Author: alicewgold

I would like to state that I am a brunette, but now I am a mix of grey, white, brown, and blonde. I would also like to say that I am 150 pounds, but that would be a boldfaced lie. How about I say I am work in progress because that is the truth? A beautiful work in progress. I love the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard and my greatest hope is that something that I write will lift someone else on their journey.

Goldilocks

People used to tell me to enjoy her curls.
And I did. I enjoyed them all of the time.
I enjoyed them most when she was just out of the bath.
We’d brush her hair and watch each one mold right back in place.
They would always bounce behind her as if trying to keep up with her one speed: tornado.
Mostly they were unruly.
I would sometimes catch myself wondering if I should do a better job of taming them.
It was lucky that she was so cute she could get away with a white girl’s fro.
However, I didn’t believe that they would ever go anywhere.
They would say, “When you cut her baby hair, she will probably lose her curls.”
No way was she going to lose them.
They were who she was….they were part of her.

Well, they were right.
At four years old, she doesn’t have a single curl left on her head.

I’m so glad I enjoyed them while they lasted.

And I was not totally wrong.
They will always be a part of her.
No matter how long she lives.
My little Goldilocks.

Blue boobs.

Stuff was heavy on my heart last night. Two things in-particular.

Yesterday I posted on Facebook about two subjects that are extremely annoying to me: breastfeeding in public and BYU. Ha ha. My Mormon friends who know how many babies are born to college students at BYU might find this ironic combination hysterical. I sure do.

Now, as you all know from my last post, for some reason, I am extremely emotional this week. My overabundance of emotion may explain the guilt I was feeling over these two totally random facebook posts. It wasn’t necessarily the posts that made me feel guilty but two of the responses I received.

One of my young friends was really hurt by my “throw a blanket over it” philosophy. It wasn’t the first and won’t be the last time I disagree with a nursing mom on the ease of covering up while breastfeeding, but the love I feel for this mom who will not back down about my “modesty and politeness-to-others over comfort of baby” stance had my heart bleeding. It just didn’t feel worth the argument to me anymore.

Also, a family member had posted a reply to the BYU post, but then deleted it. She had reprimanded me for not being kind (as I had posted something early about kindness being a large tenet of my faith.) I responded with a comment that stated that I believed that saying I was not a fan of BYU wasn’t unkind…..but as I lay there last night, I was questioning my extreme dislike of BYU. Those of you who really know me, know how deep my hatred goes. Was it unkind? Was I unkind? Isn’t it really all those jerky BYU people that need to come down off their high horses? Doesn’t everyone know that?

I fell asleep with tears rolling down my cheeks and both of these interactions (among a few other things) weighing heavy on my heart. I was an emotional wreck last night and LG’s arm around me was the only thing that calmed me down until my sleeping meds. kicked in. As heavy as the subjects were nagging at my conscience, I am totally shocked I didn’t dream all night of a blue boob-out at the Wilkinson Center, a BYU football game with a stadium full of crying hungry babies covered by blankets, or perhaps Cosmo the Cougar stripping down to nothing to reveal his true identity as a woman with a latched on baby cat.

I then woke up first thing this morning to this video…

This video is so beautiful. The subject of not bullying is important to me. After 12 hours of guilt, yet still not wanting to change, I couldn’t help but feel like a bully with my overheated opinions on BYU and breastfeeding. I wondered if my intolerances (no matter how petty) had really caused someone pain.

This lecture by Dieter F. Uchtdorf continues to effect my life profoundly. It is probably very poignant to me because no matter how kind I profess to be, it exposes some of my biggest weaknesses. I pretty much fail at this 5 question test every time I take it.

Do you harbor a grudge against someone else?
Do you gossip, even when what you say may be true?
Do you exclude, push away, or punish others because of something they have done?
Do you secretly envy another?
Do you wish to cause harm to someone?

O.k. maybe I get a 20% because I can honestly say I don’t really want to cause harm to anyone. Except for the guard on our favorite basketball team. He reminds me of some guys I know personally who are trash talking and arrogant typical hot-headed jerky Mormon basketball players. (The kind that act all nice and righteous in real life but let it all go to pot when on the court. – I admittedly have an open wound because of guys like this.) I totally told my husband on the way out of the game last night that even though he is on “our team” I would love to see him get what is coming to him. I am certain he would run off with his tail between his legs (kind of like he did last night) as his type are prone to do. Dang-it, I’m back to a 0%.

