My Sister... My Friend

Today is my big sister's birthday (Happy Birthday, Carin!), but we live in different time zones, and it's sometimes nearly impossible to get in touch with each other.  Today was, apparently, one of those days.  I had to be content with leaving birthday messages on her facebook page and voicemail and hoping that she knows how much I love her.

It's kind of ironic...  Carin and I were the bitterest of enemies when we were kids.  We took sibling rivalry to monumental extremes, and I don't think either one of us believed our parents when they told us we'd be best friends one day.  In fact, the only time we ever really cooperated with each other for any extended period of time was when we were "pulling one over" on dear old mom and dad. 

Our parents used to punish us for fighting by sitting us side-by-side on the couch with strict instructions that we weren't allowed to speak to one another.  Then, they would leave the room.  Of course, we would immediately show dear old mom and dad that they couldn't make us do anything we didn't want to do.  We didn't have to do what they told us to do!!!  So, just to spite our mean, horrible old parents, we would start talking to each other.  Just in whispers, mind you.  We knew we'd be in bigger trouble if Mom and Dad ever found out we were "openly" defying them like this. 

But the point is, we WERE defying them - even if they didn't know it.  Before long, we were laughing and giggling about how sneaky we were, and how clueless our parents were.  Because THEY NEVER FIGURED IT OUT! Every single time we got in trouble for fighting, the punishment was the same.  Every single time, they put us together on the couch and made us sit silently together. And Every Single Time they left the room and forgot to pay attention to whether or not we were following the punishment they were trying to give us. 

It was really easy to fool Mom and Dad, because they always got busy doing other things in another part of the house, so they were always gone for a really long time (at least 10 minutes!), and they always announced "I'm coming back in there, and you'd better be sitting quietly like I told you to!" before coming back to check on us.  So we could easily stop talking and pretend we had been quiet the whole time.  We even managed to disguise our giggles and laughter with scowls and frowns, so that our clueless parents never knew we'd tricked them!

These days, Carin and I don't worry about that old, silly sibling rivalry.  These days, she's one of my best friends.  We learned to love each other in spite of our clueless parents' attempts to teach us "valuable lessons."  And now, I look forward to spending time with my big sister, because I know we don't need to compete for anything. 

Besides, I know I'm really Mom and Dad's favorite child (it's obvious - whenever they want to see me, they spend hundreds of dollars on plane tickets to fly out to see me, and they stay at my house for weeks at a time... they never even spend the night at Carin's house!), but I almost never point out how much they love me more.  I even let my big sister believe that she's the favorite, just because they come over to her house for Sunday dinner almost every week... 

Book Review: THE TRUTH ABOUT TRUMAN SCHOOL

I recently read an amazing book: THE TRUTH ABOUT TRUMAN SCHOOL, by Dori Hillestad Butler (2008). 

                Zebby and Amr want to write important articles for the school newspaper—articles about curriculum and student council elections and bullying.  When Mrs. Johnstone, the newspaper’s faculty advisor, refuses to approve any articles except “rah, rah, isn’t our school great?” pieces, Zebby and Amr decide to create their own web-based newspaper: truthabouttruman.com, where anyone can post articles and photos.  When someone starts using the site to bully a classmate, Zebby and Amr don’t know what to do.  They aren’t comfortable with the mean-spirited postings, but they aren’t sure if they should remove them from the site.  After all, their rules state that anyone can post to the site, as long as they’re telling the truth as they see it.  Before long, the true articles Zebby and Amr wanted to write are forgotten as truthabouttruman.com becomes a social hub for gossip, blurring the lines between truth and fiction, and the two friends must find a way to stop it before it’s too late. 

Weaving together the stories of everyone involved, Butler explores the truth about bullying, both online and in person and its devastating consequences.  Whether they’ve experienced the trauma of dealing with a bully, bullied someone themselves or simply stood by and watched as a classmate suffered, readers are certain to relate to this story.  It should be required reading for all middle school students, their teachers and parents.

Remembering... 10 Years Later

Everyone has a story, everyone knows where they were and what they were doing when the terrorist attacks occurred on September 11th, 2001.  My story, like those of many Americans, isn't incredibly spectacular.  I wasn't in New York City.  I wasn't even on the East Coast.  And I hesitate to add to the flurry of "what I remember" tales, because mine wasn't one of the "important" stories of that day.  But this morning, as we were driving to church, we saw several people standing alongside the road, holding large American flags.  My youngest daughter asked what they were doing, and we explained that they were there because today is the 10th anniversary of 9/11.

"What's 9/11?" she asked.  And I struggled to sum up the importance of this day we remember so vividly in a few short sentences before her mind wandered to the next topic of interest.  I'm not sure how well I explained it this morning, so I'm going to try it again now:

9/11 was the day, 10 years ago, when our country changed in the wake of a terrible terrorist attack.  It's the day when some terrorists tried to destroy our country, our people and our entire way of life by filling our hearts with fear and paralyzing "what ifs?"

9/11 was also the day, 10 years ago, when we came together as a nation and fought back against the terrorists.  It's the day when people looked terror right in the eye and refused to let it take hold.  It's the day when we opened our doors and windows and got to know our neighbors.  It's the day when we took a look around and counted our blessings, when we held our loved ones close and knelt together in prayer for people we didn't know and would never meet - and we meant every word.  It's the day when we stopped thinking, for a moment, about all the things we didn't have and took the time to appreciate all the things we did.  It's a day when ordinary men and women stepped up to become great heroes. 

9/11 was the day when a group of misguided people thought they could destroy America with a well-coordinated attack.  But they were wrong.  As long as we remember who we are and why we are here...  As long as we never forget that America isn't about buildings and places and politics... As long as we remember that we, the people, make this country strong... As long as we remember to reach out to our friends and neighbors and lean on each other for strength... We can pull through anything.  That's what I learned 10 years ago.

Hershey Park, Hurricanes and Facing our Fears

Two weeks ago, my husband took a day off of work so we could surprise the kids with a trip to Hershey Park for the last official day of summer vacation.  Only 1 of our 4 children had been to Hershey Park (part of a school field trip last May), and our youngest had never been to any kind of amusement park at all, so we were all full of smiles and excitement as we piled out of the car and trekked across the parking lot to the front gate of Hershey Park.
Once inside, we studied the map carefully, trying to decide which ride to hit first.  Emily (the one with Hershey experience) declared that our first stop had to be The Lightning Racer - a double roller coaster, where the 2 trains race each other along side-by-side tracks.  It was her favorite ride when she and I went with her school group in May (when we rode 3 times in a row), and she was certain that everyone else would love it as much as she did.

So we started our trek across the park to the roller coaster.  On the way, however, we saw a ride that Katie just had to try: the Starship America - a ride much like the Dumbo ride at Disneyland, where you sit in a spaceship and it spins around while you use a lever to make your ship go up or down.  Katie, Becky and Ben loved it.  They had so much fun zipping their spaceships up and down.  Emily thought the ride was fine, as long as she could keep her ship riding as low as possible, because raising it up was just too scary to even think about.

Then, Ben insisted that we stop at the Pirate Ship ride - the one where you sit in a "boat" which swings back and forth like a giant pendulum.  Becky and Ben thought it was amazing and so much fun!  Emily and Katie decided that you absolutely couldn't pay them enough money to even go on this ride.  They were scared, even watching us from the ground!

We finally made it to the Lightning Racer.  Katie was nervous, but Emily assured her that this roller coaster wasn't too scary.  We were sure that we'd finally found a ride everyone could enjoy.  We were wrong.  Katie cried through the entire ride, and for about 5 minutes afterward.  She didn't enjoy her first roller coaster experience one bit.  ("That was way too scary!  I hated it!") 

