The Things We Carried

The fire came in quietly. For me, anyway. I didn't realize it was there until Chad came home from work on Thursday night and made a harmless comment, an aside really... "It's funny how you don't think about how it would feel to lose your house in a fire until it's close to you."

I looked up from my word game, startled. "Is a fire close to us?"

"No. It's up over the hill. Not too close. I was just thinking about it."

And I went back to my game. And he went back to listening to his podcast. And we watched the kids climbing all over the playground. And that was that.

Until Friday morning, when I woke up to a phone call from a concerned aunt and a text from worried parents. "We heard Eagle Mountain is being evacuated. Do you have to leave? Do you have a place to go? Is your house safe?"

I was completely caught off guard. "Uh, I'm not actually sure." (Funny how you get out of touch with the news when you have no TV.) I jumped online and looked at the most recent updates from KSL and Eagle Mountain City's website. I called Chad to find out what he'd heard. And I peeked out the window. No flurries of activity. No clouds of smoke overhead--On the mountain, yes, but still miles from us, right?

Wrong. Saratoga Springs was evac'd. And the Eastern side of Eagle Mountain was leaving. Ciara called: "We're headed out. Keep us posted on what's going on with you guys." A mile away, and they were asked to leave. The fire was threatening us from a mile away.

And still it wasn't a serious threat for me. Not really. A mile and a main street away. It would take a fire indeed to reach us on the inside. "But it wouldn't hurt to pack up the most important things," Chad said. "Just to be prepared. Just in case." So I pulled a couple of empty bins out of the garage....

And then what? How does one begin packing for something like that? "Just in case the rest of our possessions burn down in our house, we should pack..." what? What can't I live without? What is absolutely irreplaceable?

It turns out, all the value of our lives fit into two bins. Two bins. Two bins that contained everything I would be devastated to lose. That I could never replace or recreate. Chad's journals--volumes of his recorded life. Valuable indeed, since I am notoriously bad at keeping a journal. My children's baby books. All of our family history books. The camera, of course, and the hard drive. Photo albums--the most recent ones, at least, with all the pictures of Risa that have mysteriously disappeared from our hard drive. All my writing journals and dream notebooks and poetry. All the vital documents, obviously. The two portraits of Momma, and the baby quilt with the stitched outline of her hand. And her letter to me, written just months before she died. Our ipod, with thousands of songs, representing decades of collected music. Coren's Money and Risa's Bebe. And Chad's and my letters and emails and cards and love notes to each other.

And that was it. Those were the things we carried. The things I could never have parted with. The things that will never be found in a store or online or on a flash drive somewhere. Strange how your mind can go into emergency mode like that, and you can whittle your life down to those few most basic, most cherished things. The rest melts away... Well, truth be told, it doesn't entirely melt away--I still would have been heartbroken to lose my shelves and shelves of books and my carefully assembled wardrobe. But there we were, left with two bins that told the essence of what/who we were.

Thankfully, we never had to escape with our two small bins. My shelves are standing, still loaded with books. My clothes are hanging in my closet. My house is clean and ash-free (and a good thing, too, because I still forgot a few things that I would have kicked myself for later--patriarchal blessings and Momma's wedding ring). All is quiet and calm and under control. But, for a few quiet hours, I got to search myself; I got to choose the things that I would carry. 

In Memoriam

Yes, I know I am rather behind on my blog posts--there are still some events from April I need to post about (my little brother-in-law's lovely wedding); and some big events that have happened recently (i.e. my third child's entrance into the world). And I will get on those this week.

But today, today I am in mourning.

I just read about the passing of Ray Bradbury two days ago. Those of you who know me well know my undying love for the man, for his writing. He looked at language the way a composer looks at music (I imagine, anyway, not having any real ability to draw from when it comes to composing music). He builds his sentences to ebb and flow, to run together in musical rivers, every word chosen to fit into the harmony of the sentence. You don't really read his words, you sing them. I am captivated by every paragraph. Enthralled. In ecstasies. And yes, that sounds rather dramatic. But if you've read much of Mr. Bradbury (no, not just Fahrenheit 451), you understand. And you probably agree. Yes, I will be presumptuous and say you agree.

I actually didn't read Fahrenheit 451 until college; and quite frankly, though it is beautiful, it is not my favorite of his works. The first Bradbury book I read was Something Wicked This Way Comes. I was astounded! And I was addicted. I bought books and books of his collections of short stories. I read them over and over. There is one in particular--"The Burning Man"--Nothing happens in the story. Nothing. A boy and his mom pick up a hitchhiker, who drives along with them for a while. Absolutely nothing. And I still remember feeling haunted, a sinister sense of something coming..... He can do that with zero action. That story made me want to be a writer. That one story about nothing that gave me chills and left me wondering.

