I Quit!

Warning: this may be a bit of a pity party (at least until I write myself out of it). Yes, today is one of those days that I just need to vent, to put my feelings out there in the hopes that perhaps someone else somewhere understands how I feel. Have you ever watched the show Wipeout? My kids think it is absolutely hysterical, and I have to admit that slapstick comedy never really gets old for me either. In case you are a cave dweller and have never seen an advertisement for the show, or the show itself, I will fill you in. All you really need to know is that a lot of people get clobbered, pummeled, bounced off of giant red balls, and ultimately end up in the water, beat up and defeated. There; you are now caught up. Today I can really relate to the contestants on Wipeout, though sadly I have arrived at the point of defeat and exhaustion without anywhere near the excitement......no giant red bouncy balls in sight. I have always been a people pleaser. I know that is one of those generic terms that everyone throws around and claims to be. But I truly am. I like to earn my gold stars. I had to stop looking on Facebook because it was making me upset when no one "liked" my status. I have always cared too much what others think of me. I know it is a problem, and I am working through it, mainly because if I don't work through it soon, I am liable to be six feet under the ground where I won't be much use to anyone but the worms. Being a people pleaser is exhausting. I also tend to be extremely tender-hearted. So, basically, I am a walking doormat. Feel free to use me anytime you need. I often feel like I am simply a means to an end to many of my friends. As soon as I become expendable or unnecessary to them, I don't expect to hear from them again. I send people sympathy cards when their dog dies who never even thought twice about condoling with me after my miscarriage (something that, to me was a devastating personal loss). There are maybe a handful of people in my life whom I feel love me as unconditionally as I love them. And perhaps that is normal. And I am so grateful for those people. I hope I express my gratitude often enough. Of course, three of the people I love the most in the entire world are my children. And I expect to be a doormat for them. That's a mother's job. I don't expect them to fully realize or appreciate what I sacrifice for them until they have children of their own some day. Truth be told, the main reason I am in the throws of a "why me?" tantrum (which by the way, is not even a legitimate one- no Ben and Jerry's-although I have snitched four chocolate chip cookies off the counter) is because of my children. It has been one of those days where you question if anything you have tried tirelessly to teach your children has sunk in, or even been heard. My mom took my son and I to his favorite restaurant for lunch. And my sweet boy was apparently taken over by an evil pod person. He was acting like Veruka Salt from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. I actually told him at one point that I was going to send him down the bad egg shoot. I will spare you the details. Let's just say, that my son, whom I know to be a sweet and caring boy, was acting like a spoiled rotten brat. The entire way home I found myself wondering where I have gone wrong as a mother. Have I been too much of a doormat? Have a been too strict? Did I do wrong by my children by not instituting a "naughty mat" as Supernanny commanded all parents to do? I strive to teach my children to be generous, grateful and kind above all else. Today, I saw the exact opposite of that in my son's behavior, and I found myself feeling defeated as a parent.

I suppose all parents have days when they feel this way. In fact, anyone reading this who has teenagers is probably laughing and thinking to themselves, "You just wait". Parenting is the hardest job in the world, no ifs, ands or buts about it. You are literally responsible for molding lives. And, if you one day realize that you are not as good a life molder as you had hoped to be, there's no quitting, or changing majors. No one (save maybe Social Services or the state police) can even "fire" you if you are doing a crappy job as a parent. And, talk about taking your work home with you.....as a stay at home mom, you never leave it! It's a 24-7 job- no lunch breaks, sick days, paid leave....ok- no pay at all. Most nights you don't even get to sleep off the exhaustion (especially when you have a seven month old who is still waking up five times a night).

