To my former primary children

 I hope you are well. I hope this finds you. I hope you know you can talk to me. You are welcome in my home and in my heart.

    I also hope you know I was taught differently. I was taught of magical atonements that heal any emotional would. I was taught psychiatry is of the devil (thanks McConkie). I was taught the golden plates were seen with real eyes, not spiritual eyes. I was taught Joseph Smith translated the plates, not looked at a rock in a hat to recite a story. 

    Simply put, you and  I went to a completely different church. I often wonder how much it's changed. God is the same yesterday, today, and forever...and yet? It seems he changes with the tides. The Mormon church changes like society changes. Tries to improve, in other places it simply controls. Why could the church spend millions on the 'I'm a Mormon' campaign and then the next prophet is like NOPE only use the full name forever and ever amen. lol Why could the church change from full knee length garments to mid thigh? full tees to cap sleeves? Why did the church change the word of wisdom from not a commandment to it is a commandment and you can't go to the temple if you drink that evil bean juice or that stuff Jesus drank.

    I hope you learn boundaries and how to set them. I hope you learn to say no to callings that overwhelm you, or don't spark joy in you. I hope you aren't forced on a mission. I hope you aren't forced to go to BYU. I hope you have real agency, and freedom. Ultimately I hope you have happiness.

Sincerely, Sister Meredith

 

"belief makes a beautiful armor but makes for the heaviest sword." -John Mayer

Why I left so quickly

 So there I was in my kitchen fighting rumination and anxiety. My anxiety was saying things like, "if the law of moses was fulfilled, why can't I wear what I want and drink coffee?" I turned to Travis in tears hoping he wouldn't divorce me over my apostate like questions. I said, "My anxiety is attacking the church and has been all pandemic." He listened to me and hugged me tight. He reassured me and agreed with my questions. I had good questions. We gave up and went to reddit.com/r/exmormon. They have sources with sources, and the rabbit hole of the troublesome history and present issues was too much.

I would best describe my faith like an intricate ice sculpture. I made it, I froze it, and every day re-carved parts that had melted. I read my scriptures I went to church, I did my duties. I loved my neighbors, and I believed so whole heartedly. But then I read the CESletter and it's sources. I only got a page in before I metaphorically opened the freezer, picked up my delicate temple shaped ice sculpture and it shattered. It crumbled in my hands and melted on the floor.

Leaving feels like grief. I feel like I've lost things. I've lost choices, I've lost time. I've lost a lot of freedom, and I'm okay. I feel better and better every day and I enjoy so far living this way. 

Thank you for listening.

My favorite sins, so far

I have always wanted a ear full of piercings. Think punk rock the whole side is just rings and shiny crystals. Now that I have 4 in my left ear I'm quite happy with them. I admire my ear in the mirror it's so beautiful. Also I highly recommend only doing one hard cartilage piercing at a time. It hurt and I can only just start laying on that side of my head. I'm thankful I have my Mormon ear to lay on. I'm thinking of keeping one piercing in my right to tell people it's my Mormon ear, it is still my heritage and I want to keep some of the good things.

I have always loved the smell of coffee. Lots of cream, barely a finger pinch of sugar, dash of vanilla. Best way to enjoy it. I live for my decaf it's so smooth and I don't get caffeine but enough stimulant to move my bowels. My morning coffee poop is my favorite poop. I've never been more regular.

I mourned that every fashion advice to women of my body type felt immodest. I wished that I could be free to have purple hair in church and be treated just like everyone else. I didn't deserve to have a bishop assume I supported Ordain Women during a temple recommend interview. However, I did deserve to have a bishop tell me my inner light shined when I showed up to church high as a kite trying to treat my depression with anything but pharmaceuticals. It was probably the makeup dude.

I always wanted to tell my kids it's okay to be gay. I wanted to tell Bri she could opt out of her baptism, I knew she was hesitant but I wanted her to be accepted in primary. She did it to make her parents happy. Not for herself.

I wanted to have friends outside the church. More of them! All the friends! Haha. I wanted to befriend people without thinking about their lives as an example of how Mormonism is superior to whatever they believe. I still want to be friends with Mormons, though their influence on my life is more limited now.

Drinking is also fun. I do so sparingly due to my medication that keeps me functional, but I didn't feel any evil descend. In fact, we had some friends over and they helped us navigate our first alcohol. They showed us moderation and how to just have one and see how it affects your body, how long the effects last, and how to stay hydrated. My family history has alcoholism in it, so I'm being very careful of how often I drink. I know how drunk parenting can screw up the next generation. I want my kids to have better parents than I had, and I'm sure they'll want to be better parents than me.

Sex. I love sex with Travis, and I feel less shame letting myself feel good. I even like to...think about it. And guess what? I don't want to gauge out my eyes for looking lustfully. I also have found I'm quite attracted to women too now that the walls in my mind have come down about a lot of things. I'm obviously married with children,

Being a loud woman. It's a sin in most patriarchal religions, but I love being outspoken. I don't only want to speak when spoken to.

So that's it. I left the church to say I'm here, I'm queer, I'm not going to sit down and shut up.

 

Youtube radicalization

 

Youtube rabbit holes can harm or help. In my case? Helped. I learned more about the world from the internet during this trying last two years than my lifetime. Mostly, left youtube versus right youtube. Sure I wanted to watch gospel things like Don't Miss This and those Mormon commercials about someone's story and how God loves them.

Who did it start with? It was commentary youtubers who used proper pronouns for famous transmen and women. It was watching Contrapoints and hearing her talk about her experiences as a transwoman. Jamie Dodger and his experiences. Him and his girlfriend are lovely.

I loved Lindsay Ellis scholarly pop culture studies. I loved the articulate, smart, and snarky woman, I looked up to her. She was very liberal. Why does education push us from God? Why when I apply the same critical thinking skill I applied to learn Santa wasn't real, I also think God is a fabrication to get us to “behave”.

At some point I considered my own youtube channel to help people like me feel comfortable. I wanted to create a space for Mormons

That's it. People being respectful made me think, “trans people exist, they are hurt, and they need respect. The kind that involves treating people how they ask to be treated.”

I'll use an example. Let's say you've known Bri her whole life but suddenly she says “I want to be called my full name Briana, everyone outside of this group calls me my full name” you wouldn't scoff and say “HA! Never gonna do that.” You would mess up sure, but you would keep trying. You love Briana and you want her to feel like she can trust you to respect and listen to her.

The End. Trans people deserve respect, not scorn.

Mental Health and "The" church

Where do I start?  My own Panic Attacks, and post traumatic symptoms as a child of 5ish after witnessing my little brother drown in a bathtub(still nervous around pools)? Nightmares for months as a wee child of 13(thanks for taking me to dawn of the dead, selfish person)? Depression at 17? Post pardum depression every pregnancy during and after? Do you want to hear that there has always been something “wrong with this woman” and that's why she used her critical thinking skills to elevate to the hubris of not reading the same stories a hundred times? Then you're judging me and you should reevaluate your definition of crazy. I'm also forgiving, thoughtful, loving, creative, and beautiful so FINE if you wanna call me crazy at home I'll let it slide.

I command in the name of F*ck, Get thee hence jeeb-us.

Alright, now that all the orthodox Mormons have been scared away by evil words of blasphemy. I can feel safe to talk about my mental health to those who can handle me at my worst. Also I will not swear the rest of this post specifically, for Trudi Hall who I love and I know tries her best to read my ramblings. She is a wonderful Christian and a great example of loving service. Always has been always will be. If you have anything bad to say about her, go away. I wanna talk more specifically about how my deeply ingrained testimony of bighamite-ism, aka the church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, contributed to my mental health in devastatingly negative ways.

Let's take a normal list of negative thought processes all mentally ill, and even normal-neurotypical people, struggle with.(https://healthywa.wa.gov.au/Articles/U_Z/Unhelpful-thinking-styles) I like Australia so we'll just use this nice Aussie government list as our source document. Now read the magic trick before your eyes as I super easily connect it to the churches teachings to hurt myself, and those around me.

