Heavenly Father Loves HIppo

Hippo has had a rough winter, topped off by an awful month. It all started when he hit, developmentally, the terrible two's. To be chronically misunderstood is the most maddening of experiences.

A few Saturdays ago, innocent curiosity left him with curling iron-shaped blisters on his left palm and fingers. His Auntie felt very sad she had not watched him carefully enough to avoid this accident but Hippo quickly forgave her. Hippo maximizes his injuries for the most sympathy possible, so even though his blisters have healed to the point of rubbery new skin, he still inspects them carefully and says, "Oh. Oh NO! Owie! Kiss it better. Poor baby!"

We placed our house on the market and Hippo has a very hard time understanding why he can't pull the items out of the pantry anymore and why I lose it every time he pulls the items out of the donation box and why I anxiously usher him away from all windows out of which he is accustomed to gazing at cows and tractors daily.

Then, "Mommy-Daddy" (he refers to the both of us as one, hyphenated, name) abandoned him for several days while they traveled to Philadelphia. He had a difficult time understanding why he couldn't come, and quite frankly so did I; until I remembered that flying across the country is not all that relaxing without a toddler. For the first two days of his visit with Grandma he felt liberated from Mommy-Daddy's ridiculous rules, scheduling, nagging, and incessant "NO's". By the third day he began to request "Mamma" especially when his head rammed a side table leaving a large goose egg on the right side of his head. Waking up Sunday morning I thought Hippo would punish us for leaving him but he was so happy we were home, he almost acted like us being gone was just a bad dream which he was glad was now over.

On Sunday I wasn't feeling up to attending Hippo's weekly highlight, church. Then on Monday I wasn't feeling up to going to the gym either, even though I teased him by getting all ready. He asked all day to "Go to gym?"

Tuesday, Hippo woke up with a fever which lasted through Wednesday and he developed no other symptoms other than a terrible cough. At times he will cough so hard he will throw up. Unfortunately this was the case last night after dinner when he threw up taco salad and a plum all over me (wearing my precious white robe). What's funny is that he doesn't mind this throwing up at all and will simply say, "I throw up! I throw up!"

Finally, I have been struggling with winter-long ailments and stress-induced anxiety myself which has essentially put me "out of commission" as the active mother with whom he is intellectually stimulated and happy. I do the basics: feed, bath, kiss and hug, sing, read, usher anxiously away from windows, and place in time out for hitting. But I know it is not enough and it causes me great sadness to see him suffer, especially when he is old enough to understand things are not right but not old enough to understand why.

But Heavenly Father keeps little ones in mind.

Yesterday during lunch he exclaimed "HELICOCKER!" It took me a minute to realize he was telling me that the monthly power line checks, done by a helicopter hovering very close to our house for about 20 minutes, was fast approaching. When I realized this I swiftly grabbed him out of his high chair and let him stick his face and sticky fingers to the french doors windows and stare to his heart content. Every couple of minutes he looked my way, sitting next to him, and said something about the helicopter. Otherwise he carried on a private conversation with it, "HI! helicocker. What you doing? Cows out there. Tractor out there. Truck out there. See you later helicocker." After it left I asked him if he loves or likes the helicopter and he looked at me seriously and said, "Like."

And then, after his bath last night he asked, like he does every night, for me to lift him up to look out the small bathroom window in an attempt to see the moon. He has not been able, much to his breaking two year old heart, to see it for several weeks. Last night, the clouds dispersed just enough for a silvery full moon to shine into a small bathroom window in Utah to brighten a small child's grim month. "OH! MOON!" he cried. So we gazed at it for several minutes even though my arms and legs began to shake while trying to hold up the stout 30 pounds. Tonight, there it was again and this time he yelled, "OH! ANOTHER MOON!"

Yes, Heavenly Father loves Hippo. And so do I.

The City of Brotherly Love

L and I traveled to Philadelphia last weekend for an interview with University of Pennsylvania (for Luke's graduate school). Though he is decided on Oakland University in Michigan, we thought it would be fun to have an excuse to travel to Philadelphia 1) to see the sights 2) to see what the oldest University in America is like 3) to eat an authentic Philly Cheesesteak Sandwich 4) experience a very big city. We stayed in a high rise and didn't see the actual sun until the end of our trip when we traveled outside of the metro area...it was weird.

