The Deepest Cut: The First In a Series

As the title of this blog states, this is the first in a series of blogs. I do not share this information lightly. I have weighed the impact of publicly voicing this part of my life, versus letting people know about my daughter. It has been a very difficult decision. But throughout the process- and healing IS a process- I've found a voice which makes me want to advocate for those who suffer. 

While I haven't blogged frequently of late, I have had a lot on my plate and on my mind. I've been wanting to talk about a very personal family struggle. If you've read my blog before, you know I am very outspoken when it comes to mental health awareness. Being a sufferer of depression and anxiety, I know the highs and the very lows life can deliver. All too often, those struggles are stigmatized and highly misunderstood.

In part, my blogging silence has been due to a bit of a family crisis. One day over the summer, I noticed some pretty deep scratches on my daughter's arm. Concerned, I asked her what had happened. She explained she had cut herself moving. Totally plausible. We had moved and we were all a little black and blue. You know how it goes.

As the summer progressed, I noticed my daughter was more sullen than usual. Which, let's be honest- aren't all 14 year old girls sullen, moody, crabby...need I go on? But there were other little things. Her favorite activity every summer is swimming. We had just moved close to a beautiful city pool, and I was surprised she turned down every single invitation to swim.

By mid-summer I had a hunch all was not well. I couldn't put a finger on it. There were little signs. The lack of interest. Wearing sweatshirts. Avoiding friends. One afternoon, my daughter and I were moving a piece of furniture upstairs. Her shirt sleeve crept up, and my eyes went directly to deep scratches on her arm. I asked her what had happened. "I was helping with yard work and I scratched myself." Nope. My kid would rather have teeth pulled than work on the yard.

I asked again. "Oh, I was helping Abuelo move things and I got cut." Wrong again. I looked into her eyes and asked what I suddenly knew to be true: "Have you been cutting yourself?" She hemmed, hawed, and denied. After about 5 endless minutes on the stairs, she looked at me and answered, "You already said it." And like that, my life shifted permanently. My beautiful daughter was practicing self-harm.

As parents, we try to protect our kids from all sorts of things- germs, creepy strangers, spoiled food, pornography, heartache.... But what do you do and where do you turn, when your child's mind is what they need protecting from?

If you read this & you self harm, have suicidal ideation, depression....or are a parent or friend of someone who struggles with these issues, KNOW THIS: It gets better. You are loved. You are  valued. And tomorrow is a new day. Hang on, hang in. There is help available and life is worth every single moment of struggle.

Its New To Me

A little background for this post. My father works for a number of local organizations as an English teacher. He's retired & now teaches ESL (English as Second Language). During the day, he teaches refugees from all over the world. In the evening he teaches for ESL for a people already living in the US & working on their English. The ironic part of his "jobs" is that he does not believe he is working. He has the highest success rate- in both programs- ever achieved by anyone. Yes, I'm a proud daughter, but the man is a treasure. He is giving purpose to people's lives. He is providing hope to people who have been decimated by war, government, and pure, simple evil. Everyone loves him (I say with complete non-bias).

Last week my dad asked me to help one of his former students with a nursing class I have already completed. I was happy to help, but not so happy to be inconvenienced. I tried to organize a time & place we could meet. The day of the tutoring session, my dad called me saying, he was on the way to our home with the student, D'Sange. I rolled my eyes. Students in teachers' houses is not OK in my book. I'll go along with it, I thought. I set aside my own studies, and gathered some supplies.

Forget "First World Problems." The DRC makes our worst nightmares look like DisneyWorld.

When D'Sange arrived at our home, I came down to greet her & fell in love with this vibrant, soulful young woman. Her English accent was thick, and I was definitely worried about her comprehension. As we began to study, I asked where she was from. She answered her home was the Democratic Republic of Congo. My heart stopped for a second. The DRC? One of the deadliest places on earth where fighting is a way of life, rape, pillaging & sex trade are the "norm"? And yet, across the table from me is this buzzing bundle of energy trying to understand a simple nursing text.

As we went through the text & I explained some solid study methods, D'Sange would catch on to what was being taught, and exclaim an excited, "aha!" Yet I still questioned her comprehension. I asked her, "D'Sange, what languages do you speak?" She answered, rattling off a list as long as my arm, including French! Yes- French. I could work with that!

I immediately asked where in the house I could find a French/English dictionary. Within 2 minutes, one was produced. I looked at it, somewhat dismayed. It was probably from the '70s. The bottom of the pages was tinged with an old mold, long since dried & flaked off, the pages aged and crinkled. The book was tiny, and not desirable by any definition. I checked a couple of words, looked at D'Sange and said, "Vouz devez trouver votre confiance. Ayez confiance en VOUS!" Suck as my French may, D'Sange suddenly sat up in her chair and answered excitedly, "Confiance en moi!"

It was an "a-ha" moment (not to be confused with the '80s rock group Aha). I told D'Sange to please keep the dictionary. I was a little embarrassed to give a gift so raggedy and lowly. I apologized to D'Sange, "I am sorry this dictionary is so old." Her simple reply has stuck with me and nestled in my heart, growing each day: "But this dictionary is new to me." Her answer triggered my own "a-ha" moment.

I am humbled and grateful and shamed. How much do we have in our lives? How much do we need. I'm not advocating against wanting nice things, or caring for the things you have. But that night changed my view on SO much. Do you know what D'Sange told me about our notebooks? We were both taking notes in a cheap, spiral-bound notebook. You know- the kind you can buy at your local Big Store for $0.50 (or less). D'Sange told me in her country, these notebooks are "richie" note books, which probably belong to a teacher, never a mere student.

I have an abundant life- spiritually, mentally, emotionally. I have a warm bed. I have pens and notebooks and even computers (plural!). I have wi-fi and a printer for Pete's sake. The things I cry about are the things some people never even dream of having in an entire life.

So from now on, when I hold an object in my home, or pick up my 10 year old MacBook & complain its SOoooooo out-of-date, I think of D'Sange saying, "Its new to me." Because honestly, how much in this vast universe is truly new to each of us. I'd gamble to say much is truly "new" to us. Its a matter of perspective. One I'm working on changing.

