The Fam is Famous

Greg and I had a really great President's Day weekend. We spent a good portion of it at a cabin in Island Park, Idaho, with his parents and sisters, watching the Olympics and generally being lazy. This is Island Park in the winter, in case you are curious:

Then on Tuesday we found ourselves in Rexburg listening to BYU-I devotional.

Not just any devotional, mind you. Greg's dad Steve had been asked to give the devotional. He is the Career Service Coordinator and also in a Stake Presidency in a singles ward on campus. He spoke about the need for organized religion and the blessing it is to have order when it comes to spiritual things. His lecture was really thought-provoking, and also beautifully delivered. If you want to listen to it, you can go here to get the MP3 version. Also it is being broadcast on BYU TV on Sunday, March 2, at 2 I believe.

I thought that we would just be sitting in the crowd listening, but they actually had our family sit on the stand. Those lights are BRIGHT, people.

Most of the time, though, I was sitting in the darkness listening to Steve's thoughts. And I'm glad it was dark. I had a neat experience that I feel like I should share.

Lately I've been feeling out of whack. I'm busy enough that I'm reasonably happy. At the end of January, we found out that I don't have to be tested for cancer and my ovaries are no longer dangerously enlarged--so, you know, that's good. I guess I can't quite articulate how I've been feeling. I think I am a little unsure of myself and what comes next. It's been hard because I don't know how to blog or talk to people about it. I got a book in the mail that describes it best. The book is called Tear Soup and I have no idea who sent it to me, but thank you. The book says that most people around you will be able to tolerate your grief for about one month, and then they will expect you to be "over" it. While Greg and I have had so many incredible people supporting us, I have felt a little bit like maybe I should stop talking about it. I've blogged about it a few times, but I've always taken the posts down because I'm afraid no one wants to hear about it anymore. But it definitely isn't over for us. And sometimes I think that even though time has healed us so much, there are things that are just compounded now. We've been told that I'm healthy enough to try and get pregnant again, but I can't shake the feeling that it's all just incredibly pointless. And also--I'm so frightened of being pregnant again. Every day will be scary. And then I wonder if wanting another child is somehow not fair to those two little children I already have.

So I guess I'm just a tiny bit lost.

But I was sitting there on the stand, and I was thinking of my sons. I was remembering how it felt to be with them. Thinking that they will never be counted and not often remembered by anyone else, but they will always mean to much to me.

And as I sat there, I felt a tiny bit of peace. Not a big feeling, just a little one. But it was enough. I thought, Heather, you are in the right spot. You're doing the right things. Aren't you glad that any distress in your life is caused by this incredible blessing? Aren't you glad that the things that cause you worry don't have anything to do with things you are doing wrong? You're doing okay.

So I sat there in the dark on the stage and held Greg's hand and just kind of cried a little and felt a tiny bit better.

I always wanted this blog to be a place people could turn to so that they know they're not alone. I always wanted do document the things Greg and I have been through, not because our experience is inherently note-worthy, but rather so that maybe someone somewhere can have a better idea of what it's like. I guess what I'm trying to say now is that even in the difficult moments, God is aware of us. There might be days when you think "This would be a really good day for God to fix all my problems." And He may not do it, but you can still survive, and even be happy.

The biggest events in our lives don't happen, and then are over. They become a part of us. I think it is up to us to decide what parts of us they will become, and when everything is said and done, who we want to be.

Dinner FAIL

So, to preface this, I'll begin by saying that I really like to cook.  I don't know if I'm a great cook, but hey, I LIKE it, and that's got to count for something, right?

No matter how much you like to cook, sometimes things just take a turn for the worse.  Or, in this case, maybe like seven turns for the worse.

Greg and I were dinking around this afternoon after we were done with homework, trying to decide what to have for dinner.

Me: Greg, just pick something! I'll make whatever you want.

Greg: I don't care.  Make whatever YOU want.

Me: Okay, we're having baked potatoes.

Greg: (Silence).  I don't WANT that.

After about 45 minutes of this, I started flipping through a cookbook.  Because some people get inspiration from cookbooks, you know? And maybe I could be one of those people.

