The 411

So I need to say that I'm still really happy.  I mean, despite my last post, I'm grateful for where I am right now--where my family is.  I feel like where Jeff and I are at is what I saw when I imagined us "making it".  Never not having obligations or occasional worries, but being at a place where we can breathe and not have to worry every second.  Being at this point took a while, and it wasn't easy to get here.  But we are, and I wake up realizing how much our little family has, and being so overwhelmed with happiness.  I just wish my dad could have seen where we are now.  Because I know he would have been excited for us.

I've still been having pretty rotten dreams.  Really vivid and disturbing and keeping me from sleeping juuuust enough to make my naturally dark circles under my eyes unnaturally dark and obvious.  Even with makeup.  So yeah, it could be worse, I know.  But all joking aside?  My heart still hurts.  And my heart hurts for my siblings.  And my Stepmom.  
Last year at this time I was what my dad would call "babysitting" him.  Sometimes Teresa would need to go to work-she'd take as much time off as she could-but sometimes she HAD to be there.  So, I'd take advantage of Jeff's work-at-home schedule and go over and just hang out with Dad.  Most of the time he was cognizant, but he was having more and more trouble with eating or drinking anything.  And he needed someone there, just to make sure he didn't choke on something.  He'd get really scared about that.  And I remember thinking about how uncomfortable that was, for me.  How seeing him like that was scary and wrong and despite all the other times I'd see him display scary and wrong behavior, that was the worst.  It was pretty selfish of me.  But I know he appreciated me being there, and I appreciated the time I had with him, even though he was so embarrassed about me seeing what I saw.  I wish I would have known how sick he was at that point, because he had still been keeping a lot of what he was feeling from me.  And Teresa had thought that he'd shared a lot more than he did.  It was very soon after that everything just sort of came all at once.
I have so many vivid memories of my dad.  And as I type some of them out, I get teary-eyed, because my life turned out how he said it would.  I was a melancholy kid...surprise, right?  And that was hard for him to see.  But he had patience with me.  I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I remember lying on my bed, wondering why life hated me, and he'd knock and come sit by me.  He'd ask me what it was, and I didn't even know where to begin.  Why was I so unhappy?  Why did I feel so disconnected?  When would it end?  
I guess only now do I understand why he'd look so heartbroken while I lay there.  At the time, I wondered why he looked sad, when I was the one that was in anguish.  And yeah, I realize that's a strong word to be using, but, remember what high school was like?  Like, when you were having a bad day it was nothing less than wretched.  Everything was at least 50% more...just more.  I think about the possibility of me in that situation with one of my kids.  My heart would just ache for them.      I remember he'd tell me that one day he knew I'd find someone that would see how great I was, (that he thought I was), and that all the unhappiness I was having at that time would seem far away. My main comfort was when he'd tell me, "This too, shall pass".  Then he'd say that nothing lasts forever and we have to try to appreciate all that we have.  At the time, that last part didn't sound nearly as helpful.  
Dad honestly tried to understand me.  As confusing and futile as it was, he tried.  And I will always love him for that.  
This past weekend was kind of nice.  I got a lot more caught up on sleep than I've been in a long time.  And things seem to be looking up.  The problem with me and not enough sleep is not only the lack of sleep, but also the fact that things just seem more dreary.  And I feel weepy and mopey.  But I'm not so deprived anymore, and now I feel a bit more refreshed and grounded.
This brings me to my family.  Moriah commented on my last post that maybe this missing my father and seeing Teresa being lonely would make me appreciate Jeff more.  And honestly, it does.  I've had a couple dreams in which Jeff isn't my husband.  Or he's gone.  Or I never knew him.  And I wake up so grateful that it was just a dream.  Or nightmare, I guess.  I do know I couldn't be without him, and I take a few minutes to say a quick prayer that I won't ever have to be.  
The same with my daughters and my son.  I've just gotten way too attached to them, you know?  Call me sentimental.  
Despite all this month reminds me of, I am taking something that Dad said to heart.  Nothing lasts forever.  This too, shall pass.  I need to be grateful for all that I've been blessed with...and I've really been blessed with a lot.  Have a good week, everyone.  And take time to tell those you love, that you love them.  Because it's never a bad thing to hear.  

