Tiger Moon by Antonia Michaelis

I loved this book! LOVED LOVED LOVED it. The writing was immensely beautiful. I won't use this space to describe the plot, I will just use it to list the quotes that melted my heart. If you could see my book, I have little napkin pieces marking my favorite pages throughout the book. It looks like my book had a cold with as many tissues and napkins sticking out of its openings.

"She was different from all the women Lalit knew. She cast her eyes down like a timid girl, but when he met her gaze for the first time, those same eyes gave him a shock. There was a glow in them, and a hissing, like drops of water falling into fire." pg. 14

"She cast her eyes down so as not to scorch her patient listener with the fire in them, and began her story." pg. 20

"He slept a refreshing, light, and dreamless sleep -- a sleep as blue as air."

"'He doesn't look at all like a hero,' said the young women, pulling their scarves over their faces when the stranger rode by. Not to protect themselves from the dust, and not to hide their beauty. Farhad knew they were hiding behind veils to preserve the illusion of beauty. The newcomer, who hadn't seen all those hooked noses and crooked teeth, could imagine them as perfect. He knew all about the tricks women played." pg. 94

"The day was blue. As blue as melancholy. A vague sadness weighed down on it, and fell on Raka's slender shoulders." pg. 156

"The first drops were joined by countless others, and, seconds later, water was cascading from the clouds as if someone had turned the ocean upside down and emptied it over the earth." pg. 171

"Farhad made himself go slowly through the water. If he tried to run, he'd scare the water, as Nitish would put it, and the talkative water would tell everyone he was running away." pg. 207

"The cows of India are sacred, but that doesn't mean that anyone feeds them. They wander city streets, live on garbage, and after a while they starve to death in a very sacred way." pg. 212

"The fire was spreading and, to the tiger's horror, it was growing. It was here, there, and everywhere. He tried to tread on it, but it bit his paw. He withdrew the paw and licked it in confusion." pg. 289-290

"Her lips were not like rose petals, not like silk and velvet, not like the tender colors of dawn over the desert, or like the breath of the evening wind.

"Her lips were as rough as her hands, rough from the desert sand.

"Lips like the storm that blinds you among the dunes, like the desert's unbearable heat, like the trunks of palm trees in the oases, like the blazing sun at noon, like the sky just before it darkens with the rain that so seldom comes.

"Raka did not withdraw.

"Lalit tasted all the colors of India in her mouth." pg. 302

"He put out the fire on his head, but the next moment he saw the fire climb down the shed. Now it began eating its way forward across the field like a greedy caterpillar." pg. 318

"'I'm not just any old tiger,' he replied. 'I'm a sacred tiger. The gods made me to run races with the wind. And you found me because it was my fate to carry you. Are you trying to tell me there's such a thing as coincidence in the world?'" pg. 357

"He took Farhad's shirt in his teeth, hauled him to his feet, and the storm attacked them again with all its might. But now they had a purpose. And even in a sandstorm, it's difficult to stop someone with a purpose." pg. 382

"Lalit and Lagan

Indian love is always taboo,
and smells of cardamom.
It tastes of chili, of spices, too.
Come, it says softly, come.

Indian love is red as rage
and deep, deep blue as sorrow.
It is not easy, it is not kind,
it may not see tomorrow.

In Indian gardens, Indian love
rustles like leaves in the wind.
And should two lovers in that grove
be both of the same mind,
the wind will have this tale to tell
of longing, grief, and death;
They loved not wisely but too well
they loved to their last breath." pg. 412

"She slipped out of Lalit's embrace like a fish." pg. 415

"As usual, everyone else was stronger than him. He had learned to serve, to obey, to avoid trouble, and no one had ever taught him to rebel. because there was no point in it, he told himself. Because rebels always lost out in the end." pg. 416

"'She is beautiful,' he whispered. 'Much more beautiful than in the picture in your amulet. But there's nothing soft and yielding about her beauty. She is wild as the desert, brave as a tiger, lonely as the sun, and timorous as the rain.'" pg. 423

"Lagan opened the door to the garden, and Raka went out into it one last time. the fragrance of the nocturnal flowers mingled with the moonlight, weaving invisible fabric to clothe her naked body." pg. 440

There are still so many more beautiful passages to quote. It is really a very well-written lovely book. It is perfect in its imperfection. This isn't a book that follows a formula to be sure.