As I pondered further I realized that BYU and breastfeeding would be in the honest answers I would give to several of these 5 probing inquiries. I realized that both subjects are really just surface scapegoats for the bigger causes that are super important to me: being kind and cognizant of those around us.

And then I realized I was a hypocrite. How can I expect others (BYU grads and breast-feeders in-particular) to be kind, humble, and polite to those around them when I am not willing to budge and give them the same benefit-of-the-doubt that I belittle them for not having?

So, this post is a long way of saying I’ve had a change of heart.

Go Cougars. Breastfeed away.

I offer you my sincerest apologies for being awful and (albeit still with a great amount of hesitance) I promise to try and not just give you the benefit of the doubt but to sincerely LOVE you wherever you are on your journey – even when you are extremely arrogant and especially when you are bare-chested.

I won’t ever matter.

I’ve been having a rough week. I am feeling things extremely deep. I can’t make it stop. So many things keep penetrating my heart and are pushing me over the edge toward a blinding dark. I am not depressed – thank you wellbutrin. I am just in a bubble of over-emotion that I can’t escape. I will escape eventually, but I’ve learned to just ride it out. Try to stay calm. Don’t over-burden others by dumping on them (unless they read my blog of course.) They don’t understand anyways.

I don’t know why God gave me this excess of emotion. I dare say it makes me a more compassionate person, but I don’t always appreciate it. I especially don’t appreciate the passion that comes along with my package…the opinions I cannot keep contained, no matter how hard I try. I don’t like suffering via proxy. I don’t like feeling a deep emptiness because of a child lost as if he is my own, when he wasn’t. I don’t want to feel the extreme frustration accompanying a whole lot of friends dealing with medical nightmares. I don’t even know how this sympathetic state always happens to me. I don’t know how I can lose sleep for other people, but it happens all of the time. I cry into my pillow because the pains of this harsh world get to be way too much and I can’t figure out how to hide away. An alternative solution would be to find a superhero costume maker that could repel such empathy from entering my heart and mind – too bad none exist – It would make my life so much easier. But, life wasn’t meant to be easy. We each have our own cross to carry. My cross just seems to consist of everyone else’s on some days. It hurts me so much. I have physical pain and emotional burden because of others’ pains. I feel it for those I love most, but I also feel it for complete strangers.

Now that I sound like a complete lunatic, I will get on with the intended post. I’ve been following Our Scared Sacred from one of my favorite bloggers over at Momastery. The intention of the series was to get people to think about their biggest fears and to make the courageous decision to show up WITH the fear instead of waiting for it to subside. So, I took a really crazy scary journey of thought this morning and delved into my overly excessive emotional well. I sifted through all the other peoples’ pains to find my own. I had to explore the deepest darkest part, but I think I came up with an honest answer: I am afraid I will never matter.

I am afraid that when I die, no one will show up at my funeral. I am afraid that I won’t be remembered. I am afraid that my beautiful amazing daughters would be a million times better off with another mother, ANY other mother. I am afraid that my middle-child syndrome is not a syndrome at all, but that I really am invisible to everyone around me. I am afraid my husband will replace me like he does his cell phone every couple years: upgrade to the latest and greatest, only to leave the old one discarded with it’s broken screen, slow processor, and crowded memory stick. I am convinced that no-one sees anything in me worth honoring or admiring. I am afraid that no-one on this earth will care when I am gone. No-one will even mourn. In fact, I am sure everyone will be relieved that my obnoxiousness is no more cumbersome to them. Good riddance. I am afraid not only that I will never matter in the future but that I have also never mattered in the past, and that I don’t really matter in the present.

I guess this very real fear explains my love for blogging. Here is where I go to leave my stamp, my DNA, my thought. I throw out my opinions, my emotions, myself and leave it with a hope and prayer that, perhaps if I am very lucky, someday someone will stumble upon it and decide that I matter. They will be touched by one sentence or one word and be changed and then in that moment between my words and them I will have succeeded at conquering my fear: I will have made myself matter.

It’s a daily struggle for me to believe I matter. Perhaps I try to make myself matter by mourning with others. Perhaps I make myself matter by over-feeling. Perhaps I just wish that someone would really care for me, so I try to overcompensate by caring too much for everyone but myself.

Someday I will believe that I matter.

Someday.

