Instagram, Authenticity, and thoughts inside my head

Last week I joined instagram.

It's fun to share pictures, and look at what other people are doing, but it's also got me thinking about how picture-obsessed our culture has become.  So much of what's on instagram is staged--it's not 'real life' per se.  The clutter is removed, flowers are added, and lighting is adjusted.  The other day I saw someone comment on Facebook that they were taking  a 2-month trip and would 'go anywhere as long as they could get good pictures.'  I thought, Really??  It's not about an amazing experience, good food, new friends, great memories? You just want good pictures to show off?  I'm sure that's not exactly what the person meant, but thoughts of pride and materialism have been occupying my mind lately.

One summer in college (not all that long ago) I took a 3 month trip to South America.  I had a basic camera, and took a decent number of pictures.  But there were no selfies, no photo-editing and I never thought once about who would be seeing the pictures besides myself.  I just took pictures of what I wanted to remember, and what I thought was beautiful.  There was no public forum to give a play by play of how awesome my trip was.  Now it feels like our audience, and their reaction, motivates what we take pictures of.  I'm afraid of what we'll be like 10 years down the road.  Will we be doing things just to take a picture to show the rest of the world how great our lives are?

All that to say, I'm not quitting instagram, but I do want to strive for authenticity.

I also noticed that I tend to write on my blog only about things that have accompanying pictures.  On one hand, taking pictures helps me remember what happens, but on the other hand, there are a lot of thoughts and experiences I have without any associated pictures, and I want to try harder to record them as well.

So this post intentionally has no pictures.  I hope it won't be the last.


A few thoughts I've been having recently:

• When I was driving home from post yesterday I realized I will probably never again live in such a charming, colorful, quaint town.  I love having purple, orange, and green buildings lined up in a row, with the town church in the background.  I love that the whole town is walk-able.  There are always old people out and about, riding their bikes, walking to the grocery store, or weeding their gardens.  And while I don't speak German, and consequently haven't met a lot of the Germans in my town, I recognize a lot of them and see them interacting like they've probably known each other their whole lives.  My neighbor Hans lives alone, and he's been MIA since last November.  Last week he suddenly reappeared,and over the course of an hour I saw dozens of cars and pedestrians stop just to talk to him.  It's a friendly town.  I really think I'll miss living here, despite the rural factor.  America just doesn't do 'cute' quite like Bavaria.
• I had my 6-week follow-up at the doctor.  I was proud to survive the trip to Amberg with all three kids in tow.  It wouldn't have been possible were it not for my super-double-stroller-plus-glider-board.  Even though Tiago fell off once and hit his head on the concrete (which led to me carrying him in my arms) we made it, and everyone behaved, and I got the birth control prescription I need because I don't want to add a fourth any time soon.  As I was talking with my doctor, I was feeling a little nostalgic.  I can't believe I've had all my kids at the same hospital, and had the same doctor the entire time.  She told me I should move back when I'm ready to have more kids.  (Not happening! ha).  It will be very strange to experience pregnancy and child birth back in the States.  I've heard people make comments about ultrasound technicians, and that's completely foreign to me.  My doctor is the one who always does the ultrasounds (and she's awesome at it!) and they happened at every appointment.  On the other hand, it wasn't uncommon here to see a random doctor when I showed up for an appointment, and at my 6-week appt. my doctor asked me who it was that delivered my babies, I couldn't even tell her.  "Uh... he had dark hair... I only saw him for about five minutes..."
• Some days I feel like I've got this mothering thing down.  I can sometimes hold both babies and Tiago simultaneously while we watch a TV show and everyone is quiet and content.  And then last week there was a very stressful day with a lot of crying, and I woke up the next morning with hives, and a vomiting child.  And my kitchen turned into an epic disaster.  But then three days later, I cleaned and felt like I was mother-of-the year again.  A lot of the time I really do enjoy having three little ones running around, and feel like there's a bit of a rhythm to life.  We get to go to the park and eat goldfish and relax at home.  And then there are the times when I just feel post-partum-fat and trapped in my messy house with screaming kids, and I'm glad I can remember that sometimes I like this, and tomorrow will be better. 
• I've been reading President Eyring's biography, and I love it!  Some day I might write more in detail about it, but it's insightful and I've learned a lot about how to work in councils, accepting even seeking criticism, striving to develop certain habits instead of just accepting the way we are, becoming humble while seeking knowledge, and achieving a balance in life.  It's incredible to think of the caliber of men that lead the Church, and how smart and successful, yet humble, they are.  I might need to read it a second and third time for that to really sink in with me...