Half Life Crisis

I celebrated my 40th birthday this year. Along with my birthday came much introspection, prayer and thought. I wasn't at a happy place in my career, which had a domino effect on my life. Anxiety was at an all-time high, patience an all-time low. If you were close to me, you would have seen I wasn't myself. In fact, there were some very dark times (like night. That was a joke.). I had some very troubling thoughts. I struggled in ways I had not previously struggled. And it started to take a toll on my daughter and our relationship.

I literally, woke up one morning, and announced to my family, "I am going to school for something in the realm of medicine." Everyone looked at me quizzically, since my occupation has been in marketing and creative services for the last 15 years. I didn't know what I was going to do, but I knew medicine. I started investigating different options & educational pathways. I just didn't think I had "the brains" for it. Self doubt can be a great distraction from reality...

Strangely, the most critical person in my self-discovery process was my own doctor. I casually mentioned my intentions & possible paths. Immediately, she suggested I shoot for the stars. She was the first person to listen to me and say, "Rebekah, you are smart enough to be a doctor, a lawyer. Let's find your path!" And I really wanted to...but how do you re-design your entire life, mid-way through? I was busy with a job which made me physically ill, but hey- it paid the bills. How do you jump into the unknown?

Then one day I got fired from my job of 2 years. Does it sound horrible if I confess it was a wonderful day in my life? True story. Sure, I was sad, but in the 10 minute commute back to my house, I was over that particular trauma.

Slowly, difficultly, I began to pick up the pieces of my life and reassemble them in a completely new order. I moved into a new home. I had the time to turn the much needed attention to my daughter. I was able to make sense of my feelings and thoughts. I was able to heal. I binged on Netflix. I began to learn I am actually pretty darn smart.

I owe the healing to so many sources. My parents have been ridiculously encouraging. My therapist was able to bring me back from a place of being so very broken. People in my church provided love and support without ever judging me. The Lord gave me breath and a will to heal. That I am functioning, out of bed, not in a fetal position, is nothing short of a miracle. I don't exaggerate.

And oddly, somewhere along the metamorphic path, something in the core of my being has changed. The world is sharper. My heart has just a bit more love. My patience seems to stretch farther. While I may not be able to provide exact details on what happens next, I know it will be amazing. Because I finally, after 40 years, I understand: I am amazing. Be on alert world. Great things are about to happen.

Sorry Not Sorry

So many people not sorry,
they have their own t-shirt.

Last year when my teen daughter stole an electronic gadget, she initiated a gazillion microblogging site accounts. It was almost as literal as a kid in a candy store. I caught on after a few days & went back to read through her accounts to see what was up (digitally, yo). One of the phrases she used with consistency was a snarky, "Sorry not sorry." Its the anti-apology, if you will. It made me nuts. Seriously, crazy.

Mostly my insanity of that inane phrase is derived from the fact I am, in fact, apologetic about everything. I feel guilt for everything. I was probably the only little kid turning themselves into their parents for doing something possibly naughty. 11th grade: I ditched (literally) half of the year, turned myself into the Vice Principal. He told me to go home & relax. WHAT?!

I find myself apologizing for global warming (even though I don't buy into it...but that's another blog), the Lindenburg baby- all my fault, ISIS- totally on me. Crap, I'm pretty sure why the US didn't win more medals in the last Olympics- my bad. Get the drift? I feel bad for everyone, about everything. I apologize A LOT (friends can verify).

So here's my conundrum: I'm raising my niece, I refer to her as my daughter. She calls me Tia. She has contact and is beginning a relationship with her biological mom (my sister). We refer to my sister as "Your Mom." And here comes the I'm sorry part.

I am constantly explaining myself, my relationship, and apologizing for the situation. Quick example: My sister promised my daughter she would buy an expensive pair of boots. I took my daughter to the mall to try them on. They fit, shouts of joy all around. But then the awkward but typical conversation:

The sales lady then turned to me and asked, "May I ring these up for you?"

"No thank you," I replied, "her mother will be buying them."

"Oh, that's nice you have a wife to support you!" she states, a little overenthusiastic.

"No- actually her mother is my sister. This is my niece. I'm raising her. Sorry for the confusion."

"Oh, so you're a single mom?" she states with a lamented tone.

"Well, yes. But we'll be taking those Vans. Hahaha." Painful smile coming from me because I face this situation all too frequently.

I think part of my frustration comes from my own mind (fear, assumptions), and part of it comes from the ultra conservative culture of the state I live in (Utah).

For me, there are days I feel I will never be enough of a mother. My daughter has overcome a lot of things from her childhood, and continues to work to overcome still more. I do what I can to foster her love of the world, to teach her to be happy, to make sure she knows she is loved by me- and by her biological mother. But, I think as with all parents, there are days of feeling inadequate. We love our kids SO freaking much and want them to HAVE JOY. And do their homework, and not be slobs, and have fun...the list goes on. So perhaps the biggest lie of "Sorry" is I'm not sorry that I get to be a part of this amazing young woman's life. I need to have more faith the Lord has set things on a course which He has prepared and I need to have the faith to follow.

The cultural frustration of apology is absolutely culturally driven by locals (although it has improved over the years). Being a practicing Latterday Saint (LDS, or Mormom), I do attend church and activities. There are times I feel stigma because I am a.) single and b.) a parent c.) a single parent. People can be quick to judge without knowing circumstances. When people first met me and my daughter, without knowing the background, I got a lot of, "Oh...so is the dad in the picture?" and "So its just the 2 of you then?"

I know people do not mean harm, but when you get these prying questions frequently, and then sit through lessons about how a family should have a strong mother and father...a lot of guilt gets added to my shoulders. Again- I blame this on myself. I am prone to take things internally, and not verbalize how much they hurt or bother me. I know not every remark is a dagger meant for me. That is just ridiculous, and funny if you think about it in a literal sense.

So on this, the eve of starting a new Ward (or in LDS speak- going to a new church location, but same religion), I am making a promise to myself to not apologize. I will introduce Chloe as my daughter, and that is sufficient. Frankly, my life is my business, but I need to be less tender to the perceptions of others. Which is going to be really tough for me. :) In closing, sorry not sorry.

Empathy: Pass It On!

