Happy Birthday to Myself

Last week I turned 25, a quarter of a century! I love birthdays, and though I'm march ever onward toward the dreaded 30, this year was no exception. It's funny how aging works, I don't feel that old, but I look at 20-year-olds, and I definitely feel older than them.

I don't think Olivia quite got into the celebration. The hat started to bother her after a while, and she wasn't able to eat any of the delicious birthday cupcakes. Ah well, hopefully she'll understand it a little better by the time her own birthday rolls around next September.

This year, we went on a hike up Millcreek Canyon to Dog Lake with the whole family. The five of us trekked through the gorgeous yellow-leaved aspens, though Olivia slept the whole time strapped to Bob's chest. It was pleasant to reach the top and enjoy what will most likely be the last dog swimming session of the year.

Now there's snow on the ground, and the leaves are mostly fallen from the trees. So long beautiful autumn, and so long another lovely birthday for me!

Nothing Much Here

Bob and the dogs on a walk.

I don't know what I want to say tonight. My baby has zits and it's raining outside.

It's been a lazy afternoon. Olivia has better things to do than sleep. She's actually surprisingly alert for blowing through her traditional 4-hour nap. So we've read lots of books and I've watched lots of Hulu as I've tried to soothe her into drowsiness.

She's smiling a lot now, but mostly not at people. She enjoys lights and fans and her butterfly rattle. She keeps growing longer and longer, though not plumping up much despite her voracious appetite.

I guess I still don't have anything else to say, but here we are.

Autumn is a Second Spring When Every Leaf is a Flower

Olivia is getting ready for the cooler weather by donning her favorite beanie!

I love the fall; it's the best season. Autumn smells of cinnamon and pumpkin and freshly sharpened pencils and crisp coolness. Autumn is full of incredible colors, greens and yellows and reds and oranges. Autumn is when the coolest people are born (e.g. Olivia, me).

This September just flew by, probably because of the whole having-a-newborn thing, and I feel like I need to really take advantage of the fall before it's gone in a flurry of snowflakes. It's Olivia's first Fall, and I feel like she needs to enjoy it, though I'm not sure how to facilitate that when she can't hold her head up on her own yet. Perhaps we'll go for a Fall drive next week.

I really want her to enjoy all of the things that I love. I read her books every day, hoping she'll pick up my love of reading. (Speaking of that, having a newborn is great for reading, I'm blowing through lots of books during feedings and late night rockings!) I play and sing for her music that I love. Under close supervision, we play with the dogs. We go on walks outside, drives to beautiful places, and she's even been on a couple of hikes. I hope that when she grows up, we'll be able to enjoy some amazing things together, while still allowing her to be her own person.

Well, I'm off for now, I guess I should go make an apple pie or something!

A Tender Look Which Becomes a Habit

Maggie and Olivia (and Butterfly Rattle) Wish You a Good Day.

Back in June, we got a phone call from our case worker. A prospective birth couple wanted to meet us, and we went to what I can only describe as the most intense job interview ever. We found out a few days later that they had chosen us, and that we were going to be parents to a (presumably) beautiful baby girl. Olivia's birth parents are great people that we loved getting to know.

I have a hard time describing our relationship to Olivia's birth parents, it seems so unique. We became acquainted in such an intensely personal way in a very brief time period. I think of them as closer than friends, more like family. And from the very beginning, for merely considering us as potential parents of the incredible baby they were placing for adoption, we loved them. Now that she is born, I can see we won't ever have the same sort of relationship, but I will cherish the memories that we have and I can't wait to tell Olivia one day about the beautiful path she took to us and the wonderful people that made it possible.

It's hard not to see the hand of God in a scenario like ours. Olivia is our baby, she is meant to be in our family. These truths have been testified to us over and over again in incredibly beautiful ways. We are so lucky. And Olivia is so lucky, she is loved by so many people!

