Yeah, Write

Meditations on Grief

As we've been observing Memorial Day here in the U.S. this week, I've had some thoughts swirling around in my head about loss and grief.

Pictured: small cemetery in Cleveland, Idaho, where many of my ancestors were buried.

Grief and Social Media

Social media is often (rightly) accused of connecting us only on a superficial level. But I've recently realized that it also has the power to make us aware that others are suffering—much like the black armbands or mourning attire of ages past. It's a signal to be gentle with those who are fragile, to mete out an extra dose of love and understanding. 

Were it not for my very haphazard monitoring of my Facebook feed, I'm not sure whether I would have heard about an old college roommate who recently buried her mom. Or a former work colleague who lost her husband to cancer. Or a woman in my church congregation who recently suffered through a stillbirth. 

The kinder side of social media has the power to connect us to our entire extended tribe on our very darkest days, the power to invoke kind words and prayers from all corners of the globe. 

I have a friend from high school and college who lost her husband to suicide last last year, after a long and private battle with depression. Although we had barely interacted with each other in the past 16 years, apart from random comments on each other's Facebook posts, I found myself weeping for her for days, weeks, months. She has been using Facebook as a public diary of sorts, which is a wonderful thing. I can check in on her daily and know how she's doing, since I'm thinking about her anyway. She can share her dark moments and her triumphs with an audience of family and friends—both old and new—who want to help her in any way that they can, if only by a few words of encouragement left in a comment.

She is finding that she has a gift for the written word, and that every expressed emotion lifts a bit of the burden from her heart. Every task she accomplishes in the face of overwhelming grief (her own and her children's) can be shared and celebrated by her circle of friends, since her beloved partner is no longer there to celebrate with her. 

Her honesty and vulnerability have inspired me, and apparently everyone else she knows, judging by the comments. She reminds us all to look past the detritus of life, find and celebrate our hidden reserves of inner strength, and focus our thoughts and energy on the things that matter most—like lifting and serving those around us.

Comparative Grief

I've blogged about it before, but one of my favorite quotes about grief is from writer Anna Quindlen. She calls it "the continuous presence of an absence" and "a whisper in the world but a clamor within."

I don't personally know much about the grief one feels at losing a spouse or a child, but infertility is its own kind of grief. In some ways, grief is grief. In other ways, it's a completely different experience for everyone, every single time.

I have another dear friend who is an angel mom. She buried her little baby just 2 months after birth. She has become a member of one of those clubs you never wanted to join. Just like the infertile, who understand one another in a way no one else can, angel mothers have a terrible and instant kinship.

And yet the very thing that unites them can also divide them. My friend has heard other angel mothers say things like, "Oh, she's so lucky she got to have her daughter until she was 14. I only got a few months with my baby." Whereas the mother whose teenager died might argue that her grief is deeper because the more years together, the bigger the hole that is left. 

Sometimes people try to relate to my friend's pain with stories of losing a grandparent or a pet. Some angel mothers take offense at these kinds of comparisons, and perhaps rightly so. But my very kind and generous friend looks at it this way: maybe that loss of the family dog is the most significant grief this person has ever experienced. And that's their only frame of reference for trying to understand and relate to her. And at least they are trying. So she accepts the gift of attempted compassion, and she does not diminish it. I admire that. 

I remember when I was in my early 20s and suffering from a broken heart, someone I knew laughed at my pain just a little. Admittedly, what she had gone through in her life was an ocean of grief compared to my trickling stream. I could easily recognize that, even at the time. Yet when she brushed off my pain as something insignificant, it only made me feel small and stupid and disconnected.

When we're our most generous selves, we would simply recognize a kindred loss and never diminish anyone else's. But we're not always capable of selflessness and generosity. Sometimes we're hurting so much that we succumb to feelings of envy and the tendency to compare. And I understand that, too. 

Mourning with Those Who Mourn

What I'm learning from my own experiences and friends who grieve is to never, ever judge. Everyone responds differently to loss. If this is the best a suffering person is capable of in this given moment, then they deserve my compassion, not my judgment. Heaven knows I've wished for that myself.

The more I've tried to "mourn with those who mourn" (a phrase I love from LDS scripture) the more I've learned to let go of my expectations of what a grieving person should think, say or feel—and when they should think, say or feel those things. For a million different reasons, the loss I feel for my grandmother is not the same as the loss you feel for yours. Every individual relationship is unique, and the grieving experiences will be too. 

Generally, I try to err on the side of being available to those in my circle who are suffering, rather than retreating in fear of saying the wrong thing. I believe that stumbling through my words imperfectly—and my efforts are always imperfect—is far better than never showing up to say anything at all. 

That said, it never hurts to brush up on a list of the wrong things to say. In every grief club, there are certain remarks and questions that are especially hard to take. They are uttered in innocence, but they cause pain nonetheless.

• To any parent anywhere, I try never to ask, "How many children do you have?" I know more than one angel mother who dreads this question. She has to decide, based on how long she's likely to know you, whether to answer "three" and include all of her children, "two" and include only those who are still living, or the more descriptive "two here on earth and one in heaven." If she chooses the last option, she may have to endure your embarrassed apology, sympathetic looks or questions. A safer approach is to say: "Tell me about your family." This allows angel mothers, those who are childless by choice, and those who may be childless not by choice to frame their answer however they want.
  
  
• To adoptive mothers, you never ask about the child's "real mom." While I may not have carried my daughter in my womb for 9 months or given birth to her, I am a real mother who is doing the hard, daily work of parenting. And I'm eternally grateful to the birthmom who gave me the opportunity to be a real mom.
  
  
• To birthmoms, you never say that they "gave up" their babies. She "placed" her baby for adoption. She will keep her baby forever in her heart, even though circumstances may have made it impossible for her to parent the child. I wish there were a more elegant expression than "placed," but that's the preferred term in adoption circles, and you'll earn compassion points for using it correctly. 
  
