I'm a SuCkEr

Well, folks, I can no say with no doubt whatsoever that my theory on home ownership has officially been proven.

Homes are for suckers.

The American dream is a nice house, big yard, kids, spouse and happy bbq's all summer long, right?

I too fell victim to this rampant and irresponsible propaganda.  I quickly jumped on board and got going on fulfilling my checklist.

Husband = check

Kids = check

House = check

Yard = check

BBQ grill = check on deck

Then, I sat back and waited for happiness to run warmly over me like hot fudge.

It started too....

Until I realized the hot fudge didn't feel warm and gooey-licious like I'd expected.  Instead it was either too cold and fell in clumps on my tired body, or it was too warm and attempted to scald off my skin.  Sure, there were moments of happiness.  Like when a neighbor or parent took pity on us and did our yard work for us.

And then I realized that all those items on my list aren't actually compatible.  Who can really get around to caring for a house and yard when you have a husband and children?  Who can really bbq when half your family hates meat, the others are afraid of fire, and someone may have melted the vinyl decking during a rather high temperature grilling adventure?

Today I ran into a pal at church and we were talking about his family's home remodeling project.  After showing me pictures and chit chatting for a bit I just looked at him and said, "Houses really stink!"

He laughed and said, "They REALLY do!"


I mean, both of us are happy with the progress happening at their house. But the reality is that getting to the finished project is going to be a trip down hell's hallways rather than the little piece of heaven that you're lead to believe in.

Rather than a comedy, I believe this movie should be
labeled a documentary and shown to all young,
prospective home buyers as a warning.  

Speaking of hellish experiences.  I personally lived through the 5th level of hell this past weekend while doing yard work.... while sick.... with a 15 month old for assistance.

Yep.  Houses and yards are for suckers.

The smart people are the ones who move into condos and just schlep their children to the local park when they get rambunctious.

Actually, don't even get me started on parks.

Parks are for suckers.....

Dreams Meet Reality

Somewhere buried deep in my heart I still manage to have some dreams.  Dreams of my future.  Dreams of success.  Dreams of sveltness and shiny hair.

It amazes me sometimes that my dreams have any room to breathe through the reality of my life right now.  With four kids ages 9 and under.  In this crazy world.

Most the time I don't really dwell on the number of children I have.  It's just my normal and I'm used to it. (Yes, I'm even used to dealing with things like the fact that the baby is currently sitting on my lap playing with dental floss and trying to click on the mouse... and the fact that I don't even really care how he got his hands on dental floss.)

But every now and then I have a day or two that reminds me not to get my hopes too high on the dream front.  Reality comes crashing down like a saber tooth tiger.  Who is angry.

It all started Wednesday with a trip to the dentist for Ms. Els.  She has a tooth up front that is... well... snaggly.  I call it The Snaggler.  She hates me calling it that.  He he he.

Best shot of The Snaggler I have.
This was taken in December.  It's worse now!

Anyhow, then I noticed that she has two teeth coming in under her tongue.  Again.  That's right, folks, this is a repeat performance from her teeth.

I decided a pediatric dentist who also specializes in orthodontics may be my only hope for Shark Girl and her toothy layers.  After a nice cleaning, x-rays were taken.  And then the dentist arrived on scene.

I think he wanted to laugh with giddy delight at the $$$$ flashing before his eyes.  But, he refrained.  I'll probably love him forever for not laughing at poor Els.  'Cause I do.  But that's not professional and definitely not what she needs.

Here is what they found:  Eliana has somehow become the genetic dumping pot for all the idiosyncrasies that my family has as far as teeth go.  The poor girl has all the missing permanent teeth and sharky layering going on that is possible.  All said, she needs 5 teeth extracted.

Goodbye Hawaii.  I would have loved you.

So, when I got back from dropping Els at school after convincing her that it "won't be a big deal" to have 5 teeth pulled, I found waiting in my mailbox a letter to "The Parents of C....".  Odd.

I foolishly opened it.

Yep, our sweet Cadie Lu apparently failed her hearing screening at school last week.  What the what?  They suggested we contact an audiologist to delve deeper into the problem.

