You're Gonna Miss This

So, when it comes to country music, I'm a fairweather fan at best. (unless you consider John Denver country, and then I'll have to hit you). But, I heard a country song this week that resonated with me. It promises,

"You're gonna miss this. You're gonna want this back. You're gonna wish these days hadn't passed by so fast. These are some good times, so take a good look around. You may not know it now, but you're gonna miss this."


The premise is that we're always wishing for the next stage of life instead of appreciating the current one. I think we've all been guilty of saying, "when I'm graduated, when I'm married, when the kids are grown, when I'm retired." Whatever it is, there always seems to be something enticing about the years to come. So, internalizing the message from a corny country song, I've resolved to embrace my constant state of chaos because, undoubtedly, there will come a day when I will miss it. The house will be quiet, the house will be clean, and I will make dinner in peace. And I can guarantee that I'll long for a little one to tug on my pant leg.

Lots and Locks of Love

Last week, my 4-year old daughter, Loryn, donated her 12-inch ponytail to Locks of Love. I was impressed and touched by her profound sacrifice of long, lovely, blonde hair that had taken her half her life to grow. But she wasn't. And that was even more impressive.

Four year olds have no vanity, no pride, no reservations. After we had discussed donating her hair to Locks of Love and she had seen pictures of the children that would get her hair, she was tickled. With not a moment's pause, she wanted to get it cut. I even tried to talk her out of it, but she was committed. It was a testament to me of a child's pure love and innocence. And, more realistically, a testament to the fact that Loryn is my stubborn and hard-headed child. Hopefully, she will always be able to channel that determination in a positive way as she did with her haircut.

Let the Good Times Roll!

So, I didn't get to bed until 5:00 this morning. I got about three hours of sleep before I was (luckily) awakened by the phone ringing. Only at that moment did I realize, through blurred vision, that I had approximately fifteen minutes to get Kid #1 out of bed, dressed, fed, and off to school. In a flurry of activity, we made it . . . barely. With that mission accomplished, I shift my focus to the others only to realize that Kid #2 has pink eye and a hacking cough, Kid #3 is suffering the effects from his all-night scream fest, and Kid #4 is hungry.

So, I attend to those little matters with what little energy three hours of sleep can muster and move on. I head to the pediatrician, secretly praying that there is some logical reason for last night's misery. And yes, there is--Ear infection! I then return home and faithfully pour the ammoxicillin into yogurt for Fisher to eat. Having the keen intuition that his yogurt's been tainted, he promptly launches it across the kitchen, amoxicillin and all. Just at that moment, Loryn starts choking on her lunch and run over prepared to administer the Heimlich. Instead, she throws up everywhere. Now, my kitchen is covered in yogurt and throw-up. Just a snapshot into the memorable moments of motherhood. I know we've all had them. Let the good times roll!

Tribute to a Friend

Next month marks the two year anniversary of the death of our dear friend, Dan (DJ) Heath. Dan and I lost one of our greatest friends. He was like the big brother I never had. Dan had known him since he was little. They even shared a name: they were both Daniel Joseph's.

Dan Heath was diagnosed with leukemia in 1997 as he was preparing to serve a mission in the Ukraine. Dan had a dry and witty humor, a love for Seinfeld, MASH, and Star Trek. He loved to read--everything from sci fi novels to Shakespeare. He was a die-hard Lakers fan, even through the bad years, and he wore his tattered Lakers hat until it was nothing but vapors.

I loved DJ for being the most devoted and loyal a friend a person could ever ask for. He never forgot a birthday, anniversary, or any other special event. He managed to support and encourage his friends through their dating, education, marriages, and parenthood--even though he would never have those opportunities himself.

He battled his disease off and on for ten years: 19 years old to 29 years old. What should have been the most eventful and exciting time of a person's life was spent in chemo. He attended his ten year reunion bloated from streoids and pushing an oxygen tank. But somehow, he did it with a sense of humor and perspective. We loved Dan and his obituary still hangs on our refrigerator, reminding us daily that life is fickle and fragile. God Bless Dan.

The Blessing of Friendship

Aristotle's definition of a friend is

a soul dwelling in two bodies.

I have found that people can spend a lifetime without a friend to warrant such a definition, but I have been lucky enough to find many. I have known many of my treasured friends since first grade. We began to coalesce into a tight-knit group as the years went on, adding a few more friends along the way. By the time I entered the foreboding halls of high-school, I had my own little battalion of compatriots with whom I could lock arms. C.S. Lewis said that friendship is "the crown of life and the school of virtue."

My experience is validation of such a statement. We were playmates on the playground, accomplices in high school escapades, roommates in college, and cheerleaders to each other in marriage and parenthood.

I now teach the young women in my ward. I recognize in them, as I have in others, that great tragedy can befall young people without the security and support of good friends. Though my need for them has diminished, I am grateful every day for the role they played in defining who I am now. They gave me courage at a time of life when most are severely lacking it. They gave me confidence well above my own personal merits. They gave me enough competition to challenge and encourage me. And lest I paint a perfect picture of them, they gave me regular ulcers and reasons to worry. But I love them in spite of themselves, and always will.