Between car trouble, ongoing HOA issues, and the start of an insane semester, anxiety is off the charts!

 ....so let's look at some funny pictures. And laugh. Really, though. Isn't laughter always so good for us?

My minivan has 75,000 miles, and I've never put any money into it, beyond oil changes and new brakes a couple months ago. So when my "check engine" light came on last week, I wasn't super surprised. I figured a tune-up was likely needed. I wasn't wrong, but the process to get there was long and complicated, and the thing is, I am not someone who can be without transportation, even for just a day or two. My fall schedule is bananas; I drive to three different campuses several times each week (more on that later). Eli and Amanda have been so kind to lend me a car, but I really hate doing that because it leaves them with only their minivan to share. Not to mention the fact that I had to add the car's license plate to my parking permits at all three schools, and of course they wanted to know the year, make, model, and color of the car. I knew none of those things; I literally had to get out of the car to see what color it is, when I was parked down at UCU, editing my permit. I had to text Shulamith to get all that other info. She knew, because this used to be Matt's car before they sold it to Eli and Amanda. Anyway, blah.

I've worried relentlessly every time I drive it that I will get in a wreck and total it, leaving Eli and Amanda without a second car. Let's face it; I am way overdue for a wreck. Anyway, my car is supposed to be ready tomorrow morning. They promised. We're gonna pray they keep that promise. Amanda needs their car back to take Jane to preschool by 12:45 p.m.

Then, I continue to deal with this dang HOA situation. It will be two years in January that I first learned of the issue, and here we still are, no closer to resolution than we ever were. Not sure what my next steps are, but whatever they are, I will surely take them soon, because I need to sleep at night. 

And fall semester is upon us! Teaching as an adjunct professor at three institutions is wonderful in many ways but challenging in many others. Each one of these schools operates as if it were my only job. Each semester, when they request availability for the next semester, they assume I'm not waiting for offers from any other schools. But I almost always am. Sadly, the school that pays the highest (by a lot!!) is the U. of Utah, but they are always last each semester to come in with an offer. Then have to consider their graduate assistants first and make sure they have classes to teach as part of their programs. Even after accepting offers from all the schools, I have to wait and see if all those classes will actually make. Ten students is the magic number at all three schools. And students just love to wait to register until the week before the semester begins.

So this time, I kinda under-estimated. Okay, a lot under-estimated. Enrollment was very low in three of the nine classes I was offered, and I really thought those three would not make. Six is a reasonable number to teach, difficult, but manageable. I felt pretty confident. Guess what? All nine classes filled, three at each school. All nine of them! I may die.

So here's the thing. Laughter is so good for anxiety. So is crying, actually, and I believe strongly in doing both, but today, let's laugh. The story is that occasionally, through the last 17 years, Shulamith and I have asked Matt to take a picture of us. The key here is "a" picture. One. But instead, Matt likes to take a bunch of pictures, one after the other, before we are even ready. Neither of us takes very good candid pics. We need to pose and smile. So usually I wind up deleting a zillion pictures, and keeping only the one that turns out (assuming one does, which isn't always the case). 

So a few weeks ago, we were on this Mexican cruise. One evening, we were out on the deck, and we asked Matt to take our picture. As usual, he starting taking pictures before we were even close to ready. And even the last one, for which we actually had time to pose and smile, didn't turn out because my eyes were closed!

Between car trouble, ongoing HOA issues, and the start of an insane semester, anxiety is off the charts!

 ....so let's look at some funny pictures! And laugh. 

"That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love" - Easter musings.

On the surface, these two lines from poet Emily Dickinson may sound like a spoonful of pathos-dripping soup, but what if they actually express the truthiest truth of all? On occasion, when I've been asked what it means to me to be a theist, one who believes in God, even a God I cannot prove, I've explained my feelings like this: I love my five children; I love them so much. I can't prove that I love them, and yet, it is the surest thing I know, a truth I know better than I know anything else.

For me, it's the same with God. I can't prove God's existence, yet I know it is true. I've felt God's presence and protection. I've felt lifted, carried, nurtured, inspired, seen, heard, cherished, and even (occasionally) directed by God. Most importantly, I've felt loved. 

So when Dickinson proclaims "That Love is all there is, Is all we know of Love," in a spiritual, global sense, I believe her. I'm convinced that if we could fully comprehend the magnitude of God's infinite, universal, radical, love, the result would be not only healing but life-transforming. Now full transparency, I'm not super good at this. I tend to be a "glass half empty" soul, a realist, if you will. Add to that my super hero persona: Anxiety Girl: able to jump to the worst possible conclusion in a single bound! But that's okay with God. Because God holds space for me to be just as I am: fears, flaws and all. God is well aware that mortality is challenging. It's messy and complicated, and sometimes we're left feeling fully broken. But God assures us, in both text and action, that we are not alone in the brokenness. We are not forgotten or judged or punished or shamed. We are only loved. Because Love is all there is. 

Easter reminds us of that constant Love, the hope it brings, the joy it shouts, and the warmth it radiates! I felt all that this past Sunday, as my family gathered for Easter brunch. Gerald and I are lucky! Four of our five kids live nearby and we see them often. But this day was special because we had not only our four local kids, but also their four respective spouses/girlfriends. It was a full house for sure, with 14 of us: ten adults, one teenager, and three kids. Imagine, if you will, the full-on chaos. 

But for this mama, it was beautiful chaos. 

Human memory is faulty. Years from now, when we tell this story of Easter 2026, our individual reflections will differ. One Easter message I heard on Sunday explains it well: "The details change, but the Love remains."

Indeed.