And so it went throughout the day. At almost every stop, someone was afraid and someone else thought the ride was the best one ever.  On the Wild Mouse (a roller coaster that gives the illusion that you're going to zip right over the edge of the track before it whips you around in a sharp 90-degree turn), Emily and Becky teased Daddy when his fear of falling manifested itself.  We simply couldn't find anything that everyone could truly agree on. 

Finally, I suggested that we ride the Ferris Wheel together as a family.  I reasoned that it's a nice, slow ride and we could all sit together in one of the gondolas and look out over the park.  What could possibly be scary about a ride like the Ferris Wheel?  Emily was nervous, because it seemed awfully high, but she agreed to go, and we joined the line.  About halfway through the line, Ben started teasing her about how high it went, and she lost her nerve.  When Daddy agreed to sit out the ride with her, Katie got out of line too, leaving only Ben, Becky and I to ride the wheel.  Becky and I thought it was great.  We pointed out rides we'd enjoyed, rides we wanted to try, and rides we hadn't even noticed on the map.  We marvelled at the beauty of the setting sun, and we chatted about all the fun we'd had throughout the day.

Ben sat as still as possible, holding onto the support bar in the center of the gondola with a death grip and praying for the ride to end so that he could "get off of this infernal contraption."  When Becky got overly excited and started bouncing around in her seat, causing the gondola to shake a bit, he pointed out that we were suspended high up in the air connected to the wheel by only the center support bar, and we weren't even wearing seatbelts!  When the ride ended, he literally bent down and kissed the ground, then declared that he would never ride another Ferris Wheel as long as he lived.  I laughed and teased and told him it was kharma ("I guess you shouldn't have teased Emily about her fear of heights!") until Daddy pointed out that Ben wasn't playing around.  "He's really scared, honey. You need to stop talking about it."

Only Becky wasn't scared.  She gleefully rode each ride, never sitting one out, and never losing her smile.  By the end of the day, we were all calling her "Fearless." 

But no one is truly fearless.  The next day, when Hurricane Irene came sweeping through our little corner of the world, my little "fearless" Becky cried for hours at the sound of the strong winds whipping through the trees.  And I had to remind myself not to laugh at the absurdity of her fear, as we sat, tucked in, all warm and cozy in our house, listening to gusts of wind that never got higher than the winds I grew up falling asleep to in wonderful, windy Wyoming.

Fear doesn't make sense.  It's silly and illogical, and more often than not, we can't pinpoint a definite reason for our fears.  Yet everyone has something they're afraid of.  We've all heard about the importance of facing our fears.  We know that we can't live our lives in terror, that sometimes we have to take a deep breath and do something we don't want to do.  So when we notice that someone we love is afraid of something truly silly ("how can you possibly be afraid of insert-name-of-your-biggest-fear-here???"), we want to help.  We point out that airplanes are statistically safer than cars.  We reassure each other that the bridge over the bay is highly unlikely to collapse while we're driving across it.  We drag each other to events designed to make us "face our fears." 

We all know that, if only our friend, sister, father, or neighbor-next-door truly understood, they wouldn't be afraid of the silly things they're afraid of, so we laugh and poke fun and make jokes to show our loved ones how truly ridiculous their crazy phobias are.  Perhaps, instead, we need to remember my husband's wise counsel.  "He's really scared, honey.  You need to stop talking about it."  Remember, you're afraid of something too, and I might think your fear is just as silly as you think mine is. 

Personally, I'm terrified of snakes.  I worry that they're having little snake conventions where they plot and scheme and make plans to attack me as soon as I let my guard down.  I don't read books about reptiles, I don't watch Discovery Channel specials, and when we go to the zoo, I wait patiently outside the reptile house while the rest of the family goes in to look.  My kids have learned not to even mention "the s-word" in my presence.  My phobia doesn't make sense to them, but they love me enough not to make fun of me for it (too much).  They know that "There is no ^afear in ^blove; but perfect ^clove casteth out fear: because fear hath ^dtorment." (1 John 4:18)  Maybe that's something we all need to remember.

Being Prepared

It's been quite an interesting couple of weeks here on the East Coast.  First, we had an earthquake, which by West Coast standards, wasn't a big deal - just a "little" 5.9 quake.  But as my California-born-and-raised mother pointed out, people don't grow up preparing themselves for earthquakes on the East Coast.  Buildings aren't constructed with large-scale earthquakes in mind, so property damage is worse in "little" quakes back east than it is in the west, and with 100 years or so between shake-ups, people here have never gotten into the habit of expecting regular quakes.  So when this one hit, damage was done, people were scared, and it made big news.

Then, coming right in on the heels of the earthquake, we had Hurricane Irene barrelling up the East Coast, leaving all kinds of destruction in her wake.  The damage wasn't as bad as we expected in my little corner of the world (we didn't even lose any tree branches in our yard, but our next-door neighbor's giant pine tree toppled over, pulling up the roots and all), but lots of people weren't as lucky as me.

Unlike the earthquake, we all saw the hurricane coming.  We had time to prepare as best we could.  All the hardware stores sold out of generators and back-up batteries for sump pumps, some grocery store shelves emptied rapidly, and everyone checked to make sure they knew where the fresh batteries were for the flashlights.  We also had plenty of time to play the "what if?" game.  "What if we lose power and it's gone for days?"  "What if that big tree in the back yard comes down in the storm?"  "What if the roof blows off my house?"  "What if my basement floods?"  "What if my patio furniture blows away?"  "What if we have a medical emergency during the storm and no one can get to us in time?"  "What if??"

In a way, this game of "what if?" is a good thing, as long as we do something about preparing for those worst-case scenarios.  A little bit of preparation goes a long way toward eliminating fear.  I talked to several friends in the days leading up to the hurricane, and in many cases the story was the same: "We've pulled everything that could blow away inside, we've stocked up on flashlights and fresh batteries, we filled our freezer with bags of ice in case we lose power.  We're ready for whatever comes." 

I saw people on facebook and twitter sharing tips and reminders with each other on how to prepare themselves for the storm, getting ready to step in and help each other if the need arose.  And although many of us were nervous, there wasn't an all-out panic as we prepared for the impending storm.

We were prepared, and some of us were extremely lucky.  We didn't have as much damage as we could have.  (If my neighbor's tree had fallen in a different direction, for instance, it could have come right through my bedroom window, instead of simply filling the empty driveway between our houses, but as it was, we had no damage to speak of.)  Others weren't so lucky.  My daughter's best friend's family was without power for 5 days, and they lost everything in their fridge and freezer, probably hundreds of dollars worth of food.  My friend's sister, who just spent thousands of dollars on a sump pump that was supposed to keep running even if the power failed, discovered that it didn't work at all and had to spend an entire weekend frantically bailing water by hand.  Down the street from my gym, I passed a house where a giant tree had fallen across the driveway, smashing a fairly-new-looking car.  A friend told me about another friend of hers who experienced flooding so badly that her entire house had slid off the foundation.  She lost everything.

Still, as this same friend pointed out, even those who lost a lot in the hurricane and its aftermath didn't lose as much as it might appear.  Her friend that lost her house and all her possessions?  Didn't lose her family.  They escaped the flood by riding it out in the treehouse her husband had built for their children until rescue crews arrived to help them.  No one was injured.  And that was so much more important than the stuff they lost.  My daughter's best friend's mother, when she realized that they were going to lose all the food from their freezer, fired up the grill and invited all the neighbors over for a massive barbeque.  Yes, they lost their food storage, but they gained a closeness with their neighborhood that they didn't have before.  So it wasn't the tragedy it could have been. 

The damage from Hurricane Irene was extensive, and we're still working to put things right again.  It will probably be a long while before things are back to "normal" again.  As I've sat here typing this, our power has flickered on and off several times, and I expect to see it happen again and again as the power company frantically works to restore electricity to everyone still without it.  Some roads are still closed as they work to remove fallen trees and other debris.  13 schools in our district didn't open last week as planned, because they still have no power in the buildings... 