  
• To infertile women, you never tell stories of friends who managed to get pregnant right after they "stopped stressing about it so much" or after they adopted a child. The first makes women feel that they are to blame for their situation, and trust me, they already feel that enough. The second frames adoption as a means to a different end, rather than a beautiful choice in and of itself.
  
  
• To women who have suffered pregnancy loss, especially when it occurs later on, it can be painful to hear the term "miscarriage" or especially the more active construction "she miscarried." Both terms subtly imply some fault on the part of the mother, as if there's another way should or could have carried the baby, and it can minimize late-term losses that are more correctly described as stillbirths. I'd never thought about this before, until a friend who is in this club enlightened me. I've learned that a better thing to say is, "I'm sorry for the loss of your baby."

Clearly, this is not a comprehensive list. I'm certain there are other innocently insensitive remarks that are often made to other "grief clubs," probably even by me. And after hearing these kinds of comments often enough, those of us in a particular club become inured to them over time. Nevertheless, a little extra compassion goes a long way.

We've all been on the receiving end of stumbling remarks made by well-meaning people who are just trying their best to identify with us. Perhaps, to help lessen the feelings of offense, we can give the other person points for trying and realize there are no magic words anyone can say that will make it all better. 

Above all, it helps to remember that we're all walking wounded, in one way or another—and connection is the only way through. 

The Three Most Annoying Words in the English Language

These three little words comprise one of the most irritating phrases in the English language.

I know I've been guilty of saying them myself here and there, but I hereby vow to stop cold turkey. Won't you join me in helping to eradicate this smug and unpleasant utterance? It's not just the words themselves that offend, but the sentiment behind them, so let's get rid of that as well. 

Here are three situations that will explain what I mean. 

Just You Wait, Newlywed

I remember being a starry-eyed newlywed, blissfully in love and dreaming of a bright and unblemished future ahead of me. I was so happy to be married and living in a home of my own—no more roommates or apartments—and I honestly felt like I was playing house at first.

Every now and then, a veteran married person (you know 5+ years) would ask, "So, how's married life?" And I'd share how I happy I was, with a small detail or two thrown in, such as, "You know what's really great? Since he spent so many years as a single dad, he is so appreciative of anything I do for him. He knows what it's like to have to do everything by himself, so he never takes me for granted."

And the response, quite often, would be, "Just you wait. He'll get used to it and start leaving his socks around with the best of them."

Another time I mentioned how grateful I was for a husband who cares about a clean house and would willingly complete about half of the housework (back when we were both working full time).

One more experienced married woman replied, "Enjoy it while you can. Trust me, it will start driving you crazy soon enough. My husband cares way more than I do about keeping the house clean, and he constantly nags me."

Bubble effectively burst. 

Sure, I was living in a bit of a fantasyland back in those days, imagining a happy, shiny, problem-free future. It's tempting to do exactly that anytime we're at the start of something new. But reality always rises up to smack us in the face soon enough. We should all let each other enjoy the fantasy while we can. 

I'm not saying that we should indulge a person's unrealistic expectations forever—especially if the fantasy could be damaging—but in the moment, it never hurts to just share in another person's joy. 

Here are some alternative responses to keep in your back pocket:

"I can see the joy on your face. It's good to see you so happy."

"Yeah, I remember those days. It's fun to be a newlywed. Things will get both harder and more wonderful from here on out. You have lots to look forward to!"

"Sounds like you're starting out your marriage on the right foot. Stay in the honeymoon phase as long as you can."

 

Just You Wait, New Mama

When Keira was a tiny, sweet, immobile newborn, and I'd spend hours just holding her and staring at her, people would ask, "So how's life as a new mama?" I'd reply with how much joy she had brought to my life. I'd express surprise that I'm really not as tired as I expected to be, or as overwhelmed. I'd say how shocked I was that I was still managing to keep on top of my business (for the most part), blog occasionally, and even read a book every now and then. I'd say that I didn't really know what was missing in my life until now—that Keira Jane Lucas made me feel complete in a way I hadn't felt for the 7 years I had waited for her.

Now, if you imagine yourself saying in response to any blissful new mother, "Just you wait until you have a teenager, then you'll know what tired is," or "Just you wait until she's crawling. You won't get anything done after that," please hold your tongue. Here are some alternate responses to try:

"I'm so happy for you!"
"I remember when my son was that age. The baby years are so precious."
"You're lucky. My baby never slept when he was little. I hope things continue to go well!"

Just You Wait, Rookie Employee

There are definite disadvantages to being a new employee (not knowing where the break room is, having no grasp of corporate culture and history, being unaware of company processes), but there are advantages, too. New employees can see issues, problems and areas of improvement that more entrenched employees are blind to—and they have a sense of optimism and energy that can be infectious to others.

If you're a long-term employee, it's tempting to fill the newbie's mind with all of your own gripes, injustices and prejudices right away—because you will certainly have some. But why not see if the new employee's fresh perspective can rub off on you, rather than letting your cynicism rub off on her? It's a chance for you to look at your team anew.

If you find yourself wanting to reply to all of her new ideas with a "We already tried that and it didn't work," try the following instead: "I'm interested to hear more about that idea. I'll share a similar idea that we tried last year, and maybe you can help us understand why it failed and what you think we could do differently if we tried it again." 

If you feel like warning her away from the difficult personalities in the office on day one, instead let her form her own opinion. If she says, "Mary in accounting sure seems nice," refrain from saying, with a mouth full of sour grapes, "Just wait until you're late with an expense report, then you'll see just now nice she is."

The office ogres will reveal their true colors soon enough. And then you and the new employee can commiserate together. Or maybe she'll forge a personal connection with Mean Mary that can smooth the way for you. 