Enough for now.  I realize I'm writing this more for me than anything, but since I don't keep a real journal, it will have to do.  

Running - love to hate it

I have a love/hate relationship with running.  Except I can't actually recall a time I've ever loved it...

I've just done it.

Starting back in high school I tried to stay in shape by running, albeit very slowly.  I was more concerned with just doing it than doing it quickly.  I was pretty dedicated my freshman year of college (still slow) and had friends who would run with me.  It just became a habit.  I ran 5K races around BYU periodically.  A few years later I made a New Years resolution to run 10 miles every week, and due to my obsession with completing all goals that I set, I ran my 560th mile on NYE.

Do I have any running memories during my mission?  A few.  I ran around a big field.  Once.  I remember one companion who always agreed with me that stretching in our warm bedroom would be more fun than running outside in the cold.  I liked her!  Then I had a companion who made me run every morning, even making me get up 10 minutes early!  We were lucky that we lived next to the temple and could run a few laps around the temple grounds every morning.  It made it more bearable.

Once back in Provo, I heard about a new half marathon being held on Halloween.  I love Halloween and just seeing runners in costumes sounded like fun, so I signed up.  The training was miserable.  School and work kept me busy so I was mostly just running on the weekends.  I went on one long run with my sister and we passed a Burger King billboard so we talked for over 6 miles--up and down hills-- about what we wanted to order.  The first thing we did when we got home was drive over to get Whoppers and fries.

The race came and went.  My only goal was to finish without walking, and I succeeded.  I think I also wanted to finish under 3 hours (I know, dream big) and succeeded on that account too.  As evidence that I wasn't running for time, I honestly don't remember what I ran it in.  Maybe 2 hrs and 30 or 45 minutes?  All I know is I finished.  In a bumblebee costume.

And then I started dating a guy I'd met the week before...  named Hyrum.  And the running stopped.  No time for running when you're dating and engaged and planning a wedding and traveling and starting a new job!

My running has been sporadic ever since.  I don't think I've ran in a single race.  And it probably would have continued like that indefinitely (because I don't love running.)

Except...

A few months ago a lady in my ward said she was planning a girls trip to Scotland to run a half-marathon for all who were interested.  There was the option to split the race with one other person, making it 6.5 miles each.  That sounded perfect!  I knew I could get to 3 miles easily, and 6 would be a good push.  And who wouldn't want to go to Scotland and make their husband watch the baby all weekend?!

I started training.  And even running 2 miles was miserable.  The first time I did 3 I thought I was going to die.

In May the group of women who were going on the trip got together to plan some details, and I found that all of them were planning on running the full 13 miles.  At that moment I wished I wasn't so competitive and prideful.  But my first thought was, "I don't want to be the only weak sauce person running less!"  I asked them to convince me to run farther (because I hate running).  I guess it worked, because I signed up.  And now I have to run 13 miles in September.

The good news for my training (and the bad news for my post-race muscles and joints) is that the route is primarily downhill.  This little graphic gives me a little hope that I won't die:
 

 
Plus it's along the coast.  And in SCOTLAND! I always said that I checked "half marathon" off my bucket list with the Halloween race in 2009, so now I guess I'm crossing off the "international half marathon."  And really, after this, I'm done with 13 mile runs--even if there's one on the  moon.  My poor knees and ankles just don't take it well.

