Life

For the past several weeks I have had a subject on my mind a lot. I just keep thinking and thinking about it. I thought that maybe I should share a few things.

The subject on my mind is Life. It seems to me that there are so many ideas and opinions about what life really is. Questions like "Does life start at conception?" and "What constitutes life?" are very politically charged as so many are in the back and forth between the opinions of two camps labeling themselves pro-life and pro-choice. I am not, at any point, going to engage in a debate about this, or tell another person what to think. I do, however, think that this is something that every person should think long and hard about.

Which is what I have found myself doing a lot recently. That is when I stumbled upon a blog post about that put things in a very interesting light for me. It is titled "Why My Support for Abortion Was Based on Love...and Lies." You can read it in its entirety here. The most interesting part for me was at the end where she talked about the societal views about sex:

"Kids seemed like an optional add-on that a couple may or may not choose to add to their marriage, as long as they deemed that caring for offspring wouldn't ruin their ability to have fun together -- which was, as far as I could tell, the main purpose of marriage."

She continues:

"Sex could not have been more disconnected from the concept of creating life.The message I'd heard loud and clear was that the purpose of sex was for pleasure and bonding, that its potential for creating life was purely tangential, almost to the point of being forgotten about altogether. This mindset laid the foundation of my views on abortion. Because I saw sex as being closed to the possibility to life by default, I thought of pregnancies that weren't planned as akin to being struck by lightning while walking down the street: Something totally unpredictable, undeserved, that happened to people living normal lives."

As I thought about this, I realized that an important distinction, at least, as I experienced it growing up a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints, was that most of the time when sex was discussed, the all important word procreation was used. Specifically the POWER of procreation. The power to bring into being. I think that this word carries a lot more weight than just saying sex. It reminds me to think deeper, to think higher. To think of the godliness of this power. That this very power resides within me, a normal, everyday person, is both amazing and profound.

On lds.org  I found a page titled ""Today's Family: Protect the Power to Create Life." It explains that Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles teaches that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are creators by nature and that They have “entrusted us with a portion of Their creative power and provided specific guidelines for the proper use of that sacred ability to create life and establish an eternal family.” He continues, “How we feel about and use that sacred power in this life will determine in large measure whether additional creative power will be ours in the life to come.”

“The most sacred of all our divine powers is to become a co-creator with Heavenly Father in providing physical bodies for His spirit sons and daughters and in establishing a righteous and Christ-centered family,” Elder Bednar says. “Nothing is more holy; nothing deserves more reverence; nothing is more central to the plan of happiness.”

I think I should back up and tell you that Marc and I have found out that we are expecting our third child, which is due September 7th. (Pause for a minute and soak that one in.)

Tuesday I went to my first doctor's appointment. I wanted to be on top of things better this time around, since on my last I didn't go until I was 20 weeks along. We had been getting ready to move and I didn't want to have to switch doctors. Silly me. At this appointment I was expecting all of the usual new patient questions. The paperwork. The blood work. What I wasn't expecting was an ultrasound. With my other two kids, the one and only ultrasound that I ever had was the one where I found out their gender. So you can imagine how surprised and excited I was. When the screen showed what looked like a little bean I gasped out loud. I even saw its little heart beating away. Though this isn't my baby (a pic from google images) it looked like this:



I had this instant rush of maternal feelings: an urge to love, protect, and nurture this tiny little life. I felt humbled, once again, to create life with my husband. More importantly, I have the sacred privilege to be a co-creator with my Father in Heaven. I will provide a body for this little one, and He will provide the spirit, of which he is already the father, as He is of my spirit.

I know that not everyone would be as awed or feel the same feelings that I did. But in that moment I truly felt  that maybe I am gaining a little understanding about the most creative thing I am capable of. As I have learned, it isn't my writing, or anything else that I "come up with". It is the ability and willingness to bring into being another person.

To leave this on a little less serious note, we hope this one is a girl. Cross your fingers for me.

Marc-get-set-go!

Hi.  This is Marc.  Amy delegated writing responsibilities to me because I wanted no-bake cookies.  That, and I try to make her write a blog at least once a week.