The Madness of March

March had some definite high points. I spent most of my spring break in Oregon with my mom. After returning, we celebrated Eli's birthday at the new Macaroni Grill in South Jordan. Mac Grill is a legend in the Erichsen-Webster family. Four of our five kids (Shulamith, Isaiah, Eli, and Seth) worked there at some point in their high school, college, or post-college years, as did Shulamith's husband, Matt, and Eli's wife, Amanda. It's just a thing we do. I, myself, never worked at Mac Grill; however, I've spent many holidays there: Mother's Day, Valentine's Day, even Thanksgiving and Christmas (!) because yes, I'd rather hang at Mac Grill, eating chicken parm and fried mac and cheese bites and watching my babies work, than spend a holiday without them. We can always celebrate a different day.

It's been several years since the last Erichsen-Webster server worked at Mac Grill, and even though the Murray location subsequently closed, being at the new location, with similar decor, similar menu, and even a few of the same employees, created a bit of nostalgia for all of us. Happy, happy birthday, Eli! You make life better for everyone, and I am a proud mama!

Another March high point was celebrating our friend Bekah's baby girl, to arrive in another few weeks. What a fun shower! Thank you for inviting us, Bekah. We can't wait to meet her!

Full transparency, though, March has been challenging in ways I hadn't anticipated. "The madness of March," I've taken to calling it. Anyone who knows me at all, knows I've struggled for decades with intense anxiety, objectified to fear of terminal diseases. The disheartening part is that prior to this month, it had been a couple years since this demon flared, and it returned with a vengeance, as if to ruthlessly declare, "Nope, guess again, you're not totally free from this shit." And I really thought I might be. The last couple months have been filled with medical talk: my mom in the hospital/rehab for five weeks, a close friend diagnosed with a serious condition requiring surgery, another friend in Washington with a brain tumor, and more. Too much medical stuff for this anxiety brain. Too many triggers all at once. A pastor friend recently commented in a sermon (paraphrased), "What is happening to you in the middle of the night that is more powerful than God's love?" Nothing, Hansen, absolutely nothing. Now I just need to convince my serotonin-deprived brain of this truth at 3:00 in the morning in the dark.

To end on a brighter note, I listened to several books in March; I hate driving, and audio books are what keep me sane in the chaos of commuting up to the U. and down to UVU multiple times each week. And since I don't have time during the semester to actually "read" books when I'm drowning in essays, the audio option is a huge blessing. Two of the books I listened to touch upon the value of writing. Both introduce women, strong women might I add, who lived in a time when their strength was not particularly valued. Both women write. Regularly. Sybil Van Antwerp, the main character in The Correspondent writes letters throughout her 73-year life, letters of all contexts that ultimately reveal the truth of her life story. Martha Ballard, the voice of the historical novel The Frozen River writes a daily journal entry of her experiences as a mother to nine and respected midwife in the late 1700s. Her journal entires begin early in her marriage after her husband teachers her how to read and write, until the end of the novel in 1790, when she is 54.

Both women mention that through their writing, their stories will document their existence long after they are gone, long after their children are gone. Their writing will remain. Their writing will be proof that they existed and that they mattered. My new blog book arrived earlier this month, with my posts from 2025. It is my 17th book, and I am nearing 1,000 posts between itslegs.blogspot.com and the far less prolific thereisroomforyou.blogspot.com. I may hit 1,000 this year, and if not, for sure in early 2027. I may throw a party! Would you all come? I am like Sybil and Martha. My blog shares my story. While its topics are far and wide and sometimes crazy, all my passions from parenting to politics, from religion to rhetoric, from the simplest joys to the scariest fears, it's grown to be the record of our family, the Erichsen-Webster legacy.

So keep on writing, everyone! Tell your truth. Fight back against the insidious infestation of AI, and write all on your own. You all have stories to tell. Meanwhile, send me all the prayers, positive thoughts, good juju, whatever you got that I can subdue this freakin' anxiety, get the semester wrapped up in the next four weeks, and catch a plane to Germany in 41 days! We've got this. Peace, everyone! 

"Of course! Only the best Christmas movie! 1 of the 2 animated things you like!" -Seth

 

...this was Seth's reply last night, when I texted him this picture of my bedroom T.V. He knows me well. I don't like cartoons. Or animated movies. Or anything animated. I never did, even as a kid. The characters' creepy, gigantic eyes...eeek! It's all dumb. 

With two glorious exceptions: The Flintstones and A Charlie Brown Christmas.

I don't know why The Flintstones is different; it just is. I love the characters, despite their their alien eyes. Maybe it's because Fred is such a doofus and Wilma is such a smart, strong woman, uncommon in 60s T.V. Or maybe it's because she and Betty are such good moms, advocating for their babies at every turn, also uncommon in the 60s. You were lucky kids, Pebbles and BamBam. And of course, Dino was the coolest dinosaur/dog ever! Whatever it was, I watched Flintstones reruns religiously through middle school, often missing the bus because I was so engrossed in the town of Bedrock and those two families. Sorry, Mom and Dad, for all those mornings you had to drive me to school.

Then there's A Charlie Brown Christmas, all 30 minutes of it! What can I even say about the absolute best Christmas movie ever? My memories are many. I watched it every year growing up, sitting on the floor in front of the T.V., eyes filled tears, as Linus takes center stage in that circle of spotlight in the school auditorium, and drops his security blanket to tell the story of Jesus's birth, straight from the pathos-filled Book of Luke. Years later in college, I played Lucy, performing the show in German at the foreign language club's Christmas party: "Ein Hund hat mich geküsst!" And several years after that, I directed the play (in English, this time) at the high school where I taught in Oregon. Of course the best memories are sharing the movie with my own kids, especially Seth. He came seven years after his next older brother, so the two of us had lots of time together when the older four were off doing their own things and not quite so interested in A Charle Brown Christmas anymore. Seth and I watched it together every year, right up till 2018 when he left for his mission in Paraguay.

And now, it's 2025. It's been a rough November. I'm buried in essays, with anxiety triggers hitting from all sides, and nearing one full year of hassling with the corrupt company that manages our neighborhood's HOA. The best way to describe that last one: I feel like I'm starring in a horror movie that never ends. Alas, that is a different blog post for a different time, and I promise I'll write it, just not today. 