Despite all the hating on running (sweat, sore muscles, huge time commitment, shortness of breath, etc) there are obviously a few aspects that I do like.

1. In the back of my mind I know I'm being healthy, and that's always good.  I can't say it makes me feel better, because running long distances actually just makes me hurt.  But less than 5 miles, and sure, I probably feel good.  
2. If I'm going to spend the time exercising, I like something that I can really feel.  The pain of running makes me feel like I'm accomplishing something.  Sick, I know. 
3. I think I make better eating choices when I exercise regularly.
4. While I run I tell myself that I'm grateful for a mothering break.  ME time.  :)  
5. Running has never affected my weight much, but it's probably helping me maintain my weight loss. 
6. The bigger effect is that I like my body more.  By seeing what I'm capable of doing, then challenging that farther than I could imagine, I view my physical body in a much more positive light.  Whether I'm running or not, I usually don't dislike my body. But that's different than looking in the mirror and actually liking what I see despite all my flaws.  They're still there.  I just appreciate the whole package.  The body is an incredible thing.
7. And maybe cute workout clothes should be on the list?  And an excuse to buy new shoes?

So if those 7 things can constitute love, than this whole novel properly documents my love/hate relationship with running.  

Although I know that on Monday when I attempt a 9-mile run for the first time in almost 5 years, there will be mostly just hate.  A lot of it. 

Work: Motherhood & Corporate America

Being a mother is hard.  

I can't count how many times that thought has run through my head this past week.  There was one time at 1:30 am when my screaming, sick baby refused to sleep or be held.  And another time when he cried through every aisle of the grocery store. And the countless times he fights against a morning nap even though he's so tired and I try to rock him to sleep for an hour.

The couple that lives above us just had a baby, and hearing their newborn crying at all hours of the night just brings back those memories of having a new baby cry for who-knows-what-reasons.  All the time.  I do not miss that!  It's hard!  Physically exhausting, and emotionally and mentally draining.  There were [...are] many times when  as soon as Tiago fell asleep for the night I would melt into a hot bath and numbly lay there enjoying the silence.  Hard work.  

But.  It's a different kind of hard work than I remember when I was working long hours at a corporate job.

When I was working, I always wondered if life would be easier or harder once I quit and was staying at home raising kids.  And now that I've had a baby I've thought about that question a lot.  Especially as I've walked hundreds of circles around my neighborhood with the baby stroller.

I can only speak from my own experiences, but I've decided that that being a [stay at home] mom is not harder than being the breadwinner.  I won't go so far as to say it is easier, but it is infinitely less stressful, and infinitely more meaningful.  And even though it's not always glamorous, it is hands down better.

Going a little deeper into those conclusions, I'll start with the stress.  When I was working, I was being measured by someone else's standard.  I'm pretty sure the standard is perfection in most environments (gotta please the stockholders) so my efforts were never enough.  I couldn't stay late enough, or show up early enough, to be at 100%.  The huge whiteboard next to my desk always had a "to do" list of at least 10 things, and they weren't things I could check off in an afternoon; they were projects to change our status quo.

That's not to say I worked for mean people, because I didn't.  They were fair to me, and gave me a lot of positive feedback on my work.  In the back of my mind though was always the fear that I'd mess something up big time.

One morning I showed up to work, and there was a lot of commotion in the cubicles.  The department director called everyone into the office, and he was mad.  I think we'd stocked out one of biggest customers on an important product.  No bueno.  It was getting a lot of attention from the higher-ups in our company.  [One of those situations where the customers' VP threatens to personally call our CEO to complain...] And everyone was looking at us wondering how Supply Chain messed up that bad.

Panic.  I whipped open my computer to search my spread sheets, reeaaally hoping that I hadn't forgotten to change a forecast or done something dumb like mix up product numbers when making changes.  As far as I could tell, I was clear.  It was a stressful morning/week.