At the behest of some, and by necessity of self, I return to blogging. I think I did all things Social Media for so long, I was tired of hearing my own voice on the interweb. Now that I'm moving on professionally, I feel free once again to move on blog-wise. Aren't you lucky?

The world is a really dark and cruel place. I glance at the headlines, and cannot believe the hatred, thoughtlessness or general apathy mankind has for its own species. For humans to be so capable of beautiful, uplifting things, yet so prone to war, destruction and self-annihilation is downright perplexing to me.

In light of some current events, I would like to make a bold suggestion: let us, as a species, make an effort to have more empathy for one another. Empathy is defined as "the intellectual identification with or vicarious experiencing of the feelings, thoughts, or attitudes of another." In other words, it is the ability to put one's self in another's position; think about what someone else is feeling before judging, commenting or perhaps even acting.

In the recent wake of Robin William's death, I read and heard many uplifting things. But I also read and heard many pernicious things. Especially cruel were sentiments such as, "If you're depressed like him, kill yourself already." and the ever popular sentiment, "People like him [who commit suicide] are such cowards."

I could easily say something like, "Well...I have depression too. That is a really mean thing to say." stomp my foot and move on. But that solution does not sit well with me. I think the bigger issue at hand is the theme of empathy. In our tech-savvy, communication-at-a-distance world, I fear we are losing our humanity, byte by byte. It has become to easy to be the anonymous voice in a growing crowd of disharmony.

During a recent therapy session with my daughter, the therapist looked at me and kindly advised, "Put yourself in her shoes. If you were your daughter in this situation, how would you feel?" I was so grateful for that moment of clarity. As a parent, I am quick to express my expectations, and encourage progress as best as I can. You know how it goes- parents are essentially cheerleaders, coaxing and cheering the little and big victories of our children. Yet somewhere along the way, I had forgotten to put myself in my daughter's shoes and take a look at the world from her point of view, including her past experiences.

And thus, empathy has been on my mind. I need to have more of it towards other people. And I need more empathy from others. But then again, I think we all do. In that way, I think empathy is a lot like mercy: you can never have or give too much.

Elder Neil A. Maxwell of the LDS church said, "As things unfold, sometimes in full view, let us be merciful with each other. We certainly do not criticize hospital patients amid intensive care for looking pale and preoccupied. Why then those recovering from surgery on their souls? Empathy may not be appreciated or reciprocated, but empathy is never wasted." (You can read his April 1999 talk "Lest Ye Be Wearied and Faint In Your Minds" here.) I love this comparison of the physical and emotional/spiritual illness! We can easily spot someone in a cast or with bruises or stitches, but the injuries of the soul most often go unseen.

For this reason, it is essential that we, as a species, step up our efforts to be kind. This kindness towards others, this mercy, costs nothing yet can be worth everything. I invite you to look for opportunities in your lives to open your hearts, your eyes to those around you and have a little empathy. The world will be infinitely better because of your efforts.

Finally....this last bit is very tongue-in-cheek, situation begging empathy, comes from a TV show. it is completely irreverent, yet pretty pointed. Click here for a little lesson on empathy, Supernatural style (no-it is not frightening or offensive).

And...Onward

In times of trouble, frustration and loneliness, I remind myself- nothing is permanent. We always know there are brighter days ahead. Sometimes, its simply tougher than other times to keep your chin up and press forward. Thankfully, we have the blessing to always press forward. Better days: please come swiftly and succor my soul.

And I Shall Vote For...

You know...I come from a funny little family. I was fortunate enough to be taught in word and deed about many things. Manners were really big in our house. Holy cow- if you couldn't chew with your mouth closed or keep a napkin on your lap during dinner, my mom would let you know about your lack of manners. Yet I am not at all ashamed of the teachings I received, strict or arcane as some of them may seem in today's free-for-all society.

One of the things I remember with great clarity is our privilege and obligation to vote every year. My parents, grandparents and aunts would vote, and be sure that I knew it. They probably didn't even recognize the effects on me. But I have a very specific memory of a discussion with my grandfather.

Let me preface with this: I think my grandfather is one of maybe 3 of the greatest men I have ever had the blessing of knowing. Grampa, as I call him, is the kindest man I know. I do not ever recall him being angry or mean. The strongest thing he would say to someone would be the occasional, "Jackass!" to a crazy driver (oh- and to those kids who kept stealing Rudolph the Reindeer's red nose one Christmas). Other than that, I never heard the man speak ill of anyone. Not a soul. To this day, despite suffering from dementia, my grampa continues to be docile.

One year my grandparents were over my house. I remember very distinctly sitting on the couch with my grampa and asking him who he voted for. Without missing a beat, he said, "Donald Duck." Even as a kid, I knew this didn't make sense. "No grampa, for real. Who did you vote for?" Again he responded with a swift, "Mickey Mouse!"

No matter how I tried, he would not tell me who he voted for. He was funny and kind. But he was also sure to explain to me that who we vote for is a very private matter. From the way he explained it, I understood voting to be a highly personal, worthy of great respect. In my child's mind, it made perfect sense. I grew into an adult who shaped my beliefs based on this teaching. Interestingly, to this day, I still have no idea if he was a Democrat or a Republican.

Fast forward to 2012. The word "acrimonious" comes to mind when I think of the political landscape. I'm a news nerd. I LOVE to read global news. I've been following the US political landscape very closely. I definitely have opinions. I like to speak to people who both agree and disagree with my own views. But when I read the news, and then read comments left by ordinary people, I am aghast. People call each other names, they lash out, they insult strangers, they spew hatred and anger. I read it every day. I have read news feeds where people, literally, threaten physical violence should their candidate(s) not win.

Many feel very strongly about the 2012 US Election on Nov 6th. I know I do. But for the love of all that is sane- please be polite, and encourage others to also be polite. It sounds like such a basic request. Leave the pride aside if you're on the "winning" team. Shelf the animosity of you're on the "losing" team. Because really- the only winners & losers are We The People. Regardless of the final tallies we are still One Nation Under God. Whether we like it or not, we will be in this together.

On that note, I declare: I am officially voting for Han Solo. Yep. He's got my vote. If he doesn't win, I promise not to riot or hold grudges against the Hutt Clan.

Popcorn Popping on the Apricot Tree...In China!