Suffice it to say that last night, after falling into bed exhausted, when I turned on Apple T.V.  and saw the ad for A Charlie Brown Christmas, well, a bit of light shone through my otherwise unpleasant disposition. I texted Seth right away because I knew he'd feel the same nostalgia. He did. Then I got a fresh Diet Coke and snuggled under my heated blanket to watch. 

And yes, I definitely felt the welling of tears behind my eyes, then dripping down my cheeks, when Linus recited those iconic words: "For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:11). 

"And that's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown." 

I read a scary book in honor of Halloween! Are you proud of me?

 To be clear.... I DON'T LIKE TO BE SCARED.

• I don't watch scary T.V. shows,
• I don't go to scary movies,
• and I certainly don't read scary books!

It's not worth paying the price for a movie ticket, only to miss 80% of the movie because my hands are covering my eyes. And there are plenty of wonderful books to read, so I don't need ones that will trigger my anxiety to the point that I'm scared to turn the page (or more accurately, touch the screen on my Kindle). 

But! A few months ago, my friend and fellow book devourer, Lena, suggested a Stephen King novel.

"No way," I immediately responded. 'The 'King' of all things gruesome? The 'King' of horror?! Hard pass!"

"This one's not horror," Lena explained. Turns out it's lightweight, time-travel fantasy about a guy who finds a hidden portal that allows him to travel into the past and decides to use it to go back to 1963 and (hopefully) prevent the JFK assassination.  

"Okay," I thought. "Why not?" Well, the most compelling "Why not?" is its length, over 800 pages or 30 hours for the audio version. I ordered it on audio anyway. Midway through the semester, there is no way I have time to read an 800-page book. Listening during my commute down to UVU was the only option.

Within the first 15 minutes, I was hooked. Fully captivated by the characters and mesmerized by the voice. And I don't mean the vocal quality of the reader (though that was excellent) but rather the writing voice of author, Stephen King. Dang, the guy is good. So raw and real. In the day of that insidious AI shit, no one is more moved by honest, genuine voice than me. And just like that, I'm a Stephen King fan.

I listened to 11/22/63 (yes, the name of the time-travel novel is the date of the assassination), all 30 hours of it, in about a week. It was so, so good, You should definitely download it.

But then what? I wanted, no needed, to read another King novel, but most are of the horror genre. What to do? One of my students is researching exposure therapy for her semester writing topic, so I've read a couple of her papers on the subject. Am I ever gonna use exposure therapy to overcome my world-renowned phobia of slithery creatures with no arms or legs? Nope. But horror novels? Maybe? I asked Shulamith to find me another Stephen King novel even if it's horror. She downloaded the book Holly, and I jumped right in. 

Holly did not disappoint. It wasn't exactly traditional horror, with monsters jumping out and scaring people, but it was certainly dark and gruesome. Hard to read in places, but I persevered because I was once again drawn in by the characters and their stories, revealed through the lovely literary voice of a brilliant writer. Shulamith is reading it now, and she mentioned that it's trending to read a scary book in October for Halloween. Well, okay, then. I'm nothing if not trending.

I read a scary book in honor of Halloween. And now I'm reading another one, Mr. Mercedes, also by King. Are you proud of me?

"Houston, we have a problem": Part 1 of "The trip that goes wrong."

Houston, we have a problem.

And that problem is weather. 

And no one can control the weather. 

Friday, May 2nd, we left home at 5:30 a.m. It was clear and crisp and calm as we drove to Eli’s house. He volunteered to drive us to the airport, partly because he loves us, and partly so Amanda could use my van for the two weeks. They only have one car, so she uses mine on Wednesdays to take Jane to dance class. This way, she could have it the whole time I was gone. Eli dropped us at the United entrance, where we boarded a flight to Houston, landed without incident, and grabbed some Panda Express. I thought of my favorite Seth. I rarely eat Panda, but Seth loves it there. 

In no time, we were boarding the second leg of our journey, this time a 10-hour flight to Munich. Those who know me, know that I’ve never been to Germany and that my biggest regret in life is giving up a year-long study abroad experience at the University of Munich my junior year of college. I had the funding in place and was all set to go. Then, just as I was making the final arrangements for the study abroad, my dad died. And I didn’t go. I didn’t have the bandwidth to proceed. I didn’t have the bandwidth to do much of anything right then. I should have, though. I should have pushed through the pain and made it happen, because that opportunity would never present itself again. “No man ever steps into the same river twice, for it's not the same river, and he's not the same man" (Heraclitus). 

So it’s a twisted bit of irony that my first time in Germany would be an hour and a half in the Munich airport. 

As we boarded the plane, an older lady just in front of me in the crowed aisle, stepped back abruptly and bumped in to me. "Entschuldigung," she said. Without hesitation, I responded, “Kein Problem, alles ist gut.” As it turned out, that brief conversation in German would be the happiest part of my entire day.

We found our seats and settled in for the long flight. I had my travel blanket ready, along with AirPods, Kindle, and snacks. I was going to the Holy Land, on a tour I’d planned for over two years! I remember very little about what happened next. It was the typical message from the flight deck, welcoming us to the flight, the safety announcement, where they demo how to fasten and unfasten a seatbelt. Flight attendants scurried around doing pre-flight stuff, which I ignored, and soon we were taxiing out to the runway. 

After that.....nothing.

 

We sat on that tarmac. 

In the plane.

 

Not moving.

For seven hours. 

Yes, you read that right: seven hours! Because of weather. Thunderstorms, specifically. During those seven hours, we did many of the things we would have done had we been in the air. I bought internet and logged into my spring classes. I was still grading final writing projects from 150 students. We received frequent updates from the flight deck. We couldn’t take off because of the thunderstorm. The airport closed, and no flights were taking off or landing. The airport reopened because the storm passed, but we were 54th in line to take off. Then another thunderstorm. Rinse and repeat. 