Night Is a World Lit By Itself

I've been spending more time up in the middle of the night lately. I used to love that time when the world was sleeping and I was up reading or writing or taking melancholy self-portraits. Then I grew to loathe the hours after midnight and before the dawn, if I was up it meant sleep-deprivation the next day. The classes would be hard to sit through or I would need an extra jolt of caffeine to stay alert during the monotonous commute. I became a crepuscular being, enjoying the dusk and dawn the most. I loved driving eastward to work as the sun slowly creeped over the Wasatch range, violent colors of the day's birth streaking the sky.

Now I've come to love the middle of the night once more. I have nowhere to be at 7 am, I can nap if I want to. At first Olivia loved being awake then, staring and grasping. Now she just likes to chug her bottle in peace while I gently rock her and read. The wind often blows and I sit in comfortable silence and think about the turn my life has suddenly taken.

Olivia and I sent Bob back to work today, he was at the end of his paternity leave. It's just the four of us now, and everyone seems to be napping by me. I think they're on to something, the middle of the night is so much more interesting than the middle of the afternoon.

(By four of us I mean me, Olivia, and the dogs Maggie and Sammi.)

Announcement!

This weekend, a miracle occurred. Olivia Jocelyn Fawson was born, and a few days later she came to live with us. She came from a loving and beautiful pair of birth parents, and though her journey is irregular, we know that she was meant to be in our family.

I'm sure I'll have loads more to talk about in this vein, but for now I'm feeling a tad sleep deprived. So I bid you adieu, fair reader, with this brief but important announcement of the birth of a beautiful baby girl.

The Times They Are a Changin'

Bob and I in front of the Gloriette at the Scheonbrun Palace in Vienna (May 2010). One of two pictures we have from this entire trip where we are both in the frame.

This is going to be one of those posts that you, loyal readers, all hate. The kind of post where I allude to the very real fact that amazing, astounding, and life-changing things are happening to me, and then I don't tell you what is going on with me.

It's true. Stay tuned, and expect incredible news in the next two weeks (give or take). I hope to renew regular posting, but I've broken such promises in the past.

In the Air Tonight

I'm listening to Phil Collins (don't ask) and feeling lonely. Bob has started travelling again, and thus I descend into the interminable nights when I sit alone in our empty house talking to the dogs and watching Hulu until I finally fall asleep. It's nights like this that remind me of high school, sitting on my dad's iMac late into the night chatting with friends on the internet, discovering new music, taking baths, and reading Tolstoy. I thought those days were the beginning of something great. I knew I'd fall in love with a musician (and had one in mind), and I figured the rest of my life would be a continuation in kind.

I've always enjoyed alone time. Time to sit and think and read and please no one but myself. It has been quite a while since I felt like I could do that. I felt like the second the music/tv/book stopped, was the second my mind would start playing it's slideshow of pity, something I have to desire to live through. So I would constantly barrage myself with media in an attempt to (not in a scary way) drown out the voices in my head. And you know what I've found? It's harder to avoid than to actually feel and remember and think and sulk. It hasn't made me weaker.

Hello Cassandra, it's nice to hear from you again. It's been a long time.

Next goals: Forgiveness, Honesty.

Public Service Announcement: I learned a lot from my visit to a hospital's micro lab today, but most importantly, vaccinate your kids. Seriously, vaccinate them. Protect me from short Southern women, and vaccinate them.

The Fifth Dimension

I was rereading the book Wrinkle in Time by Madeline L'Engle this afternoon as a part of the book club I am in with my little brother, Chet. I read the book several times when I was a young girl, feeling very intelligent as I felt understood the basics of tessarects and wormhole travel through time and space. Rereading it opened up a world of thoughts and concepts, proving that children are habitually indoctrinated without their knowledge for years. For instance, I had no idea that the antagonist was, essentially, communism.

Additionally, I was pleased to find that the book had many delicious nuggets of wisdom, and one which I particularly enjoyed:

"'You mean you're comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?'