I just stumbled across such a lovely story, I've been feeling the need to share it. My blog is called "The World Is A Tile" because its just a tiny, small world we live in. This story kind of illustrates the point.

I work for a very small, local company. You get all the good & bad you do with a small company. The bad, everyone wears numerous (nay, too many) hats. The good, well the people. I get to do what I love (mostly) and all of the people I work with genuinely care for each other. Weird, right? Anyway...recently a few of the ladies took one of the employees out for her birthday lunch. I was overworked and hesitant to go, but my wonderful boss guilted me into going.

As it turns out, the woman whose birthday we were celebrating related one of the most amazing stories I have ever heard. And I feel like it needs to be repeated. Those in the LDS community will be very familiar with the song, "Popcorn Popping On The Apricot Tree." Its a song we learn as little, little kids. We even have hand gestures to go along with it...you know- to make it all the more exciting.

Mrs. Georgia Bello wrote the tune some time in the 1950s. Her nieces and nephews grew up singing the tune long before it became a Primary favorite. She submitted the song to the LDS church for their use. It was a gift, she said. The LDS church copyrighted the song in 1989. I know I sung that song as a little kid, and could still sing it upon demand- hand gestures and all.

As a bit of a personal back story, Mrs. Bello did not have the easiest life. She was adopted, and faced familial challenges. She was by no means wealthy or a woman of "worldly" stature. One day, the LDS church phoned Mrs. Bello. A representative of the church explained the Chinese Government had requested permission to distribute the song to ALL of the schools in China. The representative went on to explain the church would relinquish rights of the song in order that Mrs. Bello could reap the financial benefits of such a transaction. Her immediate response: Nope. I gave the church the song, and it belongs to you. Smiles are all the payment I require.

The church representative persisted. "Mrs. Bello," he explained, "We are talking about millions upon millions of distributed copies of your song. The royalties would be very significant and we would like to return the rights to you." Mrs. Bello's response was again swift and sure, "No thank you. Please do with the song as you wish." When pressed as to what the church should do with monies made from the song's royalties, Mrs. Bello only asked the church do "something good" with money.

Mrs. Bello never spoke of this. Most people just knew her as an employee at a local music store. Some knew she had written the beloved Primary song. She just lived her humble life the way she thought was good and right. Years later, she received another call from the LDS church. This time, the message was brief. "Mrs. Bello, we just wanted to let you know we put your royalties to good use. We built a temple."

For the LDS, temples are a sacred, vital place. What an amazing call that must have been. To the sick and dying, that is the equivalent of building a hospital! To us, a temple is a bit of a spiritual hospital. This unassuming woman's love for music accomplished more than I can imagine. Happy kids the world over are singing this fun little song. And as a result, an entire temple was built, providing haven and a place of service for hundreds of thousands of Latter-day Saints.

Mrs. Bello passed away in 2007. I wish I had the opportunity to know this story when she was alive, and thank her. To her, to her family, I say, thank you, Sister Bello. For in the gospel we truly are brothers and sisters. Thank you for your unselfish act. Times are tight, money can be scarce. But hearing this story made me stop and think: How can I share the talents, the possessions which I have? Its not much. But I can give time. I can share meals and rides. I can smile more often and speak encouraging words. Challenge accepted! And next spring when the trees in Utah blossom, I will have a new appreciation of how little means can bring about great things.

Back in the Saddle Again

I haven't blogged all summer, and my mother is probably the only one to notice. Which is just fine, by the way. Summer began with employment, after 11 months of UNemployment. New job was quickly followed by new car, which was quickly followed with my daughter starting a new school (Jr High!).

While I don't have oodles of time to write about our little family's adventures, I do have a few comments on the world in general. As Inigo Montoya said in the Princess Bride, "Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up."

• Children are priceless. And they also kind of break moms' hearts. My dear, amazing daughter has broken my heart. But we have both learned about repentance, forgiveness and the beauty that is the ability to change one's self from within. My struggles with my daughter make me wonder what God must feel with us, His children. I must be a colossal pain in the ass...

• Parents are to be cherished. Heck- everyone is to be cherished. I was taught by my parents that life can be taken from us at any time. I've said it before- we are all "on loan" from God. People, honor your parents. Call them. Tell them you love them. Skype with them. Take them out for lunch. They won't be with us forever, and life is too short to have regrets. Treat your parents well. We put them through hell as we grow & they deserve our love and honor.

• A good night's rest is truly under-rated in our society. I hate sleep, but I'm learning the human body really needs a good 8 to 9 hours to be at a physical, emotional & cognitive best. I hate going to bed early, but darn- it sure does make life better.

• The next time you see a mom (or dad) out & about with kid(s), if she needs help, or asks for help-- lend a hand. Trust me, its very difficult for some of us to ask. But if someone reluctantly does make a request, its usually an important one. Life as a single parent is not easy. Just like any other family, single-parent families have the same struggles...we just have one less resource to deal with said problems. Be kind and patient with us. Support can be hard to come by. I know I'm just grateful for the odd invite out or the person who swings by to lend a hand. Sometimes asking for help costs us much more than others may know. Be gentle. We're trying.

• Finally, figure out how to live in the moment. We hear this from "self-help gurus." But this is a very basic and powerful tool in our lives. I've made an effort to be 100% present whenever I'm with my daughter. That means putting the cellphone/Laptop/Kindle Fire/business reading aside. Its not always convenient, but I cannot express how much this has helped our relationship. Don't waste precious time! Play that game of Go Fish, take a walk, tickle one another- whatever. Just be there, 100%.

And that should be enough to get me rolling in the blogosphere once again. Hoping you are all well, and are able to be with the ones you love. Now go call your mom! ;)

This Lump of Clay

Two things are mostly responsible for this post: First, an abundance of time has given me the opportunity to read. I love reading! I was explaining to my daughter how I used to go to bed with stacks of books around me. True story. I've been boasting to my daughter- I've read 6 books in 7 days...how's your reading going? For her, its a little competition to get her to pay attention & focus on her reading. For me, its a great opportunity for my mind to uncurl from the fetal position and stretch heavenward. Hurray for thinking!