 

Together We Can Banish Bubble Bursting

We've all been guilty of needlessly raining on another person's parade, haven't we? Whether out of jealousy or personal dissatisfaction or even genuine concern expressed in an unintentionally negative way. 

I cannot remember where this came from, or I would pass the credit along, but I've heard that every utterance that passes our lips should meet at least two of the following criteria, if not all three:
Is it TRUE?
Is it NICE?
Is it NECESSARY?

The bubble-bursting scenarios outlined above may be true, but they certainly aren't nice or necessary, so they don't pass the test. If for some reason it becomes necessary to burst a bubble, even if what you're saying isn't particularly nice, then by all means say the thing, as long as it's also true.

There's an adorable video from Dr. Brene Brown (below) that illustrates how disconnecting and isolating it can be when we try to paint a silver lining around someone else's pain. What I'm talking about is the reverse of that—inviting the storm clouds in to cast a shadow on another person's sunny news—but it will also get in the way of those true human connections that we are all starving for, whether we know it or not. 

Parades and blissful fantasies are rare and beautiful things in this world, and I believe we should all help each other enjoy the sunshine while we can—and then practice empathy and connection when those inevitable clouds roll in.  

 

 

The Only Scrapbook Album You Need

No matter where you stand on the scrapbooking spectrum—chronological, theme-based, pocket-style, traditional, digital, or just figuring out your memory-keeping approach—I think you'll love the idea behind my  favorite album, which is quite possibly the one ablum I'd grab in the event of a fire. 

If you're new to scrapbooking, this type of album is a great place to start. If you're experienced in the craft, then you already know that a scrapbooker's work is never done, and this is just one more wonderful addition to your album library.

It's called "Our Best Days."

This is one of my few albums that is chronological, instead of organized randomly in order of page completion. I like the free-flowing, hodgepodge nature of the rest of my albums. But this one has a narrow focus and tends to progress in date order.

It serves as a simple timeline for the major events and milestones in my life, including:

our engagement
our wedding day
our sealing in the LDS temple
the arrival of my daughter
the finalization of Keira's adoption
the day she was blessed and sealed to us 
my stepson's high school graduation

These pages don't always include a lot of journaling. For events like these, there's just too much to say, and those in-depth stories are probably captured elsewhere. Plus, it's fairly obvious why these days would be special to me.

It is also a place I gather pages about particularly magical in-between days, like:

the day my premature nephew came home from the hospital
the day a beloved pet came home after a near-death experience
the day we completed a 25-mile bike race as a family
an idyllic anniversary trip to Midway, Utah

These pages tend to include more journaling and longer stories, because it wouldn't be obvious at a glance why these days would make it into a "best days" album. 

 

Why I Love This Album
The album helped me solve a dilemma I've been facing. There were certain events and moments that I wanted to make sure never get lost in my standard ongoing albums, and I know if I were to ever look for these layouts in the future, I'd search for them based on date the event happened. So, I decided I should also organize them by date.

In so doing, I created a specific gathering place for layouts about my family's very best days—the highlights of our life. (This album could also be called "Favorite Days," as it follows the concept of my "Favorite Photos" album, where I gather those one-in-a-thousand shots that capture an emotion, relationship, or scene with perfect clarity—those that hold the biggest emotional impact for me.)

I call these types of albums—both Favorite Photos and Our Best Days—"ongoing theme albums," because they each have a specific purpose, and all the layouts within each of them share a common theme. They're not planned out or created in one sitting or even over the course of a couple of weeks. They are simply gathering places for all the layouts I create that suit the topic, whenever and however they get created. I'll continue adding to both albums as new page ideas come to mind.

My typical scrapbooking process is to create pages in random order, based on whatever inspires me at the time (see "About My Process" below). And it's usually only after a layout is done that I decide which of my albums should be its home.

But "Our Best Days" is one exception to that rule. If I'm scrapbooking about a momentous event, huge celebration, important milestone, or even just a fabulous regular day, I save it for Our Best Days—slipping it into it's chronological space in the lineup. This album is my one chronologically organized haven in all the creative randomness that rules the roost most of the time.

Embrace Design Randomness
For this album, I don't try to coordinate products or designs from page to page—all layouts stand on their own. But most of these pages do have one design trait in common. I include the date prominently, and usually on a tab that sticks up off the top of the page. The size, shape, and style of the tab certainly evolves, but I like that subtle, common motif to repeat throughout the album. 

About My Process
Generally, I complete scrapbook pages and leave them in piles for months. Every so often, I'll go through and sort them into thematic albums. I have albums for:

Me
Keira Jane
Jeremy Conrad
All About Us (pages about relationships between my immediate family)
Things We Do (pages about vacations, events and outings)
People We Love (pages about extended family and friends)
Favorite Photos

I have plenty of small, single-topic theme albums as well. But these are the overarching themes for my larger 12 x 12 and 8.5x11 pages. The album themes are subject to change, and sometimes pages get shuffled between them.

The system is loosely inspired by Stacy Julian's system, outlined years ago in Simple Scrapbooks magazine and her Big Picture Scrapbooking and Photo Freedom books. The system is so intuitive that I like to think I would arrived at this approach on my own eventually. But the truth is, it didn't occur to me that I could make pages in any other way than chronologically before I encountered Stacy's work.

Note about the bookshelf picture: I'm continuing to embrace imperfection, which is why I shared a picture of my scrapbook albums as they currently sit on my bookshelf. No, they are not perfectly coordinated. And my plans to add coordinating labels to their spines has yet to materialize. The little green circles, punched from sticky-back cardstock and written on with a Sharpie, are serving as my temporary labelling system. (Temporary for about 2.5 years now.) But I'm not going to let it keep me from sharing my ideas. Too many of us are held back by impossible standards of beauty and perfection. I'm working on letting go of my own hesitations and inhibitions day by day. 