I don't remember how that specific situation resolved itself.  I think it might have even been the customer's fault in the end--doubling their production without giving us a heads up.  Doesn't matter.

Those types of situations popped up all the time.

And I dreaded our end of the year reviews.  I had to explain why I didn't meet all the goals which had been set for me a the beginning of the year.  And still make it look like I'd done everything they asked me to do, and then some.  And hope I got good scores and a raise.  :)

Maybe that's what drives people to go into business for themselves.  I can see the appeal.  [Although I'm sure that owning a business introduces a whole new level of pressure.]

While being a mother is hard work, I don't feel the accompanying stress that I felt while working.  I now set my own goals and I decide how I will spend of my time. I am not answering to anyone else.  At the end of the day, I know that if I've done my best, that is enough.  I can be at 100% every single day.  As a mother I feel accountability to God, but He is more of benefactor than a boss, which provides a sense of encouragement, not fear.  

I felt the same way as a missionary.  I worked hard from 6:30 am until 10:30 pm, every single day, for 18 months.  I felt a lot of emotions, and was left drained almost every day, but I never felt stress.  I was happy and looked forward to each new day.  As Sunday night rolled around I didn't feel the Monday-morning-dread start to creep in, like it inevitably did when I was working a normal M-F job.

That leads into my next conclusion, which is that being a mother feels more meaningful.  I don't say that to belittle what men do, or whoever it is that's providing the main income for a family.  Someone has to do it--money doesn't grow on trees.  [I would say that fatherhood is also more meaningful than work done in the career field.]

Harold B. Lee said it well:  The most important work you and I will ever do will be within the walls of our own homes.

When I was working, I like to think I did some significant things, like achieve nearly $800K savings through cost-our projects.  But after stepping away, who cares?  Sure, it's good for the resume.  It contributed to a better company, which could grow and provide more jobs.  Creating more stable home environments.  Better quality of life, etc.  But its all a means to an end.

Family relationships are what we take out of this world with us, not a paycheck or resume.

So that's why I say motherhood feels more meaningful.  It's pretty incredible to think that at the end of the hard work I'm putting in every day, I will have adult children who will know who they are and what their purpose is. I spend my days within the walls of my home, where the most important work takes place.  I can influence the next generation of mothers and father, nurturers and providers.

While I recognize that motherhood has the perks of being less stressful and more meaningful than a corporate job, it is also less flashy.  Hard work in the office comes promotions, a paycheck, fancy work clothes, a big desk, business lunches, awards, travel, a corporate credit card and the praise of the world.  On the other hand, motherhood is more likely to include jeans, spaghettios, and oftentimes thankless children.  Our culture unfortunately doesn't always see the success and value of women who are 'just mothers.'  What do you do all day?? (ha!)

I am grateful that I had a few years after college to work in the corporate world so that I can appreciate these differences.  I've seen both sides of the fence.  It helps me better appreciate the time I spend doing monotonous things, because I know the grass isn't greener on the other side.  I'm sure there will be days when I want to leave the house at 8 am and not have to come home until 5, but both roles involve work.  And I'm happy with the work that I am doing at home.

In addition to appreciating my role more as a mother, I can also appreciate Hyrum's work as the provider.  I'm more sympathetic when he comes home from work uptight and still mentally tied up in problems at the office because I know the feeling. It's hard to flip an "off" switch.

Sometimes Hyrum asks me, "What did you do today?"  I think back on my day and say, "Absolutely nothing."  As in, didn't leave the house, never did my hair, spent hours on the floor holding up baby toys and holding a fussy baby.  Then he reminds me that I was doing the most important thing: raising our child.

I'm happy that I have a hard working husband who also values my hard work at home.


[This topic has also got me thinking about a woman's choice between staying home with kids and working.  But I'll have to write about that another day.]