The second impetus behind this entry is a quote I heard on NPR. Its not available in print, yet, so I won't quote it exactly or give the exact source just yet (I promise to update!). But the quote went something like this, "We are all born in a place on this earth, and from that springs what we are made of. Are you made of stony clay or soft, pliable clay?"

And the wheels haven't stopped turning since. I know who I am, and where I come from- both spiritually and physically. But I the thought of what I am made of, what materials would define me and my earthly existence, has made me dig deep and give pause.

From New Jersey, and perhaps from my English & Irish ancestors, I am a vital loam. I remember the first time I read that word- loam. I had never heard of it before. It is a type of soil which contains sand, silt and clay in specific proportions. Loam is ideal for agriculture because it provides much needed nutrients and yet is able to drain away excess water. It is a care-giver to plant life. New Jersey is, after all, the Garden State. We have beautiful soil which grows, quite possibly, some of the best tomatoes and corn in the world. Grass is green and rich this time of year. The air is humid and soft. The land provides life and abundance.

There is a part of me which is an amalgam of my current life and my Basque heritage. The Basque people are greatly misunderstood (that's another conversation entirely). They come from a mountainous region between Spain and France. The land was thought to be too steep and inhospitable to the French and the Spanish, but it suited the stubborn Basque people. They loved the tough earth which could be tilled with great efforts. They loved the stony paths and the lush mountainsides where their sheep grazed under careful watch. Wars were fought, lost and won, on either side of the Basque territories- never within. The rugged and beautiful landscape was used only as a pathway between the 2 areas by invading forces. The Basque people, coupled with their land, were that formidable, that indomitable. The land was strong, resilient, yet few understood its inherent hardiness.

The clay I am made of is rich & generous, meant to nourish others. There is a congenital flinty component to my makeup which serves as a ward & protection. As I put these words to form, I feel better- as if knowing what I am formed of, I might better understand how and what I can endure, what I can offer. Now ask yourself, what clay are you made of...?

A Little Goes A Long Way

This week has been a bit busy. My entire family has gathered from NJ & FL to join my daughter & I for Easter. The house is noisy, chaotic and full of people. In short- it's wonderful. Naturally, since I have company, I fell ill. Totally lame and kind of my own fault for not taking care of myself before I got seriously sick, but no big deal. I went to my trustworthy doctor, got a physical and a year's supply of various medicines for my sinuses.

I dropped my prescriptions off at our local Costco pharmacy without any fuss. The next day, between airport runs, I went back to pick up my meds. To my surprise, the cashier said my prescriptions had been flagged and said I needed to have a consult with the pharmacist before purchase. A little strange, but not a big deal. I went up to the consultation window, and a small, flustered woman in a white smock appeared on the other side of the counter. Nervously, she began to explain to me 2 of the prescriptions had an instant and fatal reaction when taken together. I listened carefully, since I was extremely stunned. I had recently taken the same 2 scripts together...and thought I was going to die. Turns out, it wasn't all in my head.

As the harried pharmacist finished explaining, she nervously gathered a pile of papers and offered me a print-out with all of the scientific facts. I thanked her heartily and asked a few questions. I bantered with her, and to my delight she began to smile. Then came the shocker. The pharmacist told me, "I'm really glad you are taking this news so well. I was very worried you would get upset and not be understanding." I laughed...until I realized she was serious. My response was quick, "Ma'am, you- literally- just saved my life. I would have taken those medications and my heart would have stopped. Then I would be dead. How in the world could I possibly yell at you? I should hug you." She smiled more broadly, "You are just SO CUTE!"

I've been called many things in my life, and "cute" is not one of them. I wasn't being cute. I was being honest and grateful. Surely this woman must be over-sensitive to people. Why would people yell at her? I thanked her again and stood in line to pay for my items. While waiting, my mom and I started people watching. We saw a number of people grumpily trudge by, shove other people's shopping carts and brow beat the staff over trivial matters.

In just a few short minutes, I realized the pharmacist was not at all over-sensitive. Summarily, people were just not kind. Over the last few days my mind has gone back to that incident over and over again. I am not always the happiest person around. I know for a fact I drift off into my own little world and start to scowl over my thoughts. Yet a little eye contact, a smile and a thank you goes a long way.

People should never feel like they are going to be berated. Especially someone who is trying to make lives better. How much effort does it really require to smile? If I honestly ask myself...the answer comes easily. I think we get to be in such a hurry (guilty!) and are so weighed down by our own issues/burdens we forget to reach out our hands to others (guilty again!). Kindness, or even simple courtesy are being lost in the din of our treadmill lives. I don't want that.

Because the pharmacist prevented my heart from imploding, I have decided to be nicer. It really shouldn't take such an incident. I am ashamed. But I'll come clean, and will try to be better. I can stop for that pain-in-the-rear-pedestrian that is not in the right of way. I can let a car in front of me in traffic. I can certainly say please and thank you to cashiers or random strangers. And I can certainly teach my daughter how to do these things as well. A little kindness truly does go a long way. As the saying goes, "No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."

3 Years, 3 Letters

My mother is visiting us from New Jersey. Its a real treat to have my mom here. She's been busy heading up the "Bucking Up" brigade and has been keeping the house spit spot. My mom is obsessed with cleaning- she actually enjoys it (seriously!), so I let her have her fun. My laundry basket is emptied every day, and ever night clean, folded clothes magically appear. We spend the days doing silly things. I introduced my mother to Downton Abby...and now she is determined to watch every last episode.

As you may or may not know, my daughter is my sister's birth daughter/my niece, but I took her in almost 3 years to the day. I've blogged about some of our tough times and some of our accomplishments. We are very open in our family, and we speak of how great it is to have more than one "mom" in our lives. I refer to her as my daughter, and people who do not know me closely are never the wiser. It's just not that big of a deal. We are a family, and that is that.

My daughter, however, calls me "Tia." Tia is the Spanish word for aunt. At my age, I kind of decided that I will never be called mother...and that's OK. I do not feel like less of a woman in any way. To get to my story, the other day, I was upstairs trying to unclog a bathtub drain and my mom was downstairs with my daughter. I called down to Chloe and asked her to bring me up something (I cannot even remember what it was). No response. If any of you have a 12 year old, this is typical.