Okay, now that that's out of the way, let me tell you all about my job.  I work for Mountain America Credit Union.  I'm pretty happy about that fact.  I used to work for Wells Fargo Bank in Price.  However, I never really wanted to work for a "bank", but it was a good way for me to get some experience in the banking industry.  My real passion is for helping people, not ripping them off like some banks do when it comes to loans (and more recently, checking and savings account offerings).  So, in the course of my studies at Utah State University (where I was learning about personal and consumer finance), I decided that I wanted to work for a Credit Union.  My hope is to eventually be a director or contributor to the member financial education programs in place here at Mountain America.

Thus far, I have learned a lot more at MACU than I have heretofore known while working as a personal banker at Wells Fargo.  I also feel more able to share tips and knowledge about credit scores, credit history, budgeting, credit management, etc., then I was ever able to impart at Wells Fargo.

So, I basically am finally with a company that I know I can be with for a long time and develop a career without the worry of excessive sales cultures that could drive any good man towards unethical behavior.  Being a loan officer at MACU is better pay-wise also.  I actually get paid for loans and other services for which I sign members up.  And I know I'm not "selling" them inferior "banking" products.

We also have been able to purchase our first (modest) home.  It really was a pretty great deal when we purchased it.  The previous owner decided to leave all of her furniture, tools, basically everything but her clothes and personal belongings.  It's a three bedroom, 1,100 square foot home with a porch in the front with a lovely willow tree a couple feet beyond.  I'm excited for the snow to melt and the arrival of warmer weather; I can then begin to paint and decide what to do with the xeriscaped "lawn".  I might put in some desert shrubs, maybe some desert paintbrush flowers.  Any who, I probably plan on putting some grass down in the back for the kids to play on, and maybe a sand pit if I feel they deserve it.

One thing we definitely need to do with the house is paid the interior; the walls have this hideous pain brush strokes of mauve, periwinkle, and teeny individual salmon flecks.  Yeah, we really need to paint.  If you have any suggestions for room colors, please let us know.

The end.

P.S. Thanks for reading!

Miss Independent

So those that know me well know that I am very independent. Very. I like to do things all by myself, and figure that most of the time it is better this way, because I am a quality control type of person. I get that from my mother. It isn't often that this causes me trouble. I mean, what could be bad about being in control?

Well....it can mean that when too many things are out of my control I can freak out. Does this mean that I ask for help? No, I still try to do it on my own. I can write this and see how silly that this is, but it doesn't stop me from doing it.

As I mentioned in my last post, I was trying to do things on my own for 3 months.  In the beginning, I thought that we were looking at a few weeks, a month maybe. I can handle that, I thought. Reality set in as I started adding more and more weeks with no car, and a few with no phone. I tried to get everything done on the weekend. There didn't seem to be any reason for me to announce to anyone in my LDS ward that we were moving until we actually knew when we were. I didn't tell my neighbors, because we don't really have any. We live on the highway all by ourselves and the nearest house is a 10 minute walk away. I didn't tell my parents, who live 3 hours away, because I knew that they were really busy and had a lot of commitments. I didn't want to complain. I didn't want to be the squeaky wheel. I just wanted to take care of me and my own.

After a while, a few people on Sundays would ask how things were going with moving. I was good at telling them that we hadn't found a place yet, and that my boys really missed their daddy. When I talked to my parents I said the same things. I didn't mention that I was lonely, or that I was feeling burnout doing it all by myself. Sometimes I thought to myself, "if he was not in the country, or state, I could ask for help. If he was on a military deployment, people would offer to help whether I wanted it or not." At this same time I had a few friends with their husbands at basic training and such, and they (rightly so) had great support systems that allowed them to catch the occasional break by watching their kids or doing other needed things. I am not proud of it, but sometimes I was a little jealous. I then would feel incredibly guilty for that jealousy, so I kept telling myself that at least I had him on the weekends, and I could call him every day. And I didn't ask for help.

I am not someone who likes to just sit. I need things to do. I tried to find projects to keep me busy. I joked to my husband that this was because he was gone and he was usually my project. ;) I wanted to pack, but not knowing when we would move meant I didn't want stuff in boxes if I might need it. I got caught up on making books from our photos online. I made a book about our wedding, I made one for Eli's first year. I tried to make an ABC book with miscellaneous pictures we had taken throughout the year. This occupied me for a week. It is ridiculously easy to do. I read a few books. I tried to exercise regularly. I caught up on TV shows online.