We have a ways to go before we get back to pre-hurricane status.  But we were prepared.  We knew this one was coming, so we took steps to get ready for the rebuilding before the damage even happened.  The Lord said that "if ye are prepared, ye shall not fear," and He's right. 

Shake, Rattle and Roll

We had an earthquake today, here on the East Coast.  Apparently, it was a pretty big one (in area covered, not necessarily strength), because my friends, family and acquaintances from New York to North Carolina all tweeted and posted facebook status updates about it.  And our house got in some really good shaking time before the quake fizzled out.  When they realized it was an earthquake, my kids came running upstairs to find me, terror in their eyes.  "Mom, is this an earthquake?"

I smiled and reassured them, "I think it was, but nothing is broken and it seems to have stopped.  I think everything is fine."

Immediately, the fear dissapated, and they started talking excitedly, remembering the little earthquakes we'd experienced when we lived in California.  "I didn't even know they had earthquakes here, though!"  After a few more minutes of chatter (and running outside to ask the neighbors if they felt the quake too), the kids were off to the basement to continue their games, leaving me to contemplate everything that had just happened...

My children were terrified when the earthquake hit.  All kinds of "what if?" questions rattled around in their brains, and they worried that the house might fall down or even worse... Yet when I told them that everything would be fine, they trusted me enough to accept my assurances, and they let those fears and worries go immediately.  I need to learn from their example.

More often than I'd like to admit, I find myself playing the "what if?" game.  I worry and fret and fuss about what the future might hold.  What if my husband loses his job?  What if my friends decide I'm no fun and leave me behind?  What if I get sick and have to ask for help?  What if? What if? What if? 

When I find myself wrapped in terror and the What If's are crashing down around me, I turn to my Heavenly Father through scripture study and prayer.  He always answers me: "Be still, my child.  I know what I'm doing.  It will be alright."  He whispers peace to my soul, calming and comforting me the way I did for my children this afternoon. 

Yet, how often do I trust His assurances?  I'm afraid that, far too often, I rise from my knees after a heartfelt prayer and shake off the comfort of the Holy Spirit as I worry and fret and wonder, "How could it possibly be okay?"  Instead of trusting that my Father in Heaven truly does know what he's doing, I try to figure it out for myself, focusing instead on what makes sense to me.  I need to learn a lesson from my children: When my Father says everything will be okay, I need to remember that He doesn't lie.  If He says we're okay, then we are.  Even if I don't yet understand how it all works!

Things That Break a Mother's Heart

Last night, I took my son to a youth activity for church (pool party for the young men and young women, aged 12-18).  He doesn't have many friends in this group, and his very best friend is moving overseas in a couple of weeks, so I worry about him sometimes.  Especially since there is one group of boys (most of the 14-year-olds) within this larger youth group who have had issues with my son since he turned 12.  They've given him unfavorable "nicknames," made rude comments, mocked him in games and treated him as if he were invisible... everything they can get away with and still be subtle enough that the leaders don't catch on to the bullying.

When we arrived at the pool party, my son walked into the back yard, where these 14-year-old boys were all congregated around the trampoline.  As he approached, all but one of them turned their backs and walked away.  The one who stayed was D (no names - I'm not here to call the boys to a public accounting for their behavior), one of my son's only good friends in the youth group.

"D!" my son called, walking over to give his pal a high five.  D stepped back, avoiding my son's outstretched hand, and stood for a moment, looking back and forth between my son and the Other Boys.  He mumbled something that I couldn't hear (I was watching this all from a distance), and my son put his hand down.  "I understand," he said.  Then he turned to D's younger brother, who turned 12 last week, and who was standing alone and uncertain in the middle of the yard.  "Come on, let's go swim!"

As they walked away, D called after him, "it's nothing personal!  I just have to distance myself from the younger boys for a while!" 

My son's smile never faltered, and he didn't miss a beat as he quick-stepped to the pool and immediately jumped into a rowdy game of pool tag with D's younger brother.  Anyone watching could tell that D's aloofness didn't bother him a bit. - Except, I noticed that he didn't bother greeting any of the other youth he saw on his way to the pool either.  Anyone who REALLY knows my son could tell you that it hurt a lot more than he was willing to admit.

My Amazing, Supportive Children

This week, I decided I was really going to follow the advice Liz Szabla (editor at Feiwel and Friends) gave me at a recent SCBWI event.  When I told her about my fear of burning bridges by submitting my work before it was fully ready, she said "You could keep revising and critiquing the same manuscript for 20 years without ever finding the courage to send it out on submission.  You need to just start sending it out.  You're ready."  I came home from that conference all fired up and excited to really get started with my writing career... and then I talked myself out of it and thought I'd better do a few more rounds of revisions first.

But this week, I was determined to take the leap.  Until I woke up Monday morning, and started to second-guess myself again.

Luckily, I got the kick in the pants I probably needed.  I logged onto twitter for a few minutes before starting my "real" work for the day, and I noticed that one of the agents on the top of my "to query" list had just tweeted "I'm hoping for lots of prom and kissing in my slush pile today."  Prom??? Kissing??? Wait a minute!  That sounds like my manuscript!!  I pushed my household chores "to do" list to the bottom of my daily priorities and sat down to write my query letter for this agent.

I couldn't concentrate on it, though.  My kids were bored, whiny, tired and fighting with each other (end-of-summer-itis has hit our household hard!) - and they interrupted me every 5 minutes with another tattle-fest.  I sat in my writing corner, getting more and more frustrated with myself, my children and my attempts to write the letter.  "Don't my kids realize that I'm doing something important here?  I don't have time for their whining today!!"

Then, I realized... I don't have time for my kids?  Wow!  My priorities had gone seriously out-of-whack!!  I closed my computer, put away my writing pencils and notebooks, and walked downstairs to spend some time with my children.  We wound up all piled together on my king-sized bed while I explained to them that they really are more important to me than anything else.  "I want to be a writer.  I want to get my book published.  But there will be time for that later.  Let's spend the last 2 weeks before school starts doing some fun things together, and I can pick this up again then."

Immediately, all 4 kids told me not to stop writing.  "You need to send your book to that agent today, Mom!  It's exactly what she's looking for, and the world needs good books like yours."

I smiled and hugged them tighter.  I didn't want them to think I was simply trying to send them on a guilt trip.  "Don't worry.  I'm not giving up.  I'm going to keep working on my writing, but I'll do it when it doesn't take away from time with you."  To illustrate my point, I asked them "Years from now, when you're all grown up with children and grandchildren of your own, when I'm dead and gone and you're remembering your childhood, what will be more important to you?  That I worked on getting my book published or that I spent time with you and let you know that you're more important to me than anything else?"

It was an easy question.  There could only be one answer.  (You all know the saying that no one, on their death bed says "I wish I'd spent more time at work!)  Not surprisingly, when I put the question to them this way, my children didn't have to think at all before answering.  They all knew the answer to that question immediately.  But it certainly wasn't the answer I expected.  "It's more important to publish your book!" 

All 4 of them - even the youngest - assured me that my writing should take priority.  Speaking together, as a team, they patiently explained that I do so much for them every day... They know I love them, because I show it in all the little things I do for them... "Mom, you deserve a break to work on something that you really love.  You need to get your book published."  Then, they all gave me hugs, told me to go back to my writing corner and went to make lunch for us all.  They spent the rest of the day carefully working out their problems and trying to work together as a team so that I wouldn't have to stop writing. 

Wow!!  What inspiring children!!!

The Simple Faith of a Child

This weekend, we had the amazing opportunity (as we do every 6 months) to listen to the General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Instead of attending regular church worship services, we gathered in our family room to watch a broadcast from Church headquarters in Salt Lake City. We listened to our Prophet and President of the Church, Thomas S. Monson, and other Apostles and General Authorities as they offered counsel and direction to the Church membership and the world.

