Apr 06, 2011 | posted in on the agenda, Personal | 6 comments

Redeye. Check.

Meet Richie at the airport. Check.

Drive to the Cause For Hope offices and have a REMARKABLY inspiring (and exciting) consult. Check. And PS, check these people out; they’re making real waves.

Dash off to the Triad Building in downtown Salt Lake City for an interview with KSL. Double check.

Change clothes in the parking lot. Try not to look like a wet mutt. Check… Ish. When you see the footage, remind yourself, redeye. Mahalo.

Manage said interview and all the tears that come along with it. Sniff, sniff. Check.

Jet up to Deer Valley to get our presenter packs for the LDSBC and check in to wonderfully charming Chateaux at Silver Lake. Check.

Feed Natalie’s face (for the first time in over 48 hours, truth). CHECK.

Aaaaaaaand break! What a glorious day! Mostly it was magical just being with my boyfriend sans kids. Wow, I truly think I forgot what silence sounds like. . .

I love Utah. If The Great Salt Lake had waves (and the winters weren’t so horrendous) we’d actually consider living here. Though Park City would likely be the only option for us, because I’m somewhat obsessed with this place. It feels like the skier’s version of Haleiwa. Down to Earth, relaxed, a great creative community, and of course, the landscape is amazing! Right up my alley. Again, minus the Siberian temperatures and the 97 billion feet of snow a year.

Tonight Richie and I had dinner at Zoom. Goodness gracious folks. Goodness gracious. I’d eaten there a couple of times before with my family when I was a kid, but I mustn’t have grown into my tongue yet, because I don’t remember it being anything like what we experienced tonight. Wow.

Zoom is owned by Sundance, and the walls are adorned with the most AMAZING Sundance Film Festival promotional posters! Like, seriously, some of the designs will blow your mind. I spent a good 10 minutes just standing there staring at them (Jane, you would have been drooling). I tried to find some examples of my personal favorites online, but this one was the only one I could find. If you ever find yourself in Park City, I highly recommend stopping by Zoom, if for no other reason than to enjoy these designs. . . Though visiting Zoom without also enjoying dinner, would literally be sinful.

And now, goodnight. Finally.

xx,
Me

Apr 05, 2011 | posted in on the agenda, Personal | 10 comments

It is officially 2011. It wasn’t official until this very moment when I started blogging, from an airplane, on my iPad. What in the world!!? The lives we lead…

This post will be short, because let’s face it, typing on your iPad gets old, fast. But hey, I could be making parchment and writing with coal … or something. It’s all a matter of perspective. (Did “they” even do that? Write with coal? I have no idea.)

I’m off to Utah for a couple of meetings, an interview, and then to speak at the LDS Business Conference on Friday. Life is BIG; can I just say that out loud? LIFE IS HUGE, and it makes me feel so small in comparison.

As I was waiting the security line this evening, I saw a young man, dressed in a suit and tie, saying a tear-filled goodbye to friends and family. He’s off to serve a 2 year, non paid, mission for his (our) church. This 19 year old boy is off to Madagascar. MADAGASCAR! He was so brave. They all were. Tears yes, but also pride, courage and more conviction than I can articulate. After we’d gone through security, he and I had a moment to chat. All I could think to say was, “It’s going to be big, it’s going to be HUGE, but God is soooooooo much bigger.” But he obviously already knew that.

Its true. God IS bigger than all of it, and the beautiful reality is that when we’re engaged in the right things, His hand is IN all of it as well. I’ll be reminding myself of this truth all week as I battle all my insecurities and a million feelings of inadequacy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that battles like these are best won on your knees.

xx,
Me

Apr 03, 2011 | posted in Personal | 14 comments

Pardon the silly (and blurry, and shockingly over saturated) “before” cell phone pictures. . .

Hair cuts hurt my heart. I can’t explain why, precisely. But they do. Perhaps since they’re a rarity in our home, they feel especially like a grown up thing to do. They make me feel as if I’m 14 seconds from dealing with learner’s permits and missed curfews.

____________________

I just want you to stay small. Forever and ever.

Keep climbing up on my lap (incessantly, and all at the same time, even though I GENUINELY feel like I’m going to have a claustrophobia induced panic attack). Keep jumping on my couches (even though it drives me INSANE and destroys the cushions). Keep having wrestling matches in the center of the living room (though, we did purchase you a trampoline for that very purpose). Keep jumping on my bed with pockets full of sand (even though when I climb into bed at night, I use your names in vein). Continue climbing onto my beautiful white coffee table (even though now it’s officially BEIGE). Keep leaving your wet beach towels in the back of my car (even though it makes my car smell like wet dog). Keep doing all these things that make me crazy-pants, because time’s already flying by quicker than I can catch my breath.

You just keep on driving me crazy, because if it means ONE MORE SECOND with you, I’m in. Both feet.

I love you boys. Every crazy inch.

Love,

Mom

Mar 31, 2011 | posted in Baby Gavin, Personal | 34 comments

Tonight, while looking at my new friend Yani’s beautiful profile picture on FB, I spotted a familiar face in the ad column. Hello me.

