Saturday Thankfuls

If you're looking for Soap Opera Sunday, it's just below this post!

Today I'm thankful for:

1. Stores with great sales. I refuse to buy things full price and am overjoyed to report that I saved approximately $400 today and I'm SO happy!

2. Diet Cheater Days. Today is my "day off" and while MOST of the day I was actually really good, I was overjoyed when I ate my cheese ravioli.

3. College Football. Despite my team (the Ohio State Buckeyes) losing HORRIBLY and getting bumped from the #1 spot today, I am grateful for the college football season for many reasons. The heart, the passion and the tight pants. Plus, my other team, BYU, is doing awesome thanks to their star running back (and my brother's best friend), Harvey Unga.

4. Washers and Dryers. I cannot BELIEVE the amount of clothing Matt and I have to wash in a week and I'm so grateful every time I put a load in the washer and am able to close the door and forget about it! Saves SO MUCH TIME!

5. Sunroofs. Since I started buying my own cars, I have always had a sunroof and I love them. I love driving around and being either bathed in sunlight or able to look up at the stars.

Another Lame Post

Let's see . . . I seem to suck at blogging about . . . anything relevant lately. I feel as though I've been in a writers slump. Not that I consider myself a real writer or anything important like that because I don't.

I do have two minor Kateastrophes to report on, so I suppose I should share, and there are a couple of other things to update you on. So I guess I present MORE RANDOMNESS!

First of all, I rolled - that's right ROLLED - my brother-in-law's quad at the Dunes last week. Several things make the story funny. First, Taylor (the B-I-L) laid it down sideways WITH his poor wife on it the first time they rode together. He hurt his wrist but overall they were OK. Second, my father-in-law also laid it down on his first ride on it. So basically, Matt is the only person who rode it who didn't wreck it. The other thing that makes the story funny is that the reason I rolled it was because I was going too slow. That's right. I crashed because I was going TOO.SLOW. I was on the side of a steep dune and rather than gunning it to prevent the roll, I got scared and slowed down. Aaaaaand down I went. Luckily I slid about ten feet down the hill so the quad didn't roll ON me. I was only about fifty feet from Matt and he was so scared that I was hurt and came running down the hill. I was just lying there on my back, holding the quad (which is still running) with my legs so it wouldn't roll any further and of course laughing my head off. I wasn't hurt, thank goodness, but I think that quad might be the devil.

My second Kateastrophe happened the night we got back from the dunes. I was doing serious laundry because EVERYTHING smelled horrible, and I didn't clean out the pocket of my riding pants, and I washed my iPod shuffle. What's really sad is that on the drive home, I told Matt I was worried that I'd wash it so he needed to help me remember to clean out all the pockets. After he found out I washed it he laughs and says

"You know what's funny, wifey? You KNOW what you're going to do wrong. You always ask me to remind you NOT to do something stupid that you think you might do."

It's totally true. I know I do this crap. I know I forget stuff like that, so I ask people to help me remember not to be stupid. Unfortunately, it doesn't always work. So I figured my iPod was dead, but remembered a time a few years ago when I dropped my cell phone in the lake and it somehow survived the damage after it dried out for a few days. SO, I let the Shuffle dry out and magically, it works! I'm guessing it's going to be a little retarded for the rest of it's life but it WORKS! YAY! Kateastrophe averted! That sure doesn't happen very often!!

Update on my fatness . . . I'm on a serious diet. I've started eating less than 2000 calories a day and making sure that it's mostly veggies, whole grains and lean protein and I give myself one day off a week to eat what I want. The only cheating I've done in over a week was last night for the chicken noodle soup. It's actually very healthy but the noodles aren't made with whole grains. So my cheating technically wasn't that bad but I do have to call a spade a spade and admit to the cheat. I'm sort of sick of salad and lettuce but I'm loving the Trader Joe's whole grain mixes. They are super delicious! I'm a carb junkie, so the NO carb thing doesn't work for me, but the whole grain carb thing does. I figure I can do the calorie counting and some of the other stuff . . . it doesn't feel as extreme. I'm also loving fresh fruit. Mmmm yum.

In addition to the diet, I'm also working out six days a week. Right now I'm working up to serious workouts, but I do 45 minutes of cardio every day and when I have the energy I add in some weight training. It feels pretty good.

Sadly, I'm being UBER superficial and using my ten year high school reunion as my motivation right now. I don't really know why . . . I'm still in touch with most of my friends from high school and they know what I look like now but I guess any motivation is good motivation right?!

So um, I will end this post with Friday's Thankfuls, as most of you will see this post on Friday.