 

Easter Traditions: Mona's Mustard Sauce

I  haven't always shared the depth of my faith on my blog, mostly because I consider it too precious to be held up to the potential scorn of the world at large. (Not that the world at large is aware of my obscure little corner of the Internet. Whew.)

But in honor of this Easter season, I'd like to share a personal essay I wrote about my grandmother, which was very nearly published in the LDS Church News. A shorter version of this piece is featured on the Family Search blog this week. I've also attached this story to my grandmother's name on my family tree on the Family Search website, so it will be there for any of her descendants to one day read.

"If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed..."
Matthew 17:20 

My Grandma Mona Hymas Hill made the world's best homemade mustard to serve with her Easter ham. I find it funny that my mom had to recently remind me about the Easter cupcakes grandma would bake specially for the grandchildren, topped with "nests" of dyed-green coconut and speckled jelly-bean eggs.

But I needed no help remembering the mustard. 

It was surprisingly mild in both color and flavor, given Grandma's lovably spicy personality. I can still picture her carrying it proudly to the Easter table in a gravy boat. My dad and his four sisters—nostalgia shimmering in their eyes—had to coerce each of the 22 grandchildren into our first taste of this thick, warm sauce that looked nothing like the French's we ate on our sandwiches. (At least one rookie in-law mistook the mustard for warm vanilla pudding and swallowed a heaping spoonful before realizing his mistake.)

My dad and aunts grew up spooning Mona's mustard over their Sunday ham. They also helped serve it in the small-town cafe grandma and grandpa owned for 30 years. But at banquets only, for either the Lion's Club or ladies bridge nights or when church dignitaries would visit the tiny Mormon town. Oh no, it was far too precious for the regular dining room.

The recipe can be found under the heading "Mustard Sauce" in the Matthews Family Cookbook ("Ewe'll Love It!"), which my grandmother typed painstakingly on a heavy old typewriter in a makeshift office in the backyard—otherwise known as a camp trailer. She spent an entire summer typing that old cookbook, copies of which now reside in the homes of nearly every descendant of her grandmother—as long as they attended the Matthews reunion grandma organized in the mid-1980s. My mom's copy is falling apart after years of heavy use, and the mustard sauce is highlighted in yellow.

I wonder how many of Caroline Elizabeth Orr Matthews's many descendants—she bore 11 children, 9 of whom lived to adulthood—skip right over the recipe to this day, having no inkling of the magic therein.

Truly, it can be the simplest, most unexpected things that turn into the most cherished and lasting family traditions. My cousin Andy's wife, Whitney, now stirs the mustard (for 15 minutes in a double boiler) each Easter for my Aunt Margo's family gatherings. My mom is the mustard maker in our family. I'm certain my Aunts Lynn, April, and Jennifer are carrying on the tradition, too. One day it will be my turn.

And grandma's example taught me so much more than just a tasty way to serve ham at family dinners.

I think of the impact of Mona herself, not to mention her mustard sauce, when I hear the parable in the book of Matthew, where our Savior likened the mustard seed to the kingdom of heaven. It "indeed is the least of all seeds: but when it is grown, it is the greatest among herbs, and becometh a tree, so that the birds of the air come and lodge in the branches thereof." (Matthew 13:31) 

Indeed, Grandma Mona lived simply, never owning a dishwasher or even a disposal in her kitchen sink, in a little white house on main street in Grace, Idaho, a town of less than 1,000 farmers, homemakers, teachers, welders and plant workers. She and my grandpa could never boast much in the way of money or worldly goods, but she considered herself wealthy in terms of her blossoming family tree.

Never was there a woman more vehemently proud of her grandchildren. To be related to her was to have a champion in your corner who loved you unconditionally, unabashedly, and without reserve. She was a woman of fierce devotion to both faith and family, inviting all that she loved to "come and lodge in the branches" of her generous heart.

She spent her final years in a retirement home in a city 65 miles from home, where she had more visitors than she could count. She had been terrified to leave her tiny hometown and vowed she never, ever would, but she blossomed in her new life. She thrived. One of her final acts of faith was to be an instrument in the Lord's hands in introducing an 80-year-old fellow resident, Mary, to the gospel of Jesus Christ. 

For me, Mona's mustard sauce is a taste of childhood and of home. It's a reminder of the far-reaching effects of faith. How the tiniest seed of hope, kindness, and pure devotion can blossom and grow, touching lives in the most unexpected ways. 

I wouldn't even venture a guess as to how many of Mona's 22 grandchildren will be serving her mustard this Easter. I know we will be. 

Grandma originally got the recipe decades ago from a little old lady in town my aunt can only remember as Mrs. Titus. She made a few of her own modifications. From what I hear, the mustard sauce is still served to this day at most every funeral held in my grandma's former church congregation.

Mona's Mustard Sauce

1/2 c. sugar (scant)
4 T. dry mustard, Coleman's
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. cornstarch
Mix together well

Add:
2 beaten eggs
1/2 c. milk
1/2 c. vinegar
2 T. butter

Cook 15 minutes in double boiler. This is a very mild sauce. I add more mustard to suit the taste. —Mona Hymas Hill

5 Favorite Picture Books: Rhyme Time

One of the big benefits of switching from a lower paying but more creative job (in the scrapbooking industry) to higher paying but less exciting work (email marketing and business ghostwriting) is that I can earn more money for our adoption fund in much less time. Because adoption? It ain't cheap.

It also means I have creative time and creative energy to spare, which has resulted in more crafting, scrapbooking, writing, researching, and purposeless creativity than I've done in years. It's a beautiful thing.

One of the things I'm doing these days is trying to shop around a children's picture book I've written. I have one complete manuscript, with a bunch of half-finished stories and other ideas brewing, too. 

I'm currently in the "research the publishing industry" phase, right in the middle of trying to decide whether to submit the manuscript directly to publishers or shop for an agent—or do both, simultaneously.