Family History

Yesterday I taught a short class about familysearch.org.  It went well, but it made me miss the days of teaching at the MTC, where I taught the same 7 or 8 classes every single week to a new group of missionaries.  After a few months, I was really good at teaching those classes.  I'd had time to test out jokes, stories, and examples.  I could keep what worked, and ditch what didn't.  I'd love to go back to that kind of job!

But back to family history work... It's neat to see how technology is transforming the process.  When I was in college, I wanted to familiarize myself with family history, so I took a class.  They taught us about all the different databases, like IGI.  I saved my family tree on a flash drive to open on new computers, because it wasn't internet-based.  I learned how to use microfilm (which I actually used a few years ago!).  To do temple work for ancestors, we had to save a file to a floppy disk because temple's computers couldn't take flash drives or CD's.

[And that's to say nothing of family history before the age of computers.... everything done by hand!]

Today, everything can be done through one website!  You don't have to download any [slow, outdated] programs.    You can search all church databases at once, and organize your digital family tree.  You can even upload pictures of ancestors, along with memories and documents.  Plus, access any information shared by others.  Someone I don't even know uploaded pictures of my grandparents.  It's a small world indeed.

Familysearch.org... kind of like facebook for our ancestors!

In preparation for the class, I logged in to see my family tree and saw this for the first time:

A descendant!

It certainly makes my tree look a bit different.  I'm not the starting point.

The other exciting thing that's made possible through technology is digitized records.  When the 1930 Census was released a few years ago, it was only a matter of weeks before it was made available for digital search--mostly by volunteers.  New records are constantly being added for searches online.  Millions are available for free search.

My Grandfather's family from the 1930 census (found in less than a minute).  He was 9 years old.

When we were in Colombia in 2011 we visited the church in Turmeque, the town where Hyrum's dad grew up.  We found out what hours the office was open, and explained that we were interested in creating our geneology.  The lady working there went to get the Priest, who we spoke to about our interest in family history.  He gave us permission to look through their church records, which date back several hundred years.  In fact, when we looked through the oldest books, people didn't even have recorded last names!

Church in Turmeque.  The white building to the left of the church is where the parish records are kept.

We spent two mornings pouring over the books, searching page after page for relatives.  Some books had indexes, some didn't.  Miraculously, we found a lot of information!  We left with a lot of photocopies and a lot of scribbles in my notebook that I later tried to make sense of.

It left us both with the hope of returning to research more.  We worked mostly on our direct line, but the whole family is in those books--cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers, etc. There's so much information!

And in the meantime, we try to help with indexing the projects available for Colombia.  It's neat to think that some day, the records in that little church could be digitized for world-wide searches.  We would no longer have to travel half-way around the world to locate people.  And those hundreds of names hidden between the pages would be available for all to see.  Someday...

[When we were there, we actually asked them if they'd ever thought about making the records digital.  I think at one point someone tried to, but they weren't interested.]

It's incredible to think about what changes will happen within my lifetime.  I'm sure that family history as I know it today will become obsolete.  People that can't be located today will be easily found 50 years down the road.  I can't wait to see how.

Barbie & Body Image

[source]

I read an article this morning about a new "averaged size" doll, meant to provide a healthy alternative to Barbie's unrealistic body proportions.  She's shorter, with a shorter neck and flat feet; and she's obviously not as skinny.  Apparently, that's a better doll for little girls to play with.  It kind of irritated me, although I'm not completely sure why.

Maybe it's because I don't think Barbie is to blame for poor body image.  When I was growing up, the more Barbies I could get my hands on, the better.  I not only wanted Barbie, I wanted her sister, younger brother, boyfriend, house..and don't forget the pink convertible.  Although I can't say for sure [it was a long time ago] it's almost certain that I thought Barbie was beautiful!  Who wouldn't?  She had an endless wardrobe of swimsuits, ballgowns, and high heels.