1. Perfect weather. We're finally, FINALLY out of the hotness in Arizona and the weather is gorgeous. I sure love me a good 78 degree day.

2. Dove shampoo and conditioner. See I used to be a hair care product snob. Only Aveda was good enough for my hair. But then I got a house and a husband (and a life?) and got cheap and I got the HUGE, cheap bottles of Dove at Costco. Surprisingly, I LOVE it! My hair always smells clean and is SO soft and silky. Yay for cheap, great haircare!

3. Julia. I got the FUNNIEST message from her today at work and died laughing right there in my cube. I'm so grateful for her and her undying friendship and amazing sense of humor. We've been through a lot and I'm grateful that it's only brought us closer rather than ripping us apart. I love her so.

4. Chapstick. In such a dry climate my lips always feel so parched, so I'm glad somebody a long time ago had the good sense to package some of that goodness in a tube.

5. Remote controls. How annoying would it have been to have to get up to change the channel? Ugh. Yay for laziness and fun buttons.

Today's Thankfuls

1. Homemade Chicken Noodle Soup (recipe courtesy of my Grandma Shirley). My husband is sick and in my opinion, that stuff can cure anything! Plus, it's fun to make and my house smells delicious!

2. Long pants. I mean the ones that are long enough that they look perfect with high heels. There's nothing like that awkward "my pants are too short feeling" and vice versa. I love long pants!

3. My sister, the great Tofutti. We talk about four times a week and she is amazing and funny and witty and I miss her and love her.

4. Bottled water. Arizona tap water is gross and I love that I can just grab a bottle of cold, tasty water and go!

5. Costco. That place and it's giant amounts of giantness rules. 'Nuff said.

Thankfuls

So my best friend Jewels and her sister Andrea are both posting five things they are grateful for every day in November and it got me thinking. See, I am a HUGE fan of Christmas. I have been obsessed every since I was little. My birthday is near Christmas as well, so December is sort of the focus of my year and I sort of skip the month of thankfulness.

I realize that part of Christmas is being grateful and helping others, but, as Julia and Andrea pointed out, November and it's focus on being Thankful is often overlooked due to the overload of Christmas that starts the second Halloween is over. So, I'm jumping on their bandwagon and I'm going to post five things I'm grateful for every day for the rest of the month. (Or at least try to. We all know how life happens, right?)

So today, I give you my first five Thankfuls:

1. I'm thankful for sunshine. Sitting in a cubicle without a window nearby sometimes causes me to forget the amazing mood power of the sun. I walked to lunch today and it felt so good to be warm and covered in light.

2. I'm thankful for Diet Coke. I'm on a serious diet right now, and Diet Coke is the only sort of sugary tasting think I'm allowing myself, and oh my gosh does it taste good and even better, no calories! (Those of you who know bad things about soda, shhhhh not listening.)

3. I'm thankful for high thread count sateen sheets. There is nothing like crawling into bed and being enveloped by that cool, softy, slightly silky feeling. Ahhh bliss.

4. Apples. Yes, I'm thankful for apples today. I'm eating a lot of them lately and I love that crunchy, crisp yet juicy first bite. Seriously, it's no wonder Eve caved! Hahah. (dreading lightening bolt from Heaven about now . . . )

5. I'm thankful for the internet. I got an email from an old friend today and it made me realize how lucky we are to have instant communication. PLUS, I wouldn't know most of you, my favorite internet people if we didn't have it!

So there you go. My five Thankfuls.

What are you thankful for?

Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?

Hmmm, maybe I should change the title to "Where Have All the Gentlemen Gone?" because that's really what I mean. But that's neither here nor there. I like my title and it's staying.

I realize I'm not the only woman who asks this question, but I had an experience today that gave me pause and I couldn't resist writing about it.

In my office we have a soda fountain, similar to one found in a gas station. It has about six varieties of soda, the most popular of which is the Diet Coke. I may have mentioned my addiction to this amazing beverage of life - and it's true. I'm totally addicted, but I'm trying to cut back to one a day. So, at about 2:00 this afternoon, I wandered into the break room to serve myself up my one delicious Diet Coke, and whattaya know . . . the machine is out.

This is fairly typical in my office. I seem to work with a giant group of helpless idiots. If there are no more cups on the counter, they will wander off, dejected, rather than reaching on top of the fridge to grab a new sleeve of paper cups. If the coffee is out, they will walk to the Starbucks two blocks away rather than make a new pot of coffee. You see what I'm getting at, right? Naturally, when the Diet Coke is out, people just wander away rather than doing the fairly difficult job of switching out the syrup (because the box of syrup weighs about thirty pounds).

But not me. Oh no not me. I need my Diet Coke.