Mental Filtering- Easy I filtered all my knowledge through the lens of a literal brighamite teachings. For examples: I believe in the evidence I've seen of carbon dating and all that that implies. So I would reason maybe Adam and Eve were the first God fearing homo sapiens. It was easy to filter everything from the bible with “As far as it is translated correctly”. Plenty of members have this filter from folklore involving big foot as THE Cain from the bible, to every herb unto the season thereof unless it's an illegal one or had as a hot leaf drink.. Mental filtering can be helpful or harmful. Spare the rod spoil the child certainly harmed me and millions of children everywhere. It can be helpful when your loved one says something unkind on a bad day, and when they later apologize for it you're able to reconcile their overall behavior to determine they're still a really kind person. Forgiveness is much easier with sincere apologies.

Jumping to Conlusions- Ooh, show me a cliff and I'm jumping. This plant is beautiful? All things denote there is a God, he created it all. Ha. Done. If Gay marriage is legalized people will realize our kids turn out based on how we treat them and that would lead to godlessness and soon we'd be aborting babies for ancient rituals as the heathens of old. If I don't read my scriptures for a significant portion of my day I am wasting time, I am wasting my life, I am wasting an eternity I could be spending with my God all happy and righteous, but I'm just such an unprofitable servant, I'm so terrible.

Black and White thinking- right and wrong. There must be opposition in all things. Yin and Yang, good and evil, pleasure and pain. If what I'm doing isn't building up the kingdom of heaven then why am I wasting my time on it. Good, better, best but ONLY PICK THE HOLIEST BEST.

Catastrophizing- See also almost every evangelical reaction legalizing gay marriage. I would see an article about people choosing not to have kids, and turn it into a metaphor about how the end is nigh and GOD IS COMING (that was a real facebook post I'm ashamed of). Wheat separating from chaff. Calling evil good and good evil. Hearing the quote that religion is a socially acceptable death cult hit me as truth. We always focus on eternity and death, and the next life and Christ's return.

Now this is how members have spoken to and around people who want to talk about abuse, mental health, anything controversial. These things are straight from my journal the days I heard them.

“My husband said if I ever got on anti-depressants he'd divorce me. He didn't marry a crazy woman” followed by awkward laughter from everyone

“I stopped going to therapy because it made me hate my mom”

“After years of going to therapists for this one thing I was told “GET OVER IT” and it really helped me. Not that I'm telling you to “get over it”. Whatever it is that's bothering you”

“When I said depression would be helped by service on the podium Sunday I hope you didn't feel I meant your depression, you have a chemical imbalance. I meant like normal human sadness.” (this is a good one)

“Yea, but there were times when my mom slapped me and I deserved it”

All of these people are wonderful people, and they are good Mormons. They are an example of how the church affects mental healthcare. The church is a hindrance to mental healthcare, and in my opinion Bruce R McConkie is to blame. He was a doctrine writer for the church penning such lovely educated advice like,”Two false and extreme views are commonly held among apostate peoples as to the value and place of physicians in society. Most people rely entirely on doctors and medical science where health is concerned and make no attempt to seek the healing power of the Lord. (2 Chron. 16:12.) Some others reject hospitalization and medicinal aid, supposing that it is only by divine aid that health will or can be restored” in 1958. These are the things that our grandparents taught our parents, who carried it on to us.

ThE GaY aGeNdA gOt ME

To preface and disclaim, I am a naturally sarcastic woman. I will talk about homosexuals as individuals, and sometimes as a group of people. I will also employ potentially offensive, definitely politically charged wording in this. Still I would like the religious and nonreligious, queer or basic bitch, black, white, bond or free to read. Everyone in my stories is given a new name. In the immortal whining of Hoobastank, “I'm not a perfect person.” Also, please educate yourself and click the hyperlinks. don't be a little b*tch, your testimony can handle it right? right?! RIGHT!??

    More accurately “the gay agenda” got to my mom first. I can always look to her example for how to treat 'the gays'. She instilled very strongly in me how wrong, harmful and absolutely horrid it is to throw a child out of the family home for being gay. How you should treat your gay friends exactly like your other friends. That you should try to find common ground in them. Human connection type things. You know, treat people as equals because WE ARE. Always focus on your actions, actually BE kind to gay people you don't know, and those you do. She strongly imparted in me that struggling with “same sex attraction” was not a struggle at all, it was an innate part of your humanity. My mom was an example on how to validate and love “the gays”. Thanks for that. Happy Mother's Day forever, now go away.

    How did my mom come to these conclusions? First, when a man and woman wanna feel sexual pleasure with the body of the opposite sex, consenting (coercion especially in marriage is bad), a baby may come nine months later. That baby will have unique and different experiences beyond the knowledge of their parents. In families, the actions and traditions of those parents are diluted, and often replaced or adjusted. So if my great grandparents might have been completely outspoken racists willing to cause harm, that dilutes to to my grandparents racist “jokes”, to my parents generation “having” black friends, to my generation wanting to walk alongside our black friends in protests for true equality. That was more than a little bit of a tangent, but it explains so much.

Further in the past to set the stage: Rock Hudson is a stud muffin and a half, old school actor. No doubt about it, he is a very attractive, and tall, man. He and Doris Day played with perfect chemistry in all their romance movies. He was charming, and he was rumored to be kind in reality, and he was also known to be gay. He tragically, died of Aids. His death was mourned by the nation, and most notably his costar, Doris Day. And Doris Day took to the world to humanize him. She praised his life and how meaningful their friendship was to her. . He deserved respect, he was worthy of this eloquent and beautiful woman's admiration. Being homosexual was who he was and the world could truly know him. I'm of the belief that to know anyone is to love them.

    My mom had nice, gay acquaintances. She was a kind manager to a couple gay high school aged employees. My mom also condemned members of the church who threw out their gay son who was in my mom's words; sweet, cute, kind, lovable, bouncy baby grown man. She genuinely loved seeing this kid grow up at church. She still gushes to this day about him. We saw him together at a family function, and she couldn't have been more delighted to see him.

    Do you notice anything particular? Other than my very persuasive writing. Was there an undercurrent of evil? Do you feel like all of these moments were planned, orchestrated, and directly connected even by an omnipresent force? Can you point for me to the places on the doll where the above gay people in the story hurt you? No, but you can point in history books and see where the belief that being gay is wrong, has hurt homosexual people. You can see in history how otherwise kind people voting with their beliefs get homosexuals thrown out of airbnbs, thrown out of their homes, and otherwise harmed. You can see it in modern day passive aggression and being the butt of jokes in movies. Adoption agencies closing their doors to avoid allowing gay parents to adopt children. Mom groups(I will not allow comments with links to them) organizing petitions to ban homosexual people even appearing in the background of movies, being side characters. As if seeing someone different from you is the greatest evil to exist.

Ideas harm, are neutral, or help those around us. People believe these ideas and then act on them.

You are welcome to believe in “the gay agenda™”, but I wanna say I'm not seeing much evidence for it. Mostly just experiences of normal people, doing people things. I do see connections in institutions that teach harmful ideas, and the trickle down effect that has had on me, my family, and those around me.

Oh wait, the gay agenda just sent me an email. They needed some pro-gay writings which is great! I replied: “All my favorite people are gay! This will be so easy” Do you want me to write about gender or the fluidity of sexuality?

And if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you and a venmo for fast cash. No refunds, returns or exchanges.  

So here's how the gays helped me! Firstly, they were really REALLY patient with me. If you are gay, and we were friendly in the past...I'm so so sorry. I asked a lot of ignorant questions. In general every queer person I met was an absolute angel to me. Esther, my first bisexual bubbly buddy, she showed me Brokeback Mountain and introduced the male gay community for me. Also, best laugh ever winner for sure. Moses who introduced me to swing dancing, good musicals, and Rent (badumtss). Fredrick who could point out the inherent beauty in every woman. We would sit at the cafeteria and try to come up with the best compliments to share with people. Girls and Women alike swooned over this guy. He would reassure me, “not a spark” every single time. Probably to reassure me that he was valid, he was definitely a homosexual, he was fine just as he was. I knew him to be a great guy, and I'm sure he still is. Then the liberal brother, sister super squad who patiently re-explained civil political discourse to me. They explained their liberal positions from a loving, and unapologetic way. There are at least more than ten positive people who each have many positive impacts on me. They had no agenda. They were normal people, just like me. People who wanted to be accepted, loved, and understood unconditionally as they were then and there.