September

Two weeks ago I went to my Stepmom's house to get some of my father's stuff.  She's been trying to de-clutter her home...and now that Jeff and I have the space, there were some things Dad had given me that she didn't need to keep for us, anymore.  Remember my "beautiful girls" post a couple months ago?  I didn't put my Stepmother, Teresa in it.  However, the reason wasn't because I don't include her in that category.  It's because I knew this post would be coming.  And I think she'll need it more at this time; like I do.  
September 16th will be the first anniversary of my dad's death.  I didn't know how I'd feel about it.  For a while, I thought I'd be just fine...that maybe I'd get by with thinking/remembering the good stuff, and being appreciative of that.  But lately I've been having bad dreams.  I've been remembering things my dad would say or do, or places we'd eat, or his shirts that I'd iron, or any number of things.  And it makes me miss him.  A lot.  
When I went over to Teresa's house, in addition to a lot of tools and household items, she gave me some of my dad's hangers.  I'd iron for him, (something he'd have me do each week to make a few extra bucks when times were hard), I'd hang his shirts up, and then give them to him.  I continued to do this even as things started to get better for us, financially.  It began to be a way that he and I would keep in touch each week, I think.  He'd come drop his shirts by, or I'd pick them up, giving us at least a few minutes each week to talk--in addition to any other time we'd hang out. 
Anyway, as Jeff and I were packing some of my dad's stuff up, Teresa told me she had a lot of extra hangers if I needed any, and I can always use more, so I followed her to her room, to get them.  Hanging there were all my dad's shirts.  The ones that I'd iron each week.  The ones that I occasionally borrowed in high school and wore because at the time REALLY big clothing and flannel were the fad.  And the ones that were literally falling apart because he'd had them for so long, and wore them so often.  Coincidentally, a lot of the same shirts that were falling apart were the ones that I borrowed.  And I started to get teary-eyed.  Teresa had told me that there was a lot that she just couldn't give up yet; things that held memories too raw to part with them.  And at that moment, I could see why.  They still smelled the same.  They still looked the same...the same as all those times they'd be on my ironing board.  And then he'd come get them.  And wear them.  Except that part is different.  Because he won't be wearing them.  Anymore.
Last year after I came back from Colorado, where my father is buried, I kept thinking I'd see him.  I'd see men about the same size and shape, with the same color of hair, and that wore the same type of clothing.  And my heart would stop.  And I'd feel all this hope.  Which is weird, because I knew he was gone.  But in that second, I could totally believe that Dad's death was some type of misconception.  That we had been all confused and things didn't happen the way it seemed.  
Then I'd see I was wrong, and it was like feeling the loss of him all over again.  
At that moment, I realized that Teresa goes through that everyday.  Maybe seeing a towel that he'd use or a cup that was his favorite.  I'm reminded often of how much I love Teresa.  And how much she loved my dad.  Despite his imperfections, and there were many, Teresa loved him.  She sat with him, was by his side the entire time he lay there, dying.  She held his hand and spoke to him like they were having a regular conversation, and she let me and Muff and Jess and all these other people have the time we needed with him.  She changed him and moved him and bathed him...and she took it upon herself, because she knew that Dad would have been too embarrassed to be seen or coddled by anyone else, despite his pain and dementia.  She was strong, and loving and selfless.  And I saw that he was in the best hands possible.  And I thanked Heaven that he had her.  I know that Teresa was my dad's best friend.  He'd told me that more than once.  And Teresa showed me that so many times.
I still have a can of Diet Squirt that he gave me a week before he died.  Riley and Cole both have asked if they could drink it at some point in the last year.  And I can't let them.  It's still in my pantry, looking beat up and old.  And no one would know it was special in any way.  But it is to me.  He gave it to me, because he knew I like it.  I remember him having it in his shaking hand, and giving it to me before I left his house, "for the trip home".  I think about that every time I see it.
Anyway, I know these next few posts of mine will probably be downers for the common reader, but I think I need to get some feelings off of my chest.  And I need to write this down.  Cause keeping it to myself isn't doing me any favors. 

If I had a hammer...

