Now what?

Rambling #2 (see previous post for why this is #2)

A little history: Back in 1994, I was visiting teaching (a Mormon thing) at a Lois Upton-Rowley's house and her teen age daughter walked through the living room and into the kitchen. It was a traditional school day and my first thought was, "How dare this mom let her daughter's germ get to my baby." (I had my four month old with me.) So I politely asked why her daughter was home from school. She told me that she was homeschooled. 

Oh, goodness. What is this "homeschooled" thing? We had a rather lengthy conversation about it. She ended up giving me a notice for a state wide conference that was just in a few weeks. 

I drug my husband and two children (2 years old and 4 months) to that conference and drank the Kool-aid. I was in! 

Fast forward to April 2016, and six kids later. My baby just took the entrance exam for Bellevue College's Running Start program and got in. I'm done!

Now what?

About three years ago a friend who didn't homeschool and is just a bit older than I warned me (I was in a group of women so it wasn't so drastic as this will sound) that once your baby is out of the house and it is just you and your husband and he isn't ready to retire and you aren't willing to get a minimum wage job, you better find something or you will go crazy.  "Take it from me," she said, "Capital C, capital R, capital A, capital Z, capital Y with lots of exclamation points after."

Thankfully I listened and got certified as a personal trainer. I have my personal training, but I really need more clients as the middle of my day next year will be silent. I have one more month of where the middle of my day is still homeschooled focus, but after that..."Now what?"

Maybe I volunteer at some cancer thing...
Maybe I go back to school...
Maybe I market myself to pieces...
Maybe I study on my own...
Maybe I teach PE in private schools...
Maybe I take a nap....

But I'm so glad I homeschooled. Best 22 years of my life! I wouldn't trade them for anything. I have life long memories with my children and boy did I learn a lot. 

Bombings, Missionaries, and a Mom's heart

My world has been rocked again.

In April 2013, my world was rocked by the bombing of the Boston Marathon. I wasn't there, but I have run my fair share of marathons. I can only imagine what it was like. I've been in the craziness of the finish line. I know how those last few miles seem to last an eternity and to be turned back. I have no idea how I would have reacted but I'm sure it would have rocked my world.  I did find out what races were like after that. In 2015, I ran the Vancouver, BC, marathon and my husband, who usually is by my side within seconds of me crossing the finish line had to run around a lot of barriers to get to me. They asked us to limit our checked bags to the essentials if at all. I've run local races and likewise they will pat down your bag and even look inside. 

Elder Michael Blanding

Tuesday (March 22, 2016), I woke to the news of bombings in Belgium. This follows a few months after bombings in Paris. Then the news flashed through my news feed that four of injured were LDS missionaries. My heart sank. My heart sank because I have two sons who are serving on missions. One is serving in San Fernando, CA, (near LA) and the other just landed in Macon, Georgia. In fact he hadn't even been in Georgia for 24 hours when the bombs went off across the Atlantic. 

Just a side note, when I heard of the San Bernardino shootings a few weeks ago, I wasn't quite sure where that was in relationship to where Elder Michael Blanding was serving. I pulled over (I'm always in my car it seems) and did a quick google maps to find out how close his apartment and area was to the shootings. Thankfully he was some 70-80 miles away. WHEW!

Elder Matthew Blanding

My heart ached. My heart still hurts. Three of those missionaries were young people. Young people who gave up 18-24 months of their lives to teach peace, love, hope and the gospel of Jesus Christ. May God speed their recovery. The fourth missionary was a "senior" missionary. Someone who during their retirement years decides to serve. I read today that his condition has turned worse. My heart aches for those who are here in America waiting to hear news and wishing they could be by the bedside of those they care for. I don't even know what that feels like but it must hurt. 