Here is where I find my spark of mattering. I write and hope that the spark will ignite to its full potential before I die. I want to believe that if not a single soul shows up at my bedside when I take my last breath, I will die knowing that I mattered.

And perhaps the only reason I will have mattered is because you mattered to me.

Maybe others matter to me so very much because the more I care for them, the more I can believe that they actually care for me.

Together we are better.

I just got done watching this great news coverage
on the silver medal win for Noelle Pikus-Pace.

I loved Noelle’s quote:

“Together we are better. Together we are stronger.
Together miracles can happen and dreams come true.”

Together we are better as families.
Together we are better as a country.
Together we are better in our marriages.
Together we are better as parents.
Together we are better as citizens of earth.
Together we are better as Christians.
Together: It really is the best place to be.

The parable of the cinnamon roll.

I am blessed with many wonderful friends.
I am a lucky girl in the friend department.
This parable really happened.
It has a great moral & spiritual lesson.
I think Jesus would approve.

One day in my living room I sat chatting about life with two friends. One friend was a few decades younger then I and the other one a decade older. The younger friend is extremely bright and a total whiz on the computer, especially when it comes to genealogy research. The older friend is a piano instructor and a lover of all things music/literature. Important to the story is the knowledge that all three of us friends are decent in the kitchen. We can all cook. I would say we are each above average cooks. I know this because I am a food connoisseur and have eaten yummy samples from all of us.

As we sat chatting, both ladies thanked me for the delicious cinnamon rolls I had delivered to their doors the week before. Ironically, the older and more experienced of us three was the one to lament that she had yet to perfect her cinnamon rolls. “They always turn out really dry and I don’t know how to fix it,” she complained. Both the twenty something friend and myself both agreed that her answer was quite simple: stop adding too much flour into the dough. The older friend said she would give it another shot.

A few weeks later my older, wiser, and way more accomplished friend was ecstatic to report to me that for the first time in her life, she finally perfected the cinnamon roll. It just took one easy adjustment…the adjustment suggested by her two younger less-experienced friends: less flour. She was happy, but I think I was happier. I was happy at her accomplishment (even when she didn’t share her spoils – how dare she!?!), but the most joy in the moment came from the simple truth that real friends help each other be better. They don’t compete with each other. They don’t have to pretend to be something they are not. Real friends can honestly admit disappointment in themselves and can help lift each other to a higher plane.

Real friends share their cooking tips because no matter how much I want life to be about the cinnamon rolls, it isn’t. Life is about relationships and the world needs more friends who are willing to share their title of perfect cinnamon roll maker – even if they don’t share them every time.

Oh yeah, and here is the recipe. It was shared with me by another real friend who lives in TN. It’s a good thing she taught me how to make her cinnamon rolls for myself or I would be in a bad bad place void of the ooey gooey goodness.

Home on the Range

My third grade teacher died at 91-years-old a few months back. His name was Mr. Panman, a WWII Nazi camp survivor from Holland, and one of the best teachers I ever had. I’ll never forget the emotions I felt the day he told us about running from the Nazis and tearing to shreds his back by crawling under a barbed wired fence. I cried in class while I heard his living history. I loved him so much. He always played the piano in class and he often sang us the song Home on the Range. The class quickly learned the lyrics and always sang along while thoroughly enjoying the musical break to our daily studies. Oh the good old days. I swear if I am ever a teacher, I would employ this simple form of educational entertainment.

Oh give me home, where the buffalo roam,
where the deer and the antelope play.
Where seldom is heard a discouraging word
and the skies are not cloudy all day.
Home, home on the range.

I’m sure Mr. Panman is roaming free on a very vast range that includes a piano. Love you Mr. Panman. I can’t go to a place with buffalo and not think of Mr. Panman.

On Saturday, while at Antelope Island, I had to break the law and get out of the car to take the photo above (of the buffalo – and the family, actually) The law-abiding family was in the rental van freaking out. I just laughed while I shot away. I was pretty sure I could outrun the buffalo just 20 feet away. The kids were begging LG to make me get back in the car saying I was going to get arrested. He assured them, “I’m staying in here with you, so one adult doesn’t get arrested.” Bella put two and two together really quick. (We were in the rental van that only I am allowed/insured to drive.) “But Dad, if mom gets arrested, who is going to drive us home?”

On the way home we met up with Amy and Tyler and went to our favorite family restaurant. It was such an enjoyable dining experience with the cozy atmosphere, big fire, good food, and kids all getting along.