    The Family to the Proclamation never lingered on my mind very long. It was doctrine, the end. Like I was taught, it hung dutifully and beautifully on my dining room wall. It was never more than a passing thought, until I had said to a dear sweet friend, “I'd still love you if you're gay. I know you're like going through stuff and I just want you to know I'm here for you.” Shortly thereafter she came out as queer to me! I was honored, and proud to see she was changing in beautiful and amazing ways. She came out of her shell when she came out of the closet, and she was quite the pearl. I was fine not knowing intimate details of her life. I don't need all the answers. Fingers in ears my beliefs are intact. Even pat myself on the back for being a real ally, real Christian, we'll get into the mormon superiority complex later. A few months later I was driving a member kid around in my car, then suddenly he was screaming. Knocked from my driving focused-disassociaton, I asked what the problem was and immediately felt out of my depth. This sweet child was yelling that my daughter was wrong, “girls can't marry girls and boys can't marry boys, IT'S WRONG!” I tiptoed my way around both points by saying “God's laws aren't the same as man's laws. Yes legally boys can marry boys and girls can marry girls.”

Done right? Beliefs unshaken. The church is perfect the people aren't, God's laws are higher. Stop thought. Stop Thought. Red herrings. Bad Faith arguments notwithstanding. Yes yes yes. No trauma to be found here whatsoever.

Wrong! Would my kids do that from my teachings? Is this how I sound to the world? What if my daughter is already attracted to girls? What if my son is attracted to boys? How did I define evil? How is any of this exclusion teaching Christ-like? My God was unconditional and "his" church teachings of “being gay is fine, but never act on it or be condemned” sounds conditional to me. Is that what I was teaching? I don't know exactly when it clicked for me, but at some point in my life it occurred to me that every queer person I had ever met might truly have been born that way and I should believe them. Devout gay members like Josh Weed who sold the Mormon and Gay dream, with updates that life didn't work out the way we all hoped. As my towers of babylon fell, realizations crumbled all around me. Or as the exmormons call it, my shelf started to crack. 

I wanted to be excited and supportive if my kids ever came out to me. I wanted to treat them like I treated my friend and see photos of the girls she went on dates with, and talk about how cute people she is attracted to are. I wanted to send gay friends profiles to her. I wanted to be there for it all. I wanted my friend to have no troubles getting married, having kids, adopting, home ownership! I wanted this friend to experience every thing I enjoyed. There is no gay agenda, people just want their fellow community, neighbors, friends, and family, to be themselves. I want my friend to be as happy with someone who loves them as much as they deserve. That was the kind of Christian I was. It's still the person I am. I want all to have happiness according to the dictates of their desires as long as they don't hurt others.

I do recognize the irony in saying there is no gay agenda, yet I'm writing an entire post about how the gay community strengthened my empathy and slowly but surely lead me away from my faith. My ability to mourn with those that mourn didn't never went away, it just noticed who was crying the most. I don't know what to tell people of my folks generation. I've never been to a meeting that talked about how to entice and draw people to the gay community, how to insert the gay agenda into natural conversation, how to share the love of gays with all in an organic way. I've been to hundreds of church meetings exactly like that. The Jesus I worshipped would hang out with the sinners, the dirty, the poor, the ostracized. He wouldn't hang out in the multi-million dollar whispering masonry club, but that's just my interpretation of Jesus. He'd probably love a multi-million dollar homeless shelter that we staffed full-time with volunteers. When the sarcastic God on Twitter starts to align more with the God you actually worship than the one you've been taught to worship....you might be on the way to godless apostasy.

But honestly, I still feel that spirit™. I'm still filled with hope. I still feel comfort when I see a butterfly. I still feel like a positive beam of sunshine sometimes. Like in the church and out, my mental health is still something I have to constantly cope with. I want to paint, draw, write, and create! I mean, even now I could find all sorts of things and feel peace. And I know there is another life after Mormonism, so many have reached out to lend a genuine helping hand. I had a wonderful experience the other night out dancing. Everyone was kind to me, and I had lots of fun conversations. I enjoyed watching the older couples dance and thinking that could be me in twenty years.

This is part one of a series of stories about how I radicalized myself with the ways of the world, how the world is good, and you can know me.

My Journey To Apostasy

     As with all exmormons, or former members of "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints", I too want to discuss my feelings publicly. The Brighamite sect of the Mormons has a tendency to shame and silence exmembers. We are taught that "people who leave have always wanted to sin", it's perfectly okay to kick people when they're down and on hard times and we must remind them the church is my only way to happiness in this life, exmormons can "leave the church, but they can't leave it alone". ah yes, the only culture I've ever been raised in or known my whole life, I must give it ALL UP. Especially the virtues I liked, and I should never talk about the things in my culture that hurt me either. What a joke. Obviously, a phrase meant to control and silence. 

    So here I am, screaming at the internet that I am just as strong as my pioneer great grandfather who left Europe and former family traditions to join "Zion" in Utah. Yes such bravery, much hard. Maybe reading this you too can avoid your children and family leaving the church. My advice for that specifically would be: You must teach them love is conditional, knowledge has a ceiling and cannot extend into eternity, all people are evil because loving them as they are is a gateway drug to accepting people different from them as valid, and give up and grow up, on the idea of keeping your kids in the church forever because you can't control anyone other than yourself. In the words of Russel M Nelson, your job as a parent is to "Love them, lead them, and let them go" so at some point with them...let them go. 

I guess it will have to be a series, and so far these are the ideas I have. Subject to change with hyperlinks added later.

1.The gay agenda got me first

2.My mental health made me do it

3.Youtube radicalized me

4.I've always wanted to sin

5.Today's church history is tomorrow's anti-mormon rhetoric (jumping ship)

Writing to simply write.

     Don't you love those days where you channel your inner youth? You know, that teenager who danced like no one was watching but secretly hoped someone was. Hoped that someone was admiring and seeing you for all that you were, and all you could be. At least that was me. I've had a few friends say I've grown up, and some days I agree. Most days I'm in a place of denial hoping I'm still bouncy and carefree like I once was. At least my ability to bring joy to those around me with my silliness hasn't changed. Since going back to work from my maternity leave I was reminded many times with a chuckle that I was missed. That my "craziness" is well received with happiness. I've got that going for me still.

     So here I am this morning, dancing to music that reminds me of those days but aren't exactly from the past. Pretending I'm alone, but that somewhere someone who loves me can see my terrible white girl dancing around, while the eggs on the stove cooked to perfection. And writing. Writing to be heard, but not really understood.Writing to write, since I don't do that much anymore.

     But what spurned this blast from the past? Dreams. My dreams are an escape sometimes, but last night they were an old friend. The image of a full moon, cold grass, the feeling of a cool breeze on my face, all while basking in the warmth that is knowing I'm loved. One of my favorite memories. I'd go into specifics, but that would mean sharing it. And sharing anything but the feelings of those little moments feels like giving it away in a sense. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to give those type of memories away. I'll write them in my journal though, in hopes that after I'm gone my children will read them and say, "Mom was a person with feelings other than those of a mother." A carefree, sometimes careless young lady wondering if life could get any better.

     Alas, my thoughts are abruptly interrupted by my baby blue eyes grunting in the next room. And I'm reminded that while parts of me won't die anytime soon, other parts simply matter more.