My youngest daughter, Katie, was especially thrilled by this opportunity, as she got to celebrate her 7th birthday with the Prophet, learning the teachings of Jesus Christ. Let me just say that I am extremely impressed with all of my children. I remember, when I was a child, that I would get antsy and I often had trouble sitting still and paying attention through the long sessions of General Conference. Four 2-hour sessions (two on Saturday and two on Sunday) were just too much for my tiny attention span. As a result, my parents only required me to watch one session with them (Sunday morning) - and the rest of the sessions were optional. I was probably 10 or 11 before I opted to watch more than one session of the Conference, and it wasn't until I went off to college that I ever sat through all four general sessions!

So the simple fact that my children choose to watch all four sessions of Conference with us every time is absolutely awe-inspiring to me! And though they may get antsy and restless now and again, they truly listen hungrily for the inspired counsel they know they will hear. Yesterday, as we sat watching the 2nd general session of the conference, Katie handed me a letter she had written... to Jesus! In her simple language and using the creative spelling of a 1st grader, she expressed her love for Him and her desire to follow His teachings.

"To: Jesus

from: Katie

I love you Jesus! I rilly want to get Batist. I want to see you. I am waching confrins rite now. I Love the testumownes the uposlse are saying. I just ternd 7 today. I want you to get my toth I lost today and I want to see Hevenly Father agan. The toth fary will give you my toth I lost today. It is my Berth day today and I love my Berthday presins. I Love lerning abot you and going to cherch. Cherch is fun! I hope you get my toth and note. I hope I live with you agan xoxoxoxo

I Love you you Love me I Don't care if Satin temps me and wants ale live with you agan."

For those of you who don't speak 1st grader, here is the translation:

"I love you, Jesus! I really want to get baptized. I want to see you. I am watching Conference right now. I love the testimonies the Apostles are saying. I just turned 7 today. I want you to get my tooth I lost today [she lost it while eating a sandwich during the 1st session of the General Conference] and i want to see Heavenly Father again. The tooth fairy will give you my tooth I lost today. It is my birthday today and I love my birthday presents [presents consisted of homemade jewelry and a small pillow from her sisters - she hadn't yet received anything from Mom & Dad or Grandparents when she wrote the letter]. I love learning about you and going to church. Church is fun! I hope you get my tooth and note. I hope I live with you again. xoxoxoxo

I love you. You love me. I don't care if Satan tempts me and what he wants. I'll live with you again."

Such a simple, straightforward declaration of faith and commitment! Can I honestly say that my faith is as strong as hers? How often do I stop to remember that Jesus really does love me? That he would want to hear about the small, insignificant to the world but significant to me, moments like losing a tooth or celebrating a birthday? Do I keep my focus on the goal - to live with my Father in Heaven and Jesus Christ again? Or do I let myself get sidetracked with Satan's plan for me?

The Savior taught us that, if we want to come unto Him, we need to be as little children. This weekend, I got to see an example of precisely what He meant!

Pouring Concrete

I was so excited, last weekend, to hear Jason Wright talk about the idea of "pouring concrete" when it comes to writing. He said that, more often than not, our beautiful, shiny muses will not be sitting beside us as we write. Sometimes, we just don't feel inspired, we hit a block and we don't have the perfect words for what comes next. Those are the times when we just need to "pour another square of concrete."

Picture your story as a sidewalk. You know where the story starts (the first square of concrete) and you know where it will end (that's the last square), but you have to finish the story by pouring concrete into all of the sections in between! In other words, when you don't feel absolutely inspired, just fill in the blanks to finish that first draft. You can't really fix and polish the story until you have the full story, so don't worry about getting it perfect the first time through. Just put in some work and get it done. You can fix and make it beautiful later!

It was perfect, timely advice for me. I've been working for more than a year on my second book (while still revising and refining my first novel - I know I said it was ready for publication a while ago, but it really did need more tweaking... it's much better now). My first manuscript took less than a month to get through the first draft. I carried it with me everywhere and made time to work on it, even when I wasn't sure what really came next. It was fun, I was excited, so I did it, and I didn't worry about making it perfect as I was writing that first draft. The finished product, as it stands now, bears little resemblance to the first draft - and I couldn't have written this story without first writing all that came before it (including that first, not very good draft). I knew the importance of "pouring concrete," so to speak.

So why is it taking so long to write the first draft of this second novel? Is it just that the story doesn't resonate with me? No. Am I trying to write about something that I know nothing about? No. Is it a story I shouldn't even bother to tell? Absolutely not. If anything, this story (about a young girl whose mother dies) is more personal, more compelling to me, than the first one. And I feel more driven than ever before to tell this particular story.

But I guess I forgot the importance of "pouring concrete." I've been waiting until I could tell the story perfectly in my first draft. Instead of carrying my story notebook with me everywhere I go, I've been waiting for those rare moments of inspiration, telling myself I would write when inspiration hit, and work on other (mostly non-writing) projects in the meanwhile. And I've never felt so empty!

This week, I pulled out my story notebook and my special stash of writing pencils. It's not coming as quickly as that first draft of my first novel, but I'm making progress. And when I'm finished "pouring concrete" and I get to polish the sidewalk, I'm sure I'll find that this path is more beautiful than the first.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a "sidewalk" to construct!

What a Weekend!!

I had the most fabulous time at Jason F. Wright's "Some Day" One Day Writing Workshop on Saturday, and I'm still bubbly and bouncy over the whole experience two days later!

The workshop was absolutely amazing! The other attendees were friendly and fun, and everyone had his or her own voice. We heard some great writing samples throughout the course of the day, centered around a "car accident" we created in the conference room. (Jason had 3 of our group act out a quick 5-minute skit, which we then all wrote about later - to illustrate the way we can each take the same basic information and everyone will give it a different twist.) And Jason offered great insights into the publishing process, from his own experiences in seeking out an agent and a publisher for the first time, and wonderful, helpful hints on the writing process. ("Pouring Concrete" might just get its very own blog entry later!)

Skype calls with Heidi Taylor (Shadow Mountain Publishing), Sarah McLellan (Folio Literary Management) and Matt Birch (Matt Birch Public Relations) were fascinating and informative. They answered questions about the whole publishing process, from "How do you know when you're ready to start submitting your manuscript?" ("When it's as perfect as you can possibly get it.") to "How involved should I be, as the author, in marketing and publicizing my own book?" ("The more involved, the better!")

But the best parts of the day were things that only matter to me. Little, fairly insignificant things that no one else would notice, but which touched me personally. Jason would call them "Seventeen Second Miracles" (and if you haven't read his book by that title, I urge you to do so!) - I just call them life.

If you know me (or if you've read any of my previous posts), you know I firmly believe in daily miracles. Angels walk among us, without wings, in the form of our friends, family, coworkers and even total strangers. Heavenly Father answers prayers in very significant ways through the little, insignificant moments we tend to overlook when we aren't watching.