As I'm immersing myself into this world, I thought I'd share some of my favorite picture books with you. But I have too many. So I decided to break them into categories and start a series.

First up: five favorite rhyming picture books for children. 

When you read a book to a child over and over (and over), it helps when there's a lovely, lyrical cadence to the language. Here are five delightful picture books that have such a wonderful real-aloud rhythm that they're irresistible to read, as nominated by me and my daughter Keira, age 4. 

#1 Wynken, Blynken & Nod 
Words: Eugene Field
Illustrations: Johanna Westerman



"Wynken, Blynken and Nod one night sailed off in a wooden shoe.
Sailed on a river of crystal light, into a sea of dew..."

Why I Love It: The words, written over 100 years ago by American poet and literary critic Eugene Field, weave a web of pure childhood magic. And the illustrations are just as timeless and nostalgic in this version of the classic tale, published in the 1990s. I love the winking old moon later on in the book. 

Why Keira Loves It: She loves searching for the little black kitty in every picture.

 

#2 Llama Llama Red Pajama  
Words & Illustrations: Anna Dewdney



"Baby Llama, what a tizzy! Sometimes Mama's very busy.
Please stop all this llama drama and be patient for your mama."

Why I Love It: It's amazing to see how many coherent rhymes Dewdney found for "llama/pajama/mama/drama" without ever sacrificing a meaningful storyline for verbal wordplay. The illustrations are beyond precious, especially the expressions of unwarranted terror on baby llama's face. There's a whole series of Llama Llama books, but this is our favorite so far.

Why Keira Loves It: She is transfixed by the sounds of the words when the book is read aloud. She fell in love with this book at age 2 at my sister's house, so we had to buy a copy for ourselves: "I want to read Llama Llama Beejama!"

 

#3 The Gruffalo 
Words: Julia Donaldson
Illustrations: Axel Scheffler



"A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood.
A fox saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.
'Where are you going to little brown mouse?
Come and have lunch in my underground house.'"

Why I Love It: It is utterly delightful to read aloud. And there's not just one, but two, unexpected twists in the plot. The author says she originally envisioned the story with a tiger, but she couldn't work that animal into the rhyme scheme, so she invented the imaginary gruffalo. Good move.

Why Keira Loves It: She loves the clever little mouse, and her eyes grow wide as the gruffalo, with his "knobbly knees and turned-out toes" and "poisonous wart at the end of his nose" starts to take shape.

 

 

#4 Little Miss Spider
Words & Illustrations: David Kirk



"For finding your mother, there's one certain test.
You must look for the creature who loves you the best."

Why I Love It: As an adoptive mother, I especially adore this charming and sweet story, with its surprise ending. Yes, it's oversimplified, because birth mothers love their babies beyond reason too, but it makes a complicated concept accessible to young minds. The rhymes are simple and straightforward and fun for little ones to listen to. This one is probably out of print, since there are only used copies available on Amazon, some as low as $.36.

Why Keira Loves It: This was one of her favorite books, even from a very young age. I think the bright, primary colors captured her attention, and she was able to easily grasp the gist of the story.

 

#5 Over in the Ocean: In a Coral Reef
Words: Marianne Berkes
Illustrations: Jeanette Canyon



"Over in the ocean where the scuba divers dive
Lived an old mother puffer and her pufferfish five."

Why I Love It: The art is incredible. Each scene was shaped entirely from polymer clay before being photographed for the book. It's a great lesson in counting, and the rhyming stanzas are fun and whimsical. There's an entire series by this author, but this is the only one we've read so far. We bought it in the gift shop of the Aquarium of the Pacific in California. 

Why Keira Loves It: The colors and textures are dazzling. Keira loves looking for the mother and trying to find and count all the babies hidden in the pictures: one baby octopus, two baby parrotfish, three baby clownfish, and so on.

Why Listen to Me About Picture Books?

I'm not a children's librarian, a preschool teacher, or an expert in early childhood development, so I'm not judging these books based on age-appropriate vocabulary or reading level. And being fairly new to the motherhood scene, I haven't read all the books yet. A book can make my favorites list based simply on the following four questions:

• Can I stand to read it over and over (and over)?
• Does it captures Keira's attention and imagination?
• Is the writing clear, creative, and accessible?
• Is the story not just entertaining, but also meaningful, educational, funny, or clever as well?

I reserve the right to edit and add to my favorites list as I encounter more and more children's books in the years to come. :)

In Case You're Wondering...

My yet-to-be-published children's book? Yes, it rhymes. 

How About You?

What are your favorite rhyming children's books?

 

Life Lessons from Laura Bush

I had the great fortune of spending a day at RootsTech, a huge family-history conference in Salt Lake City this month, where former first lady Laura Bush was one of the morning keynote speakers. Her speech was followed by a Q&A with her daughter, NBC correspondent Jenna Bush Hager.

I was able to sit in the media and blogger section, within 60 feet of the stage, I imagine—although I am notoriously terrible at estimating distances. While this photo came from the event staff instead of my own camera, this pretty closely represents my view of the stage. 

I was impressed by Mrs. Bush's poise and Southern gentility. And it was heartwarming and sweet to see this young reporter ask hard-hitting questions like, "Mom, so what's it like to be the grandma of the best baby in the whole wide world?"

There were, of course, other interesting questions asked and anecdotes shared about life as the First Family, such as the night that George and Barbara Bush babysat Jenna and her twin sister Barbara at the White House the night before a presidential debate. One of the girls had misplaced a stuffed cat that she absolutely needed to fall asleep, so grandpa George and the secret service were out combing the grounds with flashlights, only to return and find both girls fast asleep. 

Mrs. Bush shared the very human side of what it's like to hold on to family and relationships while living so conspicuously in the public eye. She said she's often asked if it bothered her to see her husband constantly excoriated in the press. Yes, if course it bothered her, just like it would bother anyone, but she purposefully didn't read the worst of it. 