As time passed, passengers began to wander the aisles, chatting with each other and with flight attendants, doing stretching exercises and calisthenics. I sat in my seat and graded essays. Until that one moment. That one moment when it became clear that regardless of what happened, I would not make it to Israel in time to join the start of the tour Sunday morning at 7:45. There were simply not enough hours left. 

I maintained a stoic facade, but I was crying deep and ugly on the inside. I had planned this trip for over two years, and right there on that airplane, on the tarmac in Houston, it was all falling apart. Those who know me, also know that I am never late. Never. If I’m going to be late (which rarely, rarely happens), I don’t go at all. In this case, I was either going to buy a return flight to Salt Lake City, or I was going to arrive late to my tour, and neither option was acceptable. My anxiety raged. My support network at home (Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda) frantically tried to come up with a solution. There was no solution. 

I need to stop here and give a huge shoutout to the United in-flight crew, They were fabulous. They didn't like the circumstances any more than we passengers did, and they were equally powerless to change them. But they tried to help in every way possible with snacks, drinks, and as much information as they had (which wasn't a lot). Also, kudos to the captain of the fight, who offered frequent, transparent updates. I didn't like the information he was providing, but I trusted that it was accurate.

In the end, after seven hours on that plane, the regretful captain announced that we would be taxiing back to the gate. The flight was canceled, though he was told that a new flight, with a fresh crew, would depart later that night, and we could take that one. 

Didn't happen. We exited the plane to a ground crew who knew nothing about a later flight, and we were left on our own to make new plans. Gerald booked us on flights to Tel Aviv through Newark, leaving the following morning. With so many canceled and delayed flights, there were no available hotel rooms nearby, so we were stuck at the airport overnight.

I wrapped myself up in my soft, cuddly travel blanket, sat under a table in the Houston airport, and sobbed. My dream trip, the one I'd been planning for over two years, was ruined.

Have you ever read "Jude the Obscure" by Thomas Hardy? it's one of my favorite novels, but dang it's dark. When I read it for the first time, at one point, I literally threw the paperback across the room. Seriously, Tom? What the actual hell? I remember thinking to myself, "The only thing worse that could happen is _____________________." Then I turned the page, and it did.

That's kinda how this experience was. So if you want to know what worse thing happened next, stay tuned for tomorrow's installment of "The trip that goes wrong."

Denial? Send me all the good juju!

Two days from now I'll be on a flight to Houston. After four hours in the airport, I'll board another flight to Newark and then three hours later, another to arrive in Tel Aviv, Israel at 4:30 the following afternoon.

Twenty-five hours of travel. 

Nothing about this seems real.

I've wanted to visit the Holy Land for as long as I can remember. I want to nerd out on scripture (my passion!), sink deeply into my study of Old Testament prophecies and New Testament ministries of Jesus. Intellectually, I can't wait! Emotionally, I'm anxious and tired. I scheduled this trip for May, 2024 but couldn't go because of the war. I rescheduled for this year, and now that the departure day is near, I'm so exhausted that it's hard to muster any excitement. Most of the time I forget it's happening. 

Denial?

It's tricky for me to find windows of time to travel for longer than a few days. I'm tied to the academic calendar, because I teach at two or three schools fall, spring, and summer semesters. Part of the problem this time around is that I'm right in the throes of wrapping up the semester at both SLCC and U. of Utah. Classes end Thursday, and I leave at 7:00 Friday morning. Then I'll have final writing projects from students in all eight classes (around 130 total) pouring in, along with a few smaller assignments, all of which must be graded so that my final grades are submitted on time. "On time" means before I even leave to fly home from Jordan, my second destination. In addition, one of my summer classes (online) begins three days before I return, so I also need to get that up and running.

It's not ideal. 

My stress over mounds of school work while prepping for an international trip of this magnitude has kept me up too many nights. I sleep four or five hours, then wake with crippling anxiety about all the things I need to do (and some make-believe things I don't need to do). Sometimes, I get up and grade papers. Other times, I lie in bed awake until 6:00 a.m., a respectable time to get up, then go downstairs to work out. Occasionally, I actually fall back to sleep; those are the glory days, and I credit God every single time they happen!

I'm also super anxious about leaving my family for 13 days. When I tell people this, they look at me like I'm bananas. I guess that's because my youngest kid is 24, so people think I don't need to worry about my family. Wrong! I will be on the other side of the world. What if one of them needs me? They often do. Also, they are my primary support network. What if I need them? 

Well this is going downhill fast, so I'll stop writing and return to grading. Thanks for listening! Send me all the prayers, good juju, positive vibes that you have. Look for trip updates on socials through the next couple of weeks, and blog posts after I'm back. 

Take care, everyone! Eeeeeeeeek!

Love Languages and Sacred Days

"Mine's Acts of Service"

"Mine's Quality Time."

"Mine's Physical Touch."

Most of us need only to hear such declarations to know the reference: Gary Chapman's iconic book The 5 Love Languages, published over 20 years ago. I've always sorta felt left out, like the author failed to include mine. If I had to choose from his five, I suppose I'd say "Words of Affirmation." With performance anxiety, it's helpful to hear that I'm doing okay. However, without question my genuine love language is loyalty, and that one didn't even make his list. To feel truly loved, I need to know that my friends are on my side, ready to stand up for me in any situation, against any criticism or opposing force. They are never neutral; they always have my back. And that one doesn't fit into any of Chapman's five.

It's fine. He obviously didn't write the book for me. That said, he was close on another one: Receiving Gifts. Except it's the opposite for me. While I enjoy receiving gifts as much as the next person, I wouldn't call it my love language. But the opposite? Giving gifts? Yes. That is it. Which is why Black Friday is a sacred day for me. Right up there with Christmas and the last day of every semester. Sacred, I tell you.

Last year, when I posted about Black Friday, I titled the post "It's okay. It will come again and again." And it did! So much quicker than we expected. 