Today, switching out the box was more complicated than usual because the Diet Coke was buried under the orange soda and the Dr. Pepper. And the space we have the boxes of syrup in is pretty tight so I had to move the other two boxes completely out of the space and into the middle of the floor in order to get the Diet Coke out. To add even more detail you probably don't care about, today I was wearing these boots:Needless to say, my balance wasn't quite what it normally is. As I was trying to grab the Diet Coke box by the flimsy cardboard handle, the handle broke and my feet slid out from under me and I fell flat on my back. Splat. Ow. Laughter.

Right about as I helped myself back up, wondering if our security cameras caught my moment of glory, two of our developers walked into the kitchen to get coffee. Now, lest you forget, I had two boxes of soda syrup spread out on the floor and another box I was trying to lift into the cupboard where we hook it up to the life giving veins of the soda fountain.

The two guys saw, and basically sat at watched me, in my pointy black heels and nice dress pants, struggling to lift the Diet Coke into the cupboard, then continued to watch as I attempted (in vain a couple of times almost causing the damage of the cute pointy toe of my right boot) to lift the other boxes back into their tight space. They just SAT and WATCHED. And it made me so mad!

Now, I am a pretty independent, tough kind of gal. I don't mind lifting boxes, I don't mind taking care of things like that myself. I grew up in a house without a father and until my brothers were bigger, Mom and I had to take care of a lot of that stuff ourselves. I can tile, operate a saw, a drill and other small power tools. I can do a lot of that stuff myself and I don't profess to "need a man" to help me with things like that.

BUT - it's really nice sometimes to have the help or at least the OFFER of help and there are jobs that I simply cannot do by myself. I lack the arm strength, despite my bulging biceps, and it seems less and less guys are being gentlemen in these types of situations.

I once worked for a man who once handed me a huge heavy box to take to his car and then walked in front of me all the way out to the parking lot talking on the phone, not even pausing to hold the doors open for me as I struggled to walk behind him.

Another man I worked for had me clean out a large room in his house and basically watched and directed me as I loaded heavy things into a truck then sent me off to the dump and storage units to unload the same stuff by myself.

I dated a guy for a very long time who had me do everything and would sit around watching. I did the cooking followed by the dishes. I would have to be with him when he went to the doctor and he'd have me fill out his paperwork for him.

Part of the problem is that I have a hard time asking for help and I'm a huge enabler . . . but I guarantee that if I really need the help, and someone offers, I won't say no. However, in some cases, I really shouldn't have to wait for an offer. There are situations where a manly man just needs to stop what he is or is not doing, or help.

Now, in contrast to the above, my husband is a great guy who always offers to do the "manlier" jobs himself, or to at least help me. I may not always take him up on that, but it's SO great to have the offer of help with heavy boxes, hard jobs, etc. My Father and brothers would rather die before letting my Mom, Stepmother, sister or myself pick up a heavy box or whatever job they consider "manly."

But, as you can see from my other examples above, in my life, guys like my husband, Dad and brothers, seem few and far between. Don't get me wrong, I know they still exist. One of them opened the door for me today coming out of a restaurant. Another picked up some papers that had fallen out of my briefcase. But overall, it feels like men have stopped being Gentlemen.

Trust me, I don't want to go back to the days where men walked on the road side to prevent the women from getting dirty but didn't allow the women to vote and I don't want to turn back time to the days when men were "true gentlemen" and a woman's "place" was in the kitchen (extreme examples, I know, but I hope you know what I'm getting at), but, I would really appreciate more men being more respectful. I would appreciate two strong men offering to help me lift thirty pound boxes rather than standing around staring. I would love to have more doors opened for me and not feel like I have to cause a hernia lifting heavy boxes or furniture. I like feeling girly!! I like pink and ruffles and roses and all of those girly things. But even if I didn't, myself and every other woman I know deserves a little more respect from the general man population.

I wish I had a solution. I know my son(s) will be raised to behave like his/their father. The men in my family will be gentlemen, but I obviously can't be the one to influence the world.

I just hope that my generation can help bring some of that chivalrous attitude back, because chaps and Wranglers or not, cowboys knew how to treat a lady.* Yipeeeai, Yipeeeay

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*For the record I am aware that not all cowboys were or even ARE gentlemen and some of them are/were disgusting. I'm purposely making generalizations here, mostly to tie my ridiculous title into the post. No judging. Thanks. Kisses.

Stuck

So, apparently there's some big-ace storm that hit the east coast and all the planes are either cancelled or delayed. Luckily, I am on the delayed end of the spectrum rather than the cancelled end, but either way, I'm stuck at the airport.