And then I saw it.  The perfect recipe.  Fettuccine alla Carbonara. Basically white sauce with bacon in it. Hey, that's my favorite pasta at Pizza Pie Cafe!  And I even have all the ingredients!  Let's do it!

On weekends, Greg so obligingly helps with dinner (sometimes).  His chore today: cook the bacon.  Usually he's very good at cooking bacon.  Because he really likes bacon.

That was the first FAIL.

Me:  So...how did this happen?

Greg: I have no idea.  One second, it was fine.  The next second...dead.

Well, you can't blame Greg.  Because I didn't do much better.

The recipe said you had to time cooking the noodles with finishing the sauce, so that you could just pour the sauce immediately over noodles.  I didn't have fettuccine on hand, but I can use garden spirals, right? Yeah, all pasta tastes the same. So I was doing great...had my pasta almost cooked, got the sauce on the stove. The recipe said DO NOT BOIL the sauce, which was made of milk and eggs.  I've made a few cream pies before--enough to know there was a danger of cooking the eggs too fast and getting little cooked egg pieces and stuff like that.  So, hey, I've cooked cream pie.  How hard can this be? So I very obediently sat there gently stirring my sauce over medium heat.  It was supposed to take six minutes until the sauce coated the spoon.

But after like three minutes, the sauce started boiling. What the heck?  Stop that!  What do you do if you don't go the full six minutes?? Is this sauce "coating a metal spoon"? What does that even mean, anyway?!? And my pasta isn't done yet!!

The sauce ended up looking like this.  I'm not sure the picture does it justice:

Yucky and curdled. Basically chunky milk with a bad egg smell.

I have no idea how it tasted, because neither Greg or I had the courage to eat it.

Good thing I have some of this on hand:

I threw in the torched bacon for good measure.  Because bacon is bacon, you know?

Bad idea.

This picture doesn't do it justice either, but it was weird.  Charcoal bacon in red sauce is weird.

Greg's running commentary at dinner: Are we going to end up at Chick-fil-A?  What are these squirelly chunks in here?  Is that the bacon?  Did you put in the bacon? It looks like it's covered in...blood. That's what it is, covered in blood.  Can we please go to Wendy's?  I'm still going to be hungry after this.  No offense, babe, but this is probably the worst meal you've ever cooked the whole time I've been married to you.

Yeah.  He said that. I'm going to take that to mean that most of the meals I cook are DE-LISH.

Good thing I've learned to laugh at myself because that's what I was doing.  Laughing, and NOT EATING.

Greg: Hey.  You know what?  The corn is good.

Yes, I CAN warm up corn from a can, people.

Thank you, thank you.  No applause, please.

Happy Runnings (Like Cool Runnings, Only Not Jamaican)

So it's been a long time since I've written anything.  Truth is...I just don't really have that much to say.  

Even though January is half over, I've decided I can at least publish some goals Greg and I have this year.  I like the concept of New Year's Resolutions.  I think it's great that society at large accepts a whole time of year dedicated to making ourselves better (and I think it's kind of too bad that most of our discussion about resolutions revolves around how we all plan on breaking them).  

That being said, I have not been super good at keeping--or even making--resolutions in the past.  But I have two this year that I'm excited to work on.  

Run

Yeah, yeah, stereotypical one, I know.  But it's gonna be good. I have a concrete goal I'm working toward, and I think specificity is key in accomplishing stuff like this.  My specific goal: to run the Rex Lee 5k in March, and work towards an additional 5k in Florida next summer.  I know a 5k is really not that long, but hey, it's kind of a big deal for me.  I don't have a goal time yet...maybe like 27 minutes?  Who knows.  

All I know is I like to run.  It feels healthy.  I like expending energy and seeing myself progress.  Right now I run 1.5-1.8 miles at a time at a rate of about 8:40 per mile.  There's definitely room for improvement, but isn't improving kind of the point? 

Greg's goal:  Run a 10k.  He runs better than me.  I asked him what his goal is for a 10k specifically, and he said "Do it."

A wise goal in so many ways, my friends.  Wise goal. 