I set my alarm for 6:45 a.m., though there was no need; I was wide awake at 5:00, too excited to sleep longer. I lay in bed for an hour dreaming of all the great sales we would find and how we would delight in every perfect gift. Dressed in warm, comfy clothes and shoes, with "Winter Wonderland" playing loud and proud, I drove around the corner and picked up Shulamith at 6:59 a.m. We drove through Starbucks for our annual hot chocolate, followed by Chick-fil-a to fill up our Stanleys with fresh Diet Coke, and headed to Sandy Target. We were ready. We were set. It was go time!

We were in Target around three hours and found so much good stuff! Of course, I can't tell you what any of that stuff is, because it's highly classified Christmas information, but trust me; it's crazy good stuff. Oh I can tell you one thing, so you don't feel totally left out. We found super cute maxi dresses for ourselves, mine in black and Shulamith's in black/white stripes. About an hour in, we wandered upon our Black Friday Target friends, the Combe Family! Sandy, Jen, Whitney, and Kelsey were there as they always are, a constant in our Black Friday lives. Yes, we see all of them once a month at Bunco, but this is different. Thank you, Combes, for showing up for us. We left Target around 10:30 with our haul and drove to Fashion Place mall.

Fashion Place brings all the feels, with memories dating back to 2004-2008, when Shulamith was in college, and I'd fly down from Billings to visit her. Hangin' at the mall while she worked across the street at Macaroni Grill. Shopping for my dress for her wedding and finding it at the Black & White store. To this day that dress hangs in my closet, and I love it. But guess what??? My book group just announced that the dress standard for our annual Christmas party will be "formalwear." Yes! I'm totally wearing that dress! 

We took a break for lunch at Cheesecake Factory, and then went right back to our shopping frenzy. So many stores at Fashion Place and so many great presents!  Again, I can't tell you about them, but not to worry. I'll fill in all the blanks eventually in my Christmas post! 

We did just two more stops to round out our Black Friday 2024: Hobby Lobby and Walmart. We found a few things, but that will be the last time I shop at either of these stores in the foreseeable future. I recently learned that both donated considerable funds to the Trump campaign, and I understand the assignment. In the next four years I will seek out as many ways as possible to resist; I will not stay silent. And my first step is boycotting businesses that donated to that man's campaign.

With my minivan filled to the brim, we headed home. Hardly anything brings me more joy than finding just the right Christmas gifts for my five kids. And this may have been the most productive Black Friday in our Black Friday history!

But the sacred day ended. As they all do. I'm already excited for next year. 

Triage: Stop the bleeding!

Me: I'm not gonna make it. I can't get this all done. There is no way. I'm probably gonna die.

Shulamith: You say that every semester.

Me: No, this is different.

Shulamith: You say that too.

Me: NO!! This time is totally different!

And it has been. The picture above is my desk in my home office, where I work most days. This revolving triage list is designed to prioritize the most urgent things I should be doing at every moment. With two weeks remaining in the semester, only in the past couple days have I felt confident that I will, indeed, finish it alive. Just before the semester began, I accepted a one-year, temporary, full-time position at SLCC. While I suspended teaching at UVU (with the promise from them that I can return next fall), I kept my three U. of Utah classes for two reasons. First, my new position at SLCC is a temporary, one-year contract. I have zero guarantee that it will renew in the fall, and it has nothing to do with me or my qualifications or performance, but solely with department needs and student enrollment. We have two full-time faculty on sabbatical this year, and they will return in the fall. There is no way to know how that could affect my temporary position. Second, the U. of Utah pays head and shoulders better than the other two schools. It's hard to turn down that kind of income.

It's been wild ride these past 3.5 months. Yikes! I have five classes at SLCC and three at the U. So many students. So many emails. So many essays! Plus the department meetings and tasks that are required in a full-time position. I will have a full month off beginning Dec 5th, before the chaos starts all over again, and I am crazy excited! I'm gonna play so hard, hurkle-durkle in my bed and binge TV, read every single thing that is not a college essay, take naps, walk miles and miles, and not even log onto Canvas or Outlook! I will sleep. So much sleep, uninterrupted by anxiety dreams about ridiculous stuff I'm convinced I was supposed to do and didn't. Once I even dreamed that I was supposed to teach one of my classes a dance routine but forgot. 

My break is still two weeks out...

Meanwhile, I'll keep on keepin' on. A few things have kept me almost sane, and I'll cling to those right till the end. Most significantly, my commitment to practicing self care. That means eating well, maintaining at least a minimal social life, and exercising. I'm blessed to have my best friend just out my back door and left 100 steps; two of my sons, plus bonus kid Amanda, 5-7 minutes away, another son in downtown SLC; and Emily up in Sandy. All these guys have kept me going, and I'm so grateful to each of them in different ways. Finally, through it all, I've stayed dedicated to regular exercise: 10,000+ steps a day, strength-training 4-5 days a week, including one morning a week at Courtney's 6:00 a.m. circuit class. I really believe exercise has made all the difference.

What has suffered most and what I've missed most notably is my regular blogging. It's more than just a hobby; for me, writing is therapy. Since the semester began, I've written only six blog posts, four on itslegs and two on my church blog. That is positively pathetic, considering how prolific the blog typically is. But something had to give, and that was it. 

Other than my birthday and General Conference, I missed the events of October altogether, so I'll be writing about those in a second post later today or tomorrow. I'm taking a tiny break to catch up before all the final writing projects start pouring in. 

So look for a new itslegs post right on top of this one! Hooray!

A Quiet Place

Thursday morning July 4th, Eli, Shulamith, Swen, and I stopped by Holiday to fill our Stanleys with Diet Coke, then headed to Riverton Cinemark to watch "A Quiet Place: Day One," the prequel to the franchise, whose plot centers on an alien attack on earth by hundreds of giant, hairy, humanoid monsters, who respond only to sound and are apparently blind and unable to swim. In order to avoid being attacked and eaten, everyone must be completely silent.