"And so this story ends as it began.
"In chaos.
"In India." pg. 438 

I'm Sick

I'm sick.  It's not the constantly throwing-up, "I think I'm gonna die" sick, it's just the "I don't have energy to do anything" sick.  I am sitting here on my living room couch in one of the places in my house that has been unofficially dubbed "MINE" (at least by me), with Sage's blanket on my legs because of the slight chill I feel (on an 80 degree day mind you) and thinking.  I have been reading the next book in the installment of books Casey has recently recommended to me, before and after a 10:30 am nap.  Now one side of my hair is flat and lifeless, which is perfectly apropos for how I'm feeling.  It's not a bad feeling at all, it is just devoid of any emotion or feeling.  While I was reading, I was multi-tasking apparently, since I found myself simultaneously analyzing this physical sickness with the emotional sickness I felt several months ago.

With this particular illness, there is a long list of things of things that I want and need to do -- practice the piano and my voice since I have an upcoming recital, look up hotels in three different cities in Costa Rica since that's the one assignment I have been given for our upcoming trip, iron Dave's shirts and pants that are still hanging in the queue (have HIM do it you say, I actually don't mind ironing and I really like the way he looks in crisp shirts :) ), order a photo book from our last trip, organize and purge some files on my computers, and I ALWAYS need to work on our finances updating everything -- but I just don't have any energy.  My mind is very willing, but my body says "NO".  Well, it doesn't really say it like that, it mostly says, "no".  With my emotional illness (YUK, I hate saying it like that), several months ago, there was still a long list of things I could do, but neither my mind nor my body had any desire whatsoever to do any item on any list.

So, I will sit here and write for a moment, but then I will read again and lose myself in the world of Kristin Cashore and wait patiently for strength to return, AND be extremely grateful that this time I have great confidence it will return very quickly.  I have discovered that it is possible to enjoy the peace of waiting.  It's easier to enjoy it when you don't have the strength or energy to do anything else. ;) Back to "Bitterblue" . . .

No News is Good News

Enough kind people have asked about how I am doing lately to warrant an update.  No news is good news on this one.  I have written half a dozen posts in my head, but just haven't felt compelled to put pen to paper, so to speak. My other posts I felt very driven to write, even though I have had A LOT of second thoughts on posting the last one.  If I hadn't felt so compelled to write it, I most certainly wouldn't have written it, much less posted it for others to read.  I so hope it was the right thing to do. I still worry that some people might have seen it as me just exposing my weaknesses to the world in a fit of emotional throw-up.

I am doing really well.  All of the garbage (insert swear word if you'd rather - it applies) I have gone through is mostly gone.  I haven't had a panic attack for months, I'm eating just fine, actually a little better than fine -- oops, I'm sleeping about 97% of the time (when I haven't had too much evening caffeine - oops again), and I look forward to time alone again.  I have so many things I want to do, that I can't keep up.  A lot of really good things have happened as well in the last several months.  I have made new friendships, renewed, and cemented, old ones, joined a book club, added yoga to my routine, competed in three triathlons, a half marathon, started attending a Book of Mormon class (it's too basic and therefore a little frustrating, however), and I have read several books, some better than others.  I'm also singing again, and my sabbatical from my calling as ward choir director is over.

My relationship with Casey has also grown leaps and bounds.  As she gets older and matures, much faster than maybe she should, I find that we connect more and more.  She is a surprisingly deep thinker for a sixteen-year-old young woman.  It is such a pleasure having deeper and deeper discussions with her. 

The best part of the last several months is that my relationship with Dave has been refined and solidified even more than it had already in our 19 1/2 years of marriage before this crash.  I feel like we have always been close, to differing degrees over the years, but since my crash, we have been able to use it as an amazing opportunity for us to turn to each other even more intensely.  Dave is an immensely caring person who spends every day helping people.  I have admired that in him ever since I met him.  For the first time, he has needed to be my personal, on-call 24/7, therapist.  Since I HATE feeling weak and vulnerable, when I have had those, very new, feelings, often I will stuff them deep down and try to go on with my daily stuff that just needs to get done.  I try, desperately, to hide those feelings, but I am woefully unsuccessful.  Dave is very attuned to me, and can tell when I am holding something back.  Thankfully for me, he asks the right questions and genuinely wants me to tell him everything I am thinking.  He has been amazingly non-judgmental and open.  And, he is willing and eager to listen again and again as I process thoughts and emotions.  He constantly surprises me with his loving, and supportive responses.  Every woman should be so lucky.