Be Happy Now 

This isn't a new concept for me.  Choosing to be happy is something I learned I could do as a teenager.  After awhile of trying to get pregnant for the first time, I realized that I could not rely on a baby to just magically make me happy--that I needed to be joyful right now, and that having that kind of attitude would actually improve any future good experiences I was going to have, children included.  

Well, I haven't been perfect at this, but I have tried. One of the ways I've failed at this in the past is when I have the attitude known as "I'll Be Happy When." I remember reading Pride and Prejudice for the first time years ago, and Jane Austen has some pretty witty commentary on Elizabeth's practice of making plans for future happiness that depend solely on the occurrence of future events.  We all do this, people.  At least, I do.  "I'll be happy when Greg graduates." "I'll be happy when we move to Florida and I can drink the sunshine in like orange juice." "I'll be happy when the BLASTED snow melts." "I'll be happy at the end of the workweek when I can go home and hang out with Greg for a few days." "I'll be happy when we know for sure what is going on and we can start trying to have a family again." 

"I'll be happy when we get to keep a baby." 

We just can't live this way.  It sets us up to miss the moment...and it sets us up to be disappointed.  Once you realize that you can't live this way, you have two choices:  I will never be happy, OR, I will be happy right now. 

I think finding happiness now is a delicate balance, and I'm still trying to figure it out.  On the one hand, it is okay to have future goals that make you happy, or future things to look forward to.  One the other hand... sometimes you just have to quit thinking so much about what is to come.  You have to allow yourself to just give in, and give up just a little.  

Yeah.  Give up.  I said it.  

Lately I have given up on just a few things.  And I feel a lot of peace about it.  Now, I want to be very careful about what I mean when I say "give up." I don't mean abandon yourself to failure.  I don't mean quit trying, necessarily.  What I mean is allow yourself to live your life without everything you want, and learn that that's okay.  I mean, allow yourself to take a constructive break.  I mean, submit to Heavenly Father's will, and be happy about it.  

Really, the phrase "give up" is not exactly what I mean, I just don’t know how else to say it.  Basically, I think it is possible to give up and still have hope.  I think you can find peace while realizing things might not go your way. 

Hope is a word that’s been on my mind, as well.  I’ve started reading Les Miserables for the first time.  I love it.  It is beautiful, so packed with truths I haven’t had the words to express before.  Hugo says that Hope is the word that the finger of God has written on the brow of everyone.  I suppose what I want for myself this year is to reach my hand up, find where God has written Hope on my very own brow, and trace it with my very own finger.  I will do that every single day, and every single day, this can help me to be happy.  Be happy now, even if there are a few things I have allowed myself to let go. You can have hope without playing the game of "I'll Be Happy When."  And you can know that there are good things in your future even if you have let some things go.  I want to learn how to do this.  

So, Run and Be Happy.  New Year’s Resolution:  Do it.  

Realization(s)

So we've been busy around here. I just finished up everything for my ASU master's class on Thursday.  We had Thanksgiving in Idaho Falls with Greg's family the week before that. I wish I had pictures, but I am fantastically bad at taking pictures.  So just imagine Greg eating as many roll sandwiches with leftover turkey as humanly possible, and me sneaking back to the refrigerator at weird times of the day to eat pieces of the delicious chocolate cheesecake that my mother-in-law made for dinner and you'll have a pretty good idea of what we did on our time off. 

Here's a realization I had over the Thanksgiving holidays:  Chocolate cheesecake is a way better dessert than pie. Any kind of pie.  The only reason the pilgrims didn't make cheesecake instead of pie is because they were too cold to make their own cream cheese, and they probably thought the Native Americans would be weirded out by it anyway. 

Although we have been busy around here, I'm not sure our busy-ness is the real reason I haven't written in a while.  Don't get me wrong, I like being busy.  I honestly have really really liked being busy. I consider it to be an incredible blessing in our lives right now.  I sincerely believe that my cousin Tania was totally inspired to come over and talk to us and tell me to apply for a job where she works. I turned her down flat at first, but I'm glad I felt directed to take her up on it.  I feel so happy that I have a Master's program to do at nights and that I have a TOTALLY HOT and fantastic husband who kept telling me I could do it, and that I should apply at ASU.  

