An Open Heart Can Never Stay Broken

My dad gave me this today, this beautiful necklace with two open hearts connected, with diamond angel wings (they are Kendall’s). He wanted to tell me that if I keep my heart open and allow others to nurture and love me, I will be healed and will one day have a heart full of peace and joy; that the cracks and broken pieces can heal, and that I will be able to love another daughter again here, on this earth, and later, with Kendall.

He hugged me and said I needed to be in his life; I needed to take up space in his world and in his heart. I am needed. I have a place here.
He very well made me want to live, today.

Thanks Dad. I love you.

[Pic taken on Thanksgiving, Dad was doing magic tricks and I was his lovely assistant. ;) ]

Curls

Are they too much?

Are they too Bella and her perfectly innocent, naïve, bouncy curls with the headband she was always sportin’ in the flick(s)?

‘Cuz I swear I’m not going for that.

I’m more just going for the whole “I’m healthy and want to look chipper and like I’m trying to participate in life” look.

I hear it’s all the rage right now.


Verdict?

Why I Like Living in Utah and/or “Mormonville”

[And just to be clear, I am LDS.]

1. Getting your boobs and your nails done is waaaaay cheaper, than, say, in California. And probably even Kentucky.
2. Drinking Diet Coke feels like a delicious sin.
3. There are so many kids at the play-place at McDonald’s, that you can easily blame someone else’s child when your kid pees down the twisty slide. *coughMistycough*
4. There is a good chance you have tried every casserole invented on God’s green earth. I would estimate you have liked approximately 45.768% of them. If I’m being optimistic.
5. You’re not considered unkind if you don’t give money to the homeless, since you have to give an entire 10% of your income to the Lord, anyway. I figure He’s got the homeless people’s backs. Although, it is pry safe to assume that the poorest homeless people live in Utah. Is that an oxymoron?
6. One may, out of desperation, come up with many alternatives for curse words. Let’s use “shit” as an example. Some of the words I use as a substitute include, but are not limited to
-shat
-S-face
-Shoo-fah (thanks Tawny)
-suck-a-doodle-doo
-S-Bomb
…and, of course, when I am playing Mario, I say the real thing because I cannot control my language when I kill him. I feel too awful.
7. Having an eating disorder is not technically breaking The Word, like, say, being an alcoholic. (In the LDS Church)
8. The day “Breaking Dawn” was released, I happened to be at McDonald’s letting the kiddo play around while I munched on some fries. I looked around me and EVERY WOMAN was sitting in a booth with her nose in that book wearing Team Edward or Team Jacob shirts. I had a good roar seeing grown women and mothers getting’ all hot and sweaty for Eddie’s rock hard marble bod. Us Utahn’s love us a good fantasy, don’t we?
9. The chance of becoming an alchy in Utah are drastically lowered because the alcohol content in beer and other liquors is roughly equivalent to what you’d find in baby formula.
10. In Utah, getting asked to the Prom is FUN. No one just comes out and says to you, “Hey, you wanna go to prom with me…?” (look down, scuffle feet.) No, you get asked in a silly tricky way, usually with a riddle or something you have to solve left on your doorstep, trying to figure out who asked you. I sure had a lot of FUN when someone asked me to the Winter Formal or whatever by putting a LIVE MOUSE in my BED. THE BED I SLEEP IN. That was really FUN. REALLY REALLY FUN. FUN IS DEFINITELY HOW I'D DESCRIBE IT.

Why do you love living in Utah or in your state?

Why 2 Anorexics Should Not Make Mashed Potatoes

1. Because these particular two [recovering] anorexics (Whit and I) HATE to cook – contrary to many out there who are obsessed with it.
2. Our OCD got in the way and we whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped and whipped (hold on did I get eight "whipped's" in there? I NEED eight. ;) those damn mashed potatoes until we couldn’t find a single lump.
3. Only when everybody ate them, they were really lumpy. Our Lump Radar sucks. I pretended my sister had made them.
4. When skimping on the amount of butter one should put in said potatoes, I clumsily dropped some of the butter wrapper in the potatoes. And it was never to be found again. (And trust me we parted those potatoes like the Red Sea to comb through them.) Whoever got that little gem got a leeeeeettle extra fiber that day.

Next Thanksgiving I’m going to ask for a simpler assignment than to bring 20 POUNDS OF MASHED TATERS. Holy oh my moly with some guacamole. Like maybe can I pretty please bring that canned cranberry stuff, or maybe water? Yeah, I’ll bring the water. How can you screw up water unless you like bring it from the toilet or something?

I did, however; make three punkin’ pies. I was a little nervous about food poisoning though due to a little, like, issue of a curdled factor in the condensed milk, but no one so far has reported any pukage so I think I’m in the clear. I’m such a pioneer.

The Plan (she says, irritated)

My life, currently, sucks as much as hair on soap or getting stuck behind a bad/slow/stupid driver. Or a rotten tuna sandwich.

Why, you ask? Because apparently I need a life-sustaining, soul-sucking babysitter. The Food Police are realllllly ridin’ my ass.

Breakfast? Twin Brother brings it to me, and watches me eat it. Chomp chomp yum yum.
Morning snack? Same thing. (Except the smell of Boost makes me want to up some chuck.)
Lunch: oh, Mom’s totally all over that shiz.
Afternoon snack: Brandon brings it promptly at 3:30,Grinning hopefully like a mad mad fool because he loves me and he wants meat on my bones.
Dinner – Mom: “You need to eat more.”
Evening snack: Brandon: “Here’s a Boost, honey.”