'Yes,' Mrs. Whatsit said. 'You're given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.'"

This passage particularly resonated within me. It's true that things happen to us all the time, good and bad, but it's what we make of the hand we are dealt that makes us who we are. What good is a window that's never stood up to a hurricane or allowed golden rays of sunlight to pour through?

I was glad for the reminder.

Shrinkage

Maggie and Chet on a hike in the Uintahs. Both are very interested in that sandwich.

I've been reading a book on psychotherapy and it's caused me a lot of retrospection, especially about my own sojourn in therapy, which I quit surreptitiously a month or so ago after six months of sessions. I both hated and loved therapy, and while it certainly didn't 'heal' me or erase any of the hurt I have gone through, at least it made me confront issues I would generally avoid, to my detriment.

Bob recommended that I see a therapist, though he has little faith in them. He noted that I felt better when I talked about what I was going through, and we both agreed that a professional could do no harm, that could perhaps help.

Did she help? Yeah, I think so. I still struggle though. I struggle with bitterness, with acceptance, with forgiveness, with faith, with hope. Somedays I feel so small in the face of all of my shortcomings. But somedays I feel the sun on my skin and smile just for the sake of being alive in the world. I don't remember having that for ages, before I began therapy.

So if it's been a while since you smiled to yourself over nothing at all, since you thought about how great your life was, since you did a kind deed for someone else; maybe it's time for you to think about talking to someone about your struggles.

It helped me, maybe it could help you too.

Routine

I love a good chick flick. I love the nascent flirtations, the beginnings of romance, the inklings that someone would be specifically designed for someone else. I love the concept of soulmates.

There's another reason that I love a good chick flick. It's the reason that I can watch ridiculous teen dramas (e.g. The O.C., Gilmore Girls, Gossip Girl) back to back as un-ironically as possible; a chick flick is predictable, formulaic even. It's like a warm cup of cocoa on a cold winter's night. I'll give you an example:

A boy meets girl, but something comes in between their love. Perhaps they are business enemies (You've Got Mail), they are from different classes (Ever After), or perhaps it just takes them forever to figure out they love each other (Clueless, He's Just Not That Into You). Then comes some drama, maybe he professes his unrequited love (Pride and Prejudice), he decides to marry someone else (Made of Honor, My Best Friend's Wedding), or he tries to arrest you for murdering your sister's creepy boyfriend and then bringing him back to life and killing him again (Practical Magic). Despite it all, they will get together in the end (expect for the crappy chick flicks in which they won't get together) and we live happily ever after.

See what I'm saying, it's like an old comfortable pair of pants you've worn in perfectly and will never get rid of, even though they stopped looking cute years ago.

I love a good chick flick.

Ten Years

The Guardhouse at the Top of Machu Picchu. (Yeah, I'm posting new pictures one at a time to give my fellow readers something to look forward to.)

As I turned on my computer this morning and fired up my RSS reader, I was surprised to read the news that today was the tenth anniversary of the shootings at Columbine. As the day went on and everyone chatted about their surprise so much time had passed and the discussions about what everyone remembered about that day I had a lot of things flash through my mind I hadn't thought about in years.

I was an eighth grader living in the suburbs of Denver at the time, I was attending middle school on April 20, 1999. I remember the lunch room, and looking up at the clock at 11:20. Later we learned that was the time that the shooters entered the high school, but I was just checking to see how much time I had to finish my Chick-Fil-A chicken nuggets. (Yeah, my middle school had fast food, didn't yours?)

That afternoon I was sitting in English. The principal came to the classroom door and murmured something to my teacher Ms Byrne (Known for her tough classes, short skirts, and love of the Denver Broncos. She would give you an A regardless of your performance if you got her something signed by a member of the team.) It was a warm spring day and she had her outside door open. She slammed it shut, locked it, and sat down at her desk looking shaken.