And, now, here comes the part where I will write myself out of this pity party......let's see if I can truly become the Houdini of words.......drum roll please.........I realize I can't quit being a mother, nor would I want to. It is the hardest thing (times 1,0000) that I've ever had to do, but it is also the best thing I can think of spending my days doing. Among the days when my children are possessed by demons, there are also days of belly laughs and peanut butter kisses, stacks of library books and mac n' cheese. There are "I love you mommy's" and crayon drawings of princesses and dinosaurs. There are days of popcorn, pj's and Disney movies. And there are even those rare shining moments (in which I may or may not give myself a little gold star on a chart in a secret notebook) when my children prove that something I have tried to teach them is sinking in. Being a mother is bittersweet. It breaks your heart and keeps it beating all at the same time. It makes you want to curl up in a hole and hide, but it also gives you a reason to live. Failure or not, I love being a mother. I also love that I am a compassionate person. I love being able to feel for those around me. Perhaps I get clobbered for it when the concern does not seem reciprocal, but I will not become jaded because of it. I will just love those people more. I may have experienced a total wipe out today, but that doesn't mean I won't be right back up on those giant red bouncy balls trying even harder tomorrow. If there were one quality about myself that I cherish, it would be that I am persistent. I don't give up. My favorite quote is by Mother Theresa: "I cannot do great things; only small things with great love." I hope that I will always open my heart to those around me, and try in small ways to make my little corner of the world a better place.

Resolutions Shmesolutions

Two things about the title of this post: First: Try saying it ten times fast.......oh how I wish I were there to witness this. I, being infamously bad at tongue twisters, could only say it twice. Second: I don't really, completely mean it. I am not altogether banishing New Years resolutions from my 2012. I am just banishing my usual method of making far too many to keep. Ben Franklin once wrote down 14 virtues that he had come to decide were the basis of happiness if a person were to attain them. He then kept a daily ledger of all 14 virtues and made an accounting at the end of each day of how he had kept each virtue. Now Ben did say that he felt he had become a better man for doing this than he would have become otherwise. And I don't doubt it. He was a remarkable man who did extraordinary things with his life. However, no offense to Ben, but he had time to sit and daily ponder the 14 virtues of happiness. I happen to have three children under the age of 10, and sometimes by the end of the day all I have energy or time to ponder is what my drug of choice will be to kill the headache that has been coming on all day. Occasionally I have time and energy to think up some inane blog post that innocent readers will later stumble across in the hopes of reading something good. Tonight is one such night. I am sorry that you, dear reader, are now suffering for it. You have read this far though, so why stop now?

I am a list maker. If I need something from the store, it goes on a list. If I think of a project around the house, it goes on a list (oftentimes a "honey do" list- I won't lie). If I think of a good idea for a birthday present for someone who's birthday is months away, it goes on a list. And I realize that I am now beginning to make a list of my lists, so I will stop. As with everything else in my life, my New Years resolutions have always been in the form of a list......oftentimes a categorized, itemized list, which usually ends up being quite a bit longer than Benny's list of 14 virtues. In past years, I have made specific goals for different areas of my life.....I would write down physical goals, intellectual goals, spiritual goals, emotional goals. Sometimes these categories would be broken into categories, each of which included at least 5 goals. Now, any of you who have made and broken resolutions can probably guess about how long mine actually lasted. It was not long. I have learned from shows like "Hoarders" (who ever thought those shows could be educational) that I am a perfectionist. The deal with most hoarders is that they are actually perfectionists. They can't find the perfect spot or the perfect use for anything. So it all just piles up in one useless, nauseating heap. I think I have just enough OCD mixed in with my perfectionistic tendencies to squash the whole hoarding thing, but I am definitely a perfectionist in other areas of my life. If you were to see me on a typical day at home, I would most likely look like I hadn't showered for 2 days and forgot how to brush my hair or put makeup on. This is not because I don't care how I look, it is because I care too much. Because I don't have time to make myself look like Halle Berry, or money to pay for her five person beauty entourage, I often don't even bother trying to look good at all! I think I am making slow but steady progress with my perfectionism. I now, most days, realize that short of having a new face constructed, I am never going to look like Halle Berry, and I at least shower, take five minutes to throw on some makeup, and often even blow dry my hair. I have also made progress in my need for perfection with regards to New Years resolutions. This year, instead of making 40 resolutions and becoming a dead beat one month later when I remember that I am not a hybrid of Martha Stewart and Mother Teresa, I am making exactly one resolution (it actually physically hurts just a little bit). My resolution for 2012 is this: I resolve to spend more of my time engaging in activities which will enrich my own life and the lives of those I care about the most. That's it. Now, it goes without saying (but you know I'm gonna' say it anyway) that this resolution means spending less time engaging in activities that suck time away from the things I truly care about. Some things are going to have to get the ax, and undesirable number 1 is Facebook. Now, don't get me wrong. I have nothing against it. I have just recently come to the realization that I spend valuable time that I could be spending improving myself or making my children feel more loved, mindlessly scrolling through status updates of people who probably don't even know my middle name. It is 10:30, and this is the first time I have been online all day. And what a glorious day it was. I played games with my son. I took my kids to the park. I had a bubble bath. It was a near perfect day. So I guess my resolution for 2012 could also be stated another way: I resolve to create more perfect days this year. I truly believe that perfect days are created, largely by our attitude and by what we choose to spend our precious energy on. I have always hated the cliche "Live like you were dying", although I do find Kris Allen's song about the cliche very catchy. I think it is a morbid and pessimistic message. Of course we are all dying. Every breath we take brings us one breath closer to the pearly gates, whether we are to arrive at them unexpectedly in prime condition, or with white hair and wrinkles after a long journey. We're all headed to the same place (though it may be a little hotter for some when they arrive). Why dwell on this? Why not live like we're alive, with gratitude for the sheer miracle that fact is? Why not live with the attitude that each breath we take is an opportunity to become more alive, more aware of the "miraculous in the common" that surrounds us every day? The Mayan calendar may end on December 21, 2012. Perhaps this will be the end of the world as we know it. But for once in my life, my resolution is not being made in reference to what anyone else says or thinks. And you know what? I've never felt more alive!