I know it’s not their fault they have to do this. (Let’s blame the T and the D.) And I know they don’t want to be the food police. I’m sure they hate it just as much as I do. Well, they probably don’t, because the silent rage that courses through me when I see them stare at me while I push crumb after crumb in my mouth cannot compare to the mild discomfort they feel. I know it. Their distress is multiplied 100 times plus my body mass index, and then doubled by all the calories I’m eating every day which then, finally, equals my distress. True story.

But if I don’t do this whole “creating inpatient in an outpatient setting,” thing, then I’ll have to actually, you know, go inpatient. AND THAT IS NOT AN OPTION NOT EVER EVER OVER MY DEAD BODY.

Apparently losing xx lbs in 2 weeks isn’t “normal,” even if I am grieving.

And dammit here I thought I was, all, like, recovered. Sorry you guys, I guess I'm not.

I miss Kendall.

July 2010

The Snowman
by Shel Silverstein

'Twas the first day of springtime,
And the snowman stood alone
As the winter snows were melting,
And the pine trees seemed to groan,
"Ah, you poor sad snowman,
You'll never see July."
Said the Snowman, "What a pity,
For I'd like to see July
Yes I'd like to see July, and please don't ask me why.
But I'd like to, yes I'd like to, oh I'd like to see July."

Chirped a Robin, just arriving,
"Seasons come and seasons go,
And the greatest ice must crumble
When its' flowers time to grow
And as one thing is beginning,
so another thing must die,
And there's never been a snowman
Who has ever seen July.
No they never see July, no matter how they try.
No they never ever, never ever, never see July."

But the snowman sniffed his carrot nose
And said, "At least I'll try,"
And be bravely smiled his frosty smile
And blinked his coal-black eye.
And there he stood and faced the sun
A blazin' from the sky--
And I really cannot tell you
If he ever saw July.
Did he ever see July? You can guess as well as I
If he ever, if he never, if he ever saw July.

Gratitude during Grief

Thanksgiving is tomorrow, and I’ll admit that this season I haven’t felt much of anything to be grateful for. I am quite consumed with my grief of losing Kendall. BUT acknowledging the goodness and the blessings in one’s life is vital, I think, for mental and spiritual health and happiness, so I’m going to take a minute and list a few of the things I am grateful for: (And seriously these are not in any particular order because if semicolons were the #1 thing I was grateful for in my entire life, I would be really, really nerdy and more mentally invalid than I even am now.)

1. Semicolons. I’m not even kidding. They are far too underused. When I see someone use a semicolon correctly, it makes me heart them that much more! Good grammar makes me almost as happy as buying some really awesome shoes at Nordy’s or looking at Jillian’s hot eyebrows.
2. Diet [Coke/Dr Pepper/Pepsi]. Because it makes my life that much more enjoyable, you know, without me, like, breaking The Plan and doing something that might send me to hell or whatever.
3. My husband. I didn’t believe in soul-mates until I met him. But our souls do some major clickage and I know I’d be some crazy homeless lady with straw wrappers in her hair and Now and Laters in her threadbare coat pocket wandering around downtown SLC not eating if he wasn’t around. I am the pea to his pod, he is the salt to my pepper, he is the peanut butter to my jelly (only really, I’d like creamy instead of crunchy, and really I prefer jam. Oh and Boysenberry if you have it.) We mesh (and mash, hee hee) really well together. I love you, My Man.
4. Cade. Now that I have lost Kendall, I’ve realized how fragile life can be, and I treasure my remaining child that much more – because I realize he is a gift from God and I don’t want to EVER take that for granted again. So I hug C more, I kiss him and tickle him and just marvel at his long eyelashes and dimple on his left cheek just a little more than before. He’s starting to get really irritated with me, and on more than one occasion has said, “Mommy STOP KISSIN’ ME!” But I can’t. And I won’t. I’m so happy this little dude was expelled from my uterus and is mine for all of time and eternity.
5. Kendall. She is my daughter. And I love her. And I can’t wait to be with her again.
6. My sisters and mom. The day Kendall died; I told my mom I didn’t want any visitors, because I wasn’t ready for them. Well they all showed up that night anyway, with gifts and hugs and tears and love, insisting to me that they weren’t VISITORS, but rather SISTERS. There really is a difference, I learned. ;) And I love all of them for their quirks and idiocies (seriously, sorry, but it's true ;) and I love the bond we have that is stronger almost than anything else in the world. I love their kids and their style and the way they’ll tell me that my skinny jeans are ugly, and how I am so brave to wear them, but really I know they’re only jealous because they don’t dare to wear them! I love all of you. Every one of you. And I am talking about sisters-in-law, too.
7. And I’m grateful for all of YOU. I would say that I don’t know, nor have I ever met, about 95% of the people who read my blog. And the support and the emails and texts and Facebook messages and love and prayers I’ve gotten from you, (friends and acquaintances included) especially now with Kendall’s death, has been staggering. I have SO MANY of you tell me how strong I am, how much you admire me, and I only shake my head and think, “Whaaa--? Why would they think I am strong?” Half the time I am complaining to you about one thing or another in my life. And I will admit to you, my fun little friends and readers, that I didn’t have much faith in this world. Because there are people who are ugly to the core, and who mean you harm, and relish in others’ pain, and the world seemed dark and hopeless and ominous. But you, readers, are giving me trust in this world again. A belief that life can be good, that strangers can love and pray and have a camaraderie with a perfect stranger without any ill intent. You bring me hope that there is more good than bad in this world. And that is a precious gift. And I thank you.

I wish you all a wonderful Thanksgiving full of hope and joy and gratitude and family.
[And you all better actually eat, dammit. ;) ]