Heather Rand




In case anyone wants a playlist, or just good tunes:

Give Me a Try by The Wombats
Flagpole Sitta by Harvey Danger
Banana Pancakes by Jack Johnson

or check out Denver's Orange 93.3 on iheart radio (I sound like a commercial now)

Phillip's Birth Story

     I woke up to this text message and an immediately horrendous contraction. They started fast and strong, only 3 minutes between each 30 second contraction. After half an hour, I decided these were the real deal and I wanted to go to the hospital now. Considering we live an hour away from my chosen hospital, I felt that was a wise decision. I also had my labor and delivery nurse already setting up a room for me.
     The drive started behind the oldest man in the neighborhood, driving two miles per hour on our street. He nearly stopped turning a corner! Travis passed him while yelling we were having a baby. We saw a beautiful red, gold, and blue hot air balloon on the drive down. I felt it was a good luck sign. Travis only sped a little on the highway, and it was a bit of a blur because I was so much pain. He maybe ran a red light when we were down the street from the hospital, but I can neither confirm nor deny such an accusation. Don't worry, the intersections were empty if any infraction occurred. At this point, I felt like Phillip's head was going to come out at any moment. The pressure was immense, the contractions were quick and excruciating. Visions of epidural danced in my head.
     Upon checking in the receptionist seemed shocked I had a room reserved, since standard procedure for a pregnant lady in "labor" is mark as outpatient then the doc decides if you are actually in labor. Since Braxton Hicks can be painful this policy makes sense. However, I just traveled 45mins to an hour so I don't want to drive back. That, and something told me I was too far dilated to not give birth even if contractions ceased. I told the receptionist, "I know people upstairs." Technically, I only know my cousin Renee, (one of the senior labor and delivery nurses here).
     Renee came to wheel me upstairs, a little too cheerful despite my obvious pain. At this point I'm already 5cm almost 6, too fast! She got my iv in, popped the vein in my left hand, but magically the iv was good and she didn't have to poke twice. I needed to get the whole bag of fluids, and in before I could get my begged for epidural. The anesthesiologist could not come soon enough, but he had 30 minutes to respond to the call(10:43pm). He showed up as Renee offered to take the edge off with fentanyl. I turned to Travis and immediately mouthed the words, "I'm stoned."(10:45am) I felt high, and voiced as much. It did indeed helped the contractions. I began to profusely thank Renee, my new favorite person. At this point I've already dilated to 8. I also said, next time lower the dose just a little. Renee laughed and said she couldn't give me a lower dose. While still happy-go-lucky drugged, my new best friend came in, Mr. Jason the anesthesiologist. He was already ten times better than the lady who gave me the epidural for Bri, the mean lady who kicked Travis out and nagged at me for "asking too many questions". He was friendly and let Travis stay in the room.
     He administered the epidural like a champ, I didn't feel anything! Fortunately, the fentanyl only lasted 20 minutes. I had my senses back, and the epidural began to work. I wanted strawberry feels massage bar rubbed on my iv-free hand just to smell something nice. I still knew my contractions were happening, but on a pain scale went from a 9 to a 3. Thank heavens for modern medicine. I could breath and close my eyes for a bit(11-11:30am) while the contractions prepared my body for child birth. I started shaking, which is normal when transitioning from 7 to 8cm. Then the doctor checked me. Not quite a nine and a half, they wanted my cervix to disappear. I ask a lot a questions like "what happens if I'm not at 10 and push? Can I push, I feel the urge to push?", so I got a fun explanation of how we don't want my cervix to tear(scar tissue can cause pain during future menstruation cycles, and complications for future births) and it pretty much disappears somewhere unknown.
    I felt like I could give birth at any moment. At noon we all made our weight and birth time predictions, and it was obvious he'd be out within the hour. Dr. Little-12:13pm Travis-12:22pm Mom-12:16pm Renee-12:25pm Me-12:23pm (when I was born). I pushed for 30 minutes, relying heavily on the mirror to help focus my pushes. I felt little pain, lots of pressure, and when my contractions happened. The magic of modern medicine. His heart rate dropped for a few minutes so the doctor used the vacuum to help him out. I pushed for about half an hour.
      Phillip Matthew Meredith was born at 12:26pm on November 14th. He is 7lbs 10Oz and 19.5" long. He cried the sweetest cries for a a few minutes before staring at me. He is beautiful! I was so glad he was just as cute as Bri was. It was fear I wouldn't think he was cute, or he wouldn't actually be cute. And so far his demeanor is as happy as a clam.

Total labor time almost exactly 5 hours.
Pushed for roughly half an hour.

Tonight, you're my baby

I'm certain this needs to be written, transcribed, or otherwise documented. However, prepare for sap. 

Tonight was a night like some, but not all. I knew I wouldn't sleep at a decent hour,so instead of wasting it in bed with pointless scenarios, I decided to work on an old art project. I have these ceramic owls I got on the cheap on Etsy that haven't been touched in months. So I was watching Psych on Netflix, painting, and absorbing into the couch for a relaxing moment of me time. 

I heard some chest congested coughs and crying that wouldn't stop. Naturally, I tried the whole sneak in, replace binky, and leave, but she reached for me. Eyes closed, trusting I would be there, she reached for me. The next logical step was bring her to the couch to sleep next to me while I painted and watched tv. She cried until I asked if she wanted me to turn the light off. She got completely silent when I set her down and said I was going to turn the light off. Pushing aside my hobbies, to enjoy my full time life job, I still enjoyed an episode or two of witty quips intermingled with Shawn and Juliette romance. Meanwhile, I  realized I don't like sweating. Not much you can do about that though, when a coughing bub is on your lap. She would cough, cry, and get into a newer, more uncomfortable position on me.

The prospect of sleep seems a little more distant as I wonder if the coughing, crying, needing a hug routine will continue if she's in her room. So I brought her to our bed, and opened the window knowing that sweat is very likely with two toaster ovens in my bed. Just like her daddy. I stared at her in the dim light and for brief moments, I could see a grin. The same one my newborn surprised me with when I first watched her sleep. I turned my phone light on to see if it was my imagination. After ten minutes, I had to resign that I was seeing things. And now I'm crying that my baby is not a baby anymore. In many, many ways Bri is still a baby. Like not handling a room full of toys and kids and singing time well. And asking for binky when she doesn't feel good or is tired,or crying for a warm glass of milk. But, she not a baby at this point. Not with all the words, songs, and games learned. She's no longer laughing in her sleep.

And this is exactly how it happens folks. This is the moment a woman who hates pregnancy more than the prospect of dog pee on the floor, contemplates maybe a baby instead. 

Don't get your hopes up grandparents, I'm extremely tired and winding down off aunt flow. This very well may be, crazy talk. Insomnia plays tricks on the mind, and no chance of preggo happening tonight while I'm all moody. So just accept this as a moment I wanted to record, and maybe shed a tear. No more, maybe less.

Goodnight

-Heather Rand

Life is Grand

It's been quite some time since I've had to take any medications for my mood. I'm quite proud, but it's also frustrating to not be completely balanced and rational all the time. Let's be honest, I'm a woman, and in general women have more fluctuations in hormones and attitudes. Rationality, is not always a strong point. But I've learned a lot about myself in the process, mostly that I have bad PMS symptoms. I start crying at the tv, a mommy blog, or the terrible almost twos.

In other news, Bri will say Bri-Elle if you say "what's your name?". However, she must be in the right mood or you get a blank stare and quite possibly tears.

I've been painting on the computer a lot more. Currently I'm working on a piece where a girl is looking in the mirror at her past self. Pre-tats, nose job, and piercings. Because I wonder if anyone who has permanently changed their body ever misses the simple beauty of who they used to be. Even if they used to have a bigger nose.

Today at our ward play group there was a big discussion on botox for pain management. It's an interesting topic until I hear things like, move the needle around the knot immediately followed by that sounds heavenly. I know the prospect of a neck knot being worked out in a day or two from one needle stab and wiggle sounds appealing to some, but heavenly is not how I'd describe that. I spent that conversation trying to control my face so I didn't look like I was getting slightly queasy. But on the other hand, these were drop dead gorgeous women! Who needs botox. Seriously, it's way overrated to look 20. Just get some nice filling face primer and you'll notice those "wrinkles" less. Not to dog on my new ward ladies though, they're all really sweet and welcoming, and as stated above, beautiful.