So the moments that mattered most to me:
* When Jason emailed a reply to my registration request and told me he was looking forward to seeing a friend! (It probably took 2 seconds, and I doubt he thought twice about it, but isn't it wonderful when someone you don't see often takes a moment to say "I'm glad you're my friend" - and you know they really mean it?)
* When Beth pulled me aside during our first break to say she thought my novel sounded interesting and we exchanged email addresses so we could keep in contact and send each other samples for critique. I desperately wanted to approach my fellow writers, but my fears had taken over, and I was once again standing off to the side, only talking to Jason (since he was the only one I knew coming into the workshop). Beth broke the ice, and made it okay for me to join the group!
* When Jason read my writing exercise aloud and stopped to point out how much he liked my one-sentence paragraph. I do that from time to time, when a thought needs some emphasis. Mostly because it just comes naturally to me. That's the way I talk. But as I'm preparing to send my first manuscript out into the scary publishing world, I began to wonder if that quirk would be off-putting. I felt like doing cartwheels through the conference room when he said it was a good thing! :)
* When Matt Birch ended his conference call with the advice: "It may be frustrating. People may even be very rude to you. But don't give up. Someone will care." My closest friends (and those who were there Saturday, because I mentioned it afterward) know that the most crippling criticism I've received so far was last year, when I submitted my novel to a major contest. The reviewer's response to my story I was so proud of? "No one in their right mind would ever care about a character like the one in this story!" Harsh, rude, and very disheartening. In tears, I set the manuscript aside and almost decided I wasn't cut out to be a writer at all (until my friend's wonderful son asked me to write a story just for him - but that's another blog post altogether...) But when Matt Birch announced "Someone will care!" it felt like a direct response to that horrible reviewer. He could have chosen many other ways to phrase the sentiment, but he chose the words I needed most to hear!

Does This Make You Want to Read More?

Alaina Andersen is witty, warm and wonderful. Her best friend, Jarod, worships her, and everyone knows it but Alaina. The most popular boys at Southbrook High School want to date her, but she thinks that they are only teasing. When Alaina looks in the mirror, she doesn’t see the popular, playful and pretty girl that all of the other girls long to be. She sees a shy, unattractive band geek who has never had a real boyfriend and can’t find the courage to try out for the school play. As she compares her biggest weaknesses with her friends’ greatest strengths, Alaina fears that she will never measure up.

If only she could win the heart of Shane Crawford, her “Perfect Prince Charming!” He is tall, dark and handsome, with hypnotic blue eyes and a smile that could melt glaciers, and Alaina knew the moment she saw him that he was the White Knight she had been waiting for. She is certain that Shane holds that magical key to unlock her inner worth.

Alaina has read enough fairy tales to know that a magical kiss from the prince can work miracles, and she has felt like a frog for far too long! But in the real world, kisses aren’t always magical and princes aren’t always perfectly charming. Eventually, Alaina must learn to create her own enchantments by looking for the beauty she has buried within.

Dreaming with a Deadline

Wish me luck! I'm going to go for it! I've decided that I'm going to enter Amazon's Breakthrough Novel Award contest for a chance to win a publishing contract! All I have to do is write a 300-word Pitch to submit along with my manuscript.

Easy as pie, right???

Well, not quite. I mean, I can write 300 words with no problem. Compared to an 85,000-word novel, 300 words is a mere drop in the bucket. The difficulty comes in knowing exactly what kind of "drop" to submit to that bucket!!

Have you ever tried to condense an 85,000-word story into a 300-word soundbite? Knowing that they won't even look at the manuscripts unless you make the first cut based on this 300-word Pitch doesn't help either. Yikes! This has to be an amazing 300 words!

The contest closes on February 7th or when they reach 5000 submissions, whichever comes first. Which means that I'm frantically creating on a deadline here - something that I never thought that I would do! I have this fear that I'm going to create the perfect entry and then find that I'm the 5001st person to submit my manuscript, which would be crushing, wouldn't it?

So I'm determined to get my Pitch written this morning so that I can send it off to my "creative consultant" by lunchtime. Then, he can rip it to shreds and make me feel like I have no business dreaming of publication until I stop feeling sorry for myself, realize that he's right and rework my Pitch into something worthy of submission.

Wish me luck! And be prepared to vote for me :)

Standing on the Edge, Working up the Nerve to Jump!

Fear is a powerful thing, isn't it?

Why is that?

I have an intense fear of snakes. Every time I walk past tall grass, a pile of leaves, large bushes, or something of the sort, I am simply certain that a snake is hiding in there, just waiting for me to let my guard down so that it can strike. I used to always make sure, when hiking, that I was the last one in line on the trail. I figured that the person in front would be the one to see the snake, and I would have ample warning to get out of the way before I ever got close. Then, I started to wonder. What if that snake just sits there in hiding and lets everyone else go by because he's waiting just to bite me?

Crazy, right?

Of course it's crazy! I know it's silly. The snakes and I have never been introduced. They don't know who I am or what I look like. They don't know I live in mortal terror. They don't know that I once heard my friend talk about how her cat had brought a live snake into the house and she found it in her bathroom, and since then my cats have not been allowed to set foot outside the house and I still always check behind the toilet before sitting down. Snakes don't know these things. And they don't have a vendetta against me! I have nothing to be afraid of. I'm still terrified.

I know that my fear of snakes is irrational, unfounded and a little bit silly. I try to remember that, and I don't let it beat me. I still go for long walks in the woods. I walk past the large, low bushes in my front yard every day without hesitation (though I do always glance underneath them, just to make sure). Of course, I let my husband take the kids to the reptile house at the zoo, but when Daddy wasn't there and the kids wanted to pet the boa constrictor when the zookeeper invited them forward, I bravely stepped forward and helped them gently pet it. I know that I can't live my life directed by something as silly as fear!

But then, I do.

I have this dream of being a published author. I keep writing (and rewriting) books and stories, and everyone tells me that I have talent. All through school, my classmates, my professors, those who read my pieces in the college literary magazine or the small-town newspaper I wrote for... everyone told me "You have a gift. You should do this professionally." To which I would instantly reply, "Well, of course! Look for my name on the bookstore shelves in the near future." I was going to be the next big thing. I was going to be famous. I was going to have a whole shelf full of books that I wrote. I was going to see the world on my book signing tour!

And then I stopped to think about it.

What if????

What if I'm not as good as I think I am? What if I don't have a story to tell? What if they don't like me? What if they say 'get out of here, kid, you've got no talent'? What if I fail?????

Well, you can't fail if you never try, right? So I didn't. I pushed my dream of writing aside and concentrated on my real job: being a mother. That was something that I knew I was good at. I knew I could do it. And it was scary, but it wasn't terrifying. I stopped saying "I want to be a published author" and started saying "Yeah, I used to think that I would do that, but it's not really a very realistic dream..." And I was happy with my decision. Mostly. But in the back of my mind, I knew that you really can fail if you never try. In fact, you do fail. Every time.

A couple of years ago, I heard Jason Wright (http://jasonfwright.blogspot.com/) speak, and I was inspired. I don't even remember what he said, but as I sat there listening to him, I just kept thinking, "If he can do this, so can I!" I rushed home, dug out the pencils that I had collected to write my first novel with, sharpened the first one and started to write.

That first novel simply flowed out of my pencil and onto the page. In less than a month, I had a completed first draft. And after a year and a half of rewriting and revision, I am again getting rave reviews. My novel is ready to submit to a publisher!!

Hooray! I conquered my fear! I did it!!!

Except......

Now comes the really scary part! I have to actually send my manuscript to agents and editors and People Who Know What They're Doing!! Cue the voices in my head: What if they don't like it? What if they laugh? What if they say 'get out of here kid, you've got no talent'? I just don't think I can take that kind of rejection! (Yes, I do feel like I'm channelling George McFly.)

Remember what I said about fear being silly? Irrational? Pointless?

Yeah, so do I.

This fear is just as silly as my belief that the snakes are waiting in ambush to bite just me while letting the rest of the world go by unharmed. All of the agents and editors of the world are not lying in wait to crush my dreams. They don't even know me. And some might not like my novel. But some of them might. And I'll never know unless I try.

So this morning, I find myself poised on the edge of the cliff, looking down. I'm going to jump! And I'll just have to trust that these wings I've constructed for myself will carry me up to the heavens...

My novel is ready for a publisher!!

After months of anticipation, I am pleased to announce that I have finished writing and revising my novel, and I am ready to start shopping for a publisher!! I am going to start sending off query letters today. I'm posting my query here for your consideration as well. If you were a publishing agent, would this make you want to read my book??