The rest of the day I remember in bits and pieces. I remember sitting on the bus staring out at the pond by my house wondering exactly what this would mean for me. I remember my mother's face and her nearly painful hug as I walked in from school. I remember I was wearing overalls with chapstick in the front pocket. (Yeah, and I'm sure they were sexy too.) I remember friends and relatives calling in from around the country to make sure that we were all okay.

What I remember most, and what has had the greatest impact, is what happened next. My school went under lockdown for the rest of the school year. Armed policemen (with big guns I remember) stood at the entrances and if you entered the school during school hours you had to ring a doorbell and the policemen got to scrutinize you, even if you were just coming in from a run with the rest of your gym class. I remember schools closing at a moment's notice due to bomb threats, things that were no longer stupid jokes by seniors. I remember walking the grounds at Columbine, visiting the grassy hills I had seen students fleeing from on television days earlier. We brought white flowers, and I got to see my childhood hero, Stone Phillips. I vividly remember the school sign's message, "GO BAND".

Mostly though, I remember the fear. School was always a safe place, though at times it could be scary if you had done something wrong or had a verbal report to present, but it was never dangerous. I had never had to worry about my fellow students or anything so raw as guns and bombs. School was not safe, life was not safe; a difficult concept for a thirteen-year-old to process.

I learned a lot of lessons in the aftermath of that Spring day. It was my first real interaction with mortality and the reality of life, something that I have since become intimately familiar with. There was a lot of speculation that the boys were angry because of their music, their video games, their movies, their parents, their bullies; and I understand the need to find a cause and fix the catalyst that would cause two children to mercilessly kill their classmates; but there is no way to comprehend some things that happen in our lives. They are senseless, mind-blowing, life-changing, and we must have faith that somehow there is a plan for all of us and that we don't need to have all of the answers, because someone else does.


My blog posts have all been quite heavy as of late... I suppose it's because I'm down and working through some stuff. I'll try and post some more uplifting things soonish.

The Sacred Valley

Me at the Sacred Valley of the Incas.

Last month we commemorated the year anniversary of the passing of my sister Jocie. It was a sad day, but mostly it was happy. As with most of these events, the anticipation is usually much worse than the day itself; I dealt with most of my demons earlier in the week. It was happy because my family made it to the one year mark, changed people, but we made it. I found the aftermath of "Jocie's accident" as my mother calls it, strange and hollow initially but now that's come to be normal. It's become normal to have an even boy/girl ratio in my family, normal to watch my parents cry, normal to have a nagging feeling when we're together that someone isn't there. Because she isn't. But even that is becoming normal. A depressing normal, but one that we need to come to terms with nonetheless.

I feel obligated in some ways to talk about these things because it's good for me, but also because I know that there are people out there suffering with loss in all of its forms; whether it's loss of a sister, friend, pet, or just a lost dream; regardless I think that the only way to get through these unthinkably difficult times is to reach out to our friends and family and to let them help shoulder the burden when we have become broken under its weight.

Unbelievably, not all that has come out of this accident is sorrowful. Most notably, my relationship with my sister Dione has changed in ways I never would have imagined before. We've always been like oil and water, as different in personalities as we are in looks, though most wouldn't realize it because we act the same in public. Now we have no choice, we have to make it work. I was sick a couple of weeks ago and Bob was out of town; Dione heard from my mother and dropped everything, driving through a blinding snowstorm to sit up the night with me before leaving early the next morning to make it to her classes. I know that we loved each other before, but I don't think that either of us would have made such a sacrifice, such a gesture. Now we appreciate our relationship; we've both lost a sister.

We've had one hell of a year, but we're still here. The relationships that weathered the storm are stronger now than ever. We are more honest, less willing to play games, and we end our conversations with "I love you." You never know when you're not going to be able to say it again.