In slightly gross news, we found signs of a mouse in the kitchen (and on a chewed up corner of Emmy's seed bag). We have killed (mercilessly) two. So far, the traps are clean. Thankfully it seems to be an isolated incident, and not like a huge family moved in. I love all animals, especially pet mice. Wild mice not invited on the other hand, are terminated with no concern.

And in the best update of all!! I saved up some mulah, bought my momma a plane ticket. And I'm stealing her for February! It's my birth month, and Bri's. I also have training classes for work I have to take, so I need her for that too. That's just an excuse, because there are plenty of nice ladies in the ward I could ask, But Mom is free, and I've missed her! Plus, she'll be here to help plan Bri's monster themed/sesame street birthday party, and it'll be amazing! I'm super stoked for Bri to turn two. I'm thinking about upgrading her to a "big girl bed" by taking the front off her convertible crib and getting a rail for the outside that she can still crawl around.

TTFN
-Heather

Updates

We took Bri to the doctor and he said he'd be impressed if she knew more than thirty words. Knows meaning, says and identifies objects or actions to the word. I said she knew the requisite twenty words for an almost two year old, he tickled her, she fell in love, she grew stronger hatred for the lady who gives the shots, and we left. Upon telling Travis he decided to make a list of all the words she does know, and associates with things correctly. She knows over 100 words. Not just like she says it for no reason. She knows what she's saying. The small list is as follows.

Car-sees car
Truck-sees truck, hears garbage truck
Airplane-looks up and see airplane, points in correct direction
Big-derived from "crazy beak" her toy penguin(crazy beak is when a bird does that shaking beak thing...it's affectionate)
Elmo-duh
Apple-round food
Orange-orange/cutie
Pear
Eat Food-usually grabs hand while saying this and directs you to food source(kitchen)
Bus-her bus toy
Doggie-dogs, or her specific dog toy
Moggie-derivative of Maddie her grandparents beagle
Birdy-birds, and Emmy the bird
Sit-to sit, when she wants you to sit
Dance-wants to dance to pentatonix daft punk on youtube(her favorite song)
Bear-stuffed bears
A-referring to any letter of the alphabet
Mommy
Daddy
Baba-grandma or grandpa
Chew-Julia (aka the Ju)
Eli-her friend Eli, she also says bye bye Eli when she leaves his house
Baba-sippy cup
Milk-milk
Pizza-pizza
Ice cream-ice cream, sour cream(to her disappointment), and whipped cream
Chok Chok-Chocolate and jacket
Bite-when she wants a bite
More-when she wants more
All gone- all done, get this food out of my face mama
Cheeshush-Jesus pictures (best lisp ever)
Amen-At the end of a prayer of course, unless she's being feisty and points at Julia and says Chew...AMEN! (not sure if that's a threat or not...)
Houst-Our new house
Color-crayons, and to color with markers, drawing, etc.
wawa/water- water, she rarely says it water..but sometimes she succeeds. Wawa is easier/lazy
Ball-balls of any kind
Fishy-fish/stuffed bunny
Bagel-muffins and bread and bagels
Cake-cake!
Coke-when she sees me drinking coke...oops. I can neither confirm nor deny the regularity of such
Cup-the cup the coke or water holds
Ice-she loves eating ice, and grabbing it out of your coke water
Book-she loves books
Chair-her chair, and all chairs and couches
Hot-when something is kinda warm to hot
Cold-must be pretty cold, like ice or the freezer
Flower-flowers
Pretty-when she likes something
Cute-also when she likes something(not as common as pretty)
Hug-when she wants or is giving a hug
Kiss-kisses!
Owie-when she falls and hurts herself
Tickle tickle-she is "tickling" you...fake laugh
Potty-her baby toilet
Various body parts-knee, feet, teeth, hair, ears, tummy
Pillow-she loves pillows
Blanky-not just any blanket, her blanket.
Bed-her pack and play in grandpa's office
Sockies-socks
Shoes-shoes and boots

That's just the preliminary list, I'm sure I'll hear about words I missed. Hearing the doctor say she's smart is like a yay moment. I know not everyone's kid is strong in the same points, and that early development milestones are subjective. This is not meant to shame or hurt anyone's feelings and not to make anyone think their own kid is dumb, it's just an update from her doctor and a moment of mommy pride.


In Heather related news, the withdrawal is going well. My mind is mine, and my patience seems to be all that is affected on my days between pills. I do however recognize when I'm getting ridiculously impatient with Bri. Mostly my problem is trembling like a sober tweaker, and headaches, oh and crying at tv commercials. I like that my thoughts are mine again though, and that I can feel again. The weird ideas that were plaguing me with the zoloft only return when it's in my system, so I'm kind of stubborn about taking it when I'm getting a really bad headache or really bad shakes.

Travis is...Travis. Nothing really newsworthy to report. He's amazing and I love him. He's a great dad. He's getting better at his job. I'm not sure he would like me bragging. Oh, he found us a new place, I will put pictures on facebook. I like it, love that it's just us again. Yay!


Hope you all have a great Thanksgiving!
-Heather

My depression story

I really feel like it's hard to people to talk about debilitating depression, or even seek help. Even now I wonder if anyone cares what I'm going through, aside from close family, or if telling my small story will help anyone. On the off chance that it helps someone, and on the serious note that I need to vent without judgement or feeling weird.

I'm a control freak. Not crazy control everything, but crazy when it comes to my mind and body. Aside from being a Mormon, I would probably never drink due to lack of control it creates. I'm aware of anything amiss in my mind and my body. Which is why a month early I tried to convince a doctor that I was in labor. I remember feeling like I wanted to punch Travis in the face, which to me was crazy. I just knew something was wrong and I panicked. Apparently, that's normal. I got a long lecture from the doctor as I sobbed that I needed to not waste everyone's time simply because pregnancy was hard. He made me feel so small, and yet I needed to hear it. I knew something wasn't right, but I was right enough to know I wasn't crazy enough to be strapped to a bed in the loony bin till my due date. I also refused to be that woman who decided to terminate her third trimester baby in boulder because of pregnancy depression. May that woman feel the full weight of her decision one day, and her guilt rest as heavily on the husband and psychiatrist that also felt that was a good decision. I won't link to an article about her, because it's sad and disgusting at the same time. The story is relevant because it's a medically proven disorder in women when they want to hurt their unborn child. I don't know why on earth anyone would ever think that was okay. I knew that hurting my baby would be a bad thing, but I wasn't there yet. The thought of cutting her out of me and taking her to the hospital (cuz I'm such a loving mother if I cut my baby out [LoCo]) had crossed my mind, so I went to my doctor.

I was given 25mg of sertraline, aka Zoloft. The initial side effects were annoying; insomnia and nausea if I remember correctly. It's been heaven sent, truly. It helped me be calm, it stopped my panic attacks that on one occasion almost stressed me into premature labor, mostly just bad cramps. I also think it helped quell the new mom crazy I might have been. I felt in control, and relaxed.

Until a few months ago. It started with dreams of...well I don't want to get weird so let's just say adulterous dreams. They weren't unappealing dreams, but I woke in a panic that my inner thoughts would stoop so low or even think about such things. They got worse, and I started crying over silly matters. I started telling Travis he wasn't fulfilling my needs, and he needed to focus on me more. ME, me, me. I started to wonder if maybe he wasn't who I was meant to be with. Just thoughts that I tried not to entertain, but they were there. I found myself crying to Travis that I really did love him begging him not to leave me, which confused the heck out of the husband who thought I was fine five minutes ago. I just couldn't shut my mind down. I couldn't control what I was thinking. It felt like when someone says don't think of elephant, and it's all you can think of. My blessing in disguise came when my prescription lapsed and the pharmacy and doctor's office played the putz game of slowly ordering me a refill. I had a panic attack during the four days it took them to figure it out. I called to let them know I needed it now, which they hopped to after hearing of the panic attacks.

