I Hope

I hope I don't get what Nicole's got- the barfies.
I hope she gets feeling better soon.
I hope Erik makes it home safely today- we've missed him terribly.
I hope the sun sticks around for awhile!
I hope this weekend is relaxing, entertaining, and free from the sickies.
I hope I can finish my writing assignment today so I can enjoy the weekend.
I hope next week is better.

Flyin' High

The basketball season came to an end for the Sophomore and JV teams yesterday. So for now, Nicole is done cheering.

After her fall during cheer camp last summer, she decided she didn't want to be a flyer anymore. But things changed on the team recently, and by default, she was thrown back in to being a flyer again.

In just a few weeks, this is what she has accomplished. She has even managed to wipe the look of pure terror off of her face and replace it with a smile. Amazing.

She's come a long way!

"We are her parents, couldn't be prouder, if you can't hear us, we'll yell a little louder!" (My lame attempt at making up a cheer. )

Let Class Begin

Welcome to my online classroom.

As I was preparing for the weekly class chat for my English class, I looked around and had to laugh.

Getting ready for this 1 1/2 hour class- takes as much time as actually driving the 8 minutes to campus.

So here's a glimpse into my 'set up'. Everything I need for the next 90 minutes of my life. I don't need the cat so much- but she enjoys 'going' to school with me and in fact she's becoming a pretty good writer. She sleeps through class though and never studies- I don't know how she does it.

My Son

Ian, 3 1/2 months old
The call came, asking if we would be willing to pick you up from your shelter home and bring you to ours. We were told you were a 3 1/2 month old boy, who was sweet-natured and slept well. Some background information was given about your parents and the situation they were in that resulted in you being placed into foster care.

I knew in an instant that I wanted you, not knowing or caring about how long we would get to have you. I wanted to give you all the love and comfort I could provide.

The first time I saw you, you were sitting in your car seat, with a bottle propped up to your mouth. With wide, blue eyes, and wavy red hair, you stared at me. Your shelter mom picked you up, telling me what a good baby you were, that you "never fussed" and loved to sit in your bouncy chair all day and how "nice" it was for her. I thought to myself, "This baby needs to be held. He is content to sit all day in his chair because he has never been held and loved." The back of your head was completely flat.

During the drive home, you cried. When I picked you up, you cried. You cried when anyone tried to hold you. You became constipated. You didn't want to eat. I worried. But I wouldn't put you down. I held you close even when you pushed away and became stiff. I wanted you to be ok with being touched.

You cried every day for a solid week. After countless doctor visits, telling me you were physically ok, I realized that you were upset because your life had been completely changed from what you were used to. You were not used to being touched. You had our undivided attention. You were smiled at and played with. You had new faces to look at and an unfamiliar home with new sounds and smells to get used to. You were in shock.

The first time I took you to visit your parents, you cried the whole hour. Your young mother cried too. She said to the caseworker, "He wants his foster mom." And you did. As soon as I picked you up, all sweaty and red-faced, you stopped crying and curled your body into mine.

Your birth mother soon realized that she couldn't care for you and that you were happy. She asked us to adopt you. I cried. But you didn't. You were content in my arms, happy and cooing.

Five years later, I look into your brown eyes, and touch your dark brown hair and cannot believe that you are the same child. You not only look different, but it seems as if you have always been mine. I have forgotten how quickly I fell in love with you and how worried I was that when the time came to send you home to your parents that my heart would break. I have forgotten how hard that first week was. It is all a distant memory, hidden somewhere in the back of my mind. When I see this picture, I cannot believe how far we have come.

You are my son. You are part of a family who loves and adores you. You will have everything you need in life to be successful. And you have all of this because you were loved by two mothers- each in the best way they knew how.

The Rest Of The Story

Sunday, Nicole asked me when I was going to blog about her dance. I considered inviting her to be a guest blogger to let her share all about it in her own words- since I was just an observer. But then I understood what she was really asking. It wasn't that she wanted her first dance documented in a blog, it was that she wanted to have someone else tell the story....

It reminds me of something my friend told me around 10 years ago about her then 12-year-old son. My friend is an avid scrapbooker and her son was looking through his recently caught up scrapbook. As he came to the last page, he looked at his mom and asked, "Where's the rest?" My friend was puzzled. He knew she had put the most recent event that they had pictures for in his scrapbook. What did he mean by, where's the rest?

She patiently explained to him that that was it. That she had no other pictures to put in. Nothing else had happened.

A frown came over his face. "I want to know what happens next. What the rest of my life will be like."
I think it's true for all of us. We want someone else to write our story. Tell us what happens next. Sometimes I think that would be nice. But on second thought, it's nice to be the one who gets to decide what and with whom we spend the time we have on this earth.
As for Nicole, I don't think she could have chosen a nicer young man to share her first dance experience with. Kevin is her best friend. She is comfortable with him. She can be herself. And looking back on my first dance, I was anything but comfortable or myself. I was a nervous mess.
She had a wonderful, memorable evening. She left with an excited smile and came home laughing, her face beaming from the good time she had shared with her friends.