Elder Jason Blanding

I've stood in the driveway of the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah, three times now (I have one son who served in Puebla, Mexico from 2013-15). I have sobbed upon closing the door to the car and pulling away leaving that young boy. I've turned and watched them with the help of a fellow missionary, pull their two (or three) suitcases down the sidewalk and either we turn the corner or they do and they are gone! My only communication with them is a weekly email they send. They spend the next 24 months (18 if they were a female) serving, teaching and loving strangers far from home. Two of my boys have done it in a language not their own. I've cried myself to sleep numerous times just thinking about them. Yes, they are young men, but to me they will always be my little boys. 

Elder Matthew Blanding and me. I tried not to let them see me cry. 

Will I see them again?
Will I hug them again?
Will I hear their voice again?

There are dangers no matter where we send our children, school, missions, vacations, etc. But for me the reality hit home with my first son. I hadn't yet hit five year remission and that bench mark is huge when fighting cancer. Survival rates climb after year five. And when I said good-bye to Jason (my first), I had a scan coming up the next week. Letting him go knowing that I might be back fighting cancer was gut wrenching. Mike (my second), was the same thing. I hadn't yet hit five years. Matt (my third), was just a little bit easier because I had hit five years, but six month before he left they found a mysterious band in my liver. And why do I do this? but I scheduled a scan to happen right after all three of them left on their missions. Thankfully all three times the doctor called and said, "See you in six months!" 

But my missionary mom heart aches. She aches for all those missionaries who are hurt while away from home. There is no mom to help you; you can't even call her. I know the first time I was sick while away at school, I called my mom--probably a collect call--and she walked me through getting myself well. Then to be the mom who can't do a dang thing! You can't hold their hand, make Chicken Noodle Soup. You do exactly what all of us moms do: you give your son to the Lord and pray daily (sometimes three times a day) for their safety, peace, health and with people to teach. You live by faith. 

May every child of every mother be looked after is my constant prayer and may those who wish to do evil STOP! Please stop! My my mom heart is breaking. 

Celebrating Women... And the Award Goes to.....

Today, March 8, 2016, is International Women's Day. 
I looked that up on the computer and I'm still not sure what it really is about. It has something to do with "Gender Parity". I had to look that up to and by definition it means:
"The Gender Parity Index is a socioeconomic index usually designed to measure the relative access to education of males and females. In its simplest form, it is calculated as the quotient of the number of females by the number of males enrolled in a given stage of education (primary, secondary, etc.)"

OK, I'm not going there. I'm going where I first thought this was going. I thought this was about celebrating the women in your life who made a difference, proved something, and more importantly deserve to be given the Oscar, or Emmy, or Nobel Prize equivalent award to those who are just plain awesome in their own little circle and made a difference in someone's life.

So the without further ado....

And the Award Goes to...

Nellie Nadine Ostler!
My mom has been on my mind lately. January we celebrated her birthday. Dang! Do I miss her. Then my brother's son's future mother-in-law asked for wedding pictures of his grandparents and great-grandparents. Then my son left on his LDS mission and we were back in Utah, a place my mom loved and I saw all the things my mom use to talk about. Then I went to the doctors and they call me by my first name which I share with my mom. Then to top it off, my daughter tagged me in a Facebook post. This facebook post was one where you copy and paste the message and then tag a few more people. This one is about celebrating when you felt beautiful. She actually posted this picture of me and her.

I remember when I first thought my mom was beautiful. I was doing a 7th grade English paper and we had to interview someone in our family and I don't recall the rest of the assignment. I just remember staring at this photo of my mom and thinking, "Wow, she was very beautiful as a teen." 

My mom had me later in life and all my friend's moms were pretty young. They were "hip" and "with it" or at least I thought. I felt like my mom was stuck in the 50's and we were living in the late 70's early 80's and she just wasn't "with it". I actually had to take back that thought. I began to think of my mom as something other than my mom. She had been a teen (maybe she did know a little about teenage angst). She had been "in love" (maybe she did know something about heart break). She had been a student (maybe she did know a little about pressure to fit in or about assignment anxiety). Maybe there was more to her. 

There was. 

And for that she wins the first award in my selection for this International Women's Day award that I'm giving out.