I have no real reason to post, no true coherent thoughts, but I thought I would pass the time by posting.

So, we all know I live in Phoenix, the hottest freaking place in the US. I was in DC this week for work, and while I realize the area gets very humid in the summer time, the temperature isn't usually unbearable. I was looking forward to a much needed break from the heat.

I must be cursed. Because this week in Phoenix, it apparently barely rose about 101 and 25% humidity. This week in DC? Where I was in stead of Phoenix? Oh yeah, 102 with like EIGHT MILLION PERCENT HUMIDITY. I felt like I was stuck in Hell's sauna. Seriously. I usually love me a little humidity and what it does for my hair and skin. This morning, while trying to see some sights, I was basically a giant walking ball of sweaty stickiness. I was DRENCHED from head to toe. I was, naturally, walking everywhere and I started to notice that if I stopped walking for any reason other than to enter an air conditioned building, I could feel the heat throbbing through my body. So, I just.kept.walking. Forever, it felt like. However, it was totally worth it.

I've never been to DC, despite flying into Baltimore at least once a year for the past ten years to visit my Dad and Step-mother. In spite of the horrendous weather (and now horrible airport conditions) I LOVE DC. I love pretty much everything about it. I love the beautiful green parks. I love the way the city is situated. Most of all, I love the history and the symbolism of the city. I was in absolute awe all morning while walking around. I've traveled quite a bit, and the only other place I have felt this much awe was in Rome. Around every corner was another amazing building or special memorial.

I was lucky that I woke up at the crack of dawn and was able to see most of the amazing things to see without crowds.

I got even luckier and had someone traveling with me who was willing to go to the Washington Monument by 6:00 AM and wait in line for tickets to go to the top. I loved it. LOVED it. I loved the view of the city and how fitting that monument is for the amazing man George Washington was.

I was the ONLY ONE at the top of the stairs at the Lincoln Memorial this morning. It was a pretty special experience, honestly. I have always loved Lincoln and his attitude and persistence, and I'm glad that his memorial is so incredible.

I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the founders of the country as I read the original Declaration of Independence, Constitution and the Bill of Rights. I am in awe of the challenge that those few men took on in order to do what they thought was right for their fellow men and for generations to come.

My favorite part, however, were the war memorials. I have mentioned before that my Step-father Mike, who passed away a few years ago was a Vietnam Vet. I believe I have also mentioned that my brother Sean served for several months in Iraq at the beginning of the war. I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned that my Grandfather is also a Veteran of Korea. I know I'm not alone in my respect for our troops and all they have done and continue to do for our country and I also know I'm not alone in feeling a special bond with any veteran because of my family's personal sacrifices.

I was very emotional as I walked through the new WWII memorial, which is absolutely amazing. I saw one lone old man, obviously a WWII veteran, sitting on the side of the Field of Stars wiping tears from his eyes. I can't even imagine what he must have felt to see this amazing memorial to the men and women he served with who did not make it home as he did. There is one star for every 100 people who died. There are 4,000 stars. That is a number of lives lost that I cannot even begin to comprehend.

The Korean War Memorial wasn't one I had heard much about or seen too many picture of, but I loved it was well. I love the look and feel and felt almost haunted by the faces of the men on the wall behind the bronze statues.

Then, my very last stop of the day, was probably the most special to me due to my relationship with my Step-father. At the Vietnam Veterans Memorial I was again moved, this time to tears, watching a man in his early sixties, wearing a plethora of Vietnam Vet gear, find a name on the wall, step back, and with tears streaming down his face, salute.

I have always been a very patriotic person, a person proud to be an American, but today, I think I changed. Today, I was hot, sweaty and verging on miserable, but I was humbled and grateful and prouder than I have ever been. I loved every minute of my hot sweaty day, and now I sit here in the airport for hours, verging on miserable again, but my heart is swelling with pride for the country I am blessed to have been born in. I am grateful beyond words for so many people sacrificing so much, be it time, energy or even their life, to ensure that we have the freedoms we have.

I didn't really mean for this post to turn so sappy, but I guess that's just what happens to me sometimes. And now, I say goodbye, because a small miracle has occurred and my plane has just arrived and I will be boarding soon.

Thanks for putting up with my sappiness! I'll make it up to you, because the second installment of Soap Opera Sunday is already written and ready to be posted!!

Hey, Jealousy

I am a shallow, shallow woman. I'm sort of disturbed by shallowness, honestly.

I've been home sick two days this week, and I've had a lot of free time to blog-hop. And I discovered the blogs of some girls from the past that, honestly, I didn't like to begin with, so why I bothered checking up on their lives when I stumbled across them is beyond me. Maybe I was hoping that they had turned ugly, poor and miserable . . . who really knows. But I looked . . . and now I'm seething with jealously and envy.