There will be many more dances to write about, I'm sure. This one was a success- a great start to her high school experience. As for me, I haven't quite gotten over the fact that she is old enough to be doing these things. But here we are and I am thrilled that I get to watch as she writes the story of her life.

Love is in the Air

Can you feel it?

To start the weekend of love off right, Erik and I were invited to attend a wedding in the Oquirrh Mountain Temple. There is nothing better to remind you of the importance of being good to the one you love.

Tomorrow is Sweethearts for Nicole. Again, Erik and I are lucky enough to get to tag along (playing chauffeur of course)- so we will be surrounded by high school sweeties for the evening.

Sunday will be the annual Valentine's Day dinner that I put on for my little clan. It's my favorite way to show my family how much I adore every one of them.

I hope your weekend is full of love too! Happy Valentine's Day my friends!

xoxo

School is sucking the life out of me right now (and so are two children of mine who have been off track for the past two weeks and two days!) but things are good.

My days have become a routine of reading, writing, quiz taking, and biting my nails- BORING- so today I'll share some exciting news from the lives of my children- who never cease to entertain me.

Isaac now wears contacts! We all think it's pretty cool.

Nicole got her driver's license in the mail yesterday- the REAL plastic one! That's the most excited our family has been in a long time over something that came in the mail.

And last but not least,

Ian now says his bedtime prayers in Spanish, although neither of us knows what he is saying. He asks me to interpret for him. Ummmmm. It's good that the One who receives those prayers knows what's in our hearts. :)

Thanks for checking in!

One Eight

The Saints weren't the only ones with something to celebrate. Yesterday, Erik and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Eighteen years! That's how old I was when I met him- that hunky returned missionary.

In honor of the 18 years that we have shared together- strolling, sprinting, sometimes stumbling on the path of life together, here are eighteen things that I love about this man who has been by my side through the good the bad and all the PMS I could throw at him.

1- He still tells me I am beautiful.

2- He cares very deeply about the things that matter most to him.

3- He laughs easily.

4- He remembers to tell me I smell good- even though he can't smell.

5- He never complains about the trials he has in life. And I could write whole novel about them.

6- He grills the tastiest dinners.

7- He sings often.

8- He can strike up a conversation with anyone- young or old.

9- He is so thoughtful- he often puts others needs before his own.

10- He is like an onion with many layers- and each layer I uncover brings a new 'something' that I love about him.

11- He isn't afraid to try something new or to go after a passion.

12- He has been sporting a 'scruffy' look lately. Yowza!

13- He is good at getting me to talk about my feelings. Which is not my favorite thing to do.

14- He is so generous.

15- He is still a little boy at heart.

16- He can finish my sentences.

17- He will take the boys to work with him (when they are off track and driving me up the wall) so I can have a day to myself.

18- He is still my best friend.

I never would have guessed that after 18 years of marriage, I would still be finding things that I didn't know and can love about the man I married. We're alike in so many ways (in fact we bought each other the exact same anniversary present) yet so very different. And that's what makes our marriage beautiful and exciting.

Happy Anniversary Mr. M!

Eleven

The last thing he said to me last night before I turned out the light in his room was, "I can't believe that when I close my eyes and then open them again, it will be my birthday!"

I love this boy. I love the joy he finds in life. And I love that he shares it with me.

Happy birthday Isaac!

The necklace

I wish I knew the story of this necklace. I have so many questions that I would like to ask it. Most of all, I wish it could tell me how it came to be my grandmother's.

I inherited this delicate piece after my grandmother passed away. It has hung on the necklace rack in my closet for years. Every once in awhile I put it on, admire it, and then hang it back up. I have never been able to find the right outfit to go along with it.

Until now. The first time I wore it was this weekend. I wore it to the dress shop. The owner commented on my necklace when I first spoke with her. The second time we passed each other in the store, she stopped me and said, "I have to ask you, where did you get your necklace?" When I told her it had been my grandmother's a look of disappointment crossed her face as she commented on it's beauty.

I wore it again to church on Sunday. Over and over again, I had women stop me in the hall to take a closer look at the necklace. One lady asked if it was a "real" antique or had it been made to look antique. I was thrilled to tell her that it was the real deal.

When I was given the necklace years ago, I almost (gasp) gave it to Nicole to use as costume jewelry. It just wasn't me and I could never see myself wearing it. But styles have changed and today I am ever so thankful that I kept it safe all these years.

Wearing it this past weekend connected me to my grandmother in a way I never would have thought. Not only did I think of her each time I reached up to touch the piece when someone would comment on it- instantly reminding me of her, but it made me wonder where she had worn it- what special occasions did it accompany her to, as it hung heavily on her neck.

As I took time to examine the necklace more closely, I saw that at one time it had been broken and repaired. I wondered it if was upsetting to her. I can see my grandfather soldering it back together and can imagine the joy on my grandmother's face when it was given back to her, whole again. I noticed the delicate craftsmanship. With each little flower and intricate curve of the metal, I had to wonder how long had it taken to design and make? Who was the craftsman?

There are so many unanswered questions about this necklace. But the most important answer of all, I already have. It was my grandmothers.