket, cold rag, and baby brother

Picture this...

not an hour later
Jane
in the bathroom

Megan
trying to intrude

Jane
slamming the door

Megan
smashed and bleeding finger

recovery consists of pillow, blanket, cold rag, and bandaid

leave it to sisters to keep the universe in balance