I want to know how it's possible for young couples with a stay at home mom and three young kids to be building a mega-mansion and own a $40,000 ski boat AND have a pool and throw elaborate birthday parties for their children AND manage to stay a teeny tiny, toothpick legged size 2 with perfect highlights and a tan. HOW DOES THIS HAPPEN? How are their homes still immaculately decorated and how do they have time for perfect scrapbooks and photography and how do they drive freakin' ESCALADES? Most of these kids came from significant money and I'm sure they married into families with significant amounts of money and now Mommy and Daddy gave them awesome jobs and fund their perfect lives. Or maybe they are swimming in uncontrollable debt. That's what I like to dream is going on anyway . . .

Since when am I so proud that I can "hate" other people for what they have and I don't, and wish I had it so that when people looked at me, they were jealous?

Oh yeah. Since forever.

Then I find myself wondering what they'll think when they find me.

I feel awkward and guilty admitting that I care what people think of me what I've made of my life. I wasn't one of the "popular" kids in school, but I sure wasn't a hated one. Most people knew me and, for the most part, people liked me. I always had friends, I always had joy. Very rarely did I feel left out or mocked. I grew up poor and fairly awkward looking, so sure, I had my moments, but I always had the self-esteem to just not care. Only as I got older does it seem that I care. My self-esteem sort of took a dive and now I care more than I ever did. And it sort of makes me sick. I don't want to show up at my ten year high school reunion next year as one of those people who feels she has something to prove to all of my classmates. Yet I find myself already planning to diet for the next year to be skinny . . . trying to figure out my "best" outfit and what shoes to wear or which expensive ones to buy just for the occasion. I find myself being sucked into the whole superficial thing. Caring about what they think . . . wanting to impress them and come across "better off" than I really am.

In all honestly, I'm sure that those girl's lives aren't as perfect on the inside as they look on the outside. I'm sure these girls turned out to be much better women then they were high school students. Heaven knows I did. I'm sure that, in different circumstances, these girls would be my friends. Maybe it's not family money at all . . . maybe they married amazingly brilliant men with a knack for making money and that's just the way it is. Maybe they suffered while their husbands were in law or medical school and now they're finally not dirt poor, and I missed the whole story. In my life I have learned that perspective is everything. I have no idea what went on behind the scenes to get them where they are, what might be going on now to keep them this way. I'm also sure that they are just as worried about impressing everyone as I am.

My husband and I both have college degrees (albeit my degree is useless but THAT'S NOT THE POINT.) and we have good jobs and we work hard. We have nice cars (and more cars than we need) and a nice home and have the things that we need and lots that we just want. I guess if we decided we HAD to get an expensive boat and an expensive truck to pull it, we'd find a way to make it work. We have no debt to speak of and we live in joy. We go on vacation and we have enough money to get a really nice vacuum when the crappy one I got on sale breaks. I'm sure there are a number of people who look at my life with the same disgust I feel when I look at those girls. People probably wonder how I got so lucky . . . wonder "what did that snotty girl from high school do to deserve what she has?"

If I put this all into perspective, I realize that we all have someone we envy. Someone who has "more" than we have of something. I know I'm not alone in my fear of what people think, nor am I alone in my envy of others. I just have to let go of some of my stupid pride and accept that fact.

But, so does everyone else.

Hahahaha. Just kidding.

Kind of.

Lucky in Mamas

On this Mother's Day, I wanted to share a little bit about the three most influential women in my life . . . to let them know how much I love them and let all of you know a little bit about the women that have so influenced me.

My Momma. Words cannot describe how amazing she is. She is the most fun, vibrant, amazing person I've ever met. She is not a . . . conventional mother. She taught desert and mountain survival classes, took all of us camping and hiking and on numerous adventures. I'm trying to get her onto "Survivor" because I'm pretty sure she'd be the runaway winner! She lived in a tee-pee during college, if that helps put her into perspective! She raised four kids alone, and did a pretty darn good job. She has been through so many trials, it's hard to even comprehend. Her's is a life full of miracles and also full of the most intense adversity I've ever witnessed. Her faith is unwavered, her courage unmatched. I love her more than I could ever describe.