But I never felt like I had to look like her.  Her arms didn't even bend.  [Until they released Gymnast Barbie, which I bought with my birthday money when I was 7.]  It's fairly obvious she has disproportionate measurements.  Being skinny is only one piece of what makes Barbie unrealistic--she has a long neck, huge eyes, unusually big hair that comes out in chunks if you try to brush it, pointy feet, and is tall enough to be in the NBA.  Do little girls try to copy those traits, too?

Maybe I'm naive, but I feel like kids are fairly innocent. They play 'house' with their Barbies.  Then pretend they're the mother of a chubby doll.  Then all of a sudden, My Little Ponies are flying through the air.  Imaginative stuff.  Make pretend.  Sorry kids, you can't play like that- it's not realistic.  Barbie is too skinny, 5-yr-olds don't have babies and ponies can't fly.  

[source]

I'm much quicker to blame poor body image on real role models.  Mothers.  Sisters.  Neighbors.  Friends.  The people that influence the way we talk, eat, dress, and interact with others.  Watching real people obsess about weight, scales, and calories will teach a girl that she's fat, not a doll.

I think I grew up with a very healthy body image, because no one around me ever talked about weight.  It was a non-issue.  Of course I went through phases of insecurity as I got older, but it was the result of trying to look like the people around me, not like Barbie.  So when I hear people say they don't let their kids play with Barbies I feel like those kids are missing out on a critical piece of childhood.  It's like taking away Disneyland.

I've also been thinking about body image recently because after having a baby, my body obviously didn't look how I wanted it to look.  But I never looked in the mirror and disliked myself.  I just didn't really recognize myself.  I was trying to dress a very different body with the clothes in my closet.  [Like fitting a square peg in a round hole...]  And I wasn't completely content because I knew I wanted to be healthier.

Now that I've made some changes to become healthier (and got some clothes that fit) I actually feel really good about my body!  I'm not where I was before having a baby.  But so what.  I can still be happy with now.

None of this is scholarly.  Just my rambling thoughts.  I'd be curious to know if other people's body images were really influenced by the dolls they played with growing up.  I hope in the future I can maintain a positive outlook and not be drawn to compare myself to others.  Because to the extent that we are dissatisfied with or reflection in the mirror, our kids will also be dissatisfied.  And Barbie isn't to blame.

Deployment &"What if"

Last summer as we were heading into a 9-month deployment we tried to mentally prepare ourselves.  We were reassured by the fact that Hyrum's job primarily involves office work, and the Army's current mission is more focused on training the ANA than fighting the Taliban.  But it is a war zone, and filling out papers about funeral preferences and creating a will doesn't really allow you to put all doubts out of your mind.

99.9% of the time, I don't worry about Hyrum's safety, because logically I know that it's not productive and odds are in my favor.  Last summer there was an article in the Ensign whose title has stuck in my mind: Faith, not Fear.  It's been a good motto to live by - during the deployment, but in all of life's challenges.  

Even with that mindset, occasionally the "what if..." type of thoughts cross my mind.  Helicopter crashes, IEDs, suicide bombers, etc.

There was an incident at Hyrum's base about a month ago that was a wake-up call.  The soldiers are prepared for those incidents, although I imagine it was startling for them.  And it reminded me that the dangers in Afghanistan are real.  There is an enemy.  With guns and bombs.  And they hate Americans.  With technology that allows us to talk frequently - about 'normal' things - it's easy to forget the circumstances.   

I don't go looking for news about Afghanistan, but the other day I was driving home from the grocery store and heard a news report on the radio:  a NATO member had been killed in southern Afghanistan, nationality not yet confirmed.  

The report sounded very similar to the early reports about the incident at his base a month ago.  

Hyrum's unit is in southern Afghanistan, and I tried not to worry, but at the same time I kept hoping that he'd call soon like normal.  And knowing that Hyrum was probably safe, it still brought a lot of sadness knowing that somebody's family was receiving the heartbreaking news.