However, I didn't realize until a few days later when I forgot to take my medicine that...my thoughts were mine. My dreams were gone. I was able to focus on what I wanted to without a rush of thoughts I didn't want any part of. It was awesome! I also didn't have trouble sleeping the days I forgot to take it. It was then I decided I might need to stop taking it. So far I'm down to half a dose every other day...ish. I went two days and threw a temper tantrum over not having a certain dress clean for church. I even stomped my foot and began to cry. Luckily, my logical side kicked in and said KNOCK IT OFF! Sadly I'm experiencing withdrawal symptoms, so I could use some prayers.

The whole point, it's okay to not be okay. I recommend knowing yourself well enough to know when things aren't right. Prayer is a great help. Sure a prayer hasn't cured a headache without tylenol or ibuprofen, but hey it helps. Prayer helps me to know that I'm not crazy, nor should be ashamed at my imperfections. Prayer has helped me realize my savior still loves me when I'm not perfect. Prayer reminds me that even if the hand isn't pulling me up or wiping away all my troubles, there is a hand to hold. And I want others to know you aren't ever alone, and even with a supportive family depression can be a struggle. But it's just chemicals in your brain and body not working right. It may feel like the end of the world, but it's literally an imbalance. Meds helped me, but they don't help everyone. And getting off of the meds isn't easy. I read facebook posts of a friend going off cymbalta. His life was heck for a while, but he did it! (to the best of my knowledge) But know you are not alone, and if no one else in this universe loves you I would like to offer that I feel Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love me. For me that's proof enough. The same type of way I know that weaning off Zoloft is best for my body. I just know. Maybe my personal experiences will help you in some way.

"Now ye may suppose that this is foolishness in me; but behold I say unto you, that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass; and small means in many instances doth confound the wise. And the Lord God doth work by means to bring about his great and eternal purposes; and by very small means the Lord doth confound the wise and bringeth about the salvation of many souls." Alma 37:6-7

-Heather

p.s. The storm story was meant to end with the dragon saving her from the prince, a fun writing idea I saw online. But I don't want to continue it. Not because of galaxy eyes that become the man cursed as a dragon or the implications of such a specific poetic reference (which was never intended, my apologies). I won't continue it because it's too good. Why fix what isn't broken? Or continue the story that is so good alone. Eh maybe one day when my brain doesn't feel like mush.

The Storm

     I was to be his third betrothal in less than a year. The official word was that each princess became ill, though everyone whispered. There were vile rumors cycling through the kingdoms. Yet no other King feared for his daughter more than his lust for power. Being betrothed to Prince Gabriel was an honor above all else, even one's life. High King Leon was the most powerful King in all the land, from sea to sea. He allowed lesser kings out of his lack of desire to personally rule every part of his vast kingdom. Giving crooks the powerful title of "king" kept them from banding together against him. High King most enjoyed a healthy village competition. He would offer gold and his most prized concubines; prized for their cleanliness, son bearing, and skills of a shameful matter. The competition was typically who could grow and gather the most crops in a season, or birth the most cattle.
    Cattle. I was being sold as cattle. According to my father, a woman is only good for gain. Whether fain by betrothal into power, or bearing children. I wasn't even of use to my mother. She resented me. After difficulty bearing children for a year, she finally began expecting. Unfortunately, her body didn't carry them long and they were all girls. I was the first to survive the early birth. My nursemaid said that's why my hazel eyes are so big, my early birth. My mother on more than one occasion informed me that because of me her blood would never hold power. The king only lays with his concubines now, hoping for a successor. That is until I was asked to marry the High Prince.
     I look in my wardrobe wondering if I should try to look beautiful, or if beauty is why the prince's former brides are now with God. My theory is the prince has a lust for ultimate power. The power of God to decide who lives, and who dies. I would rather die as royally as possible I decide. My finest silks are packed, and my favorite red dress is the one I shall meet him in. It's a two day carriage ride. My only companion is my dog. She's a lovely animal, and has protected me these past five years.
     See my father, the king of the plains, has a nasty temper. Many of his concubines have been beaten beyond recognition. For my twelfth birthday, I was permitted to go to the Grand Market and pick a few gifts. I considered meaningless puppets for entertainment, or a talented slave girl to braid my hair in exotic fashions or make me impressive with her sewing skills. I found however, as I looked into the eyes of the child I saw a reflection. I saw the same pained eyes that I saw in my mirror everyday. I knew I would never be free, and neither would she. It was then I heard an odd whimper. We had all manner of beasts in the kingdoms. We had dragons that stole sheep in the night, dogs to hunt with, birds that filled our cloudy day with color, but I had never seen such a curious animal.It was a hunting dog, but just a pup. He stood out from his energetic siblings, in fact my memory swears he rolled his eyes but I'll write that off as girlish fancy. He was quiet, calm and met my gaze with intensity. His eyes were a deep blue, and very noticeable compared to his black fluff. Funny how such an adorable creature could look so proud. I wanted him. The seller protested my want for the hunting beast. He threw around the words worthless and weak. He even kicked the creature to prove his words, claiming that the animal should whimper or recoil. Instead the knee high dog walked right back to his spot and sat, never losing my eyes. Instinctively, my face turned into an expression of disgust but I still expressed my desire for the dog. I only paid half out of pity from the seller claiming the dog will serve no one. The seller assumed my facial expression was that for a perceived faulty beast only good for his dazzling eyes, but I was revolted by the type of man who hurts those he deems below him.
     I named him Storm for his eyes reminded me of that eerie calm that descends before the storm. When father heard of my gift choice of a worthless hunting dog, he seemed indifferent, but his indifference can disguise his inner fury. I sat on my bed stroking the tangled fur on my Storm, whispering to my pet that I would see to it that no one ever kicked him again and live to see the light of day. Father came walking in to see my gift.
"Isn't it lovely, father?" I said in an attempt to invoke sympathy and amusement, seemingly asking his permission. He liked feeling above everyone, stroking his ego seemed to keep me from the more severe lashings.
"Yes, lovely." His eyes met mine and fear struck my core. His green eyes were betraying a different kind of evil, a hunger almost. He took slow advancing steps towards me.
"Is there anything I can do for you? A shirt that needs my mending, perhaps fresh bed linens?" I was stammering for something to distract him from the unnerving look in his eyes.
"Not tonight my dear. Tonight my needs are beyond simple mending or washing." He sat at the foot of my bed.
"You are a woman now my sweet, and as such you are now ready to help me with...adult matters."
    He inched closer within arms reach. My grip on Storm tightened as my entire body tensed. He put his hands on my shoulders and forced his lips onto mine. I bit down as hard as I could until I tasted his blood. He recoiled in pain. I decided right then that I would rather die than allow him to take me as a harlet would. He was stunned for a moment because I had never stood up to him before. His surprise didn't last very long, and he moved towards me again. As he reached this time Storm  jumped between us. Before I had time to blink, my father was cradling one of his hands as blood poured from the place where his left thumb should've been. He had a remarkable look of fear in his eyes as he made a hasty retreat. Storm was standing on my bed now, and despite his fluffy stuffed toy appearance, he was a frightful sight. After he seemed satisfied that my father wasn't coming back, he turned to me with a grin. Well, about as grin as a dog could get. He let his floppy ears lower and began to wiggle his nub of a tail left and right. He tackled me with a warm snuggle, and my heart melted. The joy I felt after that moment still remains unrivaled. I finally had love, a protector, and my father never bothered me beyond idle threats. He has since never left my side, still growling when my father is in the room.
     Storm's reactions base my opinions of everyone. If he growls upon a fellow nobel kissing my hand, or a guest entering the sitting room, I instantly don't trust them. I'm grateful to have him in my carriage now. His presence giving me comfort. His reaction to the Prince will guide my actions. I'm still concerned about who the prince may be, but nothing can weather my Storm.

-Heather

Let me know if you want me to continue the story, or if you like it just the way it is.
 

Life at it's finest!

     I shouldn't write so seldomly, but lately little miss hasn't been giving me very good naps. I have noticed if she doesn't give me at least two hours to mentally relax, and doodle on the computer, eat without hearing "Bite?", or stretch with a few yoga poses I'm kinda irritable. Then I realized the only thing I did differently these past few days is slept in with her instead of waking up early and doing most of these things. I'm so glad she isn't one of those five to six in the morning babies.