I called down a second time, then a third. Finally, I could hear my mother say to Chloe, "Chloe- your aunt is calling you. Please answer her." The angry and swift response both shocked and tickled me, "Abuela, she is NOT my Aunt. She IS MY MOM!" I could feel the silence coming from my mother. I was completely floored and just moved. Seconds later, Chloe came bounding up the steps with whatever object I had been asking for.

On April 9th, it will be 3 years since we started our little adventure. That's how we refer to our home life- as Our Adventure. I'm pretty sure I've aged significantly in those 3 years. I joke that I will now need Botox for my wrinkles (I'm only half kidding). I have laughed every day, cried many times, and raised my voice just every so often. I've watched Chloe go from what I call "Baby Chloe" to "Young Woman Chloe." As with most adventures, not every day is smooth sailing. But the outcome, the end result is always worth the time and effort invested. The day my daughter called me "Mom," is a day I will remember. Its a short word- just 3 tiny letters, 1 syllable. Yet for me that word's meaning is so grand and so sacred.

Good Cop/Bad Cop...or Single, Deranged Mom

It is a scientific fact some species of animals eat their young. Some days, I wish I were that species. I am probably not the greatest mom in the world (not for lack for trying), but I can say I love my little one tween much beyond words or sometimes even actions. Here I shall comment on a difficult phase we're going through (on top of puberty- as if that weren't bad enough). My kid has sticky fingers and a horrific attitude.

First- I confide while asking readers to not judge. Chloe came from a broken home & suffered much at a young age, before coming to live with me. I've hesitated even saying anything to close friends because I am afraid the walls will go up, fingers will be pointed, and my kid's life will be over before it begins. But its not like that. All children having survived through what she has, are bound to have little social issues here & there. We do therapy, we do church, we do strict mom/tia (that's me!).

Here's where it gets tricky. No matter what happens- good, bad and ugly- I am always forced to be the "bad cop." I am and always will be the disciplinarian. There simply is not anyone else there. I make sure I provide abundant positive reinforcement & even incentive programs to help keep her scholastics on-task. We have fun and spend time together, so she knows she is important to me. To be fair, I give her my expectations and corresponding consequences well in advance, with fun boards around the house to serve as reminders. My threats are NEVER idle. You can ask anyone. I stick to my guns. Yet once every few months, we have an "incident" of her taking money from a wallet which does not belong to her.

Its so stinking frustrating. I'm well educated, I've run the gamut of psychological q & a's with her. I've been shouting angry, sobbing sad, and now...just kind of dispirited and left scratching my head. Is there a "bad cop" I can hire through some social services? Maybe mix things up a bit. I'm joking, and of course, I have a plan of action in place and new and more stringent consequences set up for the repeat offender.

And as I type and mull through the day's events, my reactions, her tears- as well as her inability to understand the consequences of her actions, I come to the conclusion that Moms freaking rock. Single moms are going straight to heaven (except for me, because I have a swearing problem yet to be resolved). I will choose to be BOTH good cop and bad cop, and take my meds so I'm not angry, delusional, Deranged Cop.

Feel free to hit me up in the comments if you have any suggestions for me! Single mom far from family is a lonely gig, so I'm always open to advice. :)

Bb's Top 5 Valentine's Day Movie Picks

This year, I thought I'd go out on a limb and bring everyone my top 5 Valentine's Day Movie picks. You know, since I love this Holiday more than any other holiday (read: sarcasm). I know its deeply rooted in tradition (read: Hallmark) and emotion (read: a free dinner or flowers). So to prove once and for all that I am a romantic at heart, I present to you my top-rated love stories:

#5: Battlestar Galactica
OK...this is a television series, and not really a movie, but come on- what doesn't say love like intergalactic battle for the human race? For those of you not in the know, this is a timeless epic about life after habitable worlds are destroyed. Humans must find the mystical "Earth," while battling evil/not-so-evil alien lifeforms (Cylons!). You had me at "Intergalactic."Sigh. Or maybe Sigh-Fy...?


#4: Finding Nemo
Don't scoff because this is a Disney movie. Finding Nemo is one of the few "kids" movies I can watch ad nauseum. Sure, its animated, but the humor is spot on. And funny is the new, new sexy. Especially since becoming a parent, I appreciate the relationship between the neurotic parent, his friend, and his child. I'm a single parent too. Some days I feel like I'm swimming around all by myself, trying to navigate my way to P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way. Then along comes a day when I meet the SLC version of Bruce the Shark or the loveable, amnesiac Dori. This movie highlights the fact that some days, we simply get swallowed by a whale. But we also learn, we're all in this together. Just keep swimming!


#3: Hot Fuzz
If you haven't yet seen this British gem, then please rent it immediately. It is a timeless tale of overcoming social obstacles and stereotypes in order to form lasting friendships. A too-good cop gets "promoted" to a sleepy English village and is forced to partner with the hapless but hug-able Police Constable Butterman. There are plenty of car chases, swan chases, Shakespeare, and shoot outs to fill my empty heart. And if you don't like this movie, well jog on!

#2: Hero

This is my idea of a tear-jerker. Jet Li stars as the movie's protagonist, Nameless. Sure, its in Mandrin and you might have to read subtitles (or listen to the dubbed version), but this is a visually striking love story. OK, maybe not a story about romantic love, but love & sacrifice for the greater good. The cast is the Hong Kong equivalent of super A-list stars. The actors are so fluid in their moves, their Shaolin-style fighting is virtually a dance. The scenes are layered in color to represent various emotions, using the backdrop of remote China as its canvas. When I watch this movie, I feel as though I am viewing art. Plus-- its a freaking Kung-Fu movie folks. It doesn't get much better than that. Kung-Fu, people! Kung-Fu.
 

#1: Man on Fire
What do you get when you mix Denzel Washington, people trafficking, and an adorable little girl (the now grown-up- and lovely- Miss Dakota Fanning)? A freaking great movie based on a true story. This tale takes place in Mexico City. It is a place I love and hold dear, but also a place which serves as a cautionary tale of corruption and vices. Is this movie formulaic? Maybe a bit. But talk about a true love story. We even get Christopher Walken as the voice of reason (weird, right?). Oh boy. I'm getting all misty thinking about the revenge Denzel exacts on crooked cops and wayward politicians. I'm have to go grab a box of tissues right now & watch some explosions.