And I've pretty much read everything else since. I love The Martian Chronicles, the way he created the Martian landscape in a new way, different and lovely and melancholy. And The Halloween Tree and From The Dust Returned speak to my eerie side, but with a touch of grace only he could write just perfectly. I love Dandelion Wine, it's poignant tribute to summers as a child. And did you know he wrote every single day of his adult life?

And so I bid farewell to a literary giant. A man to whom I have always wanted to dedicate my own published work someday. A man that built my imagination, and fueled it, and matured it. To the creator of Martian worlds and haunted carnivals and malevolent planets and captured childhood perfections and regal family reunions of the dead..... etc. etc.

To a writer, the first to change me. To Ray.

3. California

We took a trip to California--a very, very abbreviated trip, indeed! So we'll be going again in July for a longer period of time to see all those we wanted to see and couldn't possibly in the two days we were there.... or because they were in Taiwan for the week. :)

And because I'm days away from birthing this child (fingers crossed), and therefore feeling rather exhausted/lazy, I will just post some of the pictures from the trip. Sorry, I'll find my upswing sometime soon.... or maybe next month.... or July, possibly.

And Cali, oh Cali! Say what you will about it's overpopulation, traffic, living expenses, failing economy, etc.... It's still Sunny CA to me!

2. Easter

 It was lovely. We did many traditional Easter activities: Egg hunt, egg dyeing, baskets of candy left by the Easter Bunny, etc.

The egg hunt was at my brother-in-law's work, and they had different hunts for different age groups. So Risa got to go first--and Coren was a little confused and uncertain about why we were letting Risa walk out and gather eggs and not him. But then he got his turn, and all was well. The bunny was kind-of funny and awesome--he had no big bunny head mask. Just a dude in a bunny suit. But Chad and I thought it rather fitting, considering the day before we had gone through all the scariest Easter Bunny mascots on the internet! Ha! So extra points for going sans mask, bunny man!

We also had the kiddos watch He Is Risen, the short Living Scriptures video about the Resurrection. Okay... they watched the first ten minutes, more or less. But it's the intention, right? Maybe next year will be fifteen... etc... etc.

And Chad's family all came over to our place for Easter dinner.... I was actually really thrilled to be able to host it at our house--I always like an excuse to do a fancy meal! So we made chicken cordon bleu (which, yes, is fancy, but is also deceptively easy--I mean, super super easy!) and couscous and vegetables and fantastic, fluffy, peach jello (that was the hit with all the little chickens.... though I was pleasantly surprised at how much they enjoyed the chicken as well). It was informal and relaxing, and really lovely just to sit together and smile.

And we got to hear our brother-in-law sing in his ward--one of my very favorite church songs--"Savior, Redeemer of My Soul" (with yes, the lyrics from the hymnbook, but different music--way more moving and beautiful)... And really, that was all I would have needed to focus my heart on the Savior. The words to that song truly resonate every time I hear it. However, to add to the splendor of the day, both speakers (in our home ward and the in-laws' ward) read the final conference talk given by Elder Bruce R. McConkie, which is another moving testimony to the unmatched gift of Christ's Atonement. I went away with my heart full, reflecting again on the emptiness of a life without a Savior...

or even just the casual idea that is growing in this world that I can get by without one.... How complicated your life must get, I think. Because say what you will; for me, the real peace in life comes by embracing the gift of Jesus Christ, not ducking it or denying it. My life is simple, beautiful, happy, peaceful, full of a joy that doesn't wax and wane with life's challenges and inconsistencies--and that is ALL from knowing I have a Savior who loves me. It's not a perfect life, but oh, tis a perfect one for me!

On a Lighter Note...

Here's what we've been up to this last month:

1. Our weekend getaway to SLC!

It was really a lovely little "stay-cation" for us--and probably the last time we'll get to have a night to ourselves, sans children, for the next little while.

We went up to SLC on Friday night for The Ting Tings Concert! Hooray for more concerts!! The opening performer was probably the most interesting I've ever seen (and we've seen a LOT of opening acts)... A solo performer--or musical project, as is the proper term--with a super high tech synthesizer and a mic. And I'm pretty sure she was wearing an S&M getup over a gold 80's dress shirt. She was actually rather talented, and talk about self-confidence! I couldn't go it alone, I don't think. I'd need a band behind me.