     I passed my practical boards! Yay! After failing the first time by three points for looking around nervously, or making eye contact with the proctors, I determined to test again as soon as we had the money to sign me up. I didn't do anything differently as far as the actual work. The only thing I did do differently was look at the floor after I finished things. It was no reflection of my skills whatsoever, but isn't that was government licensing is all about? I mean seriously, if a DMV worker drove around with me for a few days I might not have my license. Just kidding, I'm not a bad driver...I just notice that if there are people other than Bri, whom I can ignore for her own safety, distracting me with conversation or complaining of my music choices there are more close calls than I like. 

     Painting. Not in the sense that I'm making a mess, that would be cool. Just digital painting with my drawing pad, computer, and Manga Studio 5 (cheap drawing program). I started with some "commissions" which were free, to warm me up. It was great because some of them I was really inspired about, others I just did because I said I'd do them. Speaking of which, friends if you ever want a painting of sorts I would gladly oblige. Free if I really enjoy myself. Five bucks if you want to print it up at walgreens canvas style. Because that would involve a big picture with lots of detail so blowing it up wouldn't lose the beauty. You can see my work click here.

   While opening my mind to the creativity of drawing, I had a dream. It was a beautiful dream, full of feelings and intrigue. Naturally I woke up, wrote out an outline for the story, and began typing it up. I'm still in the process of, what would this character say or do or think. This might just end up like the story I wrote in high school. It was 14 notebook pages front and back. It was all consuming. I wrote in almost every class. Everyone who read it, liked it and wanted more. Unfortunately, I didn't hash out a general storyline with vague details. I had no idea where the story was going. No idea. I still have the majority of the idea in my mind, so maybe one day. If you are interested in reading the current story, I would be willing to email you what I have so far. I take critique well. It's just a fun side project mostly, but if all my friends loved it and I had a shot at getting it published....I'd gladly roll in that dough. If you like romance/weird scifi-esque stuff, you might like it. If not...probably not, but I wouldn't say it's that weird. 

   Last but not least, the topic I will cover briefly before the bub awakens is essential oils. Don't worry I'm not trying to sell you anything. However, I can't positively comment enough about them. Peppermint diffused and rubbed on the chest of the baby with the clogged nose so she'll stop screaming about how she can't breath through her nose. Clary Sage, lavender, and peppermint blend (equal parts) on my abdomen and lower back for my period. Yes ladies, you read that right. It was a literally painless period. No joke. No painful cramps. Drop of rosemary on the baby who was beginning to get a yeast infection from her antibiotics a few months ago when she had strep. The best story yet, Frankincense for Travis' birthmark. Travis has a huge mole looking birthmark on his knee. To remove it would involve surgery and not bending that leg for weeks. I wanted to see what would happen if I put oil on it. A few days later, he scratched it and half of it peeled off. Beneath where it peeled off is beautiful skin. Frankincense is my current favorite, but I don't diffuse it simply because I think it smells like a hippy in the woods. I'm sure that my in-laws would not enjoy that smell consuming their basement. I'm not really brand loyal. I am a doterra wholesale buyer/could sell person, but I'm just being introduced to oils. I'm not really willing to fork over money for a smell I have to convince myself to like. Some of them, like patchouli which smells like dirt, I would consider buying and not realize they stink. Tea tree smells, but I've forced myself to get used to it. It's helped with my dry itchy scalp. So far I really like Aura Cacia, but it's higher priced than the Now brand. I like Now, but not as much. Don't ask me why I don't like it as much because I don't know. I like the basic oils in Now like lavender, lemon, clove, and my oregano, but I'm not a big fan of the now peppermint. I gotta say oregano is hard to screw up, that mess is strong! I love the smell of Oregano oil but Travis hates it. 

That's all for now. Hopefully I'll be blogging a little more. In our next edition we will cover tantrums and how to ignore them successfully.

-Heather

To be a kid

I love my daughter. I love her so much, and I'm gonna be honest I envy her. I wish that I could be as happy and unaffected by negativity as she is. Why is it that children are so carefree and happy? She could have a huge bruise, and you know it hurts, but she's otherwise unaffected emotionally. So what it hurt, and SQUIRREL! Maybe it's the attention span, maybe it's something more (like I don't know fresh from Heaven?).

I'm trying to enjoy life the way she does. Not only does she love unconditionally, unless you have a big beard and long hair (sorry Denver). She also has many other admirable traits under her belt already. Enjoys spending time with family. Brings a smile to strangers(but won't run away with them). She doesn't focus on the negative. She's super smart, and very energetic. Driven to do what she wants (for example, climb on chairs and tables).

Today I realized I could use a lot more of these traits. I can be...cautious with my kindness. I can be retracting in how I treat people once they've burned me. And worst of all, out of the tons of compliments I get from many of the great people at school, one insignificant negative opinion of me from a person who matters little in my life can send me home in tears. It's rough feeling like you're in high school again. Actually, my High School was great! I had a whole pack of big, bad guy friends who would intimidate anyone who threatened me. I also got the benefit of the doubt.

Benefit of the doubt. Kids will always give you that.

Long story short, I'm really excited to graduate. Unfortunately for my friends, that means I'm done doing stuff on clients. Unless you're an easy haircut I do once a week...you know who you are.

Sincerely,
-Heather (wants to be a kid) Meredith

Stark Contrasts: Death in books, death in life

     I sat there staring at rows and rows of books, each spine no more promising than the last. I was at a loss, and I should not have gone alone. I have this issue at the library. I have to pick up a book, read the cover, start reading somewhere in the middle (and if I like that), I read the last page or two. I can't handle getting through a really great story and losing a major character, or a sad ending. I know it's kind of a spoiler to skip ahead, but I have a good excuse. Prime examples being, Dear John and Message In A Bottle. Both books by Nicholas Sparks, both romance novels, both with life altering loves, both with a not so happy ending. Dear John, I started crying thirty pages in, so I skipped to the end to realize he doesn't end up with her and put it back. Unfortunately, I began reading Message In a Bottle without skipping ahead at all or seeing the movie OR talking to anyone about it. It was late in my lamp lit room, when suddenly a book hit the wall and this woman began sobbing at such a terribly tragic novel. It was not a good idea. When I discussed it with Travis he said, isn't that a movie? I think I've seen it.

The POINT of that story. Yes, there is one.

       In a book when a character dies, you know there is no hope of that character ever coming to life again. Maybe if you're lucky, the character will appear in dreams later in the series (Amelia Peabody series), but majority of the time, that character in all their greatness and admirable traits is gone. The writer might make a prequel, but we can't be certain they'll ever come back in their fullness again. When a character I like in a book dies, my heart is broken, my soul is torn, the tears flow, and suddenly I'm crying in a public place and the makings of a sinus headache begin. [and despite all this reading, my thoughts flow like run on sentences that never seem to end. A bad habit, but I add commas so you get the feeling...I guess]

       In contrast to that, when a loved one dies I am more hopeful than heartbroken. I am not heartless folks I cry at such loss. Today I cried at the loss of a family member (in-law) that I've never met in person, but I cried because despite having never met me he was always kind to me. We talked on facebook, and he talked of how cute Bri was. No matter who you are, if you like my baby, odds are I'll like you too. But he was one of the many in my adopted family that welcomed me. I referred to him as my own Uncle when I talked to Travis about him. Yet, despite the great loss the family has taken, I feel hope. I get the feeling this isn't the last of him. I know that there is more to this life simply because of these "feelings". You can know something is a bad idea without doing it simply because it feels wrong. You can also know a good thing because it feels so right. Death doesn't hurt me in life as it does a book. While I cry now, I'll pray too. I'll pray that this brings all the family closer, and that in turn we all grow closer to God and find peace and joy in the Plan of Salvation. I'm eerily calm in the face of earthly death because it doesn't feel like the end. It feels like a bad day, in a great year. We can't see the year, but it's going to be good if we let it. I think death upsets the rest of the world because it's something fearful. It's the unknown, it's something we constantly fight, it happens to everyone. Whether we fear for ourselves, or our loved ones, it's perfectly natural to fear death. But fear isn't what comes to heart when I think of death. I imagine a beautiful door, and what's on the other side of that door? I don't know, but it is exciting to imagine opening it. The thrill of adventure, curiosity, or a really good feeling.