The Liberty Bell

Luke riding a monumental mouse

One of the things we liked a lot about Philadelphia was that it was a pedestrian-friendly city. It was quick and simple to walk around and find interesting things including Rocky!

I was not nearly as excited about Rocky as L was (is).

Rocky, I mean L, dancing around to "Gonna Fly Now" at the top of the stairs at the Philadelphia Museum of Art. We passed on the Picasso exhibit--we saw our fair share in Paris a few years ago.

It made me worry, for Rocky, that my feet are nearly as big as his are.

Independence Hall (where the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution were debated/drafted)

I don't know if the picture captures all 13 tables (one for each colony) but here is the room where it all went down.

Our tour guide was incredibly enthusiastic which made our experience in one of the most historical significant places a little bit spiritual (I hope that saying that is not sacrilegious).

This is the actual chair in which George Washington sat as he presided over the constitutional debates.

Ben Franklin wondered, at a dire moment in the debates, whether the sun on this chair represented a rising or setting sun on the American Nation. After the delegates arrived at a compromise Ben Franklin felt assured it was a rising sun.

"Happy Valentimes Day"

In the beginning of the video he is saying, "Watch, watch," because he loves to watch videos of himself on the camera and blog. The other day I showed him the video of him throwing a temper tantrum in the last post. As I watched him watch himself I saw a sour facial expression (normally he finds himself quite charming and funny) sprout. I asked him if the baby was being naughty and he said rudely, "NO!" and glared at me.

L and I made Hippo, and ourselves, chocolate dipped strawberries for Valentine's Day. Clearly, he loved them. After his first one he asked for "more strawberry candies."

Even though Hippo's strong attitude poses parenting challenges, L and I continue to be captivated and in love with our baby. Watching him grow is our greatest joy and makes us fall a little deeper in love each day.

I'm Not Going To Lie

This parenting gig is not easy for me.

Hippo was born opinionated and determined, qualities I admire. Qualities that pose parenting challenges to the opinionated and determined, however.

I spent several hours researching temper tantrums and hitting last night, including a literature review of my child development library. What I found was discouraging, and confirmed my suspicions--there's not much to do until age 3.

Though there is not much to do in the scope of teaching them "NO HITTING!" and "NO THROWING TOYS!" and "NO HITTING MOMMY!" and "NO THROWING TOYS AT MOMMY'S FACE AT POINT BLANK DISTANCE!" and "THERE IS NO WAY, SHAPE OR FORM, THAT TEMPER TANTRUM IS GOING TO GET WHAT YOU WANT...BY THE WAY, WHAT IN THE WORLD IS IT THAT YOU WANT?" there are several things that can be done to avoid temper tantrums. The discouraging part is...I am doing ALL of them faithfully, consistently, clearly, and well.

So, am I a failure or not?

And Hippo is not even two years old yet!?

The above example is 1/1000 of what has become an 'average' tantrum. The above example is funny, an average tantrum is not funny.

Mid-Winter Zoo Trip

L works with a girl that says the only reason she works as a nurse is so she can volunteer at the Hogle Zoo. She has encouraged L to take Hippo this winter. She says the animals are much more active and it is a better zoo-experience than the traditional spring/summer excursions. "I don't buy it," I kept telling L until Sunday night when I had been complaining for 72 hours straight about 1) being sick for 2.5 weeks (the flu, cold, sinus infection, not sure what is currently going on) 2) Hippo being sick for 2 weeks (cold, sinus infection, and then pink eye) 3) my IT band being strained, again, preventing me from a thorough workout 4) L going skiing every Monday 5) getting our house ready to sell 6) not leaving the house for days as a result of the above mentioned when L said for the millionth time this winter, "Why don't you go to the zoo?"

I hate the Hogle Zoo. It's small, over-crowded, and there are more snack shacks/vendors than there are animal displays. I reviewed my other options for Monday: sit around, touch up paint, feel sorry for myself, deal with 467 temper tantrums, watch daytime television while trying to drown out 467 temper tantrums, clean out Hippo's baby clothes/closet, or deep clean the kitchen.

I chose to go to the zoo.

I figured that since it would be 45 degrees and sunny outside, and we could wear heavy coats there was no reason I couldn't take a pink-eyed kid (and a sick mom) to the zoo--he can't get anyone else sick there (he's been banned from all other children museums, the church nursery, and the gym daycare due to being sick). We both REALLY needed to get out of the house.