Friends, Family, Neighbors... I am here to tell you that there is not a thing wrong with that girl's hearing.  The only thing wrong with that girl is that she forgot to pay attention during the screening and was probably painting rainbows in the sky while they pushed their little "beepers".  She didn't respond because she didn't remember where she was or what she was about.

"Ha ha ha ha... Unicorns are so pretty.  And sparkly.
And they tell the best jokes!"

My sis-in-law, upon HEARING about Cadie's failure, suggested that next time we send her in with a note informing the test administrator that they will need to reengage her attention before pushing any buttons and just have her tell them if she heard anything or not.

Remember the movie UP?  And the dog who always suddenly loses focus and yells "Squirrel!".  Meet Cadence.

I threw the letter out.  I already knew she was "deaf".  No news there.

As if that weren't enough, this morning my lovely father-in-law called to invite the kids and I out to dinner.  Hubs is out of town with work and I jumped at the chance to not have to cook or clean up.  Sweet.

I made the mistake of telling the kids.

You'd think that they'd be excited and do everything they could to make it possible to enjoy a dinner out with Grampy and Grammy.  But, instead, the little sneaksters revolted.

J Baby was quick to develop a nice, goopy, red and swollen, oozing, pink eye.  Then J Bear decided pink eye was the rage and jumped aboard.  Not too much later I got a call from my mom at the school telling me Ms. Els had a fever and was feeling lethargic and chilled.  She was crying in my mom's classroom.

Cadie Lu - MY ANGEL - is the last kid standing.

Goodbye chick flick and hot bath.  I'll miss you.

Next I received an email from my dad letting me know that even with him doing the work, the cost of parts alone to fix Hub's car (AC went out) will be around $400.  And that's if we get used parts. I thought about making Hubs "sweat it out", but in the end I told my Dad to go ahead with the repairs.  After all, I gotta keep my Sugar Daddy Hubs happy, driving to work and bringing home the....

But, still, goodbye overnight getaway with Hubs.  Who wants to bond with their spouse anyway?  Clearly anyone foolish enough to have four children has willingly said farewell to couples time!

Occasionally I get a wild hair and think I'll get back to work on that novel, or I'll exercise.  But then reality creeps in - in the form of sticky fingers, runny noses and little voices -  pushing up against those dreams, scaring them a little.  So I tuck them back in to the safe place inside me where I do my best to keep them alive.

I've heard tales of women, super mom's, who can do it all.  I just can't.

But what I can do is get a warm wash cloth to de-goop the boys' eyes, a cool wash cloth to put on Eliana's forehead, and figure out what I'm cooking for dinner.

'Cause, right now, I'm busy being a Mom.

Which was all I ever really wanted to be anyway.

A Process

I was looking over past blog posts and realized how many in the past months have dealt with my brother.

I couldn't help but wonder... how many people are put off by that?  I even went so far as to find myself feeling a little guilty that my "funny and entertaining" blog has apparently turned into something a little more raw and not so funny.

I read something during the week after Ben passed that said something along the lines of  "typically unaffected people will give you a month to grieve, but then they expect you to move on".

A month.

To get over someone you've loved for years and years?!?!

Ben and I @ 1982

But, of course, until I went through the loss of someone I deeply love, I probably would have expected people to move on quickly as well.

And some days I'm not exactly thrilled to still be grieving. 

See, as someone who typically stays pretty level emotionally, and who is uncomfortable facing heavy emotion straight on, it's been terrifying to go through this experience.  I've had to stare down the eyes of a beast I don't understand and that I can't control.

I miss me.

On Easter Sunday I felt like I hit rock bottom.  I pray that it was rock bottom.  One minute I was sitting in a class at church and the next minute something triggered the release of all the emotions I've tried to hide from people.  I was sobbing.  Hysterically.  I was gulping in big, ragged, heaving breaths and after running from the classroom I found myself standing in a bathroom stall, my sobs echoing as I tried to hold tissues to my mouth and silence them.  All I needed was enough control to walk out of the church to my car, but I couldn't get it together.  I finally wadded up a big ball of toilet paper and pretty much shoved it in my mouth while praying that God would grant me invisibility to make it to the parking lot.  Mascara dripped on my hands as I pressed them to my trembling lips.