Realization numero dos: We have lots of blessings, and lots of things that have been made up to us.  

But like I said, I'm not sure our busy-ness has been the reason I haven't been writing.  I guess there's only been one thing that really is on my mind to write about.  And you know what?  

Realization three:  Sometimes you have said everything you need to say. 

I guess there is other stuff I could write.  Like: 

1. While I had a wonderful Thanksgiving in so many ways, I also had way too much time on my hands to sit and think about how unhappy I was.  I have been thinking about my babies for so long.  I miss them. And now that time has gone by, I have also been confronted with what our future will be like.  And it is frightening. And I crashed and burned and felt like I was drowning. 

2. We've actually had a great week this past week, even though Thanksgiving was hard.  Like I've said, we keep busy, and that's so good. I have finally gotten comfortable enough to joke around and be my normal sarcastic snarky self with my co-workers.  Yeah, I know, took me long enough. I will never be the same person I was three years ago, or even three months ago, but I am settling into a new version of myself that I am happy with.  

3. Also, it's been a great week because we went to Christmas Around the World at BYU last night, which the folk dancing ensembles put on. I told Greg months ago that I wanted to go this year.  I talk about it every Christmas we've been at BYU, but we always have just missed it.  I haven't mentioned it in awhile and Greg bought tickets three weeks ago and didn't tell me until Thursday.  Yeah.  This is why my husband is THE BESSSTTT. 

4.  I had a follow-up appointment at the radiology center at the hospital that went kinda bad.  I have to go back again because things are not looking like they should.  Depending on how everything turns out next time--and it might be totally fine--this could lead to other procedures being done in the Spring.  I'm not super worried about it, but it's just kind of freaking annoying. 

Realization:  Greg and I may never have any more children.

Realization: If that was the case, it would be okay. 

Dedication to Heavenly Father's plan doesn't entail any kind of boundaries we might want to draw, like "I will be faithful in this thing, but if you ask me to do this, I will go berserk.  And I won't do it." There are people who don't have their own biological children.  Why not us?  My desire--and my capability--to be obedient is not dependent in any way on the thing that Heavenly Father has asked me to do.  I guess I always thought things like "There's no way Heavenly Father wouldn't let me have my own children who I can carry safely and raise.  There's no way He would ask me to do that." But He might ask me to do that.  And that would be okay.  

I remember toward the end of High School I had some experiences where I really learned a lot.  I had this phrase running through my head over and over right about the time that I graduated: I will do whatever you ask me.  I will do whatever you ask me.  And I really meant it at the time.  But now that my life is in such a different place--a harder place--I have been given the opportunity to internalize what I said, and to prove if I mean it now.

Realization:  I still mean it.  

Greg and I have found so many ways to be happy.  We are happy.  Things are working out.  We have so much hope.  Although so much is so uncertain, I feel something in the deepest part of me that tells me that we will have more children one day. I sincerely believe that more blessings are coming, and when they happen, they will be miraculous, and that all the promises that have been made to me will absolutely be fulfilled in the best and most meaningful ways possible. We have already been given so much, why couldn't good things keep happening? We already have children, and they were beautiful. And they are an incredible part of my life, and they are mine. 

And I think they have younger siblings.  And I think everything is good. 

Greg and Heather Go on a Date

Last night we were crazy.  

We went on a date.  The kind where you SPEND MONEY. 

The kind where you LEAVE THE HOUSE. 

We had a gift card to Olive Garden, and instead of waiting for some special occasion, we decided to just go out and spend it.  We both went nuts and ordered drinks. Not water, my friends.  Not water. 

As insane as it sounds, we were not finished after that.  We didn't just do one fun thing yesterday night, we did two fun things.  

I'll give you a hint.

  

 One of them entails wearing someone else's shoes. 

You'll notice I'm also wearing a skirt and tights.  Not very many people can pull off bowling in a skirt and tights, but I like to flatter myself that I am one of them. I wore a skirt to work yesterday for no particular reason except I wanted to feel pretty.  I just wanted to be cute. It's been awhile, you know?

We bowled two games.  Greg won both of them, but I'd like to submit Photographic Evidence A that at one point, I was beating him: 

And that’s pretty much the only time I was ahead. 

