On a Lighter Note

So my daughter doesn't love cooking. She actually will do almost anything to get out of spending any time cooking. Last night she was babysitting and was required to cook a Papa Murphy's pizza. Being the ever crafty teen she is...she looked at that pizza and laughed in the face of her own fear of the oven. She removed the plastic covering and placed the pizza in the pre-heated oven and cooked it to perfection. She even managed to get it out of the oven without burning herself. This morning, when we were discussing her adventure last night she said (and I am so serious about this), "Mom, I felt just like Martha Stewart!" I kid you not. She is a true Barton girl....able to look at the mountain before her, and take that first step...then turn to you and tell you how great the view is. What a champ. tehehehehe I love that kid.

The Day After

I will tell you that yesterday was harder than I ever thought it would be. I was unprepared for the wave of memories that crashed down on me. I thought that the blessed fog that enveloped us the day Mom died would have kept some of those memories from resurfacing. Guess not. Not all of them were bad memories. Parts of that day found us laughing until we cried...the tears were real...but so was the laughter. The Hospice lady (that we'd met only once...2 days before) was there doing some of the things that Hospice offers...like rounding up all the meds of the deceased. We didn't realize she was just outside the room when we jokingly pointed out Mom's narcotics on the nightstand. The uncomfortable way she rushed in and scooped them up is something I'll not soon forget...or the HUGE burst of laughter that followed her out of the room. I'll always remember the snow that fell during the night that made the roads hazardous for my Aunt Peggy who just wanted to come say good-bye before the funeral home left with Mom's body. I'll never forget making all those early morning phone calls to relatives and friends letting them know that Mom's plans changed and she wasn't going to be there for her party that afternoon. I still feel bad for the ones we forgot to call. The cute little valentines that the younger kids gave Gram the day before, are still taped to the picture in the guest bedroom where she could see them. The shopping trip to find something to wear for the funeral...sheesh...the worst shopping trip in history. So many memories...a lifetimes worth...filled my day yesterday. Some of the day was spent sobbing, some of it in quiet contemplation. Most of it was lonely. I wasn't great company at all...not too surprising....but Jim hung in there and tried to be supportive. Mostly I'm just glad to be done with the day...only a few more days filled with more memories to endure. But then, I have reason to believe, that it will get a bit better. The memories won't slice though me like a Ginsu. The rough edges of the scars will fade and the memories will be just that...memories.

Retail Therapy

Whoever said, "Money can't buy happiness," never bought scarlet fiestaware bowls. Bolster the economy, my friends....go buy bowls.

Happy Birthday Mom

Today my Mom would have turned 58. I can tell you that because she isn't here to kick me( because, man! that's old!!)...tehehehe. She is the reason I am the person I am today. She would tell you that that statement gives her far too much credit...but we all know the truth....eventually, we all turn into our mothers (or marry them if you're a guy!!). For me, I started noticing "the change" when Kev hit about 9. Kev and I had always had a....loud....relationship. When he figured out how to push my buttons...I was done for. I started using phrases that Mom used (that I had sworn to never use on my kids). Phrases like, "you just wait until your Dad gets home", and "you're grounded for so long your kids won't know what trees look like" and still my favorite "alright...who hid the wooden spoon??" would flow freely from my lips like no body's business. I would call Mom for some pointers and instead of laughing and telling me, "HAHAHA the Mother's Curse works!!", she would calm me down and we would find a better way to deal with the situation. So on her birthday, this year, I am focusing on the terrific things she taught me and the pretty good Mom she helped me to become. This is me and my Mom. I am about 6 weeks old here. Bald...I had issues with that for a long time when I was a teenager. Then we have Mom and Kev...best buds from the start....
Jo and my Mom have a special bond too...Mom has special bonds with each of her grandkids. It must be all the time she chose to spend with each of them. She never complained when the inevitable call for , "Grandma, want to come play in my room?" came. She'd just laugh and disappear for hours. Jo and Mom would play Barbies until I would come in and save her.

