Reflections

Hello, world.

The snow falls so lightly this morning that it almost appears as a shimmering mist outside my bedroom window. In moments when the sunlight escapes through the clouds and reflects off of the falling snow just right I could swear that the world is being covered in swirling sparkles of glitter.

The morning I slipped and fell on my driveway, the concrete sparkled. I didn't notice this until after I had fallen and was laying there in the gutter in front of my home with my injury, unable to move. Maybe it was the angle from which I could now see the driveway, maybe it was because I had experienced firsthand the ice rink that my street had become. Perhaps the glimmering I saw was simply a result of the shock I was experiencing due to the pain in my leg. Either way, I remember thinking that if I had to lay there for a long time before someone discovered me, that driveway sure was a pretty sight. I started to wonder if maybe there was actually glitter mixed in with the concrete when my neighbor Mr. C., out walking his dog, came to my rescue.

Probably the one thing I have thought about most as I lie here in my bed day after day is the timing of my accident. Because it was 9:00 in the morning during Christmas break, my neighborhood was still asleep. I wonder if Mr. C. took regular walks at this hour or if something may have held him back or pushed him forward so that he left a bit sooner or later than usual. Just as when Coolister broke his ankle last March, I have learned that there are no such thing as coincidences in situations like these.

It was no coincidence that Mr. C. came by when he did and crossed the street to where I lay in order to offer assistance. I have never even met this man before that day, yet he did not hesitate to come to my aid. I have honestly thought in retrospect that we could have named our son after Mr. C because that is how grateful I am for his help that morning. I'm not sure I could ever really express the depth of my gratitude.

It was not a coincidence that this happened during Christmas break, when my older kids could be home tending to the younger ones so that Allen could stay in the hospital with me. When the paramedics showed up, All-a-Boy was downstairs playing a game with the littlest kids so that they would not see me in pain, surrounded by strangers in our front room, carted on a gurney to the ambulance.

It was not a coincidence that our nurse in the emergency room was the daughter of a neighbor who we knew well. It helped me feel at ease to talk about something familiar as I waited to hear what course of action would be taken to repair the dislocation and breaks in my ankle and leg.

It was no coincidence that the on-call surgeon was the same one who operated on Coolister's leg last march. We found him to be a bit arrogant and rude throughout Coolister's ordeal but we saw firsthand how Coolister's ankle healed beyond what we were told was possible and had confidence in the doctor's skills as a surgeon. I also do not think it was a coincidence that the aforementioned surgeon was actually kind and considerate toward me (well, minus the waiting time before surgery) despite his typical reputation.

It was not a coincidence that, when our little boy was born 3 weeks early, he weighed in at 8 pounds, 4 ounces and was perfectly healthy and ready to be here.

When I went for my surgery the day after I had given birth, it was no coincidence that I saw my OB twice (there to perform surgery on others under his care) while waiting for my surgeon to show up. He offered me words of encouragement and support when I was ready to explode with some mixture of anger, fear, frustration and tears. He helped me feel a sense of calm when I needed it.

As Allen waited on me in the hospital, it was no coincidence that our neighbors showed up at our home to provide our family with pizzas for lunch, meals for dinner and treats for whenever they wanted one before anything was coordinated to make this happen. It helped me to know that my family was being watched over while I selfishly kept Allen by my side to help tend to the needs of our newborn baby as the nurses tended to the needs of my post-surgical healing.

There are many more instances of non-coincidences over the past 2 weeks which I'll keep tucked away to be remembered personally by myself and my family, just as they should be.

In all instances, I know this for sure: coincidences did not exist in my world over the last couple of weeks. Tender mercies? Gifts from a loving Heavenly Father? Blessings? Even miracles? Yes to all of them... but no coincidences.

The afternoon as I waited to leave the hospital I was holding my baby boy. His eyes were curious and seemed to be searching mine with that innocence that comes with being new. I reveled in this moment, basking in his newness and the overwhelming happiness of being able to do this again, to mother another sweet newborn babe. As I sat there gazing at him, I noticed my own face reflected in the eyes of my beautiful baby boy - and then he smiled.

Coincidence? I think not.

Accidentally in Love

From my place in front of the kitchen sink, I heard the screeching tires. The impact. The sound of dragging metal. It was much too close for comfort. I ran outside in my socks and noticed that the car was parked at an awkward position, but everything seemed fine.
After doing an inventory of kids and bikes and realizing no one was hurt, I checked out the other side of the cars.
Maybe it was a bit more serious than I thought. My mind began immediately racing with thoughts of the terrible things that could have happened. All of the what-ifs. And then, looking at the wreck in my front yard, my brain shifted.

I couldn't help but notice that these two cars looked as if they were clinging to each other... one with a tire outstretched as if offering comfort to the other.
It was like the car that had caused the accident was telling our car it was sorry. Like they were close friends. Or maybe even more? Had they been checking each other out all these years, parked across the street from each other for so long? Had they been holding on to the hope that they might find themselves on the same side of the road sometime? I walked around to the back of the accident to assess the damages there. And I thought...
Don't they look like they're in love, all huddled close together?

I just wish they didn't have to meet by accident.

I know some of you are probably wondering what happened. The oldest daughter of one of our neighbors was coming home from work. It was determined that she was looking at her cell phone when the car veered to the right and by the time she looked up, she was immediately behind our little Neon with no time to correct herself. She carried our car from the curb to the sidewalk and onto our lawn and driveway. She was traveling fast enough that airbags were deployed - and the only (minor) injuries she received were from the impact of the airbag (thank heavens!). Both cars are no longer operable - but the cars are just 2 hunks of metal and glass... they can be replaced. Those damages are not important. We are just very, very grateful that none of our kids or neighbor's kids were playing in front of our house at the time. We are also very, very grateful that our neighbor's daughter is fine. Our suburban was not parked on the street or in the driveway or else it most likely would have sustained some damage as well. For this we are also glad.