"It bothered me, but it didn't get to me. I know who I am. And I know who George is," Laura Bush said.

I loved this for two reasons. First, I have recently discovered and embraced my own personal limits when it comes to consuming negativity in the news. Some days, I just can't do it. The polarization and the vitriol in the news itself—and especially in the comments—can throw a cloud over my head that lasts for hours; I can't imagine how much worse that would be if me or my own loved ones were the direct target of the negativity. Yes, I could become cynical and hard and learn to steel myself against the onslaught, but I'd prefer to continue to be myself while placing proactive limits around the news and commentary I allow into my life.

While I believe it's important to be informed about the issues of the day, I can control how often I'm exposed to the news and what sources I choose to listen to. For me, daily—let alone hourly—is way too much. I can catch up on an entire week's worth of news in an hour, with occasional news binges when a big issue catches my eye. Often, by the time the frenzy of whatever top story is dominating the headlines has receded a bit, there's more information available and a more complete and nuanced story reported. 

This is just more evidence of my suspicion—once expressed by my dad—that I was born in the wrong era. I long for a general slowing down.

Second, I want to embrace the "I know who I am" mantra for myself. Because I do know who I am, why I'm here, and what I believe—and perhaps because of that, I feel the chaos and confusion of the world acutely. I find peace and happiness within my family and in myself, and I cherish the freedom I have to make those little daily decisions that lead to inner peace.

But I also feel bombarded by the prevailing messages of the world—those that value cynicism over faith, self-indulgence over self-discipline, hedonism over humility, sarcasm over serenity.

Perhaps because of my sensitive nature, I am inordinately distressed when I see my deeply held personal views on anything (religion and politics, especially) misunderstood or mischaracterized. But such is life. People are so often unwilling to look past their own personal biases to truly see the other side's real intent, to find common ground, or to compromise. 

Laura Bush was far more magnanimous about it all—as I probably would be in a speech to thousands of people—in saying that all the bluster and bloviating is nothing more than the grinding gears of democracy happening right before our eyes. The very words "bluster and bloviating" put a less menacing spin on the nature of our national discourse. It's good to remember that so much of it is just spin and political posturing.

Having lived in the White House and having faced the weight of the office and those hallowed halls inhabited by so many great men and women before them, Mrs. Bush said, "Presidents are very generally decent men, trying to do their best with their breathtaking responsibilities." Yes, I believe that's probably true. 

Other takeaways from the speech:

• Make your life how you want it to be right now.
• All we know we have is NOW. It could all change any minute, as it did after 9/11.
• Walk on the beach every chance you have.
• Read, read, read.
• When it comes to parenting, "You show them the way, and then you hope."
• It is the job of every American to step up to your own pitcher's mound and stand your ground. And stand proud. 

 

Simple Gift Albums for My Nieces and Nephews

For Christmas the year before last (back when I had NO time to blog, but I did have time to take pictures), I used a simple, repeatable formula to create meaningful gift albums for all of my nieces and nephews. Well, except for the two who are too young to appreciate them; they will get theirs in a few years. 

You should have seen everyone's faces as they unwrapped their gifts at our family party. Moms and dads teared up. Kids looked through their albums again and again, comparing notes, giggling, trading and trading back. I even spotted two of the albums in a place of honor on my brother's fireplace mantel a few months later.

It was worth every single minute of time it took to pull them together.  

I found these personalized, laser-cut, wood album covers on Pick Your Plum a few years ago. It's a deal-a-day site that features limited quantities of craft supplies each day. When they're gone, they're gone. (And these are most definitely GONE. I couldn't even locate anything like them in a Google search.) But you could complete the same project with any type of album. 

 My Album Recipe:

• 1 favorite photo for the cover
• 1 personalized title page
• 1 photo of me with the recipient
• A list of "5 Things I Love About You"
• 5 favorite photos of the recipient
• A list of "5 Hopes for Your Future"
• A self-portrait page (for the recipient to fill in)
• A 5-question quiz (for the recipient to complete)

You can breeze through all eight albums in this 2-minute video, created in the iMotion time-lapse app for iPhone. Or scroll down for close-ups of two complete albums. Music: "New Soul" by Yael Naim.

 

An Album for Thomas

I printed and trimmed the cover photos to leave about a 1/2-inch margin around all sides. I adhered them with a super-strong, permanent adhesive like this one or this one.

Each album begins with a personalized title page, with a tiny hand-written note. Fonts used: KG A Little Swag and orange juice. Both are free.

Next up is the very first photo ever taken of the two of us together. Sweet little Thomas was a 25-week, 2 lb. 2 oz. preemie, so I didn't get to hold him for a picture until he was 3 months old. 

I selected a different sheet of double-sided patterned paper for each album, trimming them to fit across the top of each page. They are not adhered in place, just slipped loosely onto the jump rings in between the pages.

I included hand-written captions on each photo. I want the kids to know WHY these photos are my favorites; what they mean to me. I love the personal touch that handwriting adds to any project.

I printed most photos to a squarish size and centered them in the space, so there would be room on the bottom for the caption. 

I tried to achieve a variety of photos in each album: some close-ups, some full-body shots, some from various ages.

How do you decide among all the wonderful photos you have? Just select the ones that mean something special to you. It almost doesn't matter which you choose. You're not telling a whole life story. This album is just a snapshot of A FEW of your favorites.

I also make sure to include one or two that really show off the child's personality, like this one.

Next up: "5 Hopes for Your Future," personalized for each child.

I reserved a page for each child to draw a self-portrait, showing off his or her current artistic skills.

Each album ends with a 5-question quiz for the child to fill out. I honestly don't know if any of the children have completed these pages in their albums, but I wanted them to have the chance. Here's hoping!