We love you Cracker Barrel. Our waiter, Kyler, was the best waiter I’ve ever had in my entire life.
I just got off the phone with the store manager to let him know to keep that kid around. I wish I would have got his photo. I guess we’ll just have to go back.

Have a great Monday wherever you roam the range.

Feel free to sing along with your munchkins. Mr. Panman would very much approve.

Our family rocks!!

We decided to make the most of our Saturday after a really high-stress week. We took a short road trip in the rental van. We’re still in negotiations with the insurance company.

We went up to Antelope Island and out to dinner at the close-by Cracker Barrel. We haven’t been to a Cracker Barrel since it was right down the street in TN. It was so fun to see the girls get all sentimental in the shop. (photos to come)

After a short stop at IKEA (2 hours is short) we cranked up the toons for the remaining hour long drive.

I busted out the camera because I wanted to capture the moment. My joy was full. (Glad I didn’t crash trying to multi-task – save your lectures)

Our family rocks just like they do on one of our favorite movies: Bandslam. If you haven’t seen it, you can’t possibly be complete.

Just save c3p0

Yesterday I took my car into JiffyLube to get the annual Safety and Emissions Inspections. While I was there, the technician told me that I would need new brake pads on my rear brakes to pass the Safety test. I told him to go ahead and put them on so that I could just be done with the process all in one day.

After a few hours, he called me out to the auto bay, I paid $250 for all the services received (safety, emissions, oil change, radiator cap/top-off, air filter, rear windshield wiper and rear brake pads. ) He said the other technician had perfect timing as he was just walking up from taking my beloved mini-van on the test drive for the brakes.

I had papers, keys, and receipts in hand ready to be reunited with my car. It took me a minute to figure out what was going on as tech2 walked behind me and said to tech1, “Dude we have a problem. You need to call ________. I _________ (I didn’t quite hear what he said as I didn’t know he was reporting on my car)_____. The whole front side of that Honda is all messed up. I perked up at the mention of Honda as my mini-van is a Honda. I turned around and faced the guys. Tech2 looked a little shook up and immediately apologized, “I’m so sorry, I just crashed your car.” I replied, “Are you serious?” as tech1 said, “You’re messing with me.” “I’m not dude, it’s over on the other side by Beto’s. Ma’am, I’ll walk you over there.”

We took the two block walk from one end of a large parking lot around the other stores to the other and this is what was at the end of it. The brakes had failed at the nearby stoplight. The ambulance was just pulling up as the people who my guy had rear-ended had called 911. They were a couple in their 70’s and so very sweet. Their grown daughter was in the back seat resting her head on the front seat and was all shook up. (I am tempted to say she was faking, but that wouldn’t be nice – I mean really though her parents who are 25 years older were perfectly fine, but maybe she really is just fragile?)

honda2 honda

The poor kid (tech2 from JiffyLube) who had just crashed my car was on the verge of tears. While staring down at my most vital transportation, I forced a smile, grabbed his arm, gave him a half hug, and told him, “These things happen. It’s just life. Don’t be too upset with yourself. I’m not mad at you, at all. I kind of needed a new car anyway.” And then I got embarrassed and almost as an afterthought I inquired, “Are you o.k.? Are you injured?” He said he was fine and admitted he was shaken up and worried about being fired. He said, “I’m going to cry right now.” I told him he could cry in front of me any time, “I’m a mom” and then insisted, “I’ll go to bat for you; they better not fire you. Accidents happen.”

I was proud of myself for staying calm and gave myself an invisible pat on the back for being mature and keeping perspective that people matter way more than things. Period. No contest. I was also silently thanking my old therapist John, Glennon Doyle Melton, Brene Brown, and God for teaching me about shame (the damage it causes) and the value of souls.

The paramedics started loading the fifty-something-daughter onto the stretcher. She was a waif of a thing and seemed not all quite there. I would be tempted to say she has problems with drugs, but that would just be because I lived in TN for so long and dealt with so many of my husband’s drug clients. If I find out she has cancer or something I will feel really bad for passing judgement and for my honest admittance of my crime. I really need to practice NOT SHAMING and give her the benefit of the doubt. I hope she has cancer instead of a drug addiction. (Man, that is just wrong.) It could be that she really was in shock which would explain her shaking and incoherence. {I openly admit I am still working on making my first assumptions about people the good ones instead of the bad.} I got on the phone with LG to have him do the pre-school pick up for me and then called our insurance agency. I then got all my paperwork together for the officer who pulled up at least three minutes after the ambulance and firetrucks. Funny, the police department is located right across the street.