And yes, I really did think about the cars having a relationship. That, my friends, is how my mind works. I can't help it. (Or maybe I have just watched the movie Cars one too many times.)

Moooving

One question I am often asked is this: So, when are you moving? I didn't know we were even considering it.

I guess people assume that a family of 11 cannot fit comfortably in our home. Sure, it can be tight sometimes, but here's the main reason we hope to live out the rest of our days here: location.

When I stand in front of my house, I can turn in any direction and gaze upon some of Utah's finest mountain peaks. It is beautiful here.

We also live in a neighborhood that has a "small-town" feeling that I adore. For example, in the short drive to my kids' school I see horses, cows, sheep and llamas. To get there I drive down what we call the "farm road" where there are open fields and pumpkin patches and old wooden structures that are dilapidated enough to hold my interest but sturdy enough to not look trashy.

On my way to drop the Princess off at kindergarten today I had to stop for 2 cows who were crossing the road. Cows! Crossing the road! They were probably loose but I didn't know which door to knock on and say, "Hey, your cows are out" so I just let them cross to go visit with the horses and went on my way.

2 days ago I stopped a block away from home so Hubba and I could watch a tortoise cross the street.

When we are driving home late at night in the winter we sometimes see deer wandering the neighborhood.

People wave at each other when they drive around our streets. Half the time I don't even know who I'm waving at - but if they want to be friendly, I'm happy to return the gesture!

Plus, as an added bonus, neighbors bring me treats and treasures at random times.

Marci shares lunch-sized portions of Tortellini Soup or Chinese Chicken Salad.

Jenny sends over just enough brownie edges or chocolates for me to eat in the pantry or my bedroom closet when I hope no one's paying attention.

Bethany treats me to her homemade salsa.

Jan gives me everything from 'counterfeit rolls' to 'peach bubbly' to rice pudding to Dove chocolate bars at least once a month.

I found chocolate mini donuts on my porch recently from ?? My kids had them devoured in record time.

(thanks to ??)

Barbara and Howard gave us 27 pumpkins and enough cornstalks (all from her garden) to complete our haunted decor for this year. (It's going to be SPECTACULAR!!) And they threw in a load of garden-fresh carrots for good measure. And frosted cookies for the kids.

It doesn't stop there. Everyone looks out for everyone else. We genuinely care for each other. I had meals brought in for over a week when I had my last baby. People were lined up to feed a family of ELEVEN. Can you find this stuff in just any neighborhood? Nope.

I know you're getting jealous, so I'll stop.

Tell me, why would we move?

That's what I thought.

Show Me A Sign

I will admit, I went into this with fairly low expectations. Generally when I am asked to teach a sign language class at church it is frustrating because everyone's expectations are different than mine. Or someone will have already taken a class somewhere and they like to tell me I'm doing a particular sign incorrectly - which leads to my lecture on the varying dialects of ASL (I won't bore you here) and the burning desire to sarcastically ask that person to go ahead and teach us the real way to sign the words I have used my entire life and they have known for 2 semesters.

But not tonight. Oh no, not tonight.

Things began casually with a review of what they had learned last week - various foods and the like. And then I told them I didn't have anything planned for my first class as teacher - but did anyone want to learn anything specific?

Did they ever.

It started innocently with signs for feelings - happy, sad, tired, bored... and the importance of using facial expressions to convey the extent of each emotion. I think the word "sick" is what started us going.

"How would you say sick - as in, sick to your stomach?" "And what if you feel like you are going to throw up?" "How about diarrhea?"

You can see where this is going. And going, and going... We even covered some medical terms. (One of the ladies is a nurse, so I felt justified...)

I swear, it was like we were at Scout Camp.

And so, this is how I came to enjoy one of the most enriching church enrichment classes our neighborhood has ever known. We had ladies of all ages and different walks of life having a grand old time laughing and learning together. I have never laughed so hard in my life while teaching ASL.


Ladies, thank you for destroying the stereotype. I am looking forward to next week.

The Neighborhood Parties On!

Every Fourth of July our neighborhood has a BBQ. We also have BBQs all summer long, but this is one with a purpose. The purpose? To eat more, visit longer, laugh louder and light more fireworks than should be allowed. This year's turnout was much smaller than usual because of all the neighbors who decided to spend time with their families on the 4th. The nerve.

Our teen boy population was well represented.

The unspoken rules for the usual neighborhood gatherings are as follows:

1. Bring your own meat
2. Bring something to share

However, this was a special occasion where the rules were changed to:

1. Bring a few dollars and Dan will work his magic on some chicken and brisket.
2. Bring something made with potatoes or watermelon

Number two usually works out great - the neighborhood brain waves generally work it so that some people bring various salads, some bring dessert, you get the idea. This BBQ was the exception...I have never seen so many potato foods! Potato Salad, Funeral Potatoes (we live in Utah, people, it's inevitable) & chips took up the majority of the food table by far. And more watermelon than could be consumed by a small village in a third-world country. There was also a tasty pasta dish that Marci's mom brought and the most yummy avocado/tomato/cilantro-type dip (THANK YOU NANCY!!) I have ever laid taste buds on. GaeLynn and I were ready to secretly transport the dip into her kitchen and indulge, but used our better judgment and left about one-chip-scoop-full so someone else could have a taste. Marci made creamy vanilla homemade ice cream, too.

Oh, and there was plenty of water to drink...

When it came time for fireworks, we had the usual arsenal of smoke and flame. It was beautiful. Some people really, really wanted to like sparklers, but the sparklers wouldn't stop doing that sparkle thing.
All in all, I think the night could be measured as a grand success!

God Bless America!