And when I got home - leaving my 3 kids at church with no parent there - Hubs greeted me at the door with questions in his eyes.  I couldn't talk.  All I could do was sob and look at him.

But he knew.  He saw that I was broken.  Then Hubs did probably the most romantic thing he's ever done for me in our 13 years of marriage.

He took me by the hand to our room.  While I stood shaking from the force of my heartbreak he gently took off my church clothes.  Then he put one foot at a time into my comfy pants, one arm at a time into my oldest, softest t-shirt, and tucked me into bed.  He didn't say a word.  I watched through blurry eyes as he put his church clothes back on and went to retrieve the children that I had left behind in the wake of my meltdown.

The depth of my emotions that day shocked me.  I didn't expect it.  We knew for months, heck even a year, that Ben wasn't going to make it.  We said all that needed to be said, multiple times.  We reminisced, we laughed and cried together.  For weeks after his passing I thought, somewhat foolishly, that I was doing REALLY well.

Since that Easter Sunday I've had some hard lessons to learn.

Grief takes time.

There is no going around it.  It's something you have to go through.  I have to take every achy, sad, feeble step through this process.  I can't muscle the emotions into a separate corner of my heart.  It only makes it hurt more when they break out.  I can't set expectations for myself, or put a time limit on my feelings.  There is no right or wrong way to handle this.

Missing someone you love does NOT mean you lack faith.  I love thinking about what Ben is up to in heaven.  My kids casually talk about it over dinner, while driving in the car or playing a game.  (Joel is convinced that Ben spends all his time jeeping or playing DS) But just because I hang on to the belief that I will see him again, it doesn't mean that the missing him part is any easier.  I miss him.  So much.

I have to be patient with myself.  I have to accept myself on the days when I'm irrationally angry, or sad and don't want to do anything.  I have to accept my teary days.  And, most importantly, I have to rejoice in the days that feel good.  I don't feel guilty about finding joy in my life.  And I am trying not to feel guilty or weak for having days of sorrow.

I'm going to tell you a little secret.  Ben wasn't perfect.  He could be a royal pain in the butt sometimes.  But I miss the fact that he understood me.  Just like I accepted and loved him in all his imperfection, he did the same for me.  Always.

It's hard, some days, to accept that all those things I'd assumed would happen, are no longer.  I was going to laugh with him over the years about what random things family members were up to.  We were going to make fun of our parents as they aged, and tease each other about weight fluctuations.  We were going to taunt and joke and cheerfully irritate each other.

There are days when I pick up my phone to shoot off a text and catch myself with a zing in my heart, remembering, suddenly, that he isn't there.  It's the worst.

I know that there will continue to be up days and down days as I stumble forward and figure out my new normal.

I know I will never "GET OVER" losing one of my greatest friends.

But, given time, I know I will be okay.

When all is said and done, I have a firm conviction that life is so precious.  Not to be wasted, but to be nourished and enjoyed....

Sometimes with a few tears on the side.

Dusty Relics

There comes a time in every girl's life when she wants a little spending money, but doesn't want to get a job.

After thinking on this little problem of mine for a time I stumbled upon the pot 'o gold.  Egg donation.

Hello!  I'm totally done having babies.  My eggs are just lying useless, dormant and possibly somewhat depressed in my ovaries.  I am not only robbing my eggs of the chance to fulfill their duties, but I am also preventing the gift of my genes working their way through the land.

So, I did some research.  Turns out you can get an average of $8000 a "pop" for donating your eggs.

I figured it would be a snap.  No page after silly page of application.  All I'd have to do is send the company an email with this picture attached.

Caption:  Look what MY eggs made!

BAM!  Application process over.  Welcome, Aspen, to our fold.

Millions of couples would Oooh and Aaah over those darling faces, imagining their future model babies.  Babies provided my none other than selfless little me!

It was a win win.

Until I actually cracked open the details portion and began reading down the list of requirements.

Most of them I breezed through.