I have experienced several spiritual tender mercies as well.  Again and again, I keep finding the phrase "Be still" and "Just wait" directed at me.  When I don't listen and try to pursue my own avenues, doors close - over and over and over again.  I think, with Dave's help (and yoga), I'm finally learning how to deep breathe, let everything go and just let happen what needs to happen.  I feel peace.  Sometimes, I can't get my head and my heart on the same page, but at least, they are reading the same book now.  I don't know how the book ends, or even what the next page holds, but I will try to just be ready and accept whatever is written there. 

Into the Darkness

About a year and a half ago, things were really good in my life.  I was training for the Boston Marathon – a life-long, amazing dream that I never thought would come true – and feeling strong.  Training was going well, I liked my job working with children, my family was doing great, and I had good friends.  As I was training for the marathon, I noticed a pain in my hip that had been building for many, many months, mostly unnoticed.  It had never really bothered me before, and I just thought of it as more of an irritation.  I had run marathons before without any hip problems.  But now this hip problem was bothering me on a regular basis.  It began to affect my running and the marathon was rapidly approaching.  I lowered my expectations for my performance in the marathon, and continued training, hoping my hip wouldn’t hamper my performance too much.

Then, two days before I was to leave for Boston, I got a call from my sister in tears saying that her husband had just taken his life.  A huge, shocking, and unexpected loss.  Even though I would miss the funeral, my sister encouraged me to go to Boston.  I planned to go up and see her as soon as I got back.  I arrived in Boston on Friday, and on Saturday night, I got a call from Dave saying that my mom was in the hospital for some random stomach pain, which we quickly dismissed. Mom was healthy as a horse.  It would take more than a stomach ache to slow her down, we insisted.  Monday morning, I ran the marathon in intense hip pain which still hasn’t gone completely away.  The plane ride home was excruciatingly painful.  I hid my tears as I poured my pain into my journal.  Perhaps my marathon days were over, maybe forever.  Another loss.   

When I got home from Boston, I repacked my bags and we all drove up to see my sister.  While we were there, I discovered that the sister with whom I had always been so, so close not only didn’t need me there, she didn’t want me there.  Our friendship had deteriorated almost completely.  Heartbreaking loss. While I was there, we heard together that my mom's stomach pain was really pancreatic cancer.  She was dying, and would possibly not last two weeks.  I raced home, and mom died a week later.  Huge, huge loss.  Mom and I had become very close in my adult life.  We had become especially close in the last six years since my dad died, also of pancreatic cancer.  She was a consistent, almost daily presence in my life and now she was gone.  Over the course of the summer as we set about dealing with my parents’ estate, I discovered that I had no real close relationships with any of my siblings.  I realized that I had no real relationship with my family.  Another loss.  When school started, I went back to work as a reading interventionist.  I loved my job working with students who struggle to read.  This year we were involved in a study through the University of Utah where we taught four struggling first graders at a time in an intensive, structured, reading program.  I arrogantly dove in head first.  However, the learning curve was extremely sharp, and I was not gaining ground.  Dave pushed me to quit the study, and quit my job if necessary, since I was struggling so mightily with this new assignment.  Another possible loss.

During the next several months, I felt myself surrounded by thick mists of darkness, an intense fog.  Sometimes, it seemed so thick I could cut it with the proverbial knife.  Everything I loved to do, I couldn’t get myself to do.  Slowly, either I pushed friends away, or they left because of life circumstance.  I used to joke to Dave that I was losing thing after thing, person after person.  Finally, this last spring, I sent out the last checks to my siblings for my mother’s estate.  It was closed.  Everything about Mom’s death was now finished.  Crash!  Loss.  Concurrently, Dave and I were both very sick, causing me to lose chunks of sleep almost nightly, for several weeks.  At the same time, it felt very much like I was losing my last, closest, friend.  Unbeknownst to me, our friendship had been changing for months.  I sensed it, yet could never put my finger on what was happening.  Suddenly, it became clear that the friendship as I understood it was forever changed.  Crash!  Another loss.  

