A change of plans

I was driving home this afternoon from lunch at the park with the kids when I happened to find my favorite music in the whole world on the classical station on satellite radio (one of my new favorite things!). Rachmaninoff's 2nd piano concerto was playing, and the 2nd movement, my favorite of the three, was just barely starting. My first thought was, "Maybe I should take a long route home, because this is going to last longer than our drive home." I did drive straight home, completely immersed in the music. I was playing along - in my head, with my fingers, and in my heart. (It's sappy, but you're just going to have to go with it - or stop reading now. It only gets worse.) I have adored this piece of music since the moment I first heard it, and it instantly became my dream to perform it live with an orchestra some time in my life.

We pulled into the garage halfway through the third movement. Tanner opened the door to get out, then realized that I wasn't budging. He waited a few minutes, but gave up on me and went inside before it was over. (The kid now has ear buds in and his IPod going at all times, so my music doesn't even make his radar - not that he'd care about it anyway.) I was kind of glad that he went inside, because the music builds and builds, and the ending is so dramatic and moving that I had tears in my eyes. (This is not abnormal. John and I went to the symphony with his parents before we were married and saw this piece performed live. I cried practically the whole way through. It's hard to explain my emotional connection to the music, but it's pretty strong. I wanted to be the girl playing the piano so badly I could taste it!) This time the tears served another purpose. It occurred to me that I had given up my dream. I said goodbye to my piano major after Katelyn was born and I was pregnant with Carter, when it became obvious that I couldn't be a mom and finish such an intense major at the same time. It was an extremely difficult decision for me. While I hope to finish my degree when the kids are older, I really feel like the time has passed for me to fulfill that dream. I can't see any opportunities arising for some middle-aged lady to perform with a symphony orchestra, and to choose the music. And I've lost so much of my ability. I know it's my fault to an extent. I should be making it a priority to practice daily. But I couldn't possibly play 4 hours a day like I was back then, so I'm going lose some dexterity regardless. Anyway............

I was sitting in the car, tears in my eyes, the music moving through me as I mourned the loss of a dream. And then it hit me. I didn't lose my dream - I traded it! I always knew that I wanted to be a mom and stay home with my kids. I didn't dream of having children like some people do, but I just kind of knew that that's what I wanted. And obviously it is what I want. I chose to stop going to school, and I've chosen to keep having kids. We have another one on the way, due in January, and I'm not even sure that it'll be our last. So obviously, this is what I want to be doing, right? I'm living my dream!

I couldn't really shake the melancholy feeling I had, even with my realization. I carried it with me all afternoon. I'm still allowed to mourn the loss of a dream, even if I chose to lose it, I think. But I feel very grateful. My husband works so hard so that I can be at home, and he supports me and realizes more every day how important it is to have someone at home full time. It blesses our children's lives and will continue to do so. And I will always feel good about the decision I made to be at home with them, even if it means giving up some things I could have done for myself. And I still can and do bless our lives with my love of music.

How about you? What have you sacrificed, and does it make you sad, or are you at peace?

Happy Father's Day

I'm sure you're all at home today telling your husbands that they're the best fathers ever. Well, sorry girls, but you're wrong, because I married the world's greatest dad. I knew when I married him that he loves kids. But I didn't know just how far he would go to make his children happy, or how much joy he would get out of playing with them. I didn't realize that he would take on a second job and still work extra shifts moonlighting so that he could give us the best of everything. I am blessed to have such a hard-working and loving husband, and my children are blessed to have him for a father. Happy father's day, sweetie. We love you!

This is one of my favorite pictures of my husband being a cute dad. The baby is Katelyn.

On death

Last Tuesday, our family experienced a loss that turned out to be far more tragic than I expected. I found our cat Samantha lying lifeless on the family room floor. I was so completely freaked out that I couldn't even get close enough to touch her. So I watched from around the corner and made sure that I couldn't detect the rise and fall of her breath. When I was sure that she was not alive, I called John. I am so glad that he was working the right rotation and having a slow day, and that he was willing to race home to my rescue. He put our beloved kitty in a box and hid her so that he could go back to work and we could deal with it later.

Katelyn was beside herself when we told her. She cried and cried. She could think of nothing else the rest of the evening, as we waited for everyone to get home so that we could have a funeral. Both Katelyn and Carter were morbidly fascinated with seeing Sammy's body. And here's where I felt completely lost as a parent. How do I teach my children about death and help them to deal with it in a healthy way? What is appropriate and what's not? We had decided to bury Sammy in a remote corner of our yard, and not in a box, so John lifted her into the hole he had dug and the children had the opportunity they so desired to see her one more time. Was that the right thing to do? I'm really not sure. I hope they're not scarred for life by the image of their lifeless cat in a hole in the ground.

We all said something about Sammy and then put dirt on her grave. And this is when it hit Tanner. The timing couldn't have been worse - it was exactly one week before the anniversary of his mother's death. He has been dealing with the resurfacing of his grief since mother's day, and this just brought it all to the forefront again. There was much sobbing as we buried our kitty, and the kids' grief made me more sad than my own grief ever could have.

We were all sad that night, but we were OK. So I was surprised when Katelyn woke up the next morning and started crying almost immediately. In fact, she cried for at least an hour straight. And as soon as I'd get her calmed down, she'd start crying again. We had a lot of talks. I explained over and over about how Sammy's spirit is in heaven, and that it's just her body left here in the hole in our yard. She said a couple of times that she wanted to be dead, too, so that she could be in heaven with Sammy. It just about broke my heart. Carter got pretty sick of the weeping and wailing. He started telling her, "Sammy's dead. You don't want a dead cat!" Obviously, he's not quite grasping the situation. He had some other strange things to say about the whole thing. He's even said when he got mad at our other cat that he wishes it were dead with Sammy. Some issues to sort through eventually, I'm sure...

As Katie's grief subsided, she showed some signs of understanding. One morning at breakfast, she told me, "I think Jesus is making paper balls for Sammy in heaven and throwing them so that she can catch them. I think He's playing with her and taking care of her for us." I thought that was the sweetest thing.

As for Tanner, the one year mark has come and gone. I took the kids to the Oquirrh Mountain Temple open house on that day, in addition to an extra grief counseling session. It was good to have things to do to keep us busy, and the temple was a positive experience (minus the inevitable meltdown by Carter, which, luckily, didn't happen until the very end). He even talked to me in the car on the way home and I didn't feel like he was trying to pull away or distance himself from me, which I feel quite often. I am still so sad that he had to lose his mother so early in his life. One of my least favorite phrases is, "It's not fair." It's pretty much outlawed in our house. But I find myself thinking all the time that IT'S NOT FAIR! I don't want him to have to hurt. I still wish for his sake that we could turn back time and undo it. But we can't. And now we'll all be dealing with death for the rest of our lives. I guess I'll be figuring it out as we go.