I’ve been extremely happy with the way that JiffyLube has taken care of the situation and can honestly say that this incident won’t keep me from using their services in the future. They immediately reimbursed us the $250 of services without us even asking for it, got us a rental car less then 24 hours later, and have insurance to cover our car damage. They’ve always been good to us in the past, and you know what? People screw up. Like my brother said, “The best you can hope for when people screw up is that they will make it right,” and JiffyLube has gone above and beyond at making it right. Trusting them with my vehicles in the future may make me stupid , but I think it makes me more forgiving then anything and that is way more vital to my emotional health then my IQ level.

So, today I picked my kids up from school in the rental van, and we headed over to retrieve our belongings from our crashed van. The whole way to the collision shop Bella and Sophia said all they cared about was saving C3p0. He’s had a spot on our dashboard for the better part of 8 years and is quite handy when it comes to identifying our vehicle among the hundreds of other minivans in the parking lots of the many family-friendly establishments we frequent. You know: church, wal-mart, the city pool, library, grocery store, sporting events, etc.

Bella was one happy camper when they retrieved C3p0 from under the front seat of the car.
Sophia was even happier, but refused to pose.

Now I know they are kids and don’t get all the ramifications of securing a new car loan and locating and purchasing a new car, but I have to say that I was proud of my kids and their concern for c3p0. In the past 24 hours they haven’t complained about me being on the phone constantly or having to ride everywhere squashed in dad’s sedan. They’ve just rolled with the punches and showed concern for the drivers involved in the accident; they’ve been helpful and have joined us in laughing about the whole thing. My most parental pride came, however, from their main concern being for a $5 sentimental trinket. They embraced it way more then the brand new rental with all the bells and whistles. It’s days like today when I pat myself on the back and say, “Way to go Alice, you aren’t totally failing as a parent.” Maybe someday they will grow up to care more about the crasher of their car then their car too. I hope so.

The best news today was from JiffyLube’s District Manager. At the rental car place he told me that they would most definitely not fire Mark the driver. The insurance company low-balled our offer and we really really don’t want to go back into a car payment after 10 years without one, but as we figure out the details, I am going to set C3p0 next to my laptop to help me remember what is really important. Once again the kids are the teachers and the mom is the student.

And here is a great argument for why when your kids start driving you should want them in a vehicle with a trailer hitch.

Here is the other car. Barely a scratch.

When I Leave the Room

If you are an American, you’d have to be living under a rock to have not heard about Grammy-nominated gospel singer Natalie Grant walking out of the Grammys. The story is all over the place.

On her facebook the night of the Grammy’s she wrote:

We left the Grammy’s early. I’ve many thoughts about the show tonight, most of which are probably better left inside my head. But I’ll say this: I’ve never been more honored to sing about Jesus and for Jesus. And I’ve never been more sure of the path I’ve chosen.

She got so many people slinging mud at her that she had to follow up with this:

I’ve tried to read all of the comments on my previous post but I can’t respond to them all. Most of you have always been so supportive and encouraging to me & I’m grateful. It does sadden me when people argue, judge and hurl insults at each other from both sides of the fence. I’m not going to engage in arguments, but just have a few things I’d like to say:
I NEVER said I left during any particular performance. I only said I left early.
I never pointed out any one particular performance, I only said I had many thoughts about the entire show, which were best left inside my head and that is where they will stay. So those who say I condemned one performance but then condoned others clearly did not read the post.
What I DID say is this: I am honored to be a part of the Christian music community. I’ve had many people throughout my career ask why I never tried to go in to mainstream music and last night was a beautiful reminder that I love singing about Jesus and FOR Jesus.
I’ve judged no one. I hate no one. And I believe that every person has been created in the image of God. I will never stand on a street corner and wave a sign, I won’t use my platform to engage in political arguments that will only divide and not unite. I will continue to pray that my life will be my message. I do have my own personal convictions that I live by, and I will continue to work out my own salvation with fear and trembling before the Lord. (Philippians 2:12)
I was honored to be nominated for 2 Grammy awards last night. I’m so grateful that NARAS and The Grammys continue to recognize the contribution that gospel and Christian music make to the world. And I