I felt completely alone outside of Dave and my kids.  And, I became terrified I was going to lose one of them next.  So much of what had happened in the last year was sudden, shocking, and beyond my control.  I felt so completely powerless. I began to have panic attacks.  I had NEVER experienced a panic attack, and certainly never expected to in this life.  I am not a worrier by nature, nor am I a fearful person AT ALL.  I run and bike by myself in the very early hours with no concern.  I travel by myself to meet friends or family, and I have no second thoughts.  But here I was having panic attacks.  It was this indescribable, helpless feeling where my heart felt like it was in a vise.  Also, irrationally, I felt like if I could just throw up the horrible pit in my stomach I would feel better.  I hadn't been sleeping because of my illness, and that continued along with difficulty eating.  The crashes meant waking up from my fog, which meant that I had to feel the intense grief of all of the losses of the last year.  It was like waking up from a numb nightmare into a waking one. I wasn’t in only darkness this time, but a crushing blackness.  When Dave would come home from work, I would, at times, collapse in his willing arms and sob. In a way that I could never have predicted, I felt weak, vulnerable, betrayed by my body, and left alone to process this grief.  Anyone who knows me will know how much I HATED feeling this way. 

I had never felt anything like this before and I was clueless as to how to proceed.  I was already doing what I thought I should be doing, all of the "church" answers:  read & study the scriptures – check, go to the temple regularly – check, pray mightily – double and triple check.  It’s a different prayer when you start “Father in Heaven” or “Heavenly Father”, and instead begin with “My God, My God, why hast though forsaken me” or, as my good friend told me, “Dad!  Help me!”  So, what now?  

First of all, in desperation, I realized I couldn’t be an independent hermit anymore. I found I had to reach out to someone, anyone.  In tears, I reached out to some of my friends that I had pushed away, and one that had pushed me away.  By reaching out, I realized two things: 1) that one good friend that felt pushed away, and was just waiting for me to reach out to her again; she has become one of the main sources of my strength and support. And 2) that another one of my good friends was in the same pit of despair as I was; I just couldn’t see or feel her because of the darkness.  We have been traveling through this journey together ever since, drawing strength from one another, “bearing each other’s burden” sometimes on a daily basis.  I also found a great new friend that said she had been wanting to reach out to me for the last few years, but wasn't sure how to go about it.  By sharing my pain, I also have been able to start reconnecting with my sister.  She and I were both very surprised to find that even though circumstances are very different for each of us, the similarities we have found have been striking.  I'm not sure we could have started the process of finding each other again if we didn't share such a painful bond.  Also, one day at work, my lack of food and sleep had caught up to me at last.  I realized if I didn't get home very soon, I was going to pass out.  One look at my supervisor told her all she needed to know, and I raced home as quickly as I could.  Luckily, I work right by my home, so I made it home just in time.  Thank goodness I didn't pass out on the sidewalk. ;)  Once I returned to work the next day, my supervisor, and friend, and another friend asked what was going on.  I finally broke down and told them what I was experiencing.  My friend told me that she experienced the same thing after her father died:  numb for a year, a crash, then overwhelming grief.  It was such a relief to hear that others had gone through a similar pattern of grief.

As I have shared my experience with these few close friends, and on a limited basis, in a Relief Society lesson, what I have discovered is that we all struggle.  We all suffer, in our own way.  Many people have come to me to tell me that they too have experienced, not my same story, but the same feelings that I have.  I have been able to relate, in a way I would never have been able to before, to feelings of intense, shocking loneliness (even in a crowd of people, or with my beautiful family), grief and loss, jealousy, to having an acute hit on my faith that I thought was rock solid. It seems that each of us have had our faith attacked at our very core, in a place none of us knew existed.  I got to experience a tiny, tiny taste of the unifying phrase, “I know what you are feeling” and “I’ve felt that exact same way myself.”  

I found myself trying to figure out what to "DO" to make these feelings go away.  I felt like I was in the middle of a "PBS Sherlock" episode.  All I needed to do was figure out what I needed to learn, or do, or understand, and the pain would go away.  End of episode, return to strength.  Hooray!  Test completed.  Much to my great dismay, other than making some changes, time seems to be the only answer to the frightening, frustrating, puzzle.