"I'd hammer in the morning, I'd hammer in the evening, all over this land.  I'd hammer out danger, I'd hammer out warning, I'd hammer out love between my brother and my sisters, all over this laaaaaaand".  
What the crap does that mean?  I've not a clue.  It starts out pretty cut and dry but then gets into a territory that could be good or terribly bad.  I sang this in an eighth grade choir concert.  My teacher was Mrs. Damaska.  I couldn't stand her.  She was one of those people that was happy ALL the time, and I just assumed that no one was really like that.  But she was...even when I was terribly mean to her.  Sorry, Mrs. Damaska.  Sometimes I realize that as a kid I was really awful, and even though I knew it as I was doing it, I just couldn't help myself.  
All that being said, I think of that song when I think of being happy.  Not that I was happy when I sang it all those years ago; I was actually rather pissed that my mother INSISTED I be in choir, yet again.  However, I remember Mrs. Damaska yelling:  "Smile, People!  Smile!  This was the 60's!  People were happy!"  (Read:  High).  
And oddly enough, I've been really, really happy lately.  (No illegal drugs involved at all, promise).  When I wake up in the mornings I have that feeling that everything is right with me...with the world.    You'd think that I would be grateful.  And I am...but It's scary, too.  When things are so great, there is just so much more to lose.


In the mornings I wake up and feel so content and grateful and it's kinda wonderful.  It's a bazillion different things that have come together and meshed in the most perfect of ways.    It's being married to my best friend, 

it's having a daughter that's turning into a beautiful young woman that amazes me everyday (the middle one, fyi),

it's having a son that is kind and wonderful and hilarious, 

it's having a baby that tries my patience and then melts my heart in equal parts all day long.

 And it's my house, and it's my yard,  and it's being here, and it's feeling like I'm home and I'm an adult.  
I've been making goals, and following through.  I've been trying new things, things I swore were impossible for me, and a waste of my time.  But now...I kind of just, can do anything.  Okay, maybe that's just a little over the top, but I've just felt so great.  Hopefully I'm not jinxing myself.  Anyway, school starts tomorrow.  This makes me a little less happy, but I've hope for this new school year, and I pray that Riley and Cole will meet good friends, and enjoy their teachers.  If I had a hammer, I'd probably just try to hammer a nail in the wall to hang a picture.  And then it would be crooked, because that's how I always do it.  But, I'd be happy with it, anyway.  And I think that's pretty good for 2010.  Right?

A little something...

These last few weeks have been nutso crazy...and I'm kind of having a really hard time trying to figure out what all to tell you about, and then how to tie it together.  So I guess I'll start with past stuff..and jump around to the present.  Or something.  This post may end up being like, twenty paragraphs long, and given my penchant for adding like six more sentences to my paragraphs than necessary anyway, it's just going to be a really long read.  Good luck.  
Anyhoo, while Lora was still here, we decided to have a campfire and roast marshmallows and hot dogs, and just enjoy the evening with my siblings.  (Minus Jessey and Gabby, because they were in San Diego vacationing).  Rough life, you know?

Syd and Jeff did their regular backyard ritual.  She sits on his lap and snuggles with him while he enjoys all her attention and lets her be the biggest brat in the world simply because she loves him best.  Whatever.  I'm not bitter about their relationship. 

And all of us just hung out, some of us, (Lora), jumped on the trampoline, and Lora and Muff talked the fundamentals of photography.  I basically roasted and ate marshmallows the whole time.  It was a good night. 

Muff and Chris supplied the hot dogs and buns and all was delicious.  I'm usually not a fan of the hot dog--as I still suffer from massive burnout from my childhood.  But, these were really good; they hooked us up.  

I took a bazillion pictures that night.  And these were the only ones that turned out.  Perhaps I should have taken part of Muff and Lora's photography conversation...but I didn't.  And I only got four semi-okay pictures. Ahhh...my sweet girls.  Sometimes sisters are happiest when they're together...and I think my mom captured that when she took this of us:  

Onto more recent happenings:

I painted Cole's room.  That was kind of a nightmare.  After three different trips to the paint place, (because the second time I went they got the wrong color and I had to re-paint all the walls), it was done.  Yet again, a two day job that turned into a four day job.  And it's like, half the size of Riley's room.  The thing is, Cole wanted his room orange, AGAIN.  And after some deliberation, we couldn't go through with it.  So we decided instead to go with blue.  Because he's Cole, he LOVED it, and was really excited.  This is why he's my favorite. ;)

I'm pretty sure Jeff wants to do something artsy with Cole's room as well, but he needs time first.  So it may be a while before he gets to it.  And the finished pictures were taken almost two weeks after his room was done.  That's how clean he keeps it.  I kid you not, every night he tidies up and then goes to bed...Riley's room was a disaster like, ten minutes after Lora left.  


