Twenty Years

 Twenty years ago today, I married my best friend.

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

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

Rose-colored glasses and all that.

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

Not because it was a romantic first meeting.

Or because anything truly earth-shattering happened.

Quite the opposite. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

So. Twenty years later. Where are we?

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Anniversary

ADHD

 Recently, I was diagnosed with ADHD. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I took my first pill. Adderall.

And suddenly...

Life was easy.

Things were easy.

Doing was easy.

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

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

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

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

Life was untenable. 

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

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

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

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

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

Remember the time...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Remember, Remember

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why You Should Never Threaten to Call CPS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, back to the title of my post.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She Lives! Ish!

Well my friends, the inevitable has happened again.

I'm pregnant.

And on bed rest.

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

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

I have issues.

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe not.  We'll see.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy Mother's Day

Motherhood is hard.

Freaking hard.

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

This is sort of what that looks like.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Motherhood is not grand.  It's not perfect. 

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

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

So many mistakes.

And so, so much love.

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

 

Mindfulness VS. Anxiety

This was a fantastic discussion.

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

I have my own personal experiences in this area.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why didn't I think of that?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My Chloe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turn That Frown Upside Down

(That post title is way too perky.)

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

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

My kids: total rag-a-muffins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Today, I'm going to:

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

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

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

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