Tradition

Admit it; when you hear the word, you automatically see a bunch of men in yarmulkes dancing and singing. It could just be me. But seriously (sort of), I have been contemplating lately just what it is that makes this season of the year so special. If your views of the Christmas season in any way coincide with the views of Ebeneezer Scrooge (pre-three ghostly visitations), or the Grinch (pre-triple heart enlargement), you may want to stop reading now. I get positively giddy around this time of year. Actually, as my husband will tell you with a roll of his eyes, I become giddy about three months before, when I turn on the Christmas tunes and begin my shopping. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. But why? As a practicing Christian, I consider it a wonderful time of year first and foremost because it is the time of year we celebrate the birth of the Savior of the world, and consequently, the birth of Hope. But I have many friends who are not Christian, who anticipate this time of year just as much as I do. I think this is because of tradition. No matter what our personal or religious beliefs, this time of year, for most, is a time of cherished traditions with family and friends. Most of us put up a tree, hang stockings, maybe watch Ralphy shooting his eye out, or Charlie Brown decorating the world's scrawniest Christmas tree. Some of us light a menorah. Many of these traditions are so time-honored, that we may not even know exactly how they first began. There is a comedian who talks about Christmas traditions being invented by a drunk man. Who else would think to cut down a pine tree, bring it in the house and decorate it, or hang socks over the fireplace and fill them with candy? Strange traditions indeed when you really think about them. And yet, these are two traditions that most of us look forward to all year. It also seems that at this time of year, despite the mass chaos that inevitably ensues at shopping malls and department stores nationwide, there is also more kindness, more acceptance, more awareness of those around us. "Peace on earth, good will toward men" seems to resonate within us, and suddenly we aren't quite so irritated by the driver who cuts us off on the highway; we are more patient with the woman in front of us in the check out aisle who has 50 coupons at 9:00 at night. We are more aware of the widow down the road or the 10 year old girl who doesn't have a pair of shoes to wear to church. This is probably my favorite aspect of the Christmas season. It seems to be the time of year when kindness and compassion reign supreme. Like Ebeneezer Scrooge learned to do , I wish we could all learn to truly keep Christmas all year round. I doubt any of us want a pine tree sitting in our living room in the middle of June; but if we could keep the spirit of Christmas; the spirit of thinking of others before our selves; the spirit of giving those around us the benefit of the doubt; how much better this world could be!