And there you have it. The Top 5 Love Stories according to yours truly. What? Did you honestly think you would find a chick flick on my list? Puh-lease. But seriously- these movies are top notch and worth a watch. I actually own all of these movies, so you are also welcome to watch them with me. I'll even serve popcorn. But no funny stuff. This is Valentine's Day- a day reserved for TRUE love. You know, like the love between a Ninja and his sword. Wait...that didn't come out right...

Going Home

Home has such a depth of meaning for most people. Its not where you live, but where you are. It is where you lay your head at night, and where you surround yourself with family or loved ones. At different points in our lives home may be a childhood bedroom with a twin bed, a dorm room with stacks of books, a small apartment which used to be a garage.

There are a multitude of images which the word home evokes for each individual. A quick Google search of the term, "Going Home," just spit out 339 million results. There are songs, poems, pictures. All about going home.

I chose to go home this Christmas, taking my daughter and my 2 dogs. To my childhood home, where my parents still live. It was an event preceded with much trepidation and anxiety. Our family was coming together, in its tiny entirety, for the first time in 5 years. It was a wonderful time. A true blessing. But I think we all know it could have gone either way- good or bad. We were blessed. The visit was beyond lovely. The whole time I was home, I kept hearing the Jenny Bruce song, Home,
in my head:

Mirror of life
Pillar of light
Blood of my heart
oceans of fate,
rolling and deep
could not keep us apart

I know they say you can't never go home again.
But all the world be calm
Going home...
you will walk into the light
there's fire burning warm and bright
open up the door to a room where they're waiting for you
and you feel so at ease you will know you're at home

all that I am
fruit of the tree
falling from grace
you are the sun, moon and the stars
no one can ever take your place

I know they say you can't never go home again
But all the world be calm
Going home...
you will walk into the light
there's fire burning warm and bright
open up the door to a room where they're waiting for you
and you feel so at ease you will know you're at home

Inside, faith is gonna find you
somewhere no one knows the word goodbye.


At 2 a.m., one blustery and dark morning, I took dog out. There I stood on my parents lawn, in the still black of the night, in my bare feet and pajamas. That song was running through my head, as were a multitude of other thoughts. Thoughts about the whys, the hows, the what comes next for me....and I looked up.

There in the still sky, shining as if just for me, was Orion's Belt. I was a kid who liked to think a lot, and always looked to the heavens. Orion's Belt was what I would look at every night before coming in, and again every morning before heading off to early morning seminary. After nearly 20 years of creating my own home where ever I am, I looked to the skies and saw a constant.

Like the hand of an angel, those stars instantly calmed my soul. Yes, came the answer. You can always go home. Faith will always find me, and home will always be where no one knows the word goodbye.

A Piece of Cake

My daughter requested a German Chocolate Cake for her birthday this year. Being handy in the kitchen (not bragging), I obliged. And in the process of making that confounded cake, I experienced an epiphany.

In preparation for making this cake, I did my homework. Since baking is not my forte, I researched everything from the etymology of German Chocolate Cake, to recipes, to people's reactions to said recipes. I carefully selected the best and began my prep work. I pulled out all the stops- we're talking cake flour, sifting, chocolate squares, whipping egg whites. Everything. The actual cake batter took me nearly an hour to complete. I was happy as a lark when I gently placed the cake pans in the oven, timer set.

When the cake was finally baked, I knew, right away, there was going to be trouble. The cake had not risen as much as it should have, and upon quick inspection, I noted the cake was FIRMLY stuck in the pans. How could this be?? I coated & floured the pans and followed every instruction to the letter. I hopped on line, furiously googling, "How To Get A Cake Un-Stuck From A Pan." No success with suggested methodologies. Finally, I caved. I knew there was only one way that cake was coming out of the pan: by brute force. And it wouldn't be pretty.

Using a rubber scraper, I scraped both pans out onto the counter. It was the saddest site I think I've seen (kitchen-wise). I picked up a piece of the cake and tasted: it was heavenly. I just stood there shaking my head. I re-read the recipe. I had done everything as explained. UGH!!! The birthday cake was dead.

I sucked up my pride, tossed the awesome tasting but now-just-a-pile-of-crumb cake out. I headed to the pantry, fingers crossed. Sure enough, there was a German Chocolate Cake mix on a shelf. With some doctoring, I had the new cake into the oven in about 4 minutes. I've still got home made frosting, and it will taste just fine. Plus, I'm not sure my kid's 12-year-old palate is sophisticated enough to even spot the difference.

Moral of the story: Sometimes we do things right, like we should. We labor, we are obedient, we take the time, we follow the instructions. But that alone does not guarantee success. Sometimes, we still take a few stripes, waste some valuable resources in attempts to do good. Our efforts are met with opposition and even failure. The trick is to not just throw in the proverbial towel and walk away. The trick is to have a back-up plan and the tenacity to use it. Even if we fail the first time around, all is not lost. We have gained valuable experience (for example, I learned that Wilton makes a substance that guarantees the release of cakes from pans). We have gained wisdom, patience. But that is not all. We need to take the next step: Be willing to try again. If we stop at each failure, how will we ever progress? Whether it is our culinary skills, our personal belief system, or our very own salvation, we must have the ferocity, humility and character to persist.

So yeah, I made a cake mix for Chloe's birthday. Because, this girl will have her cake, and eat it too.

Thanks A Lot

I have so very much to be grateful for. I could make a list as tall as my house of great gifts bestowed upon me. My niece, my family, my friends would all be on it. But I will let the poet Folliott S. Pierpoint speak for me in his poem-turned-hymn, "For The Beauty of The Earth." I have long loved this hymn. I have found comfort in it year round and find it especially meaningful this time of year. Enjoy the message and may your day be full of Thanks. I am grateful for you and your roll in my life. Happy Thanks Giving to you and yours.

For the beauty of the earth

For the glory of the skies,

For the love which from our birth

Over and around us lies:

For the beauty of each hour

Of the day and of the night,

Hill and vale and tree and flow'r

Sun and Moon and stars of light

         For the joy of human love,
         Brother, sister, parent, child.
         Friends on earth and friends above
         For all gentle thoughts and mild. 
 