So, what has helped?  A consistent emotional connection to and from my friends, exercise - biking seems to be especially helpful, Dave's ever-willing supportive and understanding ear, and his uncanny ability to put into words what I am feeling, a slew of Ensign articles - past conference edition and monthly editions, and constant prayer.  I can say that I know I couldn’t have gotten through the most difficult times without the help of the Lord.  There were days when I would pray fervently that I could not get through THIS day without His help.  Each time, there would be just enough of the feeling of the spirit to help remind me that He was there.  He wasn’t going to take it away from me, because even though I have begged and begged, I’m guessing He knows that it is important for me to figure this out, mostly on my own.

How am I doing?  Thank you for asking. ;) I still mourn the loss of the relationships that have been damaged.  I still miss my mother (even though sometimes she drove me crazy and I probably did the same to her, let's be honest).  However, I think I'm finally improving.  I haven't had a soul-wrenching cry for almost a whole week.  Success.  Although I have had times where I have been good for days and days before regressing and have a really, really bad day.  Two steps forward, one, two, or three steps back.  A week is good, and I feel optimistic about the near future.  That doesn't mean I'm out of the woods.  That means the low-level gut ache is bearable.  I'm learning how to push through the pain.  I can even forget about it at times.  I have faith that when (and I do believe it is "when") I climb fully out of this pit and back up on solid ground, I will be stronger, wiser, more compassionate, kinder, more understanding, and ultimately more Christlike than I was before I fell off the cliff.  The hard part is, when I'm running a marathon, I always know when it will end: 26.2.  I know if I can just get there, 26.2 means release -- emotionally, physically, mentally, spiritually.  This particular marathon has an end, I believe it does, but I don't know where it is, and I don't know which mile I'm currently running.  Here's hoping I just passed the 24th mile marker, and it's all downhill from here.  I just keep envisioning the finish line and hoping it will end like all of my marathons end, with me in the arms of a good, loving friend, weeping in relief.

I do have faith, I do believe.

Six and Sixteen

The reasons why I love the fact that Casey just turned 16 instead of 6, even though I LOVED Casey at 6:

1)  When she was six and we went swimming, I held her hand in the kiddie area as she tentatively splashed, while I was seriously freezing unless the sun was strong enough to warm my back.  Secretly, I was wishing I could go lie in the sun and read my book, 'cause I'm just that kind of great mom. ;)

Now that she is sixteen, either she and I swim laps together (well, next to each other, since she easily smokes me at every stroke), or she drives herself to the rec center and swims laps while I am busy elsewhere.

2)  When she was six, we took her to lunch at McDonald's and ate Happy Meals while she played in the balls, and went down the slides being careful to avoid the throw-up on the big one.

Now that she is sixteen, we went to lunch at India House, ate some wicked Indian food, and talked philosophy:  do things happen for a reason, or do we find reason in things that happen?

3)  When she was six, we had a "freaking fun party ", according to one party attendee.  It was a wonderful, but exhausting party with neighborhood friends, as we spent the entire time desperately trying to keep the kids interested and active until we could load them up with sugar in the form of a Barbie cake.

Now that she is sixteen, she chose to go to Lagoon with her friends, and as for any family party, she just asked Dave and I to take her to see The Dark Knight Rises, complete with popcorn and soda for dinner.

4) When she was six, we got to watch the amazing process of a child learning to read, of putting sounds together and watching them magically turn into words.  She hated homework and needed lots of creative incentives to get it done.  She also loved math the most!

Now that she is sixteen, we have a rule (well, we used to, we haven't enforced it for years) that she can't read until her homework is done, because she inhales three or four novels a week.  She even read "Deerslayer" by James Fenimore Cooper for FUN.  She still doesn't like homework, but is extremely dedicated to getting it done. . . ahead of the due date.  And, even though she is taking Calculus this year, it is NOT her favorite subject.

5)  When she was six, she loved to write, and she was very descriptive in her writing.  We even used to play "the simile game".  I would start a simile, i.e. "The snow is shining on the sidewalk like. . ." and she would finish it with, ". . . a thousand stars."  It was one of her favorite games - and mine.

Now that she is sixteen, Casey still loves to write, and hopes to be a writer and/or an editor when she grows up.  She has written dozens of poems, and many stories. On Goodreads, a few authors have even requested for her to be their "friend" because she is so well-read in their genre.

