Merry Christmas!

Two thousand nine began with me cutting my hours to part time at the mental health center where I’ve worked as a youth psychotherapist for nearly five years. Part time has allowed me to build a much different life than I’ve ever had before. My new life is filled with playing with and teaching a toddler, continuing old and exploring new hobbies, hanging out with old and making new friends, and building a private practice.

Luke continued working as a Critical Care Nurse in the Neuro-Intensive Care and the Burn Trauma Units at the University of Utah Hospital. Most exciting, he was accepted to Oakland University’s (Michigan silly) Advanced Nursing program, to become a Certified Registered Nurse Anesthetist. We’re still waiting to hear from a few other schools but it looks like we will be moving in the fall. We are DREADING selling our house.

Henry continues to ‘light up our lives and fill our nights with song’ (or crying). Actually he has been sleeping through the night for way over a year. He turns two in March.

Henry speaks non-stop (mostly about tractors and trucks), he loves music of all genres and likes to sing and dance. A few months ago I thought it would be funny to teach him the Flashdance “She’s a Maniac” rapid foot dance and it has, very unfortunately, become his favorite song. He demands to watch the music video 10+ times per day. It’s driving us nuts.

I know every parent brags about their children and thinks their children are the best/cutest/smartest in the world, but Henry really is incredibly smart. He can identify the difference between letters and numbers—knows how to count to three, knows the first several letters of the alphabet (he even sings the ABC song), and knows many colors.

Henry is social with adults and children, befriending people at the store, at church, or anywhere we go. He gets excited about being out and about; he often begs to leave the house when we spend too much time (a couple of hours) at home. He loves spending time outside even in the bitter cold, visiting his “mamma” and “pop-pop” (grandma and grandpa) and all of his aunties and uncle next door, “helping” mommy clean and daddy fix things, and feeding “cows” with Pop-Pop. Mostly, he loves his “kitty.” He loves the cat so much it is adorable. He has never been rough with her (though the reverse is not true) and loves to kiss her, hug her, pet her, follow her around, toss cat toys to engage her, talk to her, etc. I have several names for her and he has learned them all.

We hope 2010 brings you peace and joy.

Love,

Myndi, Luke, and Henry

He was prepared to tell Santa "Ho ho ho" (sung to the tune of "Up On the Housetop") and to ask for a "fire truck" but at the last minute he chickened out. Between us, I think he will still get a fire truck.

A Thrill of Hope The Weary World Rejoices

I listened to Josh Grobin's, then Pavarotti's, then Il Divo's version of "O Holy Night" tonight in an effort to find the spirit of Christmas within myself. It wasn't until I heard the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's version accompanied by the Orchestra at Temple Square, during the First Presidency's Christmas Devotional, that I found it. "O Holy Night" is popularly sung with exuberance and power, highlighting the singer's voice training; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's version tonight was sung like a lullaby, which seems more appropriate. They captured the mood I would be feeling if I were there, in the stable, on that Holy Night.

(I love the orchestra's accompaniment--the strings, specifically the violins and the harp, were beautiful.) (The link above is the closest I could come up with, still good if not the version I heard tonight.)

It's been a rough few weeks, professionally and hence, personally. I have some difficult new cases, difficult new developments in some old cases, and general sense of malaise.

Being a witness to my clients' lives is always an honor, especially when they trust me enough to allow me into their deepest secrets and most painful moments. I marvel over the human spirit's ability to survive in the face of extremely horrific events. But, my marveling doesn't protect my spirit from damage. Hearing that one child has been a victim of so many traumatic events makes me look at the world through a troubled lens at times, like now. I know my spirit will mend, with time--and watching my client(s) heal--just like my body heals. Times like now, however, during holidays where I should feel cheery make tempering being a professional therapist and a human being difficult.

And, most difficult to write about, I am grieving my grandmother this year. She is no longer the woman who will usher in the Christmas season by having us over to decorate her tree and sit on Santa's lap. She will no longer hang mistletoe from the doorway between her front room and dining room. She won't make the most lovely Christmas ham I've ever tasted, or make the crescent almond cookies, or her Chex Party Mix we call 'snacks' in my family. No longer will she sit quietly, and very happily, while her family jibber jabbers about nothing in particular. My cousin, and BFF, will never again try and fit ourselves into her rocker at the same time, or gossip in her back room.

Every time I drink Cranberry juice, which she always served on Christmas, I will be reminded of her. Also, when I smell the yellow Vaseline Intensive Care hand lotion. I like the subtle smell of moth balls, because of her house, and how that smell would linger on my clothes after I'd been there. I will always be reminded of Saturday mornings and eating waffles with Grandma Hazel when I smell or hear brewing coffee. When I see my elongated dimples in the mirror I will continue to feel blessed I look something like her; she's one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen in real life. I remember thinking, when I was a little girl, how lucky I was that God sent me to my family so she could be my grandma. I though, if I hadn't come to this family I wouldn't even know her, and how tragic that would be (I think I cried just thinking that I might not have known her). I consider her one of my life's greatest blessings and an exemplary example of extraordinary humble womanhood.

Finally, the cold that I could feel developing for the past three to four weeks, arrived in full force just as Hippo developed a heinous dry cough. And my house is a pigsty and I don't feel like doing anything about it.

And, there are a lot of events coming up which require a cheerful mood...

This thought, during the devotional, helped: maybe I was in the choir of angels in the field proclaiming glad tidings the first Christmas night. And suddenly, a thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, came over me.

Post Edit: Ending my brief tribute to my grandmother where I did left me feeling unfinished, and she deserves so much more. There are so many other memories, as she was an active member of my life until she developed dementia--which begs the thought of how I can be an active member of her life at a distance of 800 miles and with limited resources? Where is the place to record her legacy?