         For each perfect gift of Thine
         To our race so freely given.
         Graces human and divine
         Flow'rs of earth and buds of heav'n.

Lord of all, to Thee we raise

this our joyful hymn of praise.

WIsdom From The Shire

If you know me, you know my dog, a Shih Tzu, is named Mr. Frodo. Its no accident. Firstly, I am a nerd. I have always loved the stories of Tolkien. When I adopted my dog, he went by another name. He was a scruffy, 1-year old with a serious case of snaggle tooth and no sense of home. But he had the biggest, most loving eyes I had ever seen in an animal. And I wanted him to be a little companion to me. I was single, over the age of 30, and just lonely. I named my furry-footed companion Mr. Frodo after one of the most loyal, trusted characters in modern literature. Over six years later, the beloved  pooch has proven worthy of his name. In some of my darkest times, Mr. Frodo has, literally, been by my side. He's adjusted to the many changes of life, including the arrival of my niece and noweven has a canine companion of his own (Starbuck the cross-eyed mini-Poodle/Japanese Chin).

Mr. Frodo, my Mr. Frodo, has kept me going through thick and thin. Sounds silly, you know- because he's a dog and all. But it's true. And so I come to a quote provided by Samwise Gamgee, the loyal sidekick of Mr. Frodo Baggins. Its given me a little perspective lately and helped me to keep my chin up. Three cheers for good friends...and wise & loyal Hobbits!

I Can't Run But...

I am a notorious dreamer. Literally. I have been ever since I can remember (age 5-ish). Dreams are the way my crazy thoughts, often kept to myself, come bubbling up to the surface. They are also a way for the world and for God to communicate to me. Its just as much as part of who I am as my eye color or my hirsuteness.

Lately, I've been dreaming A LOT. Like crazy dreaming. Some dreams mean nothing. For example, the other night I dreamed I was lecturing a doctor from Grey's Anatomy on his love life, while using the example of the family trials from Wizards of Waverly Place. Not much meaning there...just a dichotomy of what's on the telly.

But for the first time since my childhood, I have been experiencing re-occurring dreams. Weird, right? Probably not. I know its my brain telling me to fix things. Ugh. Who likes to fix things? I'll share with you one of the dreams that pops up like an email reminder.

I decide to go jogging. I get dressed up and ready to go. I head to a destination where I'm going to run- sometimes my neighborhood, a local park, or even down in Moab. By the time I get to the actual place where I'm going to jog, there is someone there to go along with me. I don't recognize this person (ie: they are not some one from my waking life), but I know they are a friend.

We start off walking to get our heart rates up, and then hit a very slow jog. Side note: I really hate jogging in real life. I will walk anywhere, but unless I'm running in a game or away from something scary, I'm not running. In my dream, I am making a HUGE effort to jog. But I'm not traveling any distance. It is as if my legs are stuck in translucent quick sand. They are moving slowly, painfully, but I'm simply unable to move forward. Sometimes I'm stuck in a cross walk and motorists honk their horns and yell scornfully.

Even more strangely, I start to apologize to my running partner and anyone who will listen. "I am so very sorry. I really can run, I just don't know what's happening right now. I feel like such a failure, I'm so sorry." The struggle continues on with me stuck in a bizarre stasis until I wake.

This is the story of my life right now. I'm in a situation where my career is in a giant hole. I know I need to get out of the hole (read: get a new job), but the harder I try, the less I seem to be able to do. I know I have people cheering me on in life, but I am that motorist. I am ever so frustrated with my own lack of movement. I call myself a failure nearly every day. I want to be jogging, but not for lack of desire, I'm simply kind of stuck right now.

To put all of this into perspective, life is OK. I'm alive. I have a beautiful, healthy and intelligent daughter. I have a lovely roof over my head, 2 little furry friends I call companions (not Hobbits- the dogs). I have family and friends who love and pray for me. I sincerely try to focus on the good. Blah, blah. I am just freaking annoyed with my current situation. To quote Paul Simon, "I can't run, but I can walk much faster than this."

Did Someone Hit the Repeat Button?

Life is an adventure. As a single, LDS woman raising a now 11 year old girl, some days are better than others. I joke that many days are like the movie, "Ground Hog's Day", where the hero of the film finds himself in a bit of a time warp, forced the live the same day over and over again (Ground Hog's Day, to be exact). In the movie, this character knows what's going to happen because, well...he's already lived it an infinite number of times. Some days, he is just desperate/apathetic/hopeless to move on to the next day which will never come. On other days, he does his all to make the best of specific circumstances. He tries to help out those in need and set right little wrongs along the way.

Ever experience De'ja vu?

Parenthood is just like Ground Hog's Day (the movie, not the national holiday). Moms (and dads) wake up every morning to assorted children. How they came into our homes does not matter. Adopted kids, foster children, birth children, nieces or nephews...they are our lives. And when they caw (or cry or jump) in the morning, we are suddenly at their beck and call.

I sat down recently to assess our little family dynamic with my niece- whom I call my daughter. Truthfully, we've been in a precarious state of late. She's sorting out the type of things pre-teens often do; kicking up a little bit of attitude and rebellion in the process. On the other hand, she's doing SO much better at school. We've gone from failing to A's & B's. Overall, I'd call our situation a "mixed bag".

But when people ask me, "How are things going?" I nod and smile and say, "Kind of like Ground Hog's Day." Then explain: Each day is new, and with it brings new homework and new micro-challenges, clean clothes and different menu options. But essentially, we just repeat the same days over and over again, until we learn whatever lesson God has planned for us, and then we move on to the next.

With enough nurturing on our part, LOADS of patience, and many hours spent on knees praying, we make it past that singular, repeating day. And our children are grown, entities unto themselves. We will then be parents of adult children (freaked out yet?).

I don't know what I'll do when that day gets here for me. Let me be clear: I relish, love, memorize each moment, every day and keep a mental scrap book of the ephemeral snuggles, giggles and high-fives. But until that day, I'll be parenting in Rinse & Repeat mode. I will continue to make little (and maybe big) changes & advances daily, but I do so with a life-time commitment to stick to it and do my very best. I'm pretty sure we'll survive the process no less for the wear, and perhaps just a bit wiser than we began. :)