This mandrill came to the glass from the back of the exhibit to hang out with us. Hippo was quite take aback by the mandrill, which was surprising because I have never seen Hippo scared of an animal.

This tiger was pacing back and forth on this bridge. His brothers were off to the side gnawing on slabs of meat.

I was taken with this white wolf. There was only a description for the grey American wolf and so I am not sure what kind this one is. Isn't she beautiful? We talked to her for several minutes, Hippo refused to howl even though he knows how.

I included this guy in the picture because it shows how if this male giraffe bent down lower they could touch each other. The giraffe must have head lice because he itched his head the whole time were there. Hippo learned to say "giraffe" and I learned that giraffes have a special organ in their head, next to their brain, which adjusts to changes in air flow/pressure so the giraffe doesn't get dizzy or pass out. They are the only animals on the planet with this extra organ.

Now that's a big butt, Hippo and I kept saying to each other. Even though I didn't get it well on camera, this silver back gorilla was taken with Hippo. He mostly wandered around and ate but he would turn toward Hippo every couple of minutes and stare at him. He didn't like me nearly as much and always turned away from me. Hippo refused to pound his chest like I've taught him.

Does it surprise you that Hippo forced me to stop and gaze at this exhibit for 10 minutes?

There were only 30 other people in the park, maybe. It's the only time I've ever been to the zoo where I could take as long as I wanted to look at the animals, and at all angles. I have never seen all of the animals so active. My pictures of the cougars pacing and playing didn't turn out well, nor did my pictures of the bears running around. All of the primates were extraordinarily active, with monkeys coming right up to us and interacting with Hippo. One spider monkey ricocheted off of the glass (with his feet, about 20 feet high) right in front of my face. It was so funny.

Hippo's favorite part was the birds (I cannot believe he is not biologically related to his cousin, Buddy, who is more knowledgeable about animals and birds than an average adult). He loved the indoor rainforest area where parrots and other exotic birds flew around us freely. He also loved the duck and swan pond (I'm glad he's not traumatized by being pecked by a black swan this summer) and tried sneaking them a snack of pretzels and grapes. At one point we encountered a zoo worker who was holding a beautiful falcon, the fastest animal on the planet. Hippo loved this bird, who flapped her wings wildly for him. The zoo worker told us all about this beautiful bird and said that the orange/brown color on a bird's chest is called "roughage." I've heard this word before, probably from Buddy, but never knew exactly what it meant.

I've had a change of heart toward the Hogle Zoo. We'll remember to go in the winter, however.

Therapeutic Thursday: Question Answered: Do I Need Therapy?

There are seemingly simple questions which have complicated answers. When I am asked these types of questions my anxiety peaks a little, my heart beats a little harder and I get a little sweaty. I think, Do you really want to sit here and listen to me long enough to really understand the answer? Are you willing to listen with an open and non-defensive heart? Because I don't want to waste my time and energy for the outcome to be that you are mad at me for telling you the truth.*

I tell the truth. I'll tell you the truth, unless of course I assess that you can't handle the truth. If you are a client of mine I teach you to handle the truth, so I never back down from a question like this. If you are a client of mine, however, you've already come to the conclusion (or someone else with authority in your life has) that you need/want therapy. It's not so easy with you, my friends, family, neighbors, ward members, etc., because in these relationships I need you. And if you get mad at me for telling you the truth, I am punished by you withdrawing. I marvel at the human ability to be resilient, AND the human lack of ability to accept the truth. (BTW, this is call DENIAL).

One may argue that the truth I am telling is an opinion. That may well be. An educated and experienced opinion is valuable nonetheless. For example, if it is my physician's opinion that I should stop smoking in order to avoid tragic health problems like cancers and lung and heart disease than I would be FOOLISH to not consider her thoughts on the matter. The truth is, they cannot predict for certainty that I will develop such health problems from smoking, but they KNOW FOR CERTAINTY that I am risking them. Hence, the truth I tell folks.

Why is it that needing therapy is such an insult anyway? (Hint: that's a trick question to get you thinking). In my favorite case the client, in the final months of therapy, emphasized over and over how grateful he was for the opportunity to become healthy, and hence experience happiness he never thought possible. He felt relief. For example, I have asthma. It's been quite persistent and severe in the past. In the throws of an asthma attack the only thing I can think of is getting enough air to survive. I'm not thinking about what's for dinner or what's on TV later, I am thinking, Deep, slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths. When I was prescribed my first emergency inhaler when I was 13 years-old the first time I experienced the rapid effects of the medicine loosening up my bronchial passageways hot tears stung my eyes...I had never experienced such physical relief in my life. I, for the first time, knew I was in control of my asthma rather than vice versa. Emotional relief is possible too, I know this to be truth. WARNING: self-disclosure ahead: I've also experienced this type of relief via my own experiences as a therapy client.