And lastly, my little secret.  As you all know, I love food.  And it's been my fantasy to say that I can cook...that maybe the reason my figure is perpetually rotund is because I'm a fantastic cook.  Or I make excellent cookies, or I can whip up a cake to die for.  But, the truth is?  I suck.  As all the Andersons can attest, I'm VERY far from being an even passable cook.  Or baker...or anything food preparation related.  I guess that last part would be my shameful un-secret.  
I always said that if I ever had a kitchen I could cook in, I'd learn how to cook.  And I've been thinking about that since we've moved.  I honestly love my kitchen.  It's like something from the show "Leave it to Beaver".  Except for more modern and better colors, and better appliances.  Okay, so maybe not exactly like Leave it to Beaver, but it's a place that inspires me...makes me wish I could make stuff.  Good stuff.  And to be truthful?  I'm tired of being that lady that isn't good at anything.  Seriously.  I don't do crafts, I'm not an excellent teacher of children, I can't sew or knit or grow a garden, or any of that stuff.  But I am surrounded by people that do..I'm related to people that do.  They had to have started somewhere, right?  Had to have acted on their interest.  (right?)
So, I bought some cook books.  I've been trying to make HOMEMADE stuff everyday for the last week.  It's been kind of relaxing and Riley is my assistant, and she at least TRIES stuff even when she knows what's in it, if she can help make it.  I'm learning stuff...I'm beginning to tweak recipes and add stuff or take stuff away.  Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't...but it's honestly been my desire to eat more healthy--better, natural ingredients and such.  And it's been fun.  

Almond and Raspberry Cream cheese bars.  These I liked...but they were too rich.  I had to give a lot away.  The kids weren't happy about the almonds, and so it was mainly me that ate it, but I enjoy anything with cream cheese and almonds, AND raspberries.  So I ate a few and enjoyed them. 

A lot of what Riley and I are trying to do is make natural fruit and vegetable purees and put them in different foods.  We are inspired by the Deceptively Delicious idea.  But it's been fun finding out HOW to cook vegetables and such...Don't scoff.  I know that for a lot of people, this is common knowledge.  But I'm honestly starting at step one.  I told myself that if I go with babysteps, I won't put too much pressure on myself.  We want to make good stuff, but add more nutritional value into it.  Above are "brown sugar muffins" but I tweaked the recipe to add some zucchini puree and make them less sugary.  (Okay, stop laughing at me...I know this is lame, but this is how I've been spending my time). 

And the kids are enjoying it.  Maybe they're taking a lot of the nutrition that we put in back out, but at least they're trying new foods...and eating. And this is actually "homemade" macaroni and cheese.  (Don't feed it to the Coplen children, as it is NOT a hit).  But my best Wyoming bud Moriah made it for us when she was here like, seven years ago, and we occasionally still make it. This dish reminds me of when I'd go with her to her grandparents' ranch during docking season of their sheep.  After the entire process, Moriah's grandmother would make a HUGE delicious dinner and the macaroni and cheese she'd make was my most favorite part.  I'd eat like three plate fulls.  I never had it anywhere else, and then I found out it's so easy it's something I even felt comfortable making.  And because I know that she knows how hopeless I am in the kitchen, I'm thinking that's why Moriah taught me the recipe.   (We have added to it a bit, but it's a hit).    

And Syd digs it, too.  Big time.  Lately we've made homemade spinach pizza and tomorrow I'm trying my luck with making something with the eggplant I bought.  It's not an exciting fantasy, but it's mine.  And I'm making good use of my lovely kitchen.  

So that's a little something of our last two weeks. fyi:  I've replaced the white flour with wheat...and it's not gone over as well, but we're working on it.  Wish me luck, I need it. 

Stuff that we've been doing.

Be warned.  This is a VERY long post.  So it should take a good chunk of your time. 
I've been painting and such.  Not that painting is overly hard, but there aren't a lot of things I can do around the house without Jeff's supervision.  And it's not that Jeff makes me feel that way, but this is just me speaking from previous experiences.  I amazingly can easily ruin everything I touch.  I'd say it was a true gift if it wasn't so annoying...and expensive.  I started out with Cole's door.  Now that it's done, there are other things I want to do with it, but it was kind of a trial run.  I wanted whatever had dripped down it when the previous owners had it, to just disappear... I was tired of wondering what it was. Dog urine? Teenage boy urine?  I couldn't look at it anymore.  Before:  

And after:  

We're going to paint the playroom, as well. I'm already feeling like I have to defend the color and the placement--so don't judge, yet.  We're still figuring it out.  