Yes, there are many traditions we all share this time of year, which is perhaps what brings us together. We forget our differences and for a short time focus on what we all have in common. But I think it is the personal traditions which we practice individually or with close friends and family that make this holiday season most meaningful to each of us. As with more widely held traditions, some of our family traditions may have fuzzy origins. There are some things that we do, just because they are the things we always do. One of my favorite Christmas Eve traditions is eating dinner with my family. Sounds like a pretty vague tradition, I know, but I will expound. One year ( I don't remember exactly which year), when my family lived in Virginia, something went wrong with Christmas Eve dinner. I don't remember what (these are the fuzzy origins I was referring to). Maybe it burned. Maybe my mom was just too tired to cook. Whatever the reason was, there was no way we were going to eat dinner at home that night. So, we hopped in the old Toyota minivan and drove around the Richmond area looking for anything that was open on Christmas Eve. By the time we finally saw the open light in the Wendy's window, it may as well have been the star that guided the wise men, we were so relieved. We perused the menu. It somehow just didn't seem right to eat a cheeseburger and fries on Christmas Eve. We finally decided on chili and Ceaser side salads. We enjoyed our meal in peace and quiet (as we were the only ones in the restaurant), and returned home to enjoy the rest of our typical Christmas Eve traditions. That is how one of my most cherished traditions began. For years, we returned to Wendy's on Christmas Eve for our chili and Ceaser salad. The first year we celebrated Christmas Eve after moving back to Idaho, we were distressed to discover that Wendy's was closed! We made do that night, and the next year, my mom was prepared, with a recipe for Kentucky Bourbon chili that knocked our socks off (literally- it was a little spicy) and an updated Ceaser salad which included hard-boiled eggs, real bacon bits, and freshly grated Parmesan. Now every year, I still eagerly anticipate our chili and Ceaser salad. Though the quality of the food is admittedly better, and the atmosphere more welcoming than the fluorescent glow of a fast food restaurant at night, I know I would still look forward to it just as much if Wendy's was still our destination of choice. The people I love the most would still be there. And after all, isn't that what makes holidays so special? There is one tradition I am afraid I may never take part in- that is the Christmas Letter. If you enjoy this tradition, more power to you, but it's not for me. So, consider this my Christmas letter- I hope all of you who are reading this find yourselves surrounded by the people you love most this Christmas season as you deck your halls, trim your trees, or eat at your favorite local fast food joint. Merry Christmas to you and yours!

Wrinkles

You know how sometimes you don't look in the mirror too closely; just a quick cursory glance to make sure that everything is still (for the most part) in the right place? Well, a few days ago, with the aid of the new lighting in my bathroom, I really looked at my face, up close. And there they were......two undeniable crevices running from the bottom of my nose to the top of my mouth. I tried holding my face perfectly still and expressionless for a few minutes. I looked again. They were still there. My first real wrinkles. The topic of aging has been on my mind a lot lately. A few days ago, I sat dumbfounded for about 15 minutes after coming to the realization that if Morgan marries and has a baby at the same age I was when I did, I could be a grandmother in 12 years. Forgive me if I have now lost my train of thought......that required another good ten minutes to absorb. Last week, Dirk and I watched The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. It is based on such an intriguing concept. Imagine if you could live your life physically backwards, and could have the strength, stamina and beauty of youth combined with the wisdom that comes with age and experience.

Sometimes I feel that I am living my life backwards in a way. For one thing, I have always thought that perhaps I am an old woman in a young body. My favorite color is purple, I have completely lost my long term (some days short term too) memory, and I drive like a grandma. Oh- I also love old movies and shows like The Golden Girls. I still like to hand write cards and letters, and I am not too adept when it comes to anything technological. The other day I was talking to my best friend, and the phrase "new-fangled devices" actually came out of my mouth. I think I may very well be an 80 year old trapped in a twenty-something body. I also sometimes feel that I am living my life backwards because I have made some major life changes in an order that is less than typical. I was a "child bride" and technically a teen pregnancy in a world where it is now commonly accepted to marry in your thirties and have children in your thirties or forties. I used to bristle at terms like "child bride" and I used to be hurt by the looks of open reproach I received from many when they saw me at the store with my (then) two children. Apparently, I skipped over the period of life in which I was supposed to "find myself". I don't think I ever really lost myself. Of course, it probably doesn't help that I apparently look like I'm nineteen (or so I've been told). My husband has been told that he looks about 35.....this was when he was 27! So people look at us like we are polygamists, or like we are the gold digger and the cradle robber, when really we are only 3 years apart in age. What is age really, but a number? There are some people in this world who will never have the emotional maturity necessary to nurture a loving and successful relationship. And there are definitely people who should never have children. Then there are people like my parents, who married young, and have grown together and have a stronger relationship because of it. I have wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember. It's all I've ever wanted to do really. And I have "found myself" through raising them as I have come to discover unrealized strengths (and weaknesses). I have also realized even more what is important to me. The things that I most want my children to learn and which I strive to teach them are obviously the things that are important to me. I may have missed the stage where I was evidently supposed to learn how much alcohol I could consume before passing out. And I suppose I will have a few less wild stories for the grandkids, but I will be young enough to actually play with my grandkids and to really enjoy them!