I still have days where I can't breathe because I miss her so much, but those are spreading further and further apart, and mostly I just think about how great she was and how much I miss having her around. I don't think that I will ever stop missing her, or mourning her. I don't think there's any way to "return to normal," but there is a way to move forward. I also don't think I'll ever fully resolve the 'why' of such a senseless tradgedy, at least not in this life. But I've come to terms with that, most days anyway.

If you're ever struggling with loss or grief or know someone who is and would like to help them, I'd love to be there for you like so many people were for me. I'd love to earn the mitzvah.

Ramblings of an Ancient Courier

I dropped my car off today at the dealership to get it serviced, and got a ride home from a nice man named Carl. He instantly struck up a conversation with me about the weather, which transitioned into his former job at ARUP, which transitioned into his quitting a job at a printing company, which then further transitioned into a long discussion of his prostate cancer and the various types of radiation he had been through. In the course of a fifteen-minute car ride, I knew a fairly extensive medical history; some personal struggles, including the fact that he can't give up smoking even though he's on oxygen, his work history, a little bit about the rigors of high-dose radiation therapy on your prostate, though I personally lack one, and how nice his trailer is, you know, the one he has up behind Pineview.

In fifteen minutes, I knew an incredible amount of information, and he knew literally nothing about me besides the obvious (e.g. woman, Toyota-owner, blonde). I have a harder time opening up to people, I have this strange desire to keep everything personal about myself a huge secret. I like to think that I'm just more self-dependent, but rather I think that it's just some sort of personal failing on my part.

The Carls in the world tend to overshare, but no one wonders when they are hurting or need an extra hug. When he's around, they know what his issues are so they can avoid saying painful or uncomfortable things. Of course, he has the opposite extreme of my problem, he has no privacy or secrets, which at some times can be a good thing.

Sometimes I feel like there's a huge cavern of feelings and experiences that I am just trying to close up in order to pretend to live a 'normal' life. What am I hiding from?

KAOS

I am a planner. I like looking at a difficult schedule and laying everything out in front of me. I loved signing up for classes in college each semester, watching how they played out on paper, and eventually appreciating how they played out in real life, especially for the two years when I was able to take a full day off every week for myself. I wish I had that kind of luxury now!

So imagine my chagrin when entropy has taken a firm hold on my life. I cannot plan for an unknowable future, I cannot schedule and file and it is driving me crazy. I have grown dissatisfied, waiting and wondering and being continually disappointed. I do well with the sprint, the short-term upsets, but the long unknown waiting period, I struggle with.

I am taken measures, though, to gain control of my chaotic existence. Perhaps it is a god-complex to think that by sheer will and effort of planning, I can mold my world to follow my preconceived notions of happiness and prosperity.

I feel, and I'm sure many others feel this way, that my place in the world is tenuous. Financial, emotional, political, and social instabilities run rampant. Let us all do our best to move forward, in hopes that in doing so, we can gain some sort of stasis.

New Years Resolutions...

Wow, a whole year has passed since 2008 began, and now I find myself making nearly the same resolutions as I did twelve months ago... One of them at least is new though, I plan to take at least one picture a day for the whole year. I almost missed a day, but got away on a technicality, I took a picture with someone else's camera, and I'm going to count it!

January 1 - Bob and Sammi at our New Year's Eve Party (Can you spot Dave in the background?), we had a lot of fun preventing Sammi from eating various foods, children, and precious children's toys.

January 2 - Bob and Mike with their tough-men beards. It seems to be impossible for Bob to keep his eyes open during a picture. Where's your beard-card, Mike?!

January 3- This is the day when I didn't take a picture with my own camera, so I include here a picture of Sammi during our Christmas break. We were about to head out snowshoeing and I dressed Sammi in her new sweater (made by myself), though she got quite cold anyways.

January 4 - Now that we have church at nine, we have reclaimed our Sunday afternoons! This is Bob hiking in the foothills behind Draper, where the dogs are free to get lost as much as they want.

January 5 - Bob's stuck in Utah Valley due to inclement weather, so I pulled out the self-portrait card tonight. I think I thought that was a coy smile at the time...