Later that night he called; everything was normal.  The incident was not related to his unit. 

For a lot of the last decade, the war in the Middle East has seemed very distant.  Numbers of casualties were numbers.  I knew they were sad, that each number was a person with a family, but I didn't always feel the emotion that goes along with the knowing.        

Even once I'd married Hyrum (he was in the Army National Guard) I still didn't let my mind explore the realities of war and deployment.  We went to a Cleveland Cavaliers basketball game for a Military Appreciation night.  During half time they had the families of several deployed soldiers on the floor to be recognized.  I wonder what that would be like.  That's such a long time to be gone.  Poor families.  Are they constantly hoping and praying their soldier comes home?  

Fast forward a few years, and Hyrum was now on active duty and deploying along with most of the soldiers at our base.  I never would have imagined I'd be in this place.  The war feels much different now that I know the soldiers faces; I know their families.  And my husband is one of them.

It's their job.  They train for this.  They volunteered.  And most of the time, they are okay.  But I don't think I'll ever hear those news reports the same way.

I don't even hear weather reports the same way, because the innocent news of warmer weather means the Taliban will become more active.  More "what if" thoughts and hoping for safety.

Until Hyrum is home and holding Tiago, I don't think that .1% of worry will go away.

And once he's home, we'll be praying for the soldiers who are still there fighting.  That they, too, will return home safe.  

      

I Guess This is Motherhood

You had an okay morning.  You watched me vacuum and mop the floor, and then you started crying so I played with you for a long time.  I helped you stand up and roll over.  You grabbed on to things.  When we played peek-a-boo, you laughed and laughed.  You were pretty cute.

You ate, and then fell asleep for a a nap just in time for me to eat lunch.  I thought that was nice.  But then you woke up an hour later.  And stayed wide. awake. until. bedtime.  You wouldn't sit in the swing or play by yourself without crying.  So I continued to play with you.  More peek-a-boo.  Books. Songs. Anything.

Its okay, I thought. Just a few more hours 'til bedtime, and then I can relax. 

Except bedtime came and went, and you still weren't falling asleep.  In fact, you were screaming - a high, shrill, loud scream.  Our house is too small for me to escape that kind of wailing.

The thought crossed my mind that I could take advantage of a few hours of free childcare on base because Daddy is deployed.  The thought of an occasional break brought me a flash of comfort.  But then I remembered that you stopped taking bottles last week.  

No bottles. No pacifiers.  Now what...

Oh yeah, now more screaming.

I tried to rock you.  Feed you.  Play with you.  But you were still miserable.  So I just put you back in your crib and listened.  Then - 20 minutes later -  there was a calm, relaxing silence.  So quiet it almost made my ears ring.

Interrupted by loooouuud screams.  Silence.  Screaming. Silence.  Screaming.

[Yes, I still hear you.]

 ......

At this point I feel like I should do two things:

1- apologize to my own mother.
2- go pray that this cute, happy boy returns tomorrow.

A Look Back: 2013

2013 has been anything but uneventful:

Within the first week of 2013 I found out I was expecting our first baby.  It was a rough start with two months of non-stop nausea, but the rest of pregnancy treated me well.

Despite getting bigger and bigger, our travel adventures continued.  In Germany we visited Hamburg, Garmisch, and Flossenburg.  We took a day cruise down the Rhine River and went camping an hour south of our house.

We also went to Paris, Prague (again), Switzerland and Turkey (with family). The grand finale before the baby came was visiting Israel in June, which was my favorite trip so far. Not being able to breath well and having my body overheat were minor inconveniences of pregnancy, but seeing Jerusalem and Tel Aviv was definitely worth it!

I spent the next few months making sure I had everything ready for a baby.  I basically ordered everything online: carseat, stroller, clothes, pacifiers, bottles, sheets, pack and play....  Even with all the preparations, I had a hard time anticipating the birth TOO much because it meant Hyrum would be gone already.