And then the Ting Tings! Supremely entertaining! We love that little British duo, with all their quirks and energy and style. And we even got to see the drummer's eyes! Yes, the sunglasses flew off during one of the songs. It was really fun to see him just rock it on those drums--so great! And she pretty much has the best legs ever! Really, wow!! Although I did feel old at this concert--first time that's ever happened to me! I kept watching the place fill up with these little kids (realizing later that they were probably mostly college students), and I think there were maybe two or three other couples older than us! Huh. But it was worth the age-increased reality check--the show rocked!

That night we got to stay at the Marriot in Park City, thanks to a friend and co-worker of Chad's. A night away, in a fancy hotel, and no kids around--you BET we fell asleep while surfing through TV channels! Incredible us!! :)

We spent Saturday morning strolling down Park City main street... I may need to go back, because most of the fun art galleries were still closed when we left. But what a quaint little tourist town. And a fabulous bookstore--Atticus Books--which we simply had to peruse because 1) it was a really fantastic little bookstore, and 2) that's one of the current possible names for this upcoming offspring.

Saturday afternoon we strolled through the new City Center... Ha! Kind-of hilarious for me, actually. I mean, the place is rather lovely and impressive. But as I walked through, all I could think was, "Well, I don't know that I'll ever have another reason to come here ever again." Really--Tiffany's? Brooks Brothers? Porsche? We are apparently not their target tax bracket.... And I thought the ads all over the city were rather fitting as well--these beautiful models with faraway looks that just emanate a "you're not nearly rich or swank enough to shop at these stores" kind of advertising. Made me chuckle.

And we ended it all with the fun. concert that night. To be honest, Chad and I were a little thrown off when we showed up that night to the same venue--which had housed a few hundred the previous night--and found  a line of thousands of eager fans snaking around the block. We were trying to figure out where in the world they were going to stuff everyone. And we were amazed to see how much they've exploded since we saw them at Kilby Court (talk about an intimate venue--a couple hundred, perhaps?) a couple of years ago, after their debut album was released. It's fun (hee hee) to see the bands you love get the attention they deserve, isn't it? Although there's also a little snobby indie-fan in us somewhere that always hopes they never get too mainstream. Ah well.

Then they herded us in, and we had to pause--it looked nothing like the building we were in the previous night... apparently we had been in just a small wing of the building. Anyway, everyone fit without a problem. And the show was AMAZING! They've always been really musically impressive, but they were definitely more polished this time. And the ENERGY! Holy smokes! What a perfect name they've given themselves, because that is precisely what the night was--fun! Lots of it! Waves of energy! So fabulous!!

And no, I didn't make it through the entire show... I think, from now on, my concert cutoff must be around six months pregnant. Eight months is just to big. But I don't regret this show, not one bit; not even if I finished the last set of songs sitting on one of the boxes in the back. So worth it! What a show!!

And so ended our little weekend stay-cation... Thanks a million to uber-fantastic in-laws who took turns watching our kids, so we could runaway and be single again for 48 hours! We needed it!

Haunted

I can't sleep. Again.

Not because I'm pregnant, though that does its share of damage.

No. I can't sleep anymore because I'm haunted.
Truly. It's bad.

I have a few friends who have told me about the horrific dreams they have only when they're pregnant. Dreams about awful things happening to family and loved ones. Dreams that keep them up.

Funny, I thought. Because for all of my life, my dreams have been ultra-vivid. Like being in a movie. Or a book. With deep, dynamic plot lines and danger and fear and love and romance and all those elements. And they always feel real, while I'm in them. Real enough that sometimes Chad is forced to listen to me talk them away at two in the morning, so that I can fade back into sleep without a stomach knotted with fear. So it was funny, I thought, that some of my friends were getting their first taste of that during pregnancy.

And now, with my third pregnancy nearing its end, I realize that I had no idea what they were really saying when they told me they had bad dreams. No idea. None at all.

Because NOW I am haunted with bad dreams.
Awful, horrific dreams. About my children. And death.
And I didn't know what it felt like to have a dream fit just like a reality before.

But now I do. Oh man!

I feel the soul of myself shatter to fragments as I pull my little girl's crushed body from beneath a car. I cannot even breathe as I look at the blood. I cannot bring myself to even look at her face, because I know it's not there anymore. I am literally suffocating. Because nothing about this is a dream. It is too real, too awfully, horrifically, devastatingly real. And I wake up gasping for air, for life, for a miracle.