Here is Greg in all his bowling glory:

You will notice the semi-freaky hair on his upper lip.  Yeah.  Greg is doing that no-shave November thing.  I am not the kind of wife who forbids facial hair.  But I’m also not the kind of wife who feels any obligation to make him feel good about it.  When he says something like “Doesn’t it look good?” I usually say something like “No.  It looks bad.  Super bad.  Anyways I still like you.” And then Greg laughs.

Our date to an (overpriced) Italian restaurant and the BYU bowling alley has got me thinking about some other things. If this post could have a secondary title, I think it would be something like “The Purpose of Sorrow.” I’ve been musing on that for the last few days.  Sometimes I feel guilty that we are recovering.  I wonder if guilt is something that always hangs over the people who are left over when something scary happens to a family. Or maybe it’s just me. 

But I’m learning that there is a purpose to sorrow.  I remember a few days after Danny and Austin were born, I was sitting on the bed, crying.  I think my stomach still felt strange and empty and like all the muscles were missing.  I still looked pregnant, because somewhere around 14 weeks a bump showed up that was larger than I thought it would be and wonderfully full and round. Newsflash:  It doesn’t go away immediately.  Everyone at the funeral home will know that you are the mother of the two little boys as soon as you walk in.  And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

But anyway, I remember sitting on the bed and crying, but saying to Greg, We don’t have to feel despair.  We never have to feel that, because that is never something God intends for us.  It isn’t constructive.  It isn’t purposeful.  Despair accomplishes nothing. Greg agreed with me.  After all, Greg is the one who taught me that.

There are two kinds of sorrow: the kind that is from God, and the kind that is not.  God intends for sorrow to teach us things.  It teaches us to be more like Him.  It teaches us to be compassionate.  It teaches us to feel grateful for our blessings.  It allows us the capacity to see blessings in our lives we would not have noticed otherwise.  It teaches us how to find strength within ourselves, a strength that comes only when you say to God, This is hard for me, but I’ll do it if you want me to. And I won’t even be mad about it. In short, Sorrow is the thing that allows us to be older—not older and weary, but older and wise. 

I do not know if I would call myself wise, but I would say that Greg and I have had very purposeful sorrow.  And, funnily enough, one of the purposes of sorrow is to teach you to be happy. I am finally understanding at a meaningful level what the scriptures mean when they say, if they never should have bitter they could not know the sweet. My little family has imparted a kind of sweetness to my life that I have never had before. And it's so hard, but so worth it. 

Greg and I don’t know what will happen.  I don’t even know what I want to have happen.  Sometimes I feel like I don’t know anything.  But, we know enough. I am not happy every second of the day.  I am not even Okay every second of the day, but I remind myself that Sorrow has a purpose, and the kind of Sorrow that does not have a purpose—the kind of Sorrow that is mostly discouragement and despair and hopelessness and anger—has no place in my life. 

This is why Greg and I went to Olive Garden.  This is why we went bowling.  Because it’s okay to be happy, even though something bad happened.  It’s also okay to be sorrowful, but only if there’s a purpose in that.  There is an opposition in all things only because these two great extremes—Happiness and Sorrow—are actually so interconnected.  Like Greg says, I would go through anything to feel what it’s like to hold my own child again. Anything.  I would handle this kind of Sorrow as long as I was asked to if it meant bringing our children to our family in the way God wants us to.  It makes us happy.  It has a purpose.

 

If you made it this far, thanks for listening to my musings.  Who knew one date could be so abstractly meaningful? I suppose finding meaning in smaller things is the epitome of parenthood, especially the kind of parenthood that Greg and I know. 

Okay.  Cheesy musings done.  Have a great weekend. Love, Heather

Things That Make Me Happy

Allow me to romanticize and do some cheesy writing. Writing makes me happy.

(Other) Things That Make Me Happy

1.  I want you to do me a favor.  Listen to this song.  The whole thing.  Close your eyes.  Sit back on your couch, and just listen.  Let your mind wander and let your heart feel happy, and good, and peaceful.

I know what you are thinking.

I don't have time for this...

Yes you do.  You have 3 minutes and 44 seconds.  You have time.