Hyrum deployed to Afghanistan just a few weeks before my due date.  It was a sad goodbye, but we're now halfway through the deployment and going strong. [Army strong!]

Santiago was born on September 13th.  He was cute and lovable the day he was born, and has gotten even cuter each day.  He Skyped with his dad for the first time from the hospital.  My mom spent most of September with me in Germany cooking, cleaning, and helping with the baby.  Fortunately the nights weren't too sleepless, and after a month or so the motherhood fog started to clear.

Despite a government shutdown which closed our passport office, I finally got Santiago's passport 2 months after he was born.  We got tickets to come to Utah and arrived by Thanksgiving.  Meanwhile, Hyrum was putting in loooong hours in Afghanistan doing many of the same human resources tasks he was doing back in Germany.  He planned holiday parties, coordinated the visits of Generals and celebrities, and helped mentor his counterparts in the ANA.

Tiago spent all of December getting spoiled by relatives, and now expects to be carried around whenever he feels like it.  No sitting allowed.  There was plenty of holiday food, a little exercising, and non-stop family partying.

We're in Utah ringing in the new year, listening to fireworks as I type this.  In 2014 we are most excited for Hyrum to return home from Afghanistan and meet his little boy.  Hyrum is also looking forward to the World Cup in Brazil.  (And would like to watch in person, not just on TV.)  We're planning many European travels in our heads, trying to see how much we can cram into our few years overseas.  We can't wait to see how Santiago grows-- when he talks, walks, and of course, learns to play soccer.

Happy 2014!

Deployment Blessings

[Hyrum's FOB at sunset]

Hyrum has been gone for more than two months.  Of course I miss him, and wish he was here, but Tiago and I are holding down the fort here in Vilseck.  

The other day I realized that I'm not just 'hanging in there', but I'm really enjoying life right now.  I was reminded that even in difficult circumstances we can receive so many good things that bring happiness.  The trials don't have to be what define us.  

For starters, I love having Santiago in our family.  I'm glad I get to spend every day with him.  He makes our home a happier place.  Having Hyrum see his birth and first months of life would have been great, but having a healthy, happy baby is great by itself.  

Prior to the deployment, Hyrum and I both made a list of goals.  I had some trivial things on my list (return to pre-baby weight... ha!) but the one thing I wanted to focus on was studying the scriptures every day.  It has made such a difference!  I look forward to it and end feeling very filled.  It would be nice to accomplish many things while Hyrum is gone, but if my only accomplishment is to feel that joy and peace each day, I won't be disappointed.       

Small acts of service have also greatly lifted my burden.  Normally I don't like accepting help, but considering I have a newborn and just two hands, I've been humbled into accepting help when its offered. Service doesn't have to be grand to make a real impact.  A few things that stand out in my mind from the last week:

• Someone at the post office held the door open for me so I could easily get out with the stroller.  [It's an awkward, heavy door, followed by a step down.]
• A family in the ward offered to clean the church by themselves on the week that I was assigned to help.  [big service in my book!]
• I had to drop off some bags at the thrift store.  After I parked, I stood behind my open trunk contemplating the best way to carry three bags and a sleeping baby up a flight of stairs.  Almost immediately, a couple from our ward walked by during their lunch-time stroll.  [They both work on post].  They asked how they could help, then took the bags up for me. 

I've been reading in Exodus about the children of Israel wandering in the wilderness.  It seems like God reminds them over and over that he'll take care of them.  "I've already freed you from slavery... I'll provide you food...  I'll destroy your enemies... I'll be your guide..."  He didn't immediately take them out of the wilderness, but they didn't have to do it alone. 

I'm glad that in my 9-months of 'wilderness', I'm not doing it alone.

No post is complete these days without a cute picture of Santiago!  Here's one of his funny poses.