An Album for Haylee

This album was for my oldest niece, born before the turn of the century. (As in, the year 1999. :)

As you can see, all of the interior pages are pretty much the same from album to album, so I could print multiple copies of each page, and then personalize with handwriting and patterned paper. 

Why am I including a photo of myself in these albums? Because they are a gift from me. They share MY perspective about the recipient, not some objective truth, so it makes sense that I make an appearance somewhere. 

The hardest part about these pages was narrowing them down to just 5 things. And actually, I kind of didn't. You can tell that some numbers mention multiple positive qualities. That's okay. The numbered list still makes them more inviting to read than if it had been one long paragraph.

I mentioned before that all of the patterned papers I chose are double-sided. On some albums, I used both sides of the paper, alternating sides from page to page.

It wasn't possible to crop every photo to a square. For those that were more vertical, I'd just fill the vertical space and write my captions sideways.

Some of these favorite photos have already appeared on scrapbook pages I've completed for me to keep, so it was fun to be able to print copies to share with some of my favorite little people.

I like to include dates when I know them. Because children will inevitably wonder, "How old was I in that picture?"

Photos that showcase relationships are a must. The oldest of 12 cousins, this girl has always been so wonderful to all of the littles.

Close-ups, full-body shots, portraits and candids. The more variety, the better!

Five hopes for her future. I drew on each child's current strengths and qualities as I thought about what I truly wish the future holds for each of my nieces and nephews.

For bigger kids, a self-portrait might be a "selfie" taken with a smartphone. I'll leave that up to the child to decide.

The album ends with that same 5-question quiz. 

My sisters and sisters-in-law joke that I scrapbook about their kids more than they do. It's probably true. I don't mind holding the title of "family historian."

And I truly believe that every memory preserved is a victory. 

For your Pinning pleasure:

 

The Problem With Ghostwriting

"You know you make me a ghost."
—Ingrid Michaelson

The problem with being a ghostwriter, which is one of the things I'm doing now, is that many of my most brilliant sentences can never be attributed to me. 

Sure, those sparkling strings of words may be about a topic as banal as project management, but that doesn't make them any less witty or wise. 

I almost typed my most recent favorite sentence right into this post, but then I remembered that we live in the days of Google, and you'd be able to find the full article lickety-split. And then the secret would be out. I tried rewriting the sentence to make it unGooglable and yet retain its glory, but there's no substitute for the original. 

I don't necessarily feel like ghostwriting has to be a dirty little secret. It happens more than you may realize. After all, the articles I'm writing now are not my ideas, so I don't need the credit for them. I spend an hour with the "thought leader" in question, pulling as many ideas out of him or her as I can. I use direct quotes when possible, and then I craft a readable, well-organized, scannable article (because, short attention spans), embellishing with related research as needed.

The entire time I'm writing, I imagine the author's actual speaking voice in my head. Then the article goes back to the author for review. He pulls out anything that doesn't sound like something he would say, adds a bit more of his own personal flair, and makes suggestions for me. I revise as needed and turn in the final.

Yes, sing it Ingrid. I'm a Gho-ost.

It's actually a pretty great gig.

You combine what the thought leader is good at (coming up with innovative ideas that resonate with the intended audience) with what I'm good at (writing and organizing ideas) and it's the perfect symbiotic relationship. She gets to just sit and talk, spilling her ideas out loud in a quarter of the time it would take her to write them. I get great material to shape into something greater.

The ideas themselves are appropriately attributed to the person who thought of them; I just make them more accessible—and sound prettier.

Certainly, a little bit of "me" inevitably creeps in, and I discover my own dormant ideas and experiences related to team management or hiring best-practices. Perhaps I'll start collecting them—those that truly come from my own head—and become a business thought leader myself. Ha.

At the very least, I should save some of my own brilliance for my blog. I'm getting better at that. I think I've already blogged more this year than all of last year, and prospects look good for the remainder of 2015. 

In case you're wondering whether ghost-writing has ever happened in the craft and scrapbooking industries, the answer is YES. Entire books by scrapbookers you know and love were ghost-written by staff writers and editors. Not all or even most of them, but I do know of a couple of instances (none by me). If you sometimes wonder how certain scrapbooking celebrities are able to do it all, the answer is that they can't. They often have help. And there's nothing wrong with that in my book—as long as they're making their own memories, creating their own scrapbook pages, and thinking their own ideas.

Some people just need a "professional idea polisher." Like me.

(For the record, note that none of the books that were published under the Simple Scrapbooks label were ghost-written. Stacy Julian, Cathy Zielske, Elizabeth Dillow, Rebecca Cooper—they all wrote their own books. Every word.)

Once There Was a Snowman

"The winter storm, predicted to be one of the worst ever to hit New York City,
failed to deliver much of a blow.... Children stayed home from school,
even in areas with hardly enough snow to build a snowman."
—The New York Times, January 27, 2015

I admit I was sitting over here in brown, brown Utah, feeling a bit jealous of the impending blizzard back East. Yes, we enjoyed a glittering white blanket of snow that draped my beloved landscape, magically, in the wee hours of Christmas morning. But we haven't seen much of the white stuff since. I miss it. 

Here is a pictorial representation of what happened in our mere 16 days of winter wonderland. Now, it's just winter, minus the wonderland. 

For those of you who did get enough snow to build a snowman, but not enough to overly disrupt your life, don't forget to photograph your snowman's rise...as well as his demise. 

December 25

January 6

January 8

January 9

I don't know if I would have bothered to snap these shots, if not for the darling kids in my neighborhood. When our snowman's head fell off and rolled across the grass, the kids walking home from the bus stop did not kick the rest of the snowman apart, as kids are often apt to do.

Instead, they picked up his head, put it back, and even replaced the carrot nose. He was crumbling apart in the morning, and in the afternoon, we came home to find him intact. Now that's adorable. (Did you notice the lone eyeball in the lower right corner of the picture?) 