This makes for a very quiet movie.

Ironically, that same day, my own home returned to its typical "quiet place."

Lemme just tell you that I make a terrible empty nester. I seriously suck at it. Because our children are spread out by 15 years oldest to youngest, I had some combination of children, teens, and young adults living in my home for well over three decades. It was pure delight! When Seth left on his mission in 2018, Isaiah was back with us, after graduating from college and dealing with several crazy, awful roommates, so even with Seth gone to Paraguay for two years, I still had Isaiah! When COVID shut down the world, and Seth returned four months early with all the other North American missionaries, I had both my cute boys home with me through the pandemic. 

In the fall of 2022, Seth moved to Orem to finish his degree at UVU, and Isaiah found a studio apartment in downtown Salt Lake. They did this all in the same month (rude!), and suddenly, for the very first time, I was an empty nester. 

I didn't like it. 

I still don't. 

We're told to deal with life's changes by looking for the good in the new situation wherever we can find it. The one and only good thing about having my five kids out of the house is the two additional closets available. I can now rotate my wardrobe through the seasons, rather than storing off-season clothes in plastic tubs under the bed. Hooray! 

This in no way compensates for how much I miss my favorite people on earth. Not even close.

Fast forward to May 2024. Gerald and I went to the Pacific Northwest to visit our families. Our first night there at nearly 11 p.m., I received this text from Amanda: "Everyone is okay. Can I call?" My family and close friends understand my anxiety and know never to just call me without any warning. Most of them are pretty good at doing what Amanda just did, assuring me that all is well before moving to the reason for the text. 

"Yes!" I replied. "Call me!"

My phone alerted me to her call, and she explained that their house sprung a leak from the second-floor bathroom, and water was pouring down into the garage. Eeeeek! She had shut off the water, leaving no way to bathe or cook or whatever, so she asked if they could go stay at my house. Of course! Late that night, the three of them drove over to our house and moved in. 

That was two months ago. Their situation was frighteningly uncertain at the start, when an over-zealous insurance agent claimed emphatically that the damages would not be covered: "We never cover mold, never," she maintained. But a couple days later, she called back (less zealous) to report that while she'd never seen it happen in all her time working there, Eli and Amanda's agent had, indeed, adjusted their policy to cover mold. (Note to self: Make sure your homeowner's policy is thorough.)

Everything would be covered, minus the $1,000 deductible. Oh the joy and relief! They would also be reimbursed for housing, since their home was deemed "unlivable"; thankfully, this reimbursement would more than cover the deductible, far more. A sad and scary incident turned into a blessing. They would get a brand new bathroom and some unexpected cash. And I had my Eli and his family here with me. I was not an empty nester at all.

Our two months together were not without excitement. One day, their 2.5-year-old daughter, Jane, found herself a red Sharpie and decided to try out her artistic talents on my white fabric couch. Amanda jumped into action, researching how to get Sharpie out of light fabric, and then spent countless, tiring hours, for several days treating the stain until it was completely gone. 

I also have a white throw pillow with the names Terrianne, Gerald, Luke, Shulamith, Isaiah, Eli, and Seth on the front. I prefer this pillow to be on my couch. Jane prefers it to be on the floor. She and I played this game nearly every day for the full two months, and I can report with only the slightest humiliation that Jane won every last time.

But the joy far outweighed any inconvenience. I've always felt that multigenerational living has huge advantages over isolated, single-family residences. Historically, it was the norm in the U.S., until the post-war industrial boom of the 50s pushed people to believe the "American Dream" included a home for every couple, separate from their parents. That said, the trend toward multigenerational living has made a fairly strong comeback in recent decades, partly the result of a struggling economy, but possibly for other reasons too.

Our home in Sandy was designed for multiple families with its daylight basement apartment with separate entrance and kitchen; alas, this house is not. Still, we had such a fun two months together, and although we are all grateful that Eli and Amanda's house is now fully repaired, I think we all felt a bittersweet melancholy when they moved back home Thursday. I think we're still feeling it two days later.

Today, after a lovely, 5-mile walk in the cool morning, I cleaned my four bathrooms and started laundry. Then I lay in my zero gravity bed and watched a movie. It was relaxing, yes. 

But I miss them. Really, I do. I was never cut out to be an empty nester. And my home was never cut out to be.....

......a quiet place.

Zero Gravity, Birthday Bashes, A Baby Shower, and Halfway Christmas still to come!

"It's great, once you get over feeling like you're in the hospital." - Tom Webster

The second week in May, Gerald and I traveled to the Pacific Northwest, where I embarked on a glorious week of human connections: joyous renewal of relationships, time with extended family and forever friends. My brother Tom kindly welcomed me to stay at his house, and while I was there, he told me about the new bed he recently purchased, a Sleep Number with an adjustable base. I was already thinking about replacing our mattress in the next few months, though I hadn't considered a Sleep Number. 

As he told me about its many features, I grew intrigued. Of course the "sleep number" means you get to choose your perfect level of firmness from 100 (most firm) to 1 (softest). Then the base allows you to raise your head and/or your feet as high as you like. (Yes, Tom, it's kinda like being in the hospital, but not really, cuz the mattress itself is way more comfortable.) The under-bed lighting provides a lighted path if you need to get out of bed when it's dark, and an app on your phone tracks your heart rate and respiration through the night and gives you a sleep score each morning, based on how close you came to meeting your sleep goals. (Awesome, yet another anxiety trigger!)

"Well, I certainly don't need all that," I thought. Until I went into the Sleep Number store here in Utah and found out that the tracking app and the under-bed lighting come standard with all their beds, so I guess I do need those? The base is separate, so I told the sales guy I wanted one that raises only my head. "I don't need my feet raised up too," I explained. 

But then. Then..... he proceeded to put me into Zero Gravity. 

Oh my goodness! 

"I lied." I told the sales guy. "I actually do need my feet to raise up, because Zero Gravity for the Win!