Afternoon Delight

We went searching for ghost towns a few weeks ago in the Oquirrh Mountains, and here is Sammi, freaking out to be out of the truck and into the wilderness.  (Note the 'No Trespassing' sign in the background.)

It feels nice to be out in the mountains enjoying the fresh air and the fall scenery before winter finally surrounds us.  Usually I'm excited for fall to relinquish its brief and tenuous hold on Utah, but this year I'm nervous for winter to come around.  I don't feel like I'm ready to make the decisions that winter brings with it, I'm unprepared to face the snow and the holidays and the changes.  Winter seems like a snowball, deftly gathering speed as it rolls, until it has grown larger than life and is ready to engulf us all.

But maybe it is like many things in life, the anticipation is the worst part of the game.  Perhaps this year winter will mean only pleasant trips to sunny places, perfect powder days, and hot cocoa at the close of it all.  I'm trying to be optimistic, is it working?

Regardless, I am thankful for all of the love and support I feel on a daily basis.  I'm grateful for my life, my loved ones, and my gifts; and though I may wish for some things to be different, I would never want to trade places with anyone.

Happy Ho Ho Turkey Day!

9/11

I would have to echo the sentiments of several other blogs I recently read about 9/11 and the shock that seven years have slipped past. I remember sitting in early morning seminary and turning on the tv when only one plane had hit and then watching, mainly in confusion, as a second plane wrapped around to hit the second tower. I remember sitting in Soffe's class first hour and watching him sit on the table in the front of the room, Birkenstocked-feet dangling, crying. I remember not understanding how to feel or what impact this would really have on my 15-year-old high school world.

Bob and I were in New York last week and we went to the 9/11 memorial museum next to Ground Zero. If you're ever in the Big Apple, I would reccomend stopping by, it was an incredibly powerful place. They had giant beams from the towers, twisted like garbage bag ties from the heat and the pressure. There were cases full of things found at in the wreckage, like a menu from the bar on the top floor, two guns melted together, a laptop bag mostly intact from a floor above 100, and a battered fireman's helmet. What struck me the most, however, was a giant wall filled entirely with missing posters. All were handmade, with snapshots from some birthday party or recent vacation, and filled with details that betrayed the emotions of those searching. Answers to the nickname of Teddy; beautiful blue/green eyes; wearing a charcoal tailored pantsuit; if found please call one of these five numbers. It made me sick to my stomach and I stood there in an unfamiliar city standing next to the man I love, feeling the pain of the city, and wondering what it felt like to be there when it was in mourning.


As we left, Bob whispered to me, "After seeing all of this, I want to go bomb some terrorists." So did I, Bobby. So did I.

Killin' Whales

Watch out for the Killin' Whales, my fantasy football team this year. I expect them to succeed in ways never before dreamed of.

A Hero to One

On Monday, instead of laboring, Bob and I (+ The Sceech) travelled to the place where fun is.  (Hint: It's Lagoon.)  We drove in under a heavy cloud cover and as we jumped out of our cars, excitement prohibiting us (alright, mostly just me) from standing still; the rain started to fall.

Soon, rain was pouring down and we ran to Wicked to hit it before the lines got long.  We had no need to fear long lines, though, we waited moments before hopping on an available car and being jettisoned into oblivion, rain pelting us as we were flung about in the cold and wet.  We rode all the rides, and the best ones several times.

I knew that the weather was changing for the better as we rode one particular rollar coaster and as we reached the top, pointing towards the sky, the clouds parted and the sun shone down on all of us, creating a beautiful moment.  Never has the warm embrace of the sun felt so inviting, and I was regretful as we began our steep descent while Bob lifted up his hands and screamed.

Bobism: On a few rides, the rain was too strong to even keep our eyes open.  Bob described the situation aptly by screaming (while upside-down), "I now know how it feels for Hellen Keller to ride a roller coaster!"