My Grandma. Anyone who has ever met Shirley will agree . . . I have the coolest Grandma in the history of Grandmas. She was a runway model back in the day, and she is one of the most beautiful women in the world. She has an elegance and grace that I cannot describe. Everything about her is just . . . poised and beautiful. In spite of that, she knows how to get dirty and have fun! My Mom has hilarious stories of camping trips on Italian beaches interrupted by hurricanes, and Shirley refusing to leave the beach. Of skiing trips to the Swiss Alps with three young children. Even now, my Grandma is still full of adventure. She takes trips to Nepal and hikes mountains and sleeps on dirt floors. She takes safaris in Africa, trips to Europe. Just a year and a half ago, I had standing room only tickets to the Fiesta Bowl where. This amazing 75 year old woman with bad knees and a cane drove here from California on a moments notice just to see the Ohio State Band play and then stood with us and cheered through the whole game . . . at the very top of the stadium. She is a trooper! I talk to her at least once a week on the phone. She is my style and decorating consultant, my confidant and truly one of my best friends.

Finally, my amazing step-mother, Lisa. She is more than a step-mother. She welcomed my family with open arms and has treated us as her own. From the minute I met her, I knew she was going to be good for our family. She has been a voice of reason in troubled times. She has been a source of sound financial advice, as well as a friend to laugh and giggle with late into the night. She is like a rock . . . steady and unmoving. I don't know how we lived without her. She has, in many ways, been a saving grace for myself and my siblings.

Today, I am so grateful for these women. I don't know where I would be without each one of them. I truly am the luckiest girl alive to have been able to have their influence shape me into the woman I am . . . and hope they will continue to shape me into something even better. I love them with all of my heart.

My Heroes

I have been feeling the "volunteer itch" for quite a while now. That feeling that my life is pretty freaking awesome and I should really be giving back to the community somehow. I just couldn't pick a cause. I feel strongly about many, but seem to have commitment issues.

Well, take THIS commitment issues. I found my cause.

I have started volunteering for the Carl T. Hayden VA Medical Center. There have been a lot of stories on the news lately about the awful treatment the Vets receive at the government hospitals, and they are notorious for horrible treatment, long lines, endless red tape, and frustrated patients. Luckily, the VA hospital in Phoenix has a better reputation than most, but they are still in desperate need of volunteers. So I got myself all fingerprinted and stuff, and I'm officially a VA Volunteer. Yipee!

I chose this as my cause for many reasons, but mostly in honor of my brother, Sean. About three weeks before 9/11, Sean decided to sign up for the Marine Reserves. His reasons for signing up had little to do with money or help with school, but were much more personal than that, and, for his sake, I will not share the details . . . let's just say he felt he had something to prove, and he thought the Marines were a good way to prove it. Once those airplanes hit those buildings that horrible morning, I realized that Sean would have his chance to "prove it" much sooner than any of us had originally thought.

He got "lucky" and was in boot camp when his unit was sent to Bosnia in early 2002, but not as lucky once the war in Iraq started. I remember distinctly the moment I heard war had been declared. I was running on a treadmill at the gym, and I had to stop and run to the bathroom to cry, because I knew my brother would be there soon.

Sean was deployed to Nasiriyah right around the time the hostage situation with Jessica Lynch was taking place. He was in the worst possible place at the worst possible time. He saw and experienced things I cannot even imagine. Luckily, Sean came home to us safe and unharmed. He dealt with things no twenty-one year old should ever have to experience, but he was in one piece and was, for the most part, fine.

Sean was one of the lucky ones, in many respects. He had a bad case of PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and has had some problems with alcohol abuse and anger issues, but my brother is an amazing person. He recognized the symptoms and immediately sought help. He took advantage of every single option available to him to help him deal with life after the war. Sean was not ashamed to ask for help, to seek counseling and to talk to others who had experience similar things to help him deal with what had happened. My brother is a well adjusted, smart, wonderful man, and I am SO proud of him. He has consistently made the dean's list at his college and will be applying to law school this coming year.

As I said, he is one of the lucky ones. So many of the men and women who have been to war over the years don't know what is available to them. They don't know what to look for or won't admit their symptoms and seek help. They are confused by the lengthy and complicated processes involved to sign up for free medical care or counseling. They need more information.

This post is not about politics or they "whys" of the War in Iraq. Whether or not anyone agrees with what has happened over the past five years doesn't matter when it comes to the Veterans. They did what they were asked to do, what they signed up to do, and they are owed respect and all the help and support they can get to move on with their lives. My step-father was a Vietnam Veteran who was spit on and ridiculed when he got off the plane after surviving being buried alive in the jungle and digging himself out with a pocket knife and who knows what else while he was in service there. Too many people let the politics of the time cloud their judgment when it came to the treatment of the service men and women of that war. Luckily, it seems this country learned from their mistakes during that time and hasn't treated the Vets that way this time around. But they still aren't getting enough help they deserve, and politics have nothing to do with it. It has been the case forever, in war or peace time, during a Republican or Democratic Presidency. The Vets simply don't have enough help or information.