Or I am sobbing, sobbing uncontrollably as I try to explain to my husband, who just got home from work, that now Coren is dead. Risa died last week, unexplainably, and now his boy is dead too. But I can't explain because I can't even speak. My body is wrenched, wracked with a pain that has no words. And he waits for the news, while I sit in a heap on the floor, wondering why I'm still alive. And all I can get out is, "Oh Honey, why did we ever have kids? How will I ever get through this?" And I cry, and I cry, and I cry. And I wake up to my own heavy sobbing.

And Chad silently moves to my side of the bed and puts his arms around me. The dark room and his warm body jar me out of the dream. And it was a dream. I can breathe a sigh of relief. Except it doesn't come yet. Even in the reality of my safe little bed, in my safe little home, with my living, breathing family, I am haunted. For ten minutes I cry and shudder with fear, with my face buried in my husband's chest. And the dream slowly fades away. But not nearly fast enough. And even with my mind completely reassured that the scene was a figment, a dream, I have this intense need to go into my kids' rooms and feel their chest rising and falling. To scoop them up and hold them and just breathe, breathe with them and feel their warm, living bodies in my arms.

I hope this is a symptom of this one single pregnancy. I hope I don't experience these with the next one. I don't think I could do it, keep growing more children, while my nights are haunted with the loss of those I already have. I don't know that I can do it for eight more weeks. It is too awful. It is too haunting.

I need a dream with unicorns. And Care Bears. And rainbows. And laughing children running along the beach. That is what I need. How do I fix that up?

Choices & Changes

"And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars"

-Mumford & Sons, "Timshel"

(Tea Lights Mae and Bebe, by Kat....

See more of her lovely art at http://www.etsy.com/shop/kathannah)

I have been dwelling on the theme of choices lately... Really, our whole household, since we're making a concerted effort to teach choice and accountability to our firstborn these days. And it's sinking in; he's starting to get it.

And my husband and I have myriad choices to make in the next few weeks and months: Our car is/has been broken....Do we buy an older car? Do we get a loan and buy a not-so-old car? Our computer is on it's deathbed....What kind of computer do we replace it with? When? And Baby #3 is coming.... What do we name him? Where do we put him? Where do we put the other two little chickens? What if we just had him here at home instead of a hospital this time?

See, choices. Big and small.

And I made choices at the beginning of this year. Personal choices that would drive me and challenge me. That would make me a better me at the close of the year. And I think it's working.

It was discouraging for a while. I had made changes, and I saw no results. I was making a concerted effort, and yet there was nothing to see; no greater serenity; no sense of enlightenment. Hm.

But I made a choice to keep going. Day after day after day. Choosing not to climb onto the computer in the mornings--spend the time playing puzzles and balls and books with my little chickens. Doing a mini-preschool with my son. Choosing not to climb onto the computer immediately after I put the kids down for naps. And choosing not to turn on Netflix either. Choosing, instead, a home project or a book or a personal project. Choosing to read and meditate. Choosing to plan and organize. Choosing to work on my talents, some I've kind-of cast along the wayside in the last few years.

Choosing to focus on encouraging my kids, rather than scolding them. Choosing to listen to their incessant questions and requests and pointless stories with enthusiasm rather than exasperation. Choosing to really look at them, everyday....so that I am reminded, everyday, of their divinity, their wonder, their imaginations, their innate ambition for only love and embracing. Choosing to see them with their tabula rasa; and my connected responsibility to fill that slate with decency and moral confidence and a sense of unbounded worth. Choosing to kneel down on the floor--often quite literally--and see the world from their perspective, with their simplicity, and refrain from mucking it up with our very grown-up absolute nonsense. Choosing to stand in awe of them, rather than running in exhaustion from them (okay, not really that dramatically; but, moms, you know what I mean).

And it's working. My day has more smiles than frowns, more sounds of laughter than of anger. I feel peaceful. I am full of hope and excitement for this next little dude. I am proud to report to my hard-working husband at the end of the day. I feel productive and efficient. And yes, I still have a long way to go. And, in all honesty, there are a few of my resolutions that really haven't even been touched. But the big ones, the important ones, the change-me-inwardly ones, those are the ones I chose to do and keep doing. And I am finally seeing hints of change. And it feels.... nice. Not awesome or breathtaking. Nice. In a peaceful, harmonious, kind-of zen way. Good. Comforting. Encouraging.

And so I think I'll choose to do even a little better tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. I'll keep choosing to do, so I continue to feel... well, good. Because my life was always good--now it's getting better.