As for my wrinkles, I am growing sort of fond of them. For one thing, maybe they will help me to look a little closer to my age. For another, they are laugh lines. What does that say about me, other than "She must smile a lot"? Is that really such a bad thing? The number indicating my age may be alarmingly small to some. But just think.....in my relatively short time on this earth, I have laughed and smiled enough to leave a permanent manifestation of joy on my face! In a world where 20-year olds are getting Botox, I couldn't be prouder of my wrinkles. C.S. Lewis perhaps said it best; "Why shouldn't we have wrinkles? Honorable insignia of our service in this warfare." He also said, "When I became a man, I put away childish things, including the fear of being childish." I like to imagine myself as an old woman, surrounded by my grandchildren, possibly great-grandchildren, reading to them the favorite books of my childhood, and enjoying the stories just as much as I ever did as a little girl. What is age, but a number?

Tonsils

First of all.....does anyone know exactly what the function of tonsils is? Or appendixes for that matter. Gall bladders?......It seems like these things must be a part of us for some reason. I'm just not sure what that reason is! They can all apparently be removed with no future ramifications to our general health. So, why do we have them? The only answer that I can come up with is so doctors can make a living. Before I digress into a major conspiracy theory involving the entire health care field, I will get to the point. My sweet 4- year old boy had his (apparently useless) tonsils as well as his (equally as useless) adenoids removed last Wednesday. My Hyrum is a tiny boy and his tonsils and adenoids were huge. This caused him to suffer from sleep apnea. Every doctor/dentist I have ever taken him to has remarked on the size of his tonsils. After much consideration, Dirk and I decided it was time for them to come out. Early Wednesday morning (5:30 to be exact), I roused Hyrum and carried him to the van in his footsie jammies. The doctor said he could bring along one toy, so Buzz Lightyear came along for the ride. We arrived at the hospital by 6:00 and followed the blue line on the floor that led to the surgery floor. Now, before I continue this story, you must understand one thing: I have a VERY hard time seeing my children in pain. Once when Morgan was a baby, I cut the tip of her finger while clipping her fingernails. I called my mom in hysterics and it took her a good half hour to calm me down. I don't like seeing my babies in pain! So, needless to say, as we walked past more and more signs with words like surgery, recovery, O.R., I was a nervous wreck! But, I tried to remain composed and calm for Hyrum's sake. To him, this was still just an early morning adventure. We finally reached the desk of the surgery floor, after what seemed like one of the longest walks ever, and checked in. We were promptly led to a waiting room, where I was handed a pair of hospital pajamas that were at least 10 sizes too big for my tiny boy. I helped him into his over sized jammies, and then we waited....and waited....and waited. Why they make you drag a 4-year old into the hospital at the crack of dawn, two hours before he is scheduled for his procedure, I will never fully understand. Thank goodness for Nick Jr.! We lay on the oh so comfortable hospital bed and watched Little Einsteins. Hyrum was heroically brave. At that moment in time, he looked so tiny and helpless to me , and yet, he sat and waited patiently, not fully knowing what he was about to go through. I recalled one other time when he had looked just as tiny and helpless, and similar knots had wrenched my stomach. It was three years ago. I took him in to get tubes put in his ears. For that surgery, he wore a hospital gown. His hair had been cut a few days before, and with his short hair and gown, he looked like a leukemia patient. The moment they took his tiny body out of my arms and carried him away from me toward a room full of sterile metal and glaring lights, it took everything within me not to follow them.