This poem is one of the dozens Casey has written. It was published in her school's writing magazine last year.

Frozen
Talk,
Wrenching out.
Words unwanted
Hidden,
Brought to light.
Tears,
Falling, shattering
Ice Drops.
Twice the sound,
Enhanced
The effect.
Warm;
One step,
Cold,
To the bone.
Ice through throat,
Snow over eyes.
Freezing slowly
Hope's warmth;
Iced
Deep within.

Casey is a deep thinker who asks deep, intelligent questions for which I only sometimes have the answers.  She often reads the scriptures in a new and different way that challenges me to look again.  It has been so fun having our relationship morph from mother/young daughter, to more of an adult relationship.

I loved my little Casey when she was six, but it is truly a joy to be her mother at sixteen.

Original Dreams

After my last post, Dave and I were having a delicious discussion about dreams (over delicious Indian food - I so like Indian food).  We talked about how dreams change, are sometimes set aside for a time or for good, or are realized.  We discussed how some dreams are so long in being realized that we lose focus of our original dream.  I thought I would talk about some of my original dreams, whether or not they have been realized as of yet, whether or not they have changed.

Original Dream #1:  Be a professional singer:  Unrealized.  Ever since I was a little girl, I have sung, and sung, and sung, and sung.  My brothers used to beg me - no seriously, beg me - to stop singing.  I might have mentioned before that we had a rule that there was no singing at the dinner table.  That rule never made sense to me until I had my middle daughter. Now we have the same rule.  I kept singing, got a scholarship in vocal music and headed off to college.  It had been my thing since I was a toddler, so I just followed the path of least resistance.  I started off as a vocal performance major.  I was going to perform for a living!  Then, three things happened.  1) In order to be a performance major in the music department at my university, I would have to focus on classical singing, opera.  Hmmm.  I realized I didn't have the passion for that at all.  2)  I started thinking about the life I would have to live as a performer.  I would be working when everyone else was off.  I would have to work late into the night.  I would probably have to travel a lot to find the gigs, and that's IF I had gigs.  It didn't seem like a good life for a mom, see Original Dream #3.  3)  After hearing us sing, my choir professor placed us in his choir where he wanted us to stand.  Later, when I was taking a methods class from him and he was explaining how to situate a choir, I found out that he had placed me in the second worst place in the soprano section.  He didn't like my voice at all.  I found I couldn't get any solos.  I was soundly rejected from his advanced choir.  O-U-C-H.  Even though I had other professors later who were much more complimentary, that first professor certainly had an affect on how I felt about my voice.  My dream was reevaluated, and changed.  I changed my major to music education, and discovered a love of teaching instead. I learned that teaching is in my bones.  Now I still sing, twenty years post college, but never professionally - yet.

Original Dream #2:  Get married and stay married.  Realized (so far).  I met Dave in college when we were both in the same choir, me for my major, him, for fun.  After knowing each other for about a year and a half, we decided to take the plunge.  Making such a big decision so young, with so little information about each other, and so little life experience still makes me shake my head in wonder.  I really lucked out.  Dave is most certainly not perfect, but then neither am I.  However, he seems to be the perfect match for me in almost every category.  Happily every after, right?  Nope, not even close.  Although we are both (I guess you will just have to ask him) very happy with our choices, there have been periods of time when we took each other for granted, were very distant from each other, didn't understand each other, or didn't even like each other.  There was even a stretch when we went through some major marriage turmoil.  We had to reevaluate Original Dream #2.  We had to ask some serious questions, some of which were, "Do we still agree with our original dream?  Do we need some renegotiation on our contract or do we need to break it altogether?"  We were and we weren't the same people we married.  We had grown, changed, evolved.  We had to decide if we wanted to do some work to find each other again.  Luckily for me, Dave has always been a hard worker.  In the process, we learned so much about each other, the bad and the good, the frustrating and the amazing, the ugly and the beautiful.  We continue to learn, and we continue to work.  But, so far, we both love Original Dream #2.