I don't know where I originally found this song, but today it made me happy.  It always makes me think of beautiful things and I don't even know where they come from. An apartment in Europe that is quiet and simple, the ocean under an open sky, the moments when I am with my husband and thinking of nothing else.

Now, this song makes me think of my children as well.  I say, Listen, little boys.  This is beautiful.  This is called music.  It is beautiful.  And it teaches us there are still beautiful things in the world. 

2. Today I drove home from taking Greg to work.  I parked the car.  I felt so heavy.  I felt so old. But then out of nowhere the sun was shining.  It was so bright.  It hit my windshield perfectly.  I love the sun.  I hate dark and dreary winters.  Today Heavenly Father sent me sunshine and I closed my eyes and sat in the sun for as long as I could, and it was warm, and I cried.  For my family and for myself and because I love the sun.

3. Greg makes me happy.  Happier than anything else.  On Friday when I came home from work I stepped in the door to the smell of bread baking.  Greg made homemade pizza with homemade sauce, pepperoni, and Canadian bacon.

It doesn't get any better than this, my friends. 

Life Now

She says, How long have you been married?

I say, Three years.

She says, Wow.

Because it seems like a long time to her.

She says, So do you have any kids?

I say, What?

Not because I didn't hear her, but because I'm stalling.  I've started answering that question differently.

She says, Do you have any kids?

I say, Yes.  I have two little twin boys.

She looks happy.

I let her look happy for a little while.

And then I say, But they were born really early, so they were stillborn.

She looks like she doesn't know how she's supposed to look.

I wonder again if I'm handling these conversations the right way.

She says, Oh.

I decide I don't care if I'm handling these conversations the right way, or the wrong way.  I want to tell her not to be sad, or sorry, but it doesn't ever come out of my mouth.  I wish there was some way that I could explain to her--and to everyone--that I actually don't mind conversations like these. I am proud I get to tell people about them. I am proud of them.  It reminds me of the feeling I had when the nurse let me carry them out of the delivery room and up to the recovery room while I sat in the wheelchair.  I was so glad no one took them away from me.  I wanted to protect them and I was so, so proud of my little boys. I have never felt that full in my entire life. It doesn't make sense, but that's how it was.

These conversations where I tell people I'm a mom...they almost make me happy.

And that's the thing.  Greg and I are healing.  I might even say that we are healing beautifully.  Some days are harder than others.  Some days I feel so heavy inside and so empty inside all at the same time.

But we have decided that we will move forward.  That means I keep myself busy.  I have a new job.  I work full time.  I come home and study.  I go to bed.  I think of my sons in the moments before sleep and in the darkness of the early morning hours. Their names run through my head over and over and over.  Sometimes my arms just ache to hold them again. Sometimes when I am sitting at my desk I will think of how bright the sun was on the morning we buried them, how the flagpole clinks in the cemetery and sounds like a swing on a playground.  Sometimes I picture them so clearly for no reason at all. Sometimes I look around myself and think, What am I doing here? What even happened?

But mostly, we are moving forward. We are so changed. But you still have to do laundry, get groceries, sit in Relief Society, drive to work.

I am almost doing better than I ever thought would be possible.  I am more resilient than I thought. This, I suppose, is just a sign of the blessing that our years of infertility and our experience last summer have been.  God has been making me stronger. He knows what He's doing, and He always did. Even during the months when I sat and thought, This can't be right. This is not how my life is supposed to be.

But everything has been how it was supposed to be. And because of that, we step forward.  We remember them, day by day, even minute by minute. But somehow we are moving forward.

It makes me worry a little. Like maybe moving on is some kind of betrayal. How can I love so much, and still worry about that at the same time? But how can I love so much, and move on? Turns out, you don't have to spend too much time physically being with your children to wonder and wonder and wonder if you are a good Mommy.

I have this picture in my head sometimes.  I picture a loving God somewhere in Heaven looking down at me.  I picture there are tears on His cheeks because He knows He has asked me to do the thing that was most difficult for me in the world.  And He says, You can do it, Heather.  You really can.

And I picture my little boys with Him.

And I say, I know.  I know I can.