Through both of these experiences I have developed a deep sense of gratitude for my childrens' overall health. And I have also developed a new sense of awe and admiration for the parents of terminally ill children. I have friends who watched their daughter die of leukemia. They fought for two agonizing years before they selflessly and silently sent their prayers up to heaven as she passed to a place of no more pain. I don't know exactly what they went through for those two years of watching their precious child suffer. But, this experience has given me enough of an idea of what it may have been like, that I hope I never have to find out. I imagine there wasn't much sleep. I imagine they must have sat by her bedside near the end and cherished each breath, knowing it may be the last they would hear her take. I imagine that every single day for two years, they desperately wished there was anything they could do to take away her pain.....that they could suffer it for her. I imagine they put on a smile every day as they read her her favorite stories, and tried as best as they could to make her life feel as normal as possible, when each day, a major piece of their lives was vanishing slowly. This is only what I imagine. And I am so grateful to know that my boy will very soon be out of pain, and will hopefully be healthier for having had this operation. And, as I mentioned before, I am even more awestruck by the silent heroes among us who fight every day on behalf of the tiniest soldiers who are too weak to fight for themselves.

Mompetition

Yes, it is a cheesy name for this post, but it's late, and all I really want to be doing is eating cold cereal and watching tv in my jammies, so I'm going with it. I guess that makes me a "real" writer.....I write even when I don't really want to. Tangent over- here's the beef: Why, as mothers, can't we all just get along? We spend so much time telling our kids to play nice, and yet we often don't set a good example of this. Case in point: Two of my babies have been formula fed. Due to very personal reasons, breastfeeding does not work out so well for me, and well, my babies need to eat something, so they get formula. You would not believe (unless you have been one of the offenders, in which case, you may want to stop reading my blog) the looks of open disaproval I have received from other moms. After some of the hateful looks/head shakes/open mouthed gapes (only slightly exaggerating here) I have gotten, I have expected child protective services (or at very least a representative from La Leche League) to roll up to my front door at any moment. All because I have committed the unspeakable act of giving my baby a bottle.

I in no way claim to be the best mother in the world. I dropped out of the mompetition long ago. I found I just couldn't keep up with the homemade bread, scrapbooky, halo wearing moms a while ago. The few times I have felt the need to make bread, it has ended up serving as a better doorstop than as part of a well balanced meal. My idea of a scrapbook is a notebook filled with random quotes and design ideas I cut out of magazines (and I use Scotch tape to adhere them to the pages). And the halo has fallen off every time I reach up to pull my hair out. It's too exhausting trying to keep up with the super moms. So, I sit back and quietly admire their work.....kind of like when you see a magnificent painting in a museum. You know there is no way you could ever create something that beautiful, but you can understand and appreciate just how beautiful it is. I'm not saying I think that I am a bad mother. I love my children fiercely. I would walk through fire for them. I would loose sleep for them, forget to eat my own meals because I am too busy preparing theirs', forget to shower or comb my hair.....in fact, I have done all of these things in the name of motherly love(save the walking through fire thing- might not be typing this if I had tried that one). And I guess that is just my point. From one mother to the next, why can't we, first of all admit that being a mother is the most screaming into a pillow, banging your head against a wall, pulling your hair out, hardest thing we've ever done (or maybe it's just me). And why can't we all just admit that our kids aren't always perfect, and that sometimes we let them eat a cookie that fell on the floor (sometimes we eat it) or heat up a frozen pizza for dinner, because we just didn't have it in us to make that five course meal tonight? Instead, we spend all of our time trying to look perfect.

Why can't we step back and realize that we all love our children, and all we want for them is to be happy? Wouldn't it be setting a much better example for our children to show them that, aside from being able to clean the house, run a 5K, and make the most delicious and most health conscious meal this side of the Mississippi (where food is tastier, but much less health conscious, as it is all deep fried)all in the same day, that we can also have compassion for those around us, that we can agree to disagree about breast vs. bottle, clean vs. cluttered, halo vs. straight jacket.....that we can be united in trying to help one another raise a generation of compassionate, understanding individuals who can follow our lead, work together and try to improve this crazy world we're living in? That was a lengthy question- short version: Can't we all just get along? Let's start a mom petition on the mompetition (wow- my level of cheese amazes even myself at times) and start trying to uplift one another. Let's teach our kids by example how to live the old adage, "It's nice to be important, but it's more important to be nice."