I fully understand why it feels like an insult to need therapy. Accepting that truth is to accept that you are less than perfect, to accept that life has not gone the way you hoped. You question your capabilities, you worry you are inadequate. You feel ashamed, unworthy. You worry that those around you can see those secrets you've been hiding. You don't want to talk about those at all (or even think about them). You would do almost anything to never think/talk about those secrets, including put off the therapy. You may be worried discussing such things in therapy will make you feel worse. Here's the truth: it will, temporarily. Because digging something out that has been buried for so long is a painful process. Long term, you will feel relieved. I PROMISE, and so do my clients who have trusted themselves enough to embark on the process.

I had a client say this when I informed them that they had completed therapy, "I can't stop coming, you're the only one that knows my secrets."

"They are no longer secrets, " I replied. This is true even if they choose to never tell another. By talking about it you allow yourself to regain control of it. If you are avoiding talking about it, it is controlling you. This truth is the most basic psychological principle, by the way.

Finally, a teenaged boy came in to session one day furious. He wouldn't tell me the problem and I spent the next 30 minutes staring at him, his anger impeded his ability to redirect his attention to other topics. After awhile I said, "If you're not willing to talk about this or any other issue than I'll end session and save your parent's money and everyone's time." He then told me that he was angry at another boy at school who was calling him 'jelly bean' (due to my client's head shape). He ranted on for a time until I said, "Wait a second, turn your head to the side...okay to the other side...Yeah, he's right. Your head does look like a jelly bean." Of course you can imagine his face reddening but before he could storm out of my office I added, "A jelly bean-shaped head is a good shaped head. You can choose what you find insulting." If someone suggests therapy, it is not an insult, at least you don't have to see it as insulting. Therapy is an opportunity. And some would say, the best opportunity of a lifetime.

The following lists those behaviors which cannot go another day without therapeutic intervention:

-Thoughts/behaviors of physically harming self

-Thoughts/behaviors of physically harming others

-Psychosis

-Abusive behavior: verbal abuse, emotional abuse, physical abuse, and/or sexual abuse

-Substance abuse/dependence

-Violating the rights of others

The following lists those issues which are causing more damage than one would suspect and I would recommend therapy to begin ASAP:

-Abuse victimization, past and/or present: verbal, emotional, physical, and/or sexual

-A traumatic even where you felt completely out of control of your mortality

-A depressed mood lasting two weeks or longer (inability to be motivated, experiencing little or no life satisfaction)

-Anxiety impeding regular daily tasks and/or relationships

-Few or no satisfying interpersonal relationships

-Eating problems

-Encopresis in children (pooping inappropriately)

-Enuresis (wetting bed/pants after previously being trained)

-Gross personality change in a child lasting more than two weeks, no identifiable trigger

-Sexual behavior concerns in a child

The following lists those issues which would benefit from therapy sooner rather than later:

-A mildly depressed mood lasting more than a year

-Life changes which have caused emotional strife/anxiety

-Loss, grief

-Difficulty being successful academically or at work

-Anger management problems including: name calling, belittling, aggressive words, aggressive behavior, impulsive behavior (not thinking through potential consequences before action), destruction of property

-Chronic opposition and/or defiance in a child older than age 5 (Parents, be ready to do more changing than the child)

The following lists issues which are not appropriate for therapy, unless you are willing to pay $120 per hour:

-Children not doing their chores

-Children ignoring their parents

-Children talking back to their parents

-Pet behavior problems unrelated to children's/owner's behavior problems (I wish I was lying)

*I am amazed how many people put me in this position to only punish me for being honest.

Dad, about boundaries, it's at least a 12 week course.

Manipulation?

I've noticed that Hippo has already started tuning me out. I can't believe this has started already, seriously. I did every 'good' parenting strategy I could think of to get him to put his toys away before bath tonight to only rip his dump truck out of his hands while he cried hysterically (it's a large mechanical truck which would likely kill him if he took it into the bath if you were wondering why I just wouldn't let him have it in the bath) and threw himself on the floor.