A few days later, when he had melted into a tiny mound, representing the last smidgen of snow left in our south-facing front yard, Keira and I put his little face back together and replaced the scarf. It was his last hurrah.

Just 24 hours later, he was nothing more than a pile of eyes and buttons. 

We haven't seen a flake of snow since. Naturally, this was the year my siblings and I gave my parents a snow-blower for Christmas. :)

For your Pinterest pleasure:

 

5 Ways to Beat the Winter Blues

While I don't think I'm a particularly SAD person, I do have a slightly harder time regulating my mood in the winter, particularly in January and February when the novelty of the snow and the cute sweaters has worn off. 

Here are a few tips that have helped brighten my mood on dreary days. Obviously, wearing polka-dot socks isn't going to cure a real case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (for that, try a "happy lamp"), but if you're just a little bit blue—you know in the steel blue range vs. a deep, dark navy—maybe these ideas will help.

 

1. Go Where the People Are
One of the things that I both love and hate about winter is my tendency to hibernate. I do love cozying up next to the fireplace under a warm quilt to read a good book late into the evening. But since I've been working primarily from home over the last 5 years, I find the extra isolation from people in the winter can affect my mood. A new gym finally opened up within 10 minutes of my house, and it seems that is where all the people of Bluffdale and Riverton are. Pulling into that crowded parking lot at 7 or 8 at night gives me an instant energy flicker; the boost doesn't usually arrive until after the workout. Oh, I don't exactly talk to anyone. But there's something about being in the same cavernous room with a hundred sweaty strangers that increases my feelings of camaraderie and common humanity. (Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd write.)

 

2. Drive to the Sun
Last Sunday, we needed an escape from the endless gray skies. We packed a lunch and a bunch of snacks, and we headed into the nearby desert. We drove and drove until we saw the sun. Out in the wilderness, southwest of Salt Lake County, you can hook into the old Pony Express Trail and drive it for 133 miles (no services), until you reach Fish Springs, a strange and isolated oasis. Sometimes you won't see another living creature. We saw maybe five other cars all day long. Sometimes you'll see a few rabbits and wild mustang, like we did on Sunday. Sometimes you'll even see a massive herd of antelope running through the brush in the same direction you're driving (that happened once in 2005, and it was magical). We rolled the windows down and breathed in the unspoiled, clear air. We sat at a picnic table in the middle of nowhere and ate peanut butter sandwiches with the sun on our faces. We soaked up enough vitamin D to last us a week. When we weren't chewing or talking or tromping through the patchy snow, we could hear literally nothing. Dead silence for miles around. We road-tripped on paved and dirt paths for 7 or 8 hours, just there and back, stopping to expolore here and there, talking and not talking, listening to satellite radio, reading The Lord of the Rings, connecting. I believe that any journey, no matter how small, can enliven a dreary week.

Keira Jane standing on green volcanic rock near Simpson Springs. I love that her fingers are crossed! Even this much blue sky was a balm for the soul.

Fun Fact: Did you know that the Pony Express trail was only operational for one year before it was made obsolete by the overland telegraph? For having such a brief history, it sure holds a big place in Western lore.

 

3. Wash a Window
Perhaps you are a more diligent window washer than I am. Perhaps you clean your windows more than once every year (or two, sheepish grin). If so, you may not see as great an effect. But I've found that taking a moment to thoroughly clean just one window, even if freezing temperatures make it impossible to address more than the inside of the glass, quite literally improves my outlook. On Wednesday, on day three of a self-imposed sick-child quarantine, I pulled out a stool and washed my kitchen window while I waited for the water to boil for lunch. I couldn't stop gazing through that clear, bright glass for the rest of the day. I had been looking at the world through a blurry, build-up of film for I don't know how long. I can't quite describe how I felt after that simple, 2-minute Windex job—cleansed, refreshed, lifted somehow.

 

4. Wear Bright Socks
I have a pair of blindingly bright orange socks with lime-green toes and fuschsia polka-dots. I'm fairly sure they were a gift, because I can't imagine picking them out. They are the softest, coziest socks ever darned. I wear them incessantly in the winter. Artist and blogger Kelly Rae Roberts talks of getting #dressedupinjoy. I love that idea. Many days, I dress in what fits well and feels comfortable. I haven't yet taken the leap into dressing intentionally each day in joyful colors and fabrics, head to toe. But this is an easy feat to accomplish on one's feet. Even while wearing my current favorite black leggings and gray-and-white striped sweater, the splash of color on my feet makes me happy. (Is it weird that I love the color gray? Is it even a color at all—or is it the absence of color? I have to physically restrain myself from buying every article of clothing in gray.)

 

 

5. Have Something to Look Forward To
Plan something, anything, to pin your hopes on and pull you through doldrums. On our Sunday road trip, Travis and I decided that we need to do this way more often. We made a goal to plan an intentional (not last-minute) weekend adventure every other month, and to take turns doing the planning. Trav is in charge of February, and I'm in charge of April. On his months, we will probably end up in Moab or Canyonlands, crusing through miles of open desert, hiking through the red rocks, and photographing the stark, incomparable landscape. On my months, we may end up in a quaint little bed and breakfast, with window-shopping, antiquing, and sightseeing nearby. We have both agreed to go along with the other person's plans, knowing that we'll have a chance to be in charge next time. Don't get me wrong; I do love our southern Utah adventures, but I wouldn't necessarily plan every vacation there. Travis would. Whereas I dream of seeing the wide world beyond our little borders, Travis wants to know every miniscule corner of the great state in which we live. It's another way that we push and pull each other and keep each other in balance. I'm glad I married my opposite in almost every way. My life is richer because of it. 

Note: Image at the top of this post was snapped from my iPhone on Christmas Eve at the top of the Snowbird Ski Resort tram, looking west over the Salt Lake Valley.

 

Your Turn
What are your favorite ways to beat the winter blues? I'd love to hear them!