Original Dream #3:  Be a mom, and a stay-home-mom at that.  Realized.  I was a horrible babysitter growing up.  I was actually a little nervous to become a mom because I worried I wouldn't really like my kids.  But I knew that if I became a mom, I wanted to be a stay-home-mom.  It didn't matter to me what other moms chose, but for me it was very important.  Dave and I discussed it before we even talked about finalizing our engagement.  For both of us it was a potential deal breaker.  Luckily, it was just as important to Dave as it was to me.  It took us four years to have our first child.  Some of that time was intentional, and some was not.  Maybe that time was good for me to truly be very excited to welcome a baby into our family.  I was teaching choir in a junior high school at the time, so I quit when my first daughter arrived. I was so relieved to discover that I LOVE children.  If I am in a crowded room, I find I'm drawn to the children first.  Phew!  I found I loved being a stay-home-mom -- mostly.  I found that I was bored and overwhelmed at the same time.  While I was pregnant with our second daughter, a neighbor begged me to start teaching piano lessons.  I was extremely reluctant to say the least, but with enough prodding, I started to teach.  I found it was a wonderful thing for me.  I was still home with my kids so if they needed me I could be there in a flash, and I limited it to no more than three students a day.  But, for that 60 - 90 minutes a day, I could focus on something that filled me; music.  And the kids found they had to learn to entertain themselves without relying on me!!  Sigh.  Also, I was earning a little extra money that we used to save for things for the house, for vacations, or just for fun.  In addition, the kids were surrounded by music almost every day.  I taught for 13 years, and just recently stopped teaching so I could carpool to various activities in the afternoons.

When my youngest daughter (my third) entered school, I very much wanted to work, just a little.  I needed meaningful work, and I found I didn't have the interest in doing projects at home.  So, I bugged our principal enough that he gave me a job:  math rotation teacher.  Awesome!  Three part days a week one year turned into three full days the next year, which turned into every day, part time, teaching reading intervention, which I am still doing three years later.  My schedule is ideal!  I walk to school/work with my youngest daughter, work for half a day, then come home so I can still fulfill my responsibilities at home, meet friends for lunch, or have some time to myself for me.  However, since I am rather driven, insert eye roll here, I find myself anxious to pursue the next step for me.  What that is, I'm not sure.  Pursue a teaching position in music again?  Continue down the path of reading intervention which will require another degree?  Either choice, right now, threatens Original Dream #3.  My oldest two had a very focused stay-at-home mom.  My youngest still has two more years in elementary school, and my schedule right now is perfect!  Dave and I had to reevaluate OD #3.  Is that still my dream?  Is it time to change it?  Is Sage old enough to not need me as much?  For me (and every woman has the right to make their own choice here, right?) I still want OD#3.  I want Sage to have a mom that is not stressed out by the responsibilities of my own choir classroom, or pursuing an additional degree right now.  So that means I wait.  To quote Inigo Montoya from The Princess Bride, "I hate waiting!"  It is one of my huge faults.  And yet, OD#3 is just as important to me for my third daughter as it was for my first.  Resolute sigh.  In the meantime, I will continue to work on my talents on my own to prepare for "NEXT!"

Original Dream #4:  Travel.  Realized, but I'm not done yet. I have been to 20 different countries, and hope to add to that list.  I have always dreamed of traveling, and that has never gone away.  I hate airports, but I look longingly at planes as they take off close to  my home and can't help but wish I was on them, going who knows where, visiting who knows what.  I inherited it from my grandmother who loved to visit new places.  Always somewhere new to visit, new things to experience, new foods to try, new people to meet.

Original Dream #5:  I don't know yet.  I'm still dreaming. . .  I'll let you know.

Book Review: Dare Dream Do part 2

In my other post, I talked about my first impressions on the first half of the book.  Here are my second (?) impressions on the final half ;) . Since I started with what I liked, and finished with what I didn't like, I will reverse my order this time so I can finish with what I like.  There is a lot that I like in the last half, and in the book as a whole.