Dear __________,
I suspect that we never truly see ourselves. We grossly undervalue our own qualities as we compare our own weakest traits to the strongest traits of our friends and acquaintances. Hello, My Name is Alaina is a 70,830-word novel about one amazing young lady who simply cannot see how terrific she is.

Alaina Andersen is beautiful, smart and funny. She is one of the most popular girls at Southbrook high school. When she looks in the mirror, however, all that she can see are her flaws. In her quest to be the perfect fairy tale princess, Alaina often feels more like a frog. She is certain that she will never be as popular as her best friend, Kendra, or as stunningly beautiful as her little sister, Andrea. Alaina is afraid that she might never be noticed. However, she knows that a frog can be magically transformed into a beautiful princess with the help of a True Love’s Kiss from the perfect Prince Charming. Shane Crawford has to be that prince. She knew it from the moment they met. What Alaina doesn’t realize is that kisses are only truly magical in fairy tales. In real life, the magic has to come from somewhere else.

I believe that Alaina's story is one that will resonate with a very large audience. After all, who among us hasn't looked into the funhouse mirror of our minds to come up with a distorted view of who we really are, failing to see the potential and great worth that is locked inside?

Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
Veronica Bartles

What do you think? Did I catch your attention? Are you anxiously waiting to read Alaina's story? (Will this be the next "Twilight"-like craze???) They say that the query letter is just as important in the publishing process as the actual story, so I really would appreciate any input you have to offer! Thanks everyone!

Veronica Bartles is...

I was asked to write a profile on myself for our ward newsletter (for church). They wanted to use the Relief Society column to introduce me this month, since I am the newest member of the presidency, and as a new member to the ward, many people don't even know who I am. Have you ever tried to write an article about yourself? It's rough!! Of course, I didn't want to sound like I was bragging, but at the same time, I didn't want to sell myself short! After chatting with my Aunt for a few minutes (Thank you so much, Aunt Becky! You saved my sanity this morning!), this is what I came up with.....

Veronica Bartles is “supermom.” At least, she tries. Actually, Veronica was raised by Supermom and has made it her life’s goal to reach the same status as the amazing woman she gets to call Mom. As the second of eight children (four girls and four boys), Veronica had the benefit of being able to watch and learn from her own mother. In fact, Veronica’s mom made the job look so rewarding that Veronica decided as a very young child that she wanted to be A Mom when she grew up! Other dreams have come and gone, but the main dream, the dream of being a Mom, has always been the focus. With four amazing children of her own, Veronica is truly living her dream.
Veronica works hard to be “supermom.” She tries to do all of the things that a real Supermom does, even though she feels like she still has a long way to go. Veronica cooks and sews and scrapbooks. (She is still working on developing talents for cleaning and organizing and helping kids with homework.) Veronica makes jewelry and she is in the process of writing a novel that she hopes to publish within the next year. Veronica even built a bed for her daughter, and now she’s hoping to learn how to make some “real” furniture!
Still, if you were to ask Veronica about herself, she would generally tell you “I’m not very interesting.” Of course, she has a theory about that too. Veronica firmly believes that we never see our true selves. We only see a distorted picture of ourselves, as though through a funhouse mirror. It’s only when we look to others, when we allow them to reflect what they see, that we can appreciate the awesome qualities residing within us. That’s why she is extremely grateful for amazing friends and family, who act as her true mirror on a daily basis, and she is excited to find new opportunities to expand her circle of friends.
Veronica grew up in Wyoming, but she has spent the last seven years in Northern California, where her husband, Phil, was stationed with the Air Force. Although Phil was born in Pennsylvania and lived there until he was five, Veronica has never lived anywhere east of Wyoming before. Their children, Benjamin, Emily, Rebekah and Katherine, had never really experienced snow or cold until moving to Maryland, so this is a new and exciting adventure for the whole family!

Why and What If?

Why is it that when I need it the most, it's the hardest to write in my journal or update my blog? I know that it's easier for me to sort out my confusing thoughts when I write it all down. I know that it's easier to get past my fears when I stop trying to hide from them. I know that my life is better when I take the time to take stock of my hopes and dreams. But I still avoid writing whenever I reach that point where I'm worried or scared or confused. That's when I go into hiding. I retreat into my own private little world of rainbows and bubbles, where everyone loves everyone else, where no one fights or quarrels, where people help and serve each other gladly, where no one suffers or feels pain, where even death is not a scary prospect.

I prefer my own little world. Nothing can get at me there. And it's so easy to retreat into the land of rainbows and bubbles! It's so much more fun to make chocolate chip cookies and cuddle up on the couch with a good book than to acknowledge difficulties and troubles. And really, that's not a bad thing. I'm glad that I have my own little world to escape to.

Most people who know me could tell you that I'm built a little bit backward. I love the fog and the rain. I get depressed on a bright, sunshiney summer day when there isn't a cloud in the sky. Maybe it's because it's so much easier to hide in the mists. Maybe it's because I don't really like to have to shine too much light on reality. I guess that sometimes I forget that you need the sun to make my beautiful rainbows, not just the rain. Maybe I need to embrace reality just a little bit more...

But reality is scary, isn't it?

In my world of rainbows and bubbles, there is no sorrow, no pain. No one would ever willingly hurt another person, not physically, not spiritually, not mentally. In my magical world, there is no worry, no fear... And I can do anything that I set my mind to.

I don't like to step into the harsh light of reality, because then I have to admit that I am terrified. And maybe there are things that I really can't do... And I don't like that feeling.

For the past couple of weeks, since we arrived at our new home here in Maryland, I have been thinking about how blessed I am. I've thought a lot about all of the little things that we generally take for granted in our lives. For instance, we have 3 levels to our home. The T.V., the computer, the board games and the washing machine are all in the basement. All of the bedrooms are upstairs. (Of course, that leaves the kitchen, library and craft room all on the main level, but that's not the point.) This means that I have to go up and down 2 flights of steep steps several times a day - especially right now, as I try to unpack boxes and sort things into their proper places in our new home.

And I can do it! I can climb stairs. This is a major accomplishment for me, as it really wasn't long ago when I couldn't even stand up by myself. Less than 3 years ago, I had to completely relearn how to stand and to walk. And even 6 months ago, I couldn't go down the 3 steps in our house at Beale AFB without holding tight to the handrail. I can't even count the number of times when I fell down that tiny, little set of stairs. But now, I can do it with relative ease.

Of course, I hold tight to the handrails. And I don't try to climb or descend the steps wearing high heels (actually, I did try one time, and I almost fell, so I decided that it wasn't a good idea to try it again!) And I watch my feet to make sure that I'm not going to miss a step. I'm very careful about using stairs, because I know that I do have limitations. Stairs can be kind of scary when you can't feel one leg. But I have come so far! I have made so much progress! There is so much that I can do now that I couldn't do last year!

These are all things to be grateful for. Life is good. I am so blessed. Reality shouldn't be scary.

But it is.

Because, just as I can keep track of my improvements, just as I can measure my progress, I can also very clearly see those areas where I haven't improved. When I start to notice how much better I've gotten at compensating for lack of feeling in my leg, I can't help but realize that I still haven't regained the sensation in that leg. When I think about how well I've been able to catch myself when I have dizzy spells or lose my balance, when I realize that I don't fall down as often as I used to, I have to admit that I still get dizzy and lose my balance just as frequently as I used to.

In my world of rainbows and bubbles, I can think about all of those improvements. I can focus on the fact that I haven't fallen down the stairs, I haven't broken anything, I haven't injured myself in months. These are all happy, upbeat, wonderful things to be grateful for. I like to concentrate on those things.

When I face reality, though, I have to admit the other side as well. Yes, I'm getting better at dealing with my issues. No, the issues aren't going away. I still can't feel my right leg or the fingers on my left hand. And I would probably have to relearn everything all over again if the feeling ever did come back! No, I don't fall over as often. I've gotten really good at catching myself again. But I still have my blackouts, my dizzy spells, my balance issues... and sometimes, that's still really scary.