A couple weeks later, my new Sleep Number bed was delivered, and I love it. So much. I kinda wanna live in my bed. But really. 

Along with my new addiction to Zero Gravity set to Sleep Number 70, June brought two birthday celebrations, which wound up on the same day! Shulamith threw her daughter Kennedy's 10th birthday party three weeks early, so Kennedy could hand out invitations the last week of school. Summer birthdays are challenging, and this made it easier. Kennedy had a pool party with all her friends from school, dance, church, and the neighborhood. She was definitely the queen of the day and had so much fun. 

That same evening, our family met at a Thai restaurant in Lehi to celebrate Seth's 24th birthday. My baby is 24! Eeeek, that makes no sense. He was recently promoted from his receptionist/front office position at a law firm to a legal assistant. He's taking everything in and learning so much, as he prepares to take the LSAT this fall.

Right on the heels of all the birthday bashes, I had the honor to host a baby shower for my friend Jacquelyn. We gathered and ate way too much dessert, talked all things "baby," and celebrated Jacquelyn and her new baby boy, due make his earth debut July 23rd. I didn't get a picture cuz I'm lame like that, but I do have a chart with everyone's predictions (date and time of birth, weight, length) for Jacquelyn's sweet little boy. I'm excited to deliver the prize to the person whose guesses were closest!

Still to come in June is our family's pretend holiday: Halfway Christmas! We are celebrating this coming Sunday, June 30th, so stay tuned for all the details...

...also, it's not too late. Your family could celebrate Halfway Christmas too. It's the best. You won't regret it. 

I almost missed church!

Of all the church services of the year, it seems Easter would be the one not to miss. I mean isn't Easter the highest, most holy day on the Christian calendar? 

And yet......I almost missed it.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. Sunday morning and glanced at my phone. "No. Nooooo! I am NOT getting up at 5:30 a.m." I turned over and pulled the warm covers over my head, adjusted my pillow just right, and closed my eyes. But sleep did not come. Instead, the long list of tasks I still needed to complete in preparation for our Easter celebration ruminated through my brain. Anxiety? Perhaps. Or maybe just normal "mom brain" on a major holiday. Either way, it was clear I wasn't going back to sleep. 

I got up and threw on my big Montana coat over my pajamas and took Waffles out to go to the bathroom. Back inside, I scrolled briefly through my favorite workout videos and selected one of the 30-minutes, full body ones with trainers Toya and Juice. I have several go-to videos with various trainers, but I love these two for a couple reasons: She (Toya) always demonstrates the more challenging options, while he (Juice) shows the easier modifications. She is so strong! Ooooh! But more importantly, neither of them chatters at me through the workout. I hate it when these trainers decide to be motivational inspirers. Stay in your own lane. If I want a life coach, I'll find me one. All I want from you is to model the strength training.

I planned to shower and get ready after working out, but it was so much earlier than I anticipated, you know, because it was never my plan to get up at 5:30 a.m. (Grrrrrrr!). So instead, I hid 63 candy-filled, plastic eggs all over the house and put finishing touches on baskets. Then I made green bean casserole, stuffing, and brownies. Finally, I put on sweats and a coat and headed out to walk. It had been overcast earlier when I took Waffles out, but now it was full on raining! What a perfect Easter morning! Rain, beautiful rain. I felt like I was home in the Pacific Northwest. I put in my AirPods and continued listening to my audiobook, as I walked. And walked. And walked. And totally lost track of time. 

Drenched, but happy, I glanced at my watch. Eeeek, it was 9:20 a.m., and I was supposed to be at Eli's church at 10:00 to attend sacrament meeting with him and Amanda and watch Amanda lead the music. I power-walked home, took the quickest shower of my life, got dressed, and did makeup and hair, all in about 20 minutes. By 9:50, I was in my car driving way too fast to Herriman. I arrived about 15 seconds before the meeting began. It was a good meeting. Their ward is huge, and with all the extra "Easter" people (like me!) the congregational hymns were lively and inspiring. We sang the standard "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" and "He is Risen," and the Primary kids sang "The Miracle," one of my favorites.

After church, I went to Eli and Amanda's house to eat crepes and watch Jane find eggs and open her Easter basket. 

Then I left the three of them to take naps, and returned home to finish my own Easter prep. At around 5:30, Seth and Isaiah arrived, followed by Shulamith and family, then Eli, Amanda, and Jane. Our home was filled to the brim with so many of my favorite people, so much noise, and so much scrambling to find the 63 plastic eggs the "Easter Bunny" had hidden. I'm so grateful my big kids still love to hunt for eggs; I'm pretty sure I'll cry if the day ever comes when they decide they're too old.

We decided to have "Thanksgiving dinner" for Easter, and Mathew smoked two turkeys on his amazing Traeger grill. All the food seemed extra good for some reason, and dessert was no exception. We had ice cream brownie sundaes, with toppings that included Thin Mint and Samoa Girl Scout cookies; Reese's Peanut Butter Cups; Kit Kat bars; fresh strawberries and raspberries and bananas (healthy, right?); hot fudge and caramel sauce; rainbow sprinkles; and whipped cream!

After eating all this food, I rolled myself upstairs and into bed, exhausted from the very early start to a very busy day. But grateful. So grateful to have the coolest family ever and that they all love to be together. And grateful for the risen Lord, whose selfless sacrifice offers us grace, redemption, and life eternal.

"Death is conquered; we are free. Christ has won the victory."

"And who is my neighbor?": Good Samaritans among us - Part 1

Wait! You waited for the scans to be read, so you could call me and tell me all is well?

Wait! You lifted a huge, metal safe and risked injury to your back by turning it upside down, so you could reach deep inside it and grab my purse? 

Who are these people? Honestly, I don't know. The first is a radiologic technologist, and the second is a UTA Trax employee. Strangers to me, really.