That is why I chose to volunteer. If I can help ONE person get the information and help they need to become well again after a horrible experience with war, I will have made a difference.

My very first assignment as a volunteer was helping out with a fair to help veterans of the war in Iraq and Afghanistan (which is called Operation Iraqi Freedom/Operation Enduring Freedom or OIF/OEF) utilize all of the benefits available to them. This was an especially fitting assignment for me because I organize all of the trade shows for my office. I know how this stuff goes. I worked with Brenda, a great social worker in charge of the event for the past month or so making sure she had things semi-organized, since this was the first fair of it's kind in Arizona.

The event was today. The room was too small, the tables were too big. The vendors and organizations were a little bit irritated with the situation . . . but, and it's a big huge BUT, the Veterans who showed up were so grateful to have all those resources in one place, to be able to go through their huge list of questions and find the answers to almost every single one. Since it was the first fair, the turnout wasn't great, but one serviceman's wife summed it up when she said "When we got that invitation in the mail, it was the answer to so many prayers. We just didn't know what to do next!" Today, we made a difference.

It was an emotional day for me. I am older than most of these guys (there were only two women Vets there, so I'm just going to sort of generalize and talk about the guys. No disrespect to the ladies). They are just . . . babies! I saw my brother's face in each one of them. I saw them struggling to find the words to explain what they needed. I saw some of them trying to smile, but saw the pain in their eyes.

I had a long conversation with the head of security at the hospital He himself was a Vet and saw some pretty crazy things in his day. He said that he wished more of the Vets took advantage of programs such as TAPS (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors). He kept thanking me for being there, for being willing to share my family's experiences with these guys so they would know they weren't alone.I kept telling him that there was no need to thank me. I hadn't done anything compared to what most of these guys had done. I was just there, helping people know which way to go.

I left feeling lifted and heavy, all at the same time. There were so many people who didn't show up . . . so many men and women who might be suffering in silence. I wish I could personally reach out to all of them and help them. I know I can't, but trust me, I am sure going to try.

The Gift, Part Final

I proudly present Hayden Joshua and his Mother.Thank you to everyone for your support of their story.

More thanks to his birth mother for doing what she did. Now they are officially a family.

Linkin Park-it and Check This Out

This feels unusual . . . to do what I'm about to do and post a music video on my Blog.

I'm a fan of Linkin Park, but not a HUGE fan by any means. However, after hearing this song on the radio a few days ago I was already really looking forward to their new album. Now, after seeing this video, I'm even more excited.

Check this out, because it's great music and the video actually has a point. And it's a good one.

The Gift

Growing inside of you is the child you never planned on, but that, when you took that test and discovered was on the way, you planned for.

I don’t know how exactly it went, but you called him or met him somewhere, and with tears in your eyes and fear in your heart you told him the news, then told him you thought the two of you should give it a try, for the sake of the life growing inside of you.

And then he said no, that he didn’t want the baby, didn’t want you, and then he left forever.

Oh how you must have struggled and wept, the heart wrenching weeping that only a scared mother-to-be could ever know. You had to decide what to do. Did you give up your place in school to try to raise the baby? Raise the baby and stay in school and try to find a way to pay for someone else to care for your child? Give the baby up for adoption? Oh the questions I’m sure ran through your head, and there was no right answer. Only more questions.

How would you tell your parents? What would you tell your parents? They had given you every luxury a girl could wish for, and now, you had to tell them you had disappointed them, that you had made the one mistake you were taught from the time you were a small child not to make.

The struggles must have been overwhelming.

Somehow, during your nine months of pondering and praying, you made the life-changing decision . . . the decision they don’t know how to thank you for.

They tried and tried to give each other a baby. They tried for five years. They suffered through the hormones and the invasive procedures . . . the joy of finding out their attempts had been successful, and the pain of having their hopes dashed less than two months later as the bleeding began again. Three tries. Who knows how many thousands of dollars, how many tears and how many prayers wasted. Or were they?

A month ago you found them. Out of how many thousands of couples, no one will ever know. You were drawn to them. Who knows what it was that caused you to say “These two. I want to know more about these two.” Yet you did. You asked questions, you spoke to them, you got to know them better . . . and this Monday, in a physically empty room filled with tension, anticipation and anxiety, you said “I choose you.”

In the next few weeks, you will go through the pain of childbirth, and you will bring your son into the world as millions of mothers have, but your experience will be different. You will hold that beautiful baby, count his precious toes and fingers, feel the soft spot on his head, sing to him softly and tell him how much you love him . . . but you will do all of this just once. And then, you will kiss him one last time, and you will give him away.