I still have one observation that is the same.  At first I thought I was unfairly noticing the number of times the author introduces someone with their titles and degrees that don't seem to go with the stories they are about to share.  Then, from pages 148-172, I noticed four examples, one after the other, of someone being introduced to the reader with their titles and degrees that had nothing at all to do with their stories.  For example, Emily Nielson tells us about the difficulties she experienced with her miscarriage, but not before we are told about her degree in music and from which university she earned said degree.  I find that strange.  What does her music degree have to do with struggling with a miscarriage?  This is just one example, but it happens repeatedly throughout the book.  When I introduce my friend Jodi, I don't introduce her as, "This is Jodi Nichols, who earned a master's degree in accounting from Brigham Young University, is a CPA, worked for Arthur Andersen for many years, was Miss Junior Miss 1988, and is now the amazing mother of three living in Bountiful, Utah. Oh, and she speaks Russian.  Now she will tell us her story about how to be 100% service-oriented."  Who does that?  It makes sense to introduce her credentials if what she is about to say has to do with her expertise, but if she is talking about something that is completely off subject, I shouldn't need to be apprised as to her level of educational achievement to give credence to what she has to say.  Perhaps it is important to the author that we know that the women's stories she has included are from educated women.

Secondly, I still argue that the author slightly looks down upon women who are happy being stay-at-home moms.  She does say on pg. 227, "The tone of this book notwithstanding, one of the biggest dares a women  can take is to become a stay-at-home mom."  So, she agrees that it is a big dare (for the author, that is a good thing) to be a stay-at-home mom, but she even prefaces it by acknowledging that the tone of the book is that we need to want something more.  The author does introduce a handful of women whose dream was being a stay-at-home mom, but the vast majority of the stories are about women who wanted, and achieved "so much more".  I do agree, very strongly, however, that as mothers and wives, often we are so wrapped up in the obligations and responsibilities of taking care of everyone else, that we lose the part of us that makes us women in addition to being wives and/or mothers.  It is important not only to us, but to our spouses and children, to see us as women who have interests and talents, to see us as strong, capable, competent women.  
I also very much like the idea of always pushing ourselves to learn and to grow, to try new things, and be willing to fail.  I like the idea of "dating a dream" and not feeling pressured to marry said dream.  It has been good for me to think about things that I enjoy and wondering if I have ignored things I like to do.  I will repeat what I said in my earlier post, it's important to not ride the coattails of our spouses, or our children for that matter, to live through their achievements.  I would hope that we would work toward being strong, independent women who have our own goals that we are working toward.  I remembered that I like to cook.  I tell everyone that I hate cooking, and I only like baking (cookies, cakes, anything with enough sugar to make me happy).  However, I really DO like cooking.  I especially like making new things for dinner.  I love watching cooking shows!  I love America's Test Kitchen, or Rachael Ray (at least when she is cooking!).  I am a sucker for cookbooks, especially ones with beautiful pictures of what I am trying to make.  My biggest obstacle is appeasing my picky children.  It is frustrating to put so much time and energy into dinner only to be told "This is gross, Mom."  It had killed the love of cooking, but because of this book, I am going to try again, and again, and again, because I do love the process of taking a recipe and realizing it as a finished product.  I like deciding how much more hot sauce I would add to make it taste better.

I thought about other things I love:  music, teaching, traveling, photography, art, dance, eating good food, movies, . . .the list goes on.  Some of the things on my list I have been doing all my life: singing, playing the piano.  Some are things I have done quite a bit of, and hope to do much much more of in the future:  traveling, and teaching.  Some are things I am interested in learning how to do myself:  dance, photography, cooking good food.  And some are talents I love to appreciate in others:  art, dance, photography, music.  The author suggests "ink[ing]" our dreams so we know what our focus is.  Here is my list:

1) travel more with Dave - Costa Rica, Chicago, or New York (I prefer all three!  Hoping for at least 2 of the three next year)
2) record my second cd
3) remembering that my children are my focus when I feel so impatient to move on with my next teaching position.  Sage only has two years left in elementary school where I currently teach.  I can never reclaim these two years if I am too busy to be there for her.  Not to mention my older two girls who are still in high school.

Dreaming is a beautiful luxury.  Just like I posted in my earlier post, not everyone has the luxury of pursuing dreams.  If we can afford to dream, we should.  Every dream has a cost in money, time, effort.  As long you (or you and your spouse, or you, your spouse, and your children) fully recognize the costs you will be paying, and risks you will be taking together, it can be a beautiful ride realizing our dreams.  We should think about what we love and how to express those interests in the most amazing way possible.  Not pursuing dreams also has a cost, in resentment.  If we can't afford to dream, however, day-dreaming is free, as long as we don't get lost in our day-dreams.  Living your dream can also be finding joy and happiness in our real lives now!