Yet both showed me what grace looks like. A friend posted a meme recently that pointed out how when the lawyer asked Jesus "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus told the well-known story of "The Good Samaritan." In it, Jesus does not mention the Samaritan praying for the injured man. He does not mention him preaching to the man or quoting scripture, or taking him to church. (Not to imply that these aren't good options; I'm sure Jesus would approve of all of them.) But in this story, the Samaritan stops and helps the man, tends to his wounds, finds him a safe place to stay with food to eat, and pays for it, even! The Samaritan walks the path of eternal life, rather than just talking about it.

And so it was with these two strangers.

Anyone who knows me well, is familiar with my crazy anxiety about terminal illness. So imagine how terrifying it is each year, when I have to do my annual exam, with its various scans and blood draws! One year, I worked myself into such a fit that my blood pressure, usually lower than average, rose to 180/70! Another time, I made myself so sick with worry while waiting for test results that I lost 6 lbs. Ain't anxiety grand?

The time for my yearly check-up crept up quickly. "Didn't I JUST do all this?" I asked my tribe (aka Shulamith, Eli, and Amanda). "Yes!" they all agreed. "It cannot be time to go through this again." But it was. So I braved up, as I do every year, and scheduled the appointments. When I arrived for my mammogram, I was noticeably anxious, and the tech asked me if I was okay. I briefly explained my stupid anxiety disorder; she responded with kindness, care, and zero judgment. 

"Okay, let's gets this done, so you can get out of here." She was careful and precise in her work, making sure she didn't need to repeat any of the scans, and it was over in about 10 minutes.

"We're done! Now you can relax."

"Oh I won't relax until that letter comes in the mail, telling me everything is fine."

She thought for a moment and then explained, "The scans will be read today, and they will call you within two days if anything concerning shows up. So if you haven't received a call by the end of the day Thursday, you can stop worrying."

"Oh, that helps so much, thank you! I only have to feel like this for two days, rather than a whole week! You are amazing."

And with that, I quickly dressed and got the hell out of there because I hate those places so much! 

....but the story doesn't end there.

Late that afternoon, I received a call from an unknown number. I don't usually answer those, but for some reason I did. 

"Hi, this is Corrine from Lone Peak. I waited until your scans were read, so I could call you. I didn't want you to be sick or not sleep, even for two days. The scans are back, and everything is perfectly normal. Come back in a year."

Flooded with emotion, I could barely speak. I babbled something unintelligible and hung up. I mean who does this? Who offers this kind of care, so far beyond her job responsibilities, for a stranger!? Someone who walks the path of discipleship. Someone who loves like Jesus. A Good Samaritan among us. 

Because I know readers prefer shorter posts, I'll stop, but again, the story doesn't end there. There's still the UTA Trax guy. Stay tuned for Part 2....

Upside-down July!

It just occurred to me that it's July 31st, and this is only my second post in the entire month. In my 15 years blogging, I don't think I've ever written only two posts in a month. How did this happen?

July.

Was busy.

And stressful. 

Which is all the more reason I should be blogging because writing reduces stress for me, better than almost anything. And yet, this crazy, upside down month totally got away from me. So here we are on the 31st with only two posts. I will certainly try harder.

As for July, I'm not sure where to begin. My kids. Yes. Grownup kids = grownup problems. My kids are the smartest, kindest, most awesome people I know. But they are still grownup kids, which means they have grownup problems. There is no escaping this. And their grownup problems become my grownup problems, because that's just how it is when you're a mom to grownup kids. There is no escaping this. 

(And I wouldn't, even if I could.)

Between Shulamith's dog incident, Isaiah's stressful job, and Seth's dating issues, let's just say my "mom" anxiety was triggered nearly every day of July. Plus I was so, so hot! Remember how my dog broke my AC? Yeah, I didn't realize how much being overly hot would exacerbate my anxiety disorder, but the answer is A LOT! 

Since I won't be writing posts for all our July events, let me highlight them briefly here:

Kennedy's 9th birthday

She had a celebration with extended family and close family friends at our community pool, where she swam, ate pizza, and opened tons of cool presents. Then she also had a "friend party," where she invited three of her closest friends to dinner at Cheesecake Factory, followed by shopping at the mall and Target. They got to sit at their own table at dinner; then Shulamith gave them each $20 with which to shop. Pretty sure it was Kennedy's favorite birthday party ever, and possibly the favorite for the other girls as well. They managed to find matching flair jeans, and I wish I'd taken a picture of all of them trying those on, but here are the two pictures I got:

Theodore's 6th birthday

Just a couple weeks later, it was Theodore's turn. For Theodore, there is but one birthday party location: Classic Fun Center! It's a large venue with giant bounce equipment, surrounded by a track for roller skating, roller blading, and scootering. In addition, there are arcade games that produce tickets to buy things at a store, mostly dumb, cheap crap, but still coveted by every child. They serve pizza, fries, soda, and more. It's a great place for a 6-year-old's birthday, and Theodore had the best time. He is a Lego genius, so this was definitely his favorite present.

Lagoon

Lagoon is a large amusement park way up north in Farmington. Typically, we go just once a year because, although the rides are super good, it's still overpriced at $97/day. Unless you have a season pass. We've talked for several years about getting season passes, and this year, we finally did it. And suddenly, we are Lagoon rats. It's so nice not to feel like you have to ride every single ride because you won't return for a year. We've gone multiple times already; we stay till we're tired, then leave. It's great! Oh, what is my favorite ride, you want to know? It's a tie between Samari and Cannibal, but then I'm a "ride junkie," so for me, the spinnier, the loopier, the faster, the better! Here we are taking a short break between rides:

One Lagoon day, Eli, Amanda, and Jane joined us. Jane was delighted as Shulamith's kids willingly took her on the "baby" rides:

So on this hot July 31st, I apologize for not writing more this month. It's been a wild ride (not just the ones at Lagoon), and I've been exhausted trying to help everyone, while teaching six credits during summer session.

Happy mid-summer, everyone. Stay cool (both literally and figuratively).