When we moved here, I decided that I'm not going to have a brain tumor any more. In my own private world, anything can be the way that I need it to be. I decided that it would be much easier to deal with all of those annoying little things if I didn't have to worry about the way everyone else reacts. I'm tired of going to the doctor repeatedly, only to have them tell me that there's nothing they can do but watch it. I feel like I've wasted my day every time I go to these appointments. And I hate the way that people walk on eggshells and treat me like a fragile porcelain doll when they hear about my tumor. I know that I can't really just get rid of the tumor by saying that I don't have it anymore. (If only real life worked that way!) But I figure that, when there's nothing to do to make it better, there's really no reason to keep dwelling on it... and my hope is that I can manage to stop dwelling!

I've only been here for 2 weeks, but so far, I have managed to avoid the subject of medical issues. And it's so wonderfully refreshing to not have to worry about the way people will react! Of course, Phil still has to do all of his inprocessing at Ft. Meade... and I don't know if I'll have to start going to the doctor again... I have a feeling that, if I don't bring up the issue, I'll fall through the cracks. Before you know it, the military might even lose their record of my tumor. After all, it costs much less to not keep sending me to a team of various medical specialists!

This is truly a relief. The prospect of days, weeks even months without doctor's appointments is thrilling!

And it's scary.

Sometimes, my bubbles burst, my rainbows fade, and I can't help wondering: What if? What if something happens that could have been prevented if I had just maintained my regular monthly checkups? What if I get worse? And just as scary: What if they don't forget about my tumor? What if I have to start once again scheduling my entire life around doctor's appointments? What if I never get to plan anything because every spare moment is taken up sitting in a waiting room???

Sometimes, when I'm having a particularly difficult day, when I'm dizzy and can't breathe, when I've blacked out a time or two, when I start to realize that I still feel the same way that I felt back in January of 2006, before my surgery... Sometimes, I get discouraged. Sometimes, I wonder if I will still be around to watch my children grow or to see my grandkids. And sometimes, that's scary.

Not always.

Usually, I am able to remember that life on earth isn't really what it's all about. I have been eternally sealed to my family in the Temple of the Lord, and those bonds are stronger than death. Even if it's not my destiny to live a long life here on the earth, I can still be with my family for all of eternity. My children will always be my children. Phil is stuck with me forever :) This life on earth is just a part of the Lord's whole, big plan.

And my life has been a good one so far. I may not be the perfect mother... but who knows? Maybe I am :) At least, for my own children, I think that I'm probably the right choice. And when I look at my kids, I can see that they are going to be okay. Even if I'm not here to finish raising them, they'll be okay. They know the important things. They know what really matters. And I'm not going anywhere just yet, at any rate!

I guess that's what scares me the most, when I start squinting through the sunshine of reality. I'm not scared of dying, because I know that it will be okay. At times, I think about my death... not that I'm contemplating or planning for death... not that I want it to happen or anything... but sometimes, especially when I'm having one of those difficult health days, I realize that it could be closer than I want to admit. And when that thought occurs to me, I'm filled with a sense of peace and comfort. And for just a moment, I'm not afraid at all. And because I'm human, that lack of fear is sometimes the scariest thing of all... if that makes any sense!

Franklin Roosevelt said that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. Well, I guess that just goes to prove that I really am built backward. I'm afraid of not being afraid! Still, I will continue to live my days within my rainbows and bubbles world, periodically peeking out into the sunshine for a warm dose of reality... and life will go on. Hopefully, for a long, long time.

Many More Memories...

Remembering is fun! So here is another dose of my biggest memories (both happy and sad) from my first 31 years. Again, I'm trying to go in roughly chronological order, but of course, I can't guarantee that my memory always cooperates....

* Participating in a "food fight" at the Fullmer's house, when Robyn pretended to flip mashed potatoes at her sister and then her sister actually flipped a spoonful of potatoes across the kitchen. Not the messiest of food fights, since only one spoonful of food actually flew, but we all had to clean the kitchen anyway!

* Trying to count all of the horses in Robyn's bedroom and losing count somewhere around 200.

* Learning to sew, kind of, and making my own clothes with Misty Jensen. We were so proud of those clothes and wanted to wear them to school, but our mothers wouldn't let us! (Good thing, since we had used sheer fabric!)

* My dad's pilot lessons - and dreaming of a day when he would be licensed and we would have our own private jet to take on vacation. (Still waiting for that day, dad....)

* Robyn's baptism - it took 9 tries before they got it right!

* My baptism. It was so cool and amazing to share my special day with 2 of my close friends, Shannon & Spencer!

* Being the first student ever to be awarded the Northpark Elementary School Student of the Year award!

* The tragic carnival accident at the Sweetwater County fair that killed my best friend, Robyn. I still can't see a carnival without fighting tears.

* Our trip to Vancouver, Canada for the 1986 World's Fair. - Spending the first night only about 20 miles from home, at Little America - Camping at the campground with a pool filled by hot springs and getting to swim for free when Dad fixed their computer system for them - Falling in love with a really cool concept car that was supposed to be released the year that I turned 16... (It was going to be my first car - but alas, it was never on the market...) - My brief recording career as a backup singer in the group "Bug & the Roaches" as we tried out a recording studio to sing the song "Tomorrow" from Annie - Leaving my brother in Canada (just for about 5 minutes at a park on the border, because he got out of the car and we didn't notice...) - My sister and I getting really tight perms from my cousin who was going to beauty school, and our song that we made up about being "pink poodles"! - To this day, I think this was the most fun I've ever had on a vacation!

* Moving to Santa Maria, California in 4th grade - and losing all of my new friends within the first week of school when I wouldn't choose sides when 2 of them got into a fight.

* My parents surprising us by driving all night long to bring us back to Rock Springs for Christmas, just because they knew how much we missed being "home" for the holidays!

* Moving back to Rock Springs over spring break in 4th grade - and finding that all of my friends had chosen a new best friend while I was gone.

* Sneaking a peek at my notes while taking the quiz on state capitols in 5th grade - and then feeling guilty for years afterward (still).

* Setting my own curriculum in 6th grade. (I had finished all of the elementary school books - even the advanced books - by 5th grade, and the district didn't allow skipping grades, so the teachers had nothing for me in 6th grade. I got to sit all day in the library and teach myself whatever I felt like learning, as long as I did one project a week and turned it in...)

* Sitting in the hall with all of the other 6th grade girls, while our teachers tried to patch up the feud that had been going on between Veronica Cox and "Cara's Group" since I moved back to Rock Springs in the 4th grade. Nothing came of it except for a full afternoon of not doing any school work...

* The school-wide celebration when I graduated from 6th grade - to commemorate the first class of students to attend Northpark Elementary School from Kindergarten all the way through 6th grade.... And Justin passing out while we were filling the helium balloons, because he was sucking the helium out of about every 3rd balloon filled! (I still don't let my kids suck helium out of balloons!)

What Do I Remember Most?

Recently, I read a list that a friend wrote - his top 150 memories from his first 30 years. (Of course, I had to give him a hard time, because I didn't make the list.) Since then, I've been thinking about this concept... What are my biggest memories from my life so far? The good, the bad, pleasant and unpleasant... What events, people, places and ideas have shaped me into the person that I am today? So I decided to make up my own list. I don't know how many memories will make it onto the list, so I'm not going to set a number. But here is what I remember most (in roughly chronological order...)

* Preschool - working as quickly as I could each and every day to color as many pages as possible, so that I could show my mom how much work I was doing in class! (She tells me that this was because she always asked my older sister, Carin, how many pages of work she did in school, and I was competing. I don't remember that, I just remember sitting at the long table with a stack of papers and a pile of crayons, busily working long after all of the other kids had moved on to other things.)