     My thought today is, try to imagine a world without end. Despite beginnings and endings being so ingrained into this life that imagining them is near impossible, give it a shot. The world is pretty great when you look on the bright side.

    Keep Travis' Uncle's family in your prayers. He was a wonderful loving husband, father, brother, and a great Uncle. Maybe one day the world will see actual death as exciting instead of scary.

Sincerely,

     That girl who narrates her life the minute she walks into a library.

              Heather Rand.

I should join a book club.

Remember the Good, and Focus

       About a week and a half ago I had an unpleasant experience with a client at school. It wasn't through any fault of my own, they were just an unpleasant person who decided to direct their anger at the world in my direction. It was small and insignificant, but not to me. For no legitimate reason I couldn't let the negative feeling from that experience go. It won't matter in five years. It definitely won't even matter in a few months. It might not even have mattered a few days after, but I let it. I let it rot. The feeling I got from that small exchange affected everything. Suddenly, I couldn't keep the apartment clean enough for Travis even if he said he didn't mind. Suddenly, I felt like people at school were all gossiping about me, and I didn't have a friend in the world. Suddenly, I felt like I didn't even know how to cut hair.

I know none of those things are true, but suddenly, they were to me.

       Tonight, I brought this up to Travis again. I reminded him of the experience, which he remembered because it made me cry, and I disclosed that I wanted to let it go. I told him that I prayed about it, I prayed for her, and I prayed for myself. It didn't seem to help because I felt like I was constantly being reminded in some small way of my insecurities. To my relief, he reminded me that even the days school isn't fun I am surrounded by friends. I'm surrounded by people who are willing to be there for me, and even a few of them drove all the way from wellington to my baby shower (not mentioning any names). I'm even really skilled at what I do, even the days I don't feel like trying very hard. He reminded me that it wasn't this one event that was the problem. I just needed to remember all the good and not focus on the bad. It was all these wonderful things he reminded me of that made the original issue seem as small as it really was.

       I should have remembered that above all else, I am a daughter of God. Therefore, I am loved when I need it most. Tonight that love was displayed from the man I get to spend eternity with, if I am willing to try.

       The moral of the story today folks, the good will always win. The good has already won, and we just have to endure until the end to see it. If you find yourself in a pit of despair, ask a few friends what they like most about you, write down things you're grateful for, and help yourself remember the good.

And for those of you starting Lent, good luck! I always thought it was a great tradition to see people of all faiths engage in. I hope it reminds you of the good in your life, and brings you peace.

Sincerely
   -Heather Rand.

From A Loving Heart; for your home

This past weekend as Bri was peacefully sleeping and Travis was watching the Olympics while I played around on the computer, my heart was shaken and my eyes wept. Not for myself, but for the family next door. I have met them many times and I know them, so far, to be loving parents, good people, and family oriented (must be since mom lives below me and they live across). I don't know what starts this, or where their frustration lies, but I hear far too often them yelling at each other and their children. In fact on this particular occasion it was her yelling at him to stop yelling at the child. The child, either the one year old or the I'd guess five year old continued to cry throughout this exchange. I don't judge you nor do I have any right to, if I could do anything it would be to offer help. I so dearly wish I could hug you all and remind you that whatever it is, it's not worth yelling about. I wish I could impress upon you the negative way this affects your child. It won't be a mystery when they decide that hanging out in a friend's home where yelling is rare is preferred to being with their own family. I had a few friends who wished they had been born of goodly parents like I was. Even now I know youth who have a parent or both that seek complete control and submission to all their demands. They protest by yelling and setting ridiculous rules such as you're grounded from church. That blows my mind. Even if my child decided to go to a non-denominational church or begin attending a baptist ministry, unless they suddenly become hateful towards family or become a negative influence on the whole, I can't imagine ever denying my child the right to grow closer to God or become a better person. Growing up my parents only told me no when they noticed my attitude grow negative around certain friends, or become rude and disobedient to routine chores and requests. They also denied me going to certain activities because the spirit told them no, or in not Mormon terms, intuition, gut feeling, hunch, overall something didn't feel right about whatever it is I wanted to do. They were acutely aware when I was up to no good, not that this prevented any wrong doing on my part, but they usually caught me before I did something really stupid or was even allowed to put myself in a situation where I could. They trusted me, but they didn't hand me a condom, leave alcohol easily accessible, leave me alone with my boyfriends for hours at a time, and then say we know you kids will stay out of trouble. Have fun and be good!

Back to the point. I know calling CPS won't help families such as this and many people would argue (lol) that yelling is normal, healthy, or nothing to be concerned about. But the problem with trying to tell me it's normal or healthy is I know it isn't either. I know that there are millions of families that function wonderfully without yelling. Mine is one of them. So what do I know about the feelings that resort to such outward displays of anger or frustration? What qualifies me in any way to worry that this is not an ideal environment for a family to function happily in? What can I say when I have a loving husband, a sweet one year old, and an overall agreeable disposition? Little. I have enough experience to know that things can escalate, things can feel overwhelming, you can feel like you're stuck, and trust can be diminished.

Thankfully, I've always known that there is always hope. Hope has always followed me no matter what life throws at me. And I'm certain that hope is due to my faith in Christ, and my faith that the Atonement can heal any hurt and forgive if you are willing to let it. If however, you don't have that foundation in Christ (which I would highly recommend for every family) you can simply begin with a counselor. Marriage counseling has a stigma behind it. Like something must be deeply wrong. He must have done something really stupid, or she must have slept around, or serious wrong doings on either side. But this is simply not true. I would encourage anyone to seek a counselor because it helps to have a mediator when you're trying to convey feelings in a misunderstanding and to become an overall more loving spouse. I know it helped me to understand that if I want my husband to give me his best, I have to give him my best first. It helped me to think logically before suddenly blaming him for a wrong he hasn't committed. It has helped me to communicate my concerns and get to the source feeling of any negativity he has.

If nothing else choose to love. Choose to be the person who never raises their voice. The person who chooses joy over sorrow, love over hate, compassion over anger, and support over jealousy. If you always choose love, joy will follow. 

And remember that your neighbors would rather giggle that they can hear your bed frame instead of cry that they can hear you yelling at the people you love most. I cry because I love you, even though I don't know you very well. I cry because I know you can have peace, and I'm here to help if you ever were to ask. I'm not just the neighbor that offers a cup of sugar or an egg and free sweets, I'm the neighbor you are welcome to vent to, hug, visit, get to know and one day I hope dear neighbor that you will know that.

-Heather Rand apt 4

A single brush stroke

         Life can be compared to a beautiful painting. Each stroke is but a moment. Many strokes of the brush are plain and simple, while many others display grand design and movement. If you were to focus on a single brush stroke, the painting may not seem wonderful or beautiful to you. Yet as you step back, your breath pauses for you begin to see the masterpiece before you.
        This metaphor can to my mind today as I took in the sparkling beauty of this sabbath day. As I knelt to let Bri touch the cold fluff, I realized you could see hundreds, maybe thousands, of snowflakes. Big, beautiful, unique snowflakes, each one a temporary masterpiece. There are many people content with the knowledge that a snowflake is simply the way a drop of water is frozen in a cloud. But I cannot be content simply knowing that. I an overjoyed knowing that every snowflake is neither random nor significant.
       Today my testimony is this; we are all cherished children of our Heavenly Father. He sees our lives as the beautiful paintings they can become. Even if we only see a brush stroke. I also know that this beautiful world was created to fulfill a part of the masterpiece that is The Plan of Salvation. I hope these thoughts can weigh on your heart that you may feel a fraction of the love God has for you. I leave these things with you in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

-Heather