I cannot imagine the pain that will rip through your heart in that moment. What I can do, is tell you of the eternal joy that will be felt a few rooms down as a couple who could not give each other what they truly wanted, receive your gift -- their son Hayden.

Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Thank you for choosing them. For giving my dear friends the joy of being parents. For being brave enough to give your son that wonderful couple to call his Mom and Dad. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Fuzzy around the edges

March twelfth marks the three year anniversary of the death of my beloved Dad-and-a-half (Stepfather to most) Michael Lynn Harris. I have been thinking of him so much lately, remembering how wonderful he was and missing him terribly. I'm also noticing that the memories are getting fuzzy. His face is still there, but it's not as clear. I have been scared that someday he might be completely fuzzy, but what is still there, clear as a bell in my head, is the sound of his laughter.

Mike did not have an easy life. Conceived during a short affair his mother had, he was always hated by his step-father. As a result of this and of the step-father's sick, twisted mind, Mike was abused, physically and sexually, for most of his childhood. Then, just as he thought he would be able to serve a two year mission for the church he loved, he was called to serve in Vietnam. There he was caught in a trap set by the Viet Cong and buried alive in a tunnel. He escaped by digging himself out with a pocket knife. These experiences and others left horrible emotional scars, yet he carried on and continued to smile and laugh and trounce his 6'4" jolly giant self through life. Oh the laugh. Big and robust, with just the slightest hint of a wheeze behind it. He'd throw his head back and let out a giant howl and then bend over and just laugh and laugh.

He was a chronic insomniac and for the first few months in our home, would scare us to death at night with his hourly security checks of the house. Once we figured out the pattern, we were no longer scared . . . in fact we felt safer than we ever had before! He had so many other darling little quirks. You couldn't help but love them.

He called my Mom his sweetie. "Where's my sweetie??" He'd shout when he arrived home from work or a basketball game. She had been single for the thirteen years since splitting from my father and hearing a man refer to her in such an affectionate was was like a ray of sunshine in our home every day.

When I was in London on study abroad, I discovered a GIANT Cadbury Dairy Milk Bar specifically made for Father's Day. It was called a Dad-and-a-Half bar. I brought it home to him and the nickname stuck. He'd say "It's better to be a Dad-and-a-half than a Half-Ass-Dad!"

The varsity football team that my brother Patrick played with practically lived at our house during his senior year. They all called him "Pops." He knew all of their names and all of their stories. He loved them all, and they loved him back even more.

He called me Phoebe because he thought I acted just like the character in Friends. He had nicknames for everyone . . . Emily was Monica because of her black hair and because she hung out with me, Mike Palmer was Buddy Holly because of the weird glasses he'd been wearing the first time they met. He couldn't ever remember Sheila's real name so he just called her Veronica. Pretty much everyone had at least one nickname.

He had to have a giant plates, bowls, cups and spoons. "It's a MAN'S cup" he would say as he picked up a vase. Clown sized spoons and mixing bowls were what he preferred for cereal. "This here is a MAN'S bowl with a MAN'S spoon." We had to purchase all new kitchenware to satisfy the beast! Plastic cups were not allowed because he liked the sound of silverware against the glass of a "real cup." And of course he always had to hit his silverware against all the cups. ALWAYS.

Three years ago, Brigham Young University was playing a basketball game, and Mike settled down to watch it on TV. He asked my Mom if she would mind going to the store and getting him some chocolate milk. Oh how he loved chocolate milk. She said she would be happy to run to the store down the street for him. This was rare because she always had him on some strict diet or another, trying to make sure he was healthy. But this night, she decided to go for him.

When she came home, he was sleeping on the couch with the game still on . . . or at least that's what she thought. She put the chocolate milk in the fridge and carried on whatever it was she had been doing before her trip to the store.

Two hours later, she tried to wake him to get him to bed, and he was gone. He had died peacefully in his sleep, watching his beloved BYU basketball team, happy, knowing cold chocolate milk was on the way in a giant vase.

Our family was so blessed to have this amazing man as part of our lives. We had a living example that a hard life doesn't have to ruin you . . . that you can carry on and be happy and successful and loving, that the abuse cycle can and does end, that life and people are, in fact, good.

Dad-and-a-half, I miss you every day and I know you are up there, still doing those security checks for us, keeping us safe. I don't think I ever told you I loved you, but I hope that you know that I do, very much. The images of you may get fuzzy around the edges, but the joy you brought my life will be with me forever. And that, as you used to say, is "more gooder anyway."