The second recipient isn't a person but a group of people. Granted they all aren't women, but the majority of them are. The award goes to nurses. Today I have the honor of visiting my oncologist for the last time. No, I'm not getting kicked out because I'm cured. He is retiring. We had a lovely chat. He's going to Texas and unfortunately he is taking his lovely wife, his nurse with him. Nurse Sharon held my hand as Dr. K. took a bone biopsy. Nurse Sharon held my hand when she pumped chemicals into my body to kill the cancer. Nurse Sharon called to tell me happy news as well as sad news. Nurse Sharon was there ever step of the way. Today after my chat with Dr. K, I had to have my blood drawn. Nurse Sharon wasn't able to do it because she was administering chemotherapy to another patient. But I heard her words. They were almost the same words she spoke to me all those years ago. But as much as they might be the same, there was sincerity behind them. "Darling, I know this hurts." "Darling, I'm so sorry." "Darling, just hold on." "I'm almost done." "Darling, I know." And she does. She is a survivor herself. 

I waited for her to come out from behind the privacy curtain and then I stopped her and told her "Thank you for saving my life." Of course she wouldn't take credit for it, but I let her know how important the work she did and still does is to those of us who don't see a very rosy outlook on life. Today Nurse Sharon and all the other lovely nurses (male ones too) are celebrated because of their undying nurturing care for those who most of the time would rather be somewhere completely different.

Yes, I cried as I sat down in my car. I will miss her and her husband. 

And the last recipient goes to my daughter. 

I had five boys and then God blessed me with Jessie. I get the "oh, so you kept trying until you had a girl." No, not really. Out of my six children, I only planned my first four. God decided to give me Chris and Jessie. 

I celebrate Jessie because I think she is great and I think she thinks I'm great. She keeps me young and she keeps me humble. 

Memorable Year

My daughter is a dancer so we watch "So You Think You Can Dance" and "Dancing With the Stars". I have to secretly admit that I enjoy our time together and am really beginning to like dance. I'm not a dancer, I'm a runner so I'd rather watch the Boston Marathon or the Olympics, but I understand the dedication, grace and determination it takes to dance. In fact, I'll even go out on a limb and say that dancing is a pretty darn hard sport. And I do admit that I like it. 

This past episode of Dancing With The Stars (aired Oct 5, 2015) was kind of a crazy episode. It was titled: Most Memorable Year. The idea behind the show was to have the stars pick a song that reminded them or somehow correlated with their most memorable year. As each dancer's packet was shown, I couldn't help but notice how many stars memorable year was full of tragedy. 

Paula Dean's was the year she left her husband and started her Bag Lady Cafe.
Tamar Braxton's was when her husband had blood clots in his lungs and then they decided to start a family.
Nick Carter's was the year he joined Backstreet Boys instead of a life of drugs and crime.
Carlos PenaVega's was the year he hit rock bottom, went to church and within a week found his wife and life again.
Bindi Irwin's year was the time she lost her father. 

I could go on, but I won't. It made me think of what really defines us is our trials that we march through. I can't say we "overcome" them, but trials that we just lace up our boots, put on a cloak of courage and march through the mess we have been handed or that we have created ourselves. 

As I reflect on what my most memorable year might be, I can't pinpoint one. Here are the ones in the running:
1989: The year I got married. Song would be: When You Love a Woman by Journey
1991: The year that ended two years of infertility with the birth of my first born. You've Got a Friend in Me  by Randy Newman or A Beautiful Life by Donny and Marie Osmond
2002: The year I was in a horrible auto accident (it should have taken my life). Good To Be Alive (Hallelujah) by Andy Grammer
2008: The year I lost my mother. Heroine by Asia
2009: The year I was diagnosed with cancer and within a week my father-in-law died. Runnin' With the Devil by Van Halen or Survivor by Donny Osmond
2010: The year I traveled to hell and back while undergoing chemotherapy. An Extraordinary Life by Asia

And, yes, I see myself in all of these songs dancing and overcoming every obstacle and becoming stronger! 

What is your most memorable year and does it have a song or dance?