Throughout all of this, my husband and I talked almost every night he was away on the phone. I had only been apart from him a couple of times before, for a few days at a time. People that know us as a couple know that we are kinda joined at the hip. We are best friends. I missed him so much. Something that made this harder was his own struggle. My husband has bipolar disorder, which he usually can control pretty well with medication. With him away, he wasn't sleeping well, or eating well, and was under a lot of stress. He was lonely. He hated essentially going back to a bachelor lifestyle. His moods became harder and harder to control. Riding this roller coaster with him is not always fun in the best of circumstances. In these circumstances, it became painfully tiring and difficult.

On the weekends he came home late Friday night and left Sunday afternoon. On Saturdays we crammed in grocery shopping, family time, cleaning, and tried and failed to stay on routine for the kids. Neither of us was sleeping well or doing well emotionally. Needless to say we were tired and overwhelmed and frustrated, and added needless arguments to the mix.

My 3 year old son Ethan began acting out. He wanted his daddy, and when he wasn't there when he wanted him, he was angry. He didn't understand why he had to be gone. He threw tantrums over it. He yelled and threw things. He started to talk back to me, or ignore me. Every day was a struggle. On the weekends he didn't want me to talk to him or touch him. He just wanted daddy. The one bright spot in our lives was my sweetheart Eli. He was happy almost all of the time (and still is). He smiled, he laughed, he snuggled. Even when his brother pushed him down and hit him. He cheered me up on some of the hardest days.

In the beginning, I was strong. As the weeks wore on, I started to cry whenever Marc and I talked. At the end, I had stopped crying. I was too tired. I was numb. I had become depressed. I didn't do my hair or makeup except on the weekends. I only cleaned the parts of the house the kids used every day, instead of the tight ship I usually run. I didn't cook meals very often. We still ate healthy, we just ate fruit and microwaved frozen veggies with all the other foods around the house that needed minimal cooking. Which is a big deal. I love to cook. There just didn't seem to be a point when I didn't have Marc to cook for. I stopped having the heart to read. I never did get the heart to blog. All I had left was my routines for my kids and TV shows I watched in the evening.

I really didn't think that I could take much more. Finally it looked like we were really going to get into a home. I knew that I should feel happy, but I just couldn't get excited. I was expecting something else to go wrong. Then the shootings at Sandy Hook elementary happened. I felt sick. The dam broke. I couldn't stop crying. I sobbed several times. Yes, I was devastated for those children and their families and friends. But I was crying for me too. And I couldn't stop. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I just cried off and on for days. That was the weekend that I realized how low I had gone.

I know that there are a lot of people that can handle being in the same situation, and for longer, than I. But there is nothing wrong with my realization that this was too much for me. I feel that because of a few factors unique to our situation everything was compounded. This is why I feel that it wasn't just hard for us, it was somewhat traumatic. It is going to take a while to heal from this. Thankfully, that has already started to happen, most notably with my kids.

The good news from all of this is that I have learned a lot of lessons. I know that I can't do everything by myself, and never want to do so to this extent again. I have next-door neighbors now, and you had better bet that I am going to get to know them. And I don't have to feel guilty about everything I feel.  I just need to stop listening to the little voice in my head that is telling me that this post will just look like a pity party and seem that I am looking for people to feel bad for me. Because I am not. It is okay that I am admitting these things, these real things.

The real test of this learning came last week when I was sick. Both of my kids had been sick and it hadn't fazed them much. I thought I would come through unscathed. Boy was I wrong. I was completely taken out by it. I was more sick than I remember being for a very long time. I will spare you the nasty details, but lets just say I couldn't keep anything down and was in the bathroom almost constantly for most of 12 hours. I didn't sleep.

It was morning at that point and I was dreading my husband leaving for work. I honestly did not know how I could possibly take care of my children that day. My husband suggested that we call someone in our LDS ward to take the kids. At first I resisted. But then I remembered that I wasn't going to be so dumb about getting help from people anymore. He made some calls and soon had someone to watch the kids. And she watched them all day. I gradually was able to leave the bathroom, then able to eat a few crackers, and finally I got some rest. I slept from a little before 2 to 5:30. When my husband brought the kids home, he came with a dinner this sweet woman had prepared for us.

I was overcome with gratitude for this wonderful person, someone that hardly knew us because we had just moved in. I cried. As I cried, a little bit of it was for all the days that I had needed help in the past 3 months and had not asked for it. Why did I do that to myself? Why?

Maybe an old dog can learn new tricks. Maybe someone set in their ways like me can learn to ask for help. Maybe someone independent as me can learn that they need other people more than they think. Maybe. I sure hope so, for my own sake.