Obtained a high school diploma or GED - check
Non-smoker - check
No history of drug use - check (chocolate isn't a drug, right?)
No tatoos, body peircings or blood transfusions within the past 12 months - check.  (And YUCK!)

But then the insurmountable problem came:

"Egg donors must be between the ages of 21 and 32, and in good health."

Well.... dang.

See, I'm turning 35 in a few months.  And I'm pretty sure I started wheezing while carrying the laundry basket up the stairs the other day.  Can't exactly run a marathon.

Apparently my eggs are too ancient for those hoping to conceive   Dusty relics of my best years... blowing away in the wind of pickiness.

Did you not see the photo I sent you of the end results of my egg-production?

Perhaps another photo before you slam the door on all my hopes and dreams.

No?

Well, did I mention that my most recent production happened when I was outside the parameters of your requirements?

Who's the fool now?

Still no?

Well, fine.  I'll just keep my eggs.  They were too good for you anyway.

But, maybe you could send me a check for $4000.  Consider it payment for letting you gaze upon my GORGEOUS offspring.

*****
Note:  Having experienced infertility myself, along with several friends and family members as well, I in no way am trying to make fun of such a painful and private process.  Simply poking fun at myself.

Spring Break

Ladies and Gents,

Tighten your belts, hold on to your seats, be prepared to be slapped with some awe.

The Hadleys took a .... gulp... vacation!

Yep.  We did it!

When J Baby was just a flicker in my belly I announced that I would not travel with him during the first year of his life.  Oh yes, I did.  See, I'd been burned before.  By three other children.  And I finally got a clue and decided that travel with an infant just wasn't for me.

It worked out swimmingly.

(Okay, so integrity demands that I admit we did go on one vacation during his first year of life.  Actually, my fessing up is less about integrity and more about the fact that SOMEONE will comment about how I attended the Campbell reunion and blah, blah, blah.  They'll make this into such a downer that I won't be able to continue.  So I'm just getting it out of the way and moving forward in a less deceptive manner.)

Fast forward to J Baby hitting the 15 month mark...

St. George or BUST.

We stayed - illegally and as under-the-radar as you can be with 14 people, three cars and two jeeps - in my sister Emily's next door neighbor's "rental" house.  Technically vacation rentals are a no go in the to-remain-nameless area my sister lives in.  That's all.

No one slept well.  We ate a ton of crummy food.  I keep dumping sand out of my dryer and everyone's shoes.  And I'm waiting for the illness to hit.

All in all, it was a success.

Two years ago over April General Conference we had the maiden voyage of this same trip.  Ben had just finished making his scrambler into an honorable machine, and I found out I was pregnant with Jasec the day we got home.

This year we were there on the 2 month mark of Ben's passing.  And Jasec is now 15 months old.  But we drove the scrambler and we pounded the sand and we all laughed about Ben's antics on that last trip.

My sister, Emily, worded it best when she said it was nice to enjoy some "peace pockets" rather than only "grief bursts".

Some picture highlights of our trip:

My two little men, sitting in Grandpa's jeep waiting to enjoy the sand.

Another generation catches the jeeping bug!

Grandpa and Cadence, getting ready to tackle the big sand hill.  

Yep, Grandpa enjoyed showing the other off-roaders what a "real" machine can do. 

Auntie Em gave Eliana her first lesson on driving a 4-wheeler.

Els LOVED the POWER and freedom of driving herself.

Can't believe my girl is old enough for this, but she did great.

Grandpa and Joel doing rooster tails on the sand hill. 

The kids digging a tunnel to China with Uncle Dave.

Good thing Cadence speaks Chinese!

Jasec and Kennedy, loaded in the scrambler and ready to head back.

Must... Have...Sleep!

My sisters and I enjoying a tail gate ride to the park from Dad.

It was more fun that I remembered.  We giggled the whole time and

almost lost our flip flops...'cause we're nerds like that.

Also, we made the kids ride inside the truck...'cause we're mean moms!

All the non-napping cousins at the splash pad / park.

This last picture is of Ben and his wife, Sara, from our trip two years ago.  

We missed you B.  But we know you were smiling down on us and providing the warm sunshine that made this day so wonderful.  

Thank you!