I don’t know what to say. I hate it. I hate that an ad exists where I’m talking about my son dying of a brutal, horrifying disease like Pertussis. I hate that those words knew how to come out of my mouth. I hate that they’re true. I hate that we are a horrible tragedy. I hate that we are a tragic statistic. I hate that I watched him suffer the way that I did. I hate that I watched him, helpless, lying there, and that there was not a thing I could do to help. I hate that one of the last memories I have of him with his eyes open, was right as they sedated him for the first time. . . he locked eyes with me as he drifted off to sleep. I hate that I could see the horrible pain in those beautiful brown eyes. I hate that he died. I hate it. I hate it all. I hate every ounce of it, and I wish I could change it.

I see things like this ad and I think “That poor girl,” as if I’m completely disconnected from her. I hate to admit that sometimes, like tonight, I feel completely disconnected from what happened to us. I hate feeling that way, because really what I’m feeling, is the absence of feeling, and I’m convinced that there’s no feeling in the world more frustrating, more maddening, than the lack thereof.

Numbness frightens me. I don’t like feeling detached. I want to feel connected. I want to feel my pain. Not in a masochistic kind of way, rather I want to feel connected to my sorrow, because that’s where he lives. And I never want to forget him. But more than that, I want to feel my sorrow, because I know it’s there. I want to let it out, because when it stays inside, I’m suffocated. And I hate it. Hate, hate, hate.

But, do you want to know what I love?

I love that tomorrow morning, the sun is sure to rise, and I love that if I’m lucky, I’ll find a moment to go outside and stand in it. I love that at 7 am sharp, I’ll hear little feet pitter patting their way to the potty and then in to make sure I haven’t sleep a solitary MOMENT longer than necessary. I love that I’ll get to make breakfast, wash dishes, hold hands, make lunches and kiss boo boos. I love that at one point or another, I’m guaranteed to want to hide in the bathroom to find one tiny moment of solitude and peace.  I love that there will be chaos, all kinds of glorious madness, and that I’ll have to walk a 4 year old to the naughty chair approximately seven hundred and forty-six times. I love that I get to go read to a classroom full of snotty nosed kindergartners, and I love that I’m the kind of mom who will do all the voices. I love that the day will stretch, pull, trample and prod at every recess of my heart and that it is likely to test my will to the breaking point. . . because all these things are evidence that life is good and that God always giveth FAR more than he taketh away.

Me

Mar 30, 2011 | posted in Inspire | 7 comments

A letter from Japan. Beautiful lessons on kindness, endurance and rediscovering what matters most.  Enjoy.

Hello My Lovely Family and Friends. . . .

Things here in Sendai have been rather surreal. But I am very blessed to have wonderful friends who are helping me a lot. . . . I am now staying at a friend’s home. We share supplies like water, food and a kerosene heater. We sleep lined up in one room, eat by candlelight, share stories. It is warm, friendly, and beautiful.

During the day we help each other clean up the mess in our homes. People sit in their cars, looking at news on their navigation screens, or line up to get drinking water when a source is open. If someone has water running in their home, they put out sign so people can come to fill up their jugs and buckets.

Amazingly where I am there has been no looting, no pushing in lines. People leave their front door open, as it is safer when an earthquake strikes. People keep saying, “Oh, this is how it used to be in the old days when everyone helped one another.”

Quakes keep coming. Last night they struck about every 15 minutes. Sirens are constant and helicopters pass overhead often.

We got water for a few hours in our homes last night, and now it is for half a day. Electricity came on this afternoon. Gas has not yet come on. But all of this is by area. Some people have these things, others do not. No one has washed for several days. We feel grubby, but there are so much more important concerns than that for us now. I love this peeling away of non-essentials. Living fully on the level of instinct, of intuition, of caring, of what is needed for survival, not just of me, but of the entire group.

There are strange parallel universes happening. Houses a mess in some places, yet then a house with futons or laundry out drying in the sun. People lining up for water and food, and yet a few people out walking their dogs. All happening at the same time.

Other unexpected touches of beauty are first, the silence at night. No cars. No one out on the streets. And the heavens at night are scattered with stars. I usually can see about two, but now the whole sky is filled. The mountains are Sendai are solid and with the crisp air we can see them silhouetted against the sky magnificently.

And the Japanese themselves are so wonderful. I come back to my shack to check on it each day, now to send this e-mail since the electricity is on, and I find food and water left in my entranceway. I have no idea from whom, but it is there. Old men in green hats go from door to door checking to see if everyone is OK. People talk to complete strangers asking if they need help. I see no signs of fear. Resignation, yes, but fear or panic, no.

They tell us we can expect aftershocks, and even other major quakes, for another month or more. And we are getting constant tremors, rolls, shaking, rumbling. I am blessed in that I live in a part of Sendai that is a bit elevated, a bit more solid than other parts. So, so far this area is better off than others. Last night my friend’s husband came in from the country, bringing food and water. Blessed again.

Somehow at this time I realize from direct experience that there is indeed an enormous Cosmic evolutionary step that is occurring all over the world right at this moment. And somehow as I experience the events happening now in Japan, I can feel my heart opening very wide. My brother asked me if I felt so small because of all that is happening. I don’t. Rather, I feel as part of something happening that much larger than myself. This wave of birthing (worldwide) is hard, and yet magnificent.

Thank you again for your care and Love of me,

With Love in return, to you all,
Anne