Anyway, last week my sister Lora came down and stayed with us.  Riley graciously agreed to let Lora stay in her room, so I decided that painting it before she arrived would be in our, and more importantly her, best interest.  I wanted Lora to think her room was nice. Here it is before:

Riley wanted her room's color to be predominately green.  And we tried to make everything work together without painting, but the room was just too clinical looking and...dirty.  The paint that was there originally only had one coat, and you could see through a lot of it.  What I thought would be a two day process turned into four.  That's how all my projects go.  Anyway, here's the end result: (fyi, though the plain painted walls and ceiling were all me, Jeff just painted the bubble-looking things and such..this is why being married to an artist sometimes contributes to my feelings of inadequacy).  

Jeff did well, right? Despite me being a bit perturbed with his making my work look mediocre and such, Riley loves it, and I will admit, he made the room look cuter than I did.  And he says there's more he wants to do with it...however, for now, Riley is just excited to be back into her own room, enjoying the walls they way they are.  And I'm happy to write it off as being "done" for now.  But just so you know, my paint job was pretty sweet, even before Jeff's final touches.  That's what I keep telling myself.  

For those of you that were wondering?  By the time Lora got here, the paint fumes had just had enough time to disperse, so it all worked out.  


Lora and I called Muff, and we all made it a sister's night. Dinner and going through Spanish Fork's      Festival Days tents.  It was nice.  And crowded.  And I was reminded of how old I've become.  Looking at all the kids and their really tight jeans in 100 degree weather....I'm now really seeing why adults would choose comfort over style.  And I'm really thankful I'm on this end of it, even though it means I'm at that phase in life where I've lost all the "cool credits" I thought I may have had. Lastly I made them go grocery shopping with me...which I'm sure was a yawn and a half, but then we came back to my house and just talked--till 2:00am, and Muff had to work in the morning.  It was way nice of her to hang with us knowing what lay ahead of her in five hours, (a full day of work).  Big thanks to her for making us a priority, because I love long-overdue sister time. 


The next morning Lora saw how we really do sleep in on summer mornings, and that it's not something I exaggerate.  About 11:00am she came up to my room worried that we'd just been quiet and waiting for her to wake.  The reality was I had just heard Syd make her morning noises, and was getting up to get her.  From there, we just hung out.  It was nice.  There were no plans or schedules and all was laid back.  Lora and I took the kids to the Fiesta Days Carnival.  Syd didn't go on any rides, but she enjoyed her stroller.  

Cole was first to spend his tickets.  He wanted to slide.

After his ride, Cole decided to rate his choices in the thumbs up/thumbs down fashion.  A tried and true system that works for our family.

Remember last year when we went to Lagoon?  And how my kids were the ultimate chickens?  That aaaaallllmost happened this time, too.  However, they decided to expand their horizons.  Now, we didn't go overboard with the kiddie roller coaster, or anything.  That would have been too much too soon.  But the tilt-o-whirl was a giant leap, for sure. 

You may scoff, but Jeff can't handle this ride.  It makes him sick.  Both Riley and Cole were kind of tricked into this one, because they didn't get to see how it worked before they got on.  However, they were good sports at the end, and suddenly were more eager to try more exciting stuff.  

For a while they weren't too sure about the above decision.  Another ride chosen BEFORE seeing how it actually worked, but I dared them, and they obliged.  And were the loudest screamers at the carnival.  But they made it.  And I was proud.  

Lora pretty much took care of Syd while I "avidly encouraged" Riley and Cole to go on rides that weren't specifically for 3yrs and under.  It was nice to have a partner to take care of kiddos with me--going alone with three kids to a place with a lot of people walking around puts me in kind of panic mode, and I can't enjoy myself.  I'm afraid of a oncoming disaster.  But Lora let me have fun, too.  So it was super fun!

Until the last ride.  And Riley got to choose, because Cole went on a ride that Riley didn't go on, so Riley decided to go on the "Berry Bop".  (It sounds like a complicated system, and it kind of is.  But it cuts WAY down on any whining and feelings of being short-changed, so we use it).

This ride was honestly like four times the length of all the others.  They just kept going around and around at the slowest pace imaginable.  I almost felt sorry for them.  Almost.  

Despite that, we had fun.  (Cole was telling me he WAS NOT having fun on that ride).  It's a crappy video, but funny to me.  Anyhoo, hope you all have a good day, and this was nice distraction.  I've got so much stuff to blog about, that I'm a bit overwhelmed, so hopefully I'll be better about posting.  Later dudes.