I've taken to getting him to listen to me by pretending one of his toys is talking to him. When he came to visit me at work today I used a puppet to talk to him and he was completely engaged for nearly ten minutes. It was incredible. So, tonight, when he was throwing a different fit unrelated to the dump truck situation I took a Little People Fireman and began talking to him in a funny deep voice. He began calming down when suddenly he hit the fireman out of my hand. It ricocheted off my face. Hippo has been on and off again aggressive to L and I throughout his life--never to anyone else--and this is concerning to me, as well as unacceptable. Instead of putting him in time out I pretended to have the fireman cry and say, "It hurts when you hit me." Hippo's eyes widened and he looked between the fireman and me and began crying so hard he couldn't catch his breath. Clearly he felt remorse (and I celebrated silently to myself). The fireman quickly recovered and told Hippo he forgave him, and then gave Hippo a hug and a kiss.

I learned to talk to toddlers this way from my sister. I went to the zoo with her and her oldest son years ago and she used a hilarious voice to pretend she was the big horned sheep we were viewing to talk to her then three year old. He was captivated. Maybe I'll have the fireman ask Hippo to clean the bathroom tomorrow.

Therapeutic Thursday/Saturday: Justification

I intended to post this Thursday, the flu got in the way.

Recently one of my couple clients came into session and related a VERY large fight they had which escalated to the point of her threatening to never allow him to see their children again and him swearing at her/name calling in front of their children. Can you just imagine the finger pointing that was going on in front of me. I said nothing, instead I wrote this on my office white board:

Others' bad behavior is never a good justification for our own bad behavior.

The fact that they were able to discuss this with each other, take personal responsibility for their bad behavior, and make plans how they will avoid such bad behavior in the future has given me/them a glimmer of hope that maybe their marriage will work out after all.

It turned out, this statement was applicable in nearly EVERY other session I had that week.

No wonder our world sucks so bad, is what I thought after that long week.

When we believe we are justified in aggression, violence, threats, verbal assault, insults, contempt/sarcasm, hatred, and other negative behavior after someone has 'wronged' us we are WRONG! Every time. No exceptions.

What ever happened to patience, turning the other cheek, and asserting our thoughts and feelings in a calm and rational manner? Or setting boundaries with the people who will not stop wronging us despite our healthy attempts to redirect them?

If you are like me and have messed up, have reacted to--instead of responding to--someone wronging you, take responsibility. Don't justify yourself.

Hint: Valid efforts to change your behavior in the future is the remedy--make a plan for new/different behavior when something/someone challenging crosses your path. Follow your plan. I know, this works for me (I know A LOT of challenging people...see post below).

Therapeutic Thursday: How To Be A Crappy Client

Nearly two years ago I had my last prenatal visit. I was 39.75 weeks pregnant and it was a Wednesday morning and I was wearing a green shirt I purchased from Target (I'm trying to remember what shoes I was wearing and it bothers me I can't recall. Very strange as I plan my outfits around the shoes I want to wear).

After the checkup my nurse midwife asked if I wanted to be induced, right then. I said, "YES!" very eagerly. She laughed at my enthusiasm and said, "Well, I know you've been uncomfortable." I fake-laughed my agreeance. My eagerness had nothing to do with my discomfort and everything to do with the fact that I a day full of crappy clients scheduled that I would rather birth a child than endure.

In order to become a crappy client you can do one of the following:

1. Swear at your therapist. The mother of all swear words followed by "you" is a therapist favorite.

2. Bang your head against your therapist's office wall. Throw in pulling your hair out and throwing the chunks extruded onto your therapist's office floor as an extra bonus.

3. Blame your therapist for the bad things that happen in your life, including being sent to jail after you: use drugs, assault a police officer, destroy property, refuse to comply with your court orders, etc.

4. Scream a lot in your therapist's 7'x7' office, with the door closed.

5. When you cry, howl.

6. Don't attend your scheduled appointments and DO NOT call ahead to cancel.

7. Arrive late to your scheduled appointments and then become belligerent when your therapist ends session at the scheduled time.

8. Threaten to sue your therapist for the following reasons: your therapist abiding by mandatory reporting laws and HIPPA laws.