Runaways

Last Saturday began with a plan. The plan was for our little family to drive up to Palisades reservoir and admire the beauty of the changing leaves. On the way there, we were going to listen to the morning session of the General Conference of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints (a general meeting of the church held bi-annually in Salt Lake and broadcast throughout the world). We would stop in Swan Valley for lunch, head up the road a little further to the dam, where we would skip rocks in the river (which actually amounts to Morgan and Hyrum thrusting the largest rocks they can find into the river and scaring away all of the fish for the fishermen upstream). Then we would turn around, stop at the Rainy Creek convenience store for some square (yes, square) ice cream, and drive home listening to the afternoon session of Conference. This was the plan. I must also mention that the plan involved a peaceful, rather quiet drive, during which we could ponder and reflect on the messages being shared, and the beauties of nature around us. This point of the plan was foiled by one very stubborn 4 month old who did NOT want to be in his car seat. The screaming stopped about halfway to our original destination......just about the time that the radio signal got lost and we could no longer hear Conference. We stopped at the Angus Cafe. If that name alone isn't enough of a description for you, I will expound. It is the kind of place where the locals hang out......now keep in mind that the locals of Swan Valley live in the mountains because they don't like to conform to the general rules of society. It was fairly apparent to me that none of them had come down to buy new clothing in a few decades. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing......It was almost like visiting a foreign country. And do they know how to make a BLT!! We finished our lunch and took off in our minivan, which looked alien thronged by pickups, SUVs and motorcycles. (I think if we hadn't left by our own accord, we may have been thrown out soon-minivans are for sissies). Next, it was off to the dam. We stood on the bank in the forty mile an hour wind as the kids hoisted boulders into the water. Well, if the people at the Angus didn't take us out, I think the fishermen at the dam may have had a good mind to. After more than a few disapproving looks, we hopped back in our sissy-mobile. The next part of the plan was to turn around and drive home. It was nearly 2:00; the time that the afternoon session of General Conference would begin. As we were pulling away from the dam, Dirk had a suggestion......we were so close to Jackson, WY.....why not just drive a ways further up the road and see it. The kids had never been there. By nature, I am not always a very spontaneous person, but something about the change of seasons that lingered in the air inspired me. Ryan was full, and looking pretty sleepy. We decided to go for it. We told the kids we were going to "Cowboy Town" (which Jackson is.....if you are a cowboy worth multi-millions). Ryan slept, and the Tangled soundtrack kept Morgan and Hyrum thoroughly entertained.

As we weaved through winding canyons of brilliant fall foliage, I thought of something my dad said once. It was a few years ago, and for some reason, just our little immediate family was in my parents' Montero. I can't remember where we were driving, but I remember my dad remarking on how long it had been since just the five of us were together, and that he wished he could just keep on driving. Suddenly, I wanted nothing more than to turn off my cell phone, not tell a soul where we were going, and just keep driving........away from house work, yard work, phone calls, meetings.......away from the thousand daily tasks that divert our focus from one another. And we did keep driving......all the way to Cowboy Town. It was overcast, with the clouds promising rain at any moment. Everything seemed so still and unhurried. We found a little ice cream shop (where I enjoyed THE BEST Belgian chocolate ice cream in the world). We took our confections to the town square, found a bench and sat. We just sat. At least Dirk and I did. Hyrum could not pull himself from the antler arches, and he kept speculating on just how many elk must have been killed for their construction. Morgan collected yellow leaves. Ryan slept. And Dirk and I just sat and soaked it all in. It almost seemed to play out in slow motion.....Morgan with her youthful buoyancy twirling in the chill fall air, Hyrum, in his boyishness trying to pull antlers off of the arch, and Ryan, with his little cherub face, asleep in his stroller.

I suppose that is what we had been missing.....the chance to just sit and behold the wonder that our children are. Somehow, a few hours down the road had brought us much further than that. For a few hours, we were in a world where all we existed to do was to be with our family and soak in the beauties around us, without a care in the world. So, we may have begun the day with a plan, but instead we ran away to Cowboy Town. It was a day that will play back in my mind as one of the fondest we've ever spent as a family. I can't wait until our next "runaway day".