I'm Back! Or At Least I am Trying to Be

A lot of things have happened in our family recently. A LOT. Good things. Bad things. All sorts of things. Here is a summary that is as brief as I can manage. It is something that I may or may not try to expand in later posts.

I guess that the biggest thing of all is that my husband Marc quit one job and got another. In a different town. For those of you that know us, we have moved a few times since we have been married, all in-state. My friend Val calls it our "tour of Utah". Twice in Logan to different apartments, then to St. George for an internship, then to Duchesne for a brief stressful job, then to Price to get into banking. Now we have moved to Roosevelt for a job at a credit union, which was Marc's main goal and interest all this time.

Great news, right? Well, yes, it was. Then came the over-the-top stress overload that was trying to find a place to live. I thought that we would just find a place to rent and move at the beginning of October. I was so wrong. There were hardly any rentals, all teeny or exorbitantly expensive. One gorgeous place we looked at leased for 1400 a month. I kid you not. That is like a mortgage! And more than people I know that are paying mortgages. Apparently there is a shortage of places to rent and buy because of the oil boom in the area, which has driven prices way up. We finally had to realize that we couldn't afford to rent, but could afford to buy. What a strange situation! I had not even considered buying a home. I didn't feel ready. It was too much of a grown-up old person thing to do!

We started looking at homes before we knew our exact price limit. BIG MISTAKE. I saw places that I loved that we couldn't afford. We even put an offer on one. Even with Marc's experience with housing counseling at USU, we didn't know quite what we were doing.When we found out what we could afford, it was a bit less than we were expecting. It was mostly because Marc had barely been hired, he hadn't worked long enough for the credit union to qualify for what he technically could afford with his income. I never could have guessed that would only be the first in a long line of disappointments. 

We found a nice town home in Vernal, which is 25 minutes away. I felt less rushed into being a homeowner with something that could be re-sold easily. A week away from closing, the seller backed out. He decided on the advice of a friend that he would wait a year for the property to be worth more. Then we tried another town home. It was bought from under us by someone willing to pay cash for it. I looked at some pretty icky places after that, feeling more desperate. Nothing impressed me. 

Then I found it. The one. A beautiful condo came on the market one day and we were the first to look at it. I loved everything about it. The neighborhood, the decor, the amount of bedrooms, everything. I put an offer on it on the spot. A few days later it turned out that the seller owed more than they thought they did, so they had to raise the price. This put the condo 15,000 out of our price range. 

I started really getting desperate. I had Marc look at places that I had never considered before. really cheap places. I started to joke about buying a place to turn into a rental property. Except it wasn't funny. It was real. It crushed me to think that I was going to live in a place far from what I had imagined for my first home. Finally Marc looked at a place and felt that it was the right thing to do. He knew that I would be disappointed and upset, but he knew it was the solution for us. I had never seen it myself, but I decided to trust his judgement. We put an offer on the property. 

Our offer was accepted quickly and gratefully by the little old widow that lived there. She wanted to sell her home and move to Arizona as soon as possible. We we happy with that idea. The next thing to happen was that we had to get approved for a different type of loan because the home is a modular home. Between this and other things, it took another month for things to go through. 

By the end, Marc had been away from us except for weekends for a little more than three (3!) months. The longer all of this took, the more I just wanted to be together again as a family. I literally wanted to be home for Christmas. And it almost didn't happen. We closed on the home on Thursday. Our paperwork didn't make it to FedEx pick-up deadline. We were told that we would have to wait for it to be sent the next day, and our loan to post on Monday, Christmas Eve. After some heroics by our amazing real estate agent, a digital copy was sent that allowed everything to go through that next morning. We got the keys at last.

Marc was living with his aunt while we were still in Price. That meant that the single parent weeks and whirlwind weekends wore me down, just as much as the near return to bachelorhood wore Marc down. I had no idea that things would take so long, so I never really asked anyone for help. I went weeks and weeks with no car and little interaction with the world outside of our home. I felt so alone, isolated, and depressed. It is funny, but it feels like I am coming back from being away for a long, long, time. 

Along with my new years resolution to write posts on this blog to keep everyone updated on our lives and record memories, I think that returning to writing after neglecting it since I graduated college 4 1/2 years ago will help me come back a little bit more each time. I hope that some of you out there are still there to take this ride with me.