9. Abuse your children and then blame your therapist when your children are removed by State Authorities.

10. Use drugs right before your scheduled session.

11. Do not shower within 24 hours of your scheduled appointment.

12. Wear pants/shorts with a hole in the crotch and sit spread eagle across from your therapist.

13. Blame your therapist for your lack of progress.

14. Take none of your therapist's advice/suggestions and complain that you are not making progress.

15. a. Blame your therapist when your marriage ends because you cheated on your spouse.

b. Blame your husband's therapist when your marriage goes array after your husband cheats on you.

16. a. Bring your infants/toddlers to session.

b. Pretend not to notice the smell of feces when your infant/toddler defecates during session.

17. Lie, compulsively, to your therapist.

18. Remain in denial for significant amounts of time, especially if someone else is picking up the bill.

19. Develop a crush on your therapist, making your therapist feel severely uncomfortable.

20. Do not pay your bill, owing your therapist up to $450.

21. Act as if your therapist should treat you for free, or nearly free.

22. Threaten to kill your therapist, your child's therapist, or your spouse's therapist.

23. Threaten to harm your therapist's family, especially their children.

24. Leave disagreeable messages on your therapist's voicemail, even threatening messages.

25. Call your therapist incessantly. Or call your therapist over menial things, like scheduling, when your therapist employs an assistant, with a separate phone number listed on your therapist's cards which they have given to you on several occasions, to do such menial things.

Yeah! Tractor!

He's saying, "Yeah, Tractor!" at the end of the clip. Hippo wants me to tell Grandma and Grandpa Sajovic "thanks for the awesome tractor!"

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?

I'm Thankful

That a few weeks ago when I spilled 3/4 of a gallon of white paint on our cement porch and had to wake L up from his preparatory nap (for a graveyard shift) to help me clean up the mess, he didn't even act annoyed. Not even once.

And how did he know that gasoline would help remove it?

He's A Maniac

Hippo loves music, loves to dance. He's getting pretty good don't you think? Don't mind my poor singing.

He loves the music video so much he'll point to the computer and say, "Maniac?"

Assorted Hippo Moments

This was quite fun for Hippo, and quite a mess for me. He is wearing a headband.

Hippo, and we, LOVED these cowboy boots. It took all of our willpower to not buy them.

Hippo thought this 'coon' skin hat was so cool he should have been employed by the outdoor store as a live model since many people stopped to admire him and his hat. It took no willpower to NOT to buy this.

Haircut

Hippo has arrived at a stage where he is too busy to hold still for a portrait photo and so I don't have any good pictures of his complete haircut.

It Has Started

He's began demanding things. Like, to wear these sunglasses to dinner the other day.

This Is As Good As It Gets

This is the very best he can climb. He falls off by the time he gets to the third step.

Indian Summer, Premonition, and Forward Thinking

Hippo still loves tractors. Until this weekend he has been able to either ride a tractor or inspect one thoroughly nearly every day through the spring, summer, and fall. Our Indian Summer is officially over, it snowed two inches this weekend.

How can you resist a pile of leaves like this one?

Each year, since 2001, November 1st hits and L wakes me up at the crack of dawn rummaging around in the basement to find a shotgun to clean to prepare for the pheasant hunt. Unfortunately, this year he got one.

Unfortunately, this is not the end of this unfortunate story. That morning, November 1, 2009, I awoke to L madly rummaging around for a shotgun, and piling on layers of warm clothing. He excitedly reminded me he was off to hunt. I rolled my eyes, and rolled over back to sleep. I then dreamed a disturbing dream: L shot his first pheasant in more than eight years, he called me up to exclaim the exciting news to the only person in the State of Utah who abhors hunting (except the ones in Sugarhouse) and to tell me that he is not coming home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermists for a consultation over his recently shot game. Then, I dreamed he displayed the stuffed bird on our mantle for everyone who entered into our home to exclaim over as I looked on in horror.

I woke up and quickly forgot the dream. I began my daily routine and at about 11:00 am L called to say that he had shot his first bird in more than eight years and he wouldn't be home right away because he was stopping off at the local taxidermist for a consultation.

If you think you know where this is going...

I told him that I would divorce him if he came home with a stuffed bird. OR, he could spend his Christmas money on the project just to have it burned, by me, the second he left the stuffed bird unattended.

Needless to say, a stuffed bird has not been placed on our mantle.

What will we do when we no longer have a farm to roam? We met with a real estate broker this week. Selling our home is a large bite to swallow and warrants its own post, to come.