One Year Ago

One year ago today I was changing my flight from the 26th of February to the 11th of February. The week before I had received an invitation to my Mom's retirement party that was to be held on Valentines Day. Mom explained that she didn't expect me to come for it...she just wanted me to know that I was invited. The longer that invite sat in my house the more urgent it became that I attend that party. I had no reason to feel so compelled, after all Mom said she was feeling good and she just knew she was going to beat this cancer. The feeling only intensified. Finally, after talking to my sister about the real state of things back home I dug in my piggy bank and called the airline. They doubled the price of my flight (looking back I'd have sold a kidney to get there) and had me on a flight the next day. I didn't change my return date of March 5th though. I just felt like a month would be justified somehow. I was immediately at peace when I had changed my flight. I think it was at that point that I recognized the Lord's hand guiding me and making sure I was going to have fewer regrets than I already had. I decided to ride the shuttle from SLC to Blackfoot to save everyone the $4 gas and hassle of coming to pick me up. Of course if I had known it was going to be the Mexican Bus of Sadness...I'd have accepted the offer my friends and family had made to pick me up. (I guess I'd better explain so I don't offend anyone...you know in the movies set in rural Mexico and our beloved heroine gets on the bus to ride to her true love... she steps on the bus to find it full of people who look so down trodden and beaten by life...oh and filled with chickens...and the smell...sheesh...)I pulled into Blackfoot at 11:00 p.m. on my Mom's birthday and my Dad was waiting to pick me up. I have never been so relieved to finally be home in all my life. I got to wish my Mom a Happy Birthday (even though I had asked her to not wait up so she could be well rested for the next day) and give her the presents I had brought. I tried not to cry at the sight of my frail little Mamma. She wasn't looking as good as she had led me to believe. My sisters had tried to prepare me for how thin she was...but I never would have believed it. She was happy to see me and I just wanted to turn back time and never leave...not that that would change the outcome...but I had lost so much time...bygones...This started in my head to be a gratitude blog...so, back to that...Had I not listened to the promptings I received I would have not been in Blackfoot when I needed to be there the most. I will be forever grateful and feel so blessed to have a Father in Heaven who knows me and understands what I need better than anyone else. I am thankful for a family who didn't complain (too loudly or too often) when I picked up and moved to Idaho for a month. I am thankful for sisters who told me to get my butt there no matter the cost. I am so thankful for the few days I had with my Mom this week one year ago.

The Real Deal

My friend Jeni made a comment on my last post, thanking me for "keeping it real" and I just wanted to let you all know I am all about keeping it real...nowadays. There was a day when I was all about the illusion of perfection. Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect hubby with the perfect job, perfect rule keeper, perfect in my testimony...just perfect. What!?! you say...but...but...I know, not the person you see in front of you, is it? I had a wake up call a few years back. While I was trying so hard to appear perfect, things were falling apart around me. I blame it on my Mother. WHAT!!! I know, I know ...You all think my Mom has been Sainted in my memories of her. Not true. I love my Mom and she would have been the first to tell you about her perceived short-comings. My Mom and Dad never fought in front of us. EVER. It just didn't happen. My Mom was such a private person. Very few people were "in the know" about the goings on in our house. So in my warped and twisted little mind I took that not as "don't air your dirty laundry in public" but "deny having dirty laundry, or dirty house, or dirty kids...". That was just how I rolled. Then I met Joan. A salty gal in her golden years that opened my eyes to a great number of things. Such as...are ya ready...no one is perfect. Yep, she laid it out plain for me so I didn't mess it up. There was a beautiful lady in our ward. She was just younger than me and had the "perfect" life I thought I wanted. Huge, perfect house, many beautiful kids (some with red hair), she threw gorgeous party's and had glittery friends and was the hostess with the mostess. She seemed to have a firm testimony about all things church related and everyone in her family was clean and reverent and glorious. Well, they were as far as I could tell. Joan took me aside, and with the wisdom of her age...told me I was crazy. "Lori," she said. "That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard!" She went on to patiently explain to me how not everything was as it seemed...and even if it was...so what. What a boring life that must be. She told me to get real. And I have tried to do that ever since. I don't want anyone to think my life is perfect any more. I am so far from perfect, I can't even see it from here. But I am trying to follow the example of a few choice women, including Joan, and just do my best. Sometimes it isn't good enough...but sometimes it is. Sometimes my son surprises me and cleans the kitchen while I'm at work (without being asked) and sometimes my daughter, at a fork in the road, chooses the straight and narrow path. And sometimes they don't, but we go on, just trying to get through life like everyone else. We are loud and messy and we laugh and fight entirely too much, but in the end, we are real. So if you want to come over...be prepared...we don't have a spotless house, but you are welcome anytime you need a shoulder to cry on or a good belly laugh that leaves tears streaming down your face.

The Song of the Day

So I will admit to crawling into a deep hole over the last few days. It's nice in here. Not many distractions. Nothing to remind me that Valentines Day is creeping up on me. No one to whine to about said day. Just me...in the dark. But then a funny thing happened. A song that we deemed "Mom's fight song" came racing through my head. It's a country song...for all you non-country fans. It fit so perfectly that the first time I heard it (alone, driving my car down the freeway on my way to meet my Mom at a chemo appointment) I started crying so hard I had to pull over. It's by the the soulful Mr. Rodney Atkins. It's called "If You're Going Through Hell..." from the album with the same name. It took me forever to find it and buy a copy...but when I did I memorized track 10 and I sing it in my head when I'm feeling particularly picked on. I have added it to my blog...you're probably listening to it right now....cool, huh. (oh, you can hit pause if it's driving you nuts!!) So, as I contemplate coming out of this nice place of denial I've wrapped myself in....never fear....I will sing this song, and think about how my Mom would want me to at least try to walk through the fire I find myself facing. "Why do you tell us this?", you might ask...well...it's more for my own sanity. I seem to do better when I allow myself to feel the pain instead of holding it in. So it sucks to be you, my faithful readers, you get to hear all the whinning that I must do in order to retain what little sanity I have left. So, while I thank you for the well-wishes, I will thank you more for living every day to the fullest. Don't let a day go by where you haven't told the people you love how much they mean to you. Get mushy, people! I mean it....live so you have no regrets. No one has an unlimited amount of time here. Don't waste it.