* Eating almost 2 full bottles of Flintstones vitamins with my sister Carin and going to the hospital where they had to induce vomiting. (To this day, the smell of multivitamins turns my stomach!)

* My very first boyfriend, Seth Richards (in preschool & kindergarten). I was going to marry him someday! I was heartbroken when he moved all the way to Green River (12 miles) after kindergarten!!

* Learning how to read. I loved the book "The Fire Cat" and asked my sister to read it to me over and over and over again. Finally, she got tired of it and started skipping words, phrases or whole pages to get through the book faster. I of course, had the book memorized and called her on it. So she taught me how to read so that I could read it to myself.

* North Park Elementary School - The school was completed and the doors opened for classes midway through my kindergarten year. I still remember the excitement as we watched a brand new school being constructed near our house and the thrill of riding the bus from our old school (Desert View) to the new school for the first day of classes!

* Watching Seth and his best friend, Kenny, fight over me on the playground. I thought it was a silly thing to fight about, because it didn't matter who won. Seth was my boyfriend, and Kenny was just annoying. However, I did enjoy the instant fame I got over the fight. Even the big kids (4th, 5th & 6th graders) knew that I was the girl that the boys were fighting over, and I was something of a celebrity for a day or two!

* Mr. Kirtland's magic tricks on Fridays. It was the best thing about kindergarten! We figured out how he did all of the tricks but one - and the M&M's trick still feels like magic to this day!

* My huge crush on my Aunt Becky's boyfriend, Maurice. I didn't want anyone to know about the crush, so I always called him "More Grease" to prove that I didn't like him. And I just couldn't figure out how everyone knew that I liked him anyway....

* Eating 2 big bags of mini marshmallows at Kenny's house and getting sick. (I haven't liked marshmallows since!)

* Drawing a glitter picture for Santa - and then being amazed on Christmas morning when I discovered that Santa had supersized the teddy bear I had helped Grandpa wrap for Grandma because he was so happy with the picture! (We wrapped a 6-inch teddy bear, and Christmas morning, there was a 5-foot teddy bear in a box next to the tree!)

* Eating too much frosting at my kindergarten last-day-of-school party and getting sick (I can't eat frosting to this day, either!)

* Being the first family in the neighborhood to own a trampoline.

* The computer program that my dad wrote for our Apple computer. It was called "The Starting Gate" and it was lots of fun. My sisters and I even got to help with some of the creative aspects of the games!

* Cutting my hair all by myself (well, I made my little sister help with the back where I couldn't reach) - and then getting really upset with Santa, when he thought that I was a boy!!

* Going to QUEST - the program for gifted students - once a week and learning how to draw with a turtle on the computer (what was the name of that program?)

* Playing Oregon Trail in the amazing computer lab where we had enough computers for everyone in class. (And being beyond proud when I discovered that my dad was the one who donated the computers to the school!)

........ Which brings me to 2nd grade.............. This trip down memory lane may take a while!

Who Needs Depth, Anyway?

Okay, so I admit it. I am shallow. But who needs depth, anyway? It's overrated!!

Actually, I am a little bit ashamed to admit it. Well, kind of....

The point is, I am the person who always talks about how looks really don't matter. I am a huge proponent of the idea that beauty truly is found within - that physical appearance is just a shell and not an indicator of real beauty at all. And I really believe that - most of the time.

Phil always laughs at me because I am the worst person in the world for describing a person. When I'm talking about someone and he asks "who is that?" I can tell him, "Oh, she's the person with 4 children who sings alto in the choir and has the great sense of humor. She worries too much, but she loves board games as much as I do, so we really get along well. You know, the kids are friends with her kids, and she told that really funny story about her mom the first time I met her." Yeah, great description - and sometimes, he can figure out who I'm talking about, if I continue talking long enough, or if he happened to actually be present for some of the events that define that particular person in my mind. But my descriptions don't usually help him pick someone out of a crowd!

Conversely, when Phil tries to tell me about someone, and he tells me, "He's 6'4" with light brown wavy hair and hazel eyes," I just stare at him blankly. I almost never know who he's talking about! It's become quite the joke in our household, because I don't ever even notice (so Phil says) the obvious physical characteristics. ("You could have mentioned that he was bald!" "Oh! Ooops! I guess I never noticed.") And really, I don't usually notice.

So I tell myself that I am not a shallow person. I had myself convinced that looks really weren't important to me.

But I admit it. I guess I do dwell on physical appearances. At least, I dwell on my own physical appearance. I'm still the last to notice if my friend gets her hair cut and whacks off 12 inches or if she's 5 months pregnant with a big baby belly or if a guy gains 20 pounds or shaves his head... I guess I'm not very observant.

But in 2006, when I had to take the steroids before and after my brain surgery, and I gained more than 100 pounds in less than a month (going from size 10 jeans to size 18 literally overnight).... Yeah, I noticed that! I still cry when I get dressed in the morning and I see the stretch marks that cover probably 85% of my body. I would be the first in line if they ever brought back those 1920s full-body, long-sleeved, down-to-your-knees bathing suits. And I am painfully aware that the scale in my bedroom seems to have broken, because the numbers just aren't coming down. And I really meant it when I told my doctors that I absolutely refuse to ever take steroids again, no matter what. Nothing is worth going through that kind of reaction again! Yep, when it comes to Veronica, I have trouble seeing past the physical. I don't usually see what lurks beneath the surface....

And I haven't allowed more than one or two pictures of myself in almost 3 years. I hate the idea that there might be evidence to show the way that I look now, post-surgery.

So about a month ago, when I started to interact with friends on Facebook, I realized that I didn't have any good pictures of myself to post on my Facebook profile. I had a choice between old high school senior portraits and the few post-surgery photos that I allowed simply because my kids wanted me to pose for a picture. No brainer! I went with the high school photos! And it's been bugging me ever since. Why should I be ashamed of the way I look? I mean, my appearance doesn't make up who I am, so why should I let it define me?

I finally decided that it was time to have some actual photos taken, to stop being afraid of the "evidence." So I made plans with a friend of mine, Trish Larsen, who is a photographer. I showed her my old high school pictures, and I told her that I would like to take some photos in the same style - just showing me the way that I look now. And yesterday morning, we went to the little park area across from the BX here on base and she took my picture.

Okay, so here is how you know that I really am extremely shallow.... The pictures were amazing! I couldn't wait to post them up on my Facebook profile, because Trish is an absolute magician and made me look gorgeous! And I have been reveling in the praise from friends. In fact, I have been going back to my Facebook page and re-reading the comments over and over again! I feel better about myself now, with these amazing pictures that make people say I'm beautiful, than when I graduated from college with honors after only 3 1/2 years! College degree? No biggie. Building furniture for my daughter's bedroom with no training or tutorials? Okay... A great picture and friends telling me that I'm beautiful? Yeah. That's worth bragging about. That is something special and wonderful. I even caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror while I was getting dressed this morning (whoever designed these stupid base houses with mirrors all along one full wall of the master bedroom is NOT my favorite person in the world, by the way), and it didn't make me cringe. I just thought of the pretty picture I had saved to my computer upstairs, and I smiled. "I'm beautiful."
So, why is it that I can see the beauty that lies within for every other person I know? Why is it that I can glory in this friend's musical ability or that one's artistic talent, but I can't see any value in myself until and unless I am beautiful first?

Sad, maybe a little bit disheartening, not something I'm proud to admit. Yes, I am very shallow. Apparently, I care more about the way I look than about who I am. And I have to admit that my favorite reading material is now the one-line message that an old friend sent to me: "you look amazing..why do you criticize your looks" (I think I've read it about 20 times now!) Why does it matter? It doesn't, I guess. At least, it shouldn't. But I like being beautiful. I guess, deep down inside, I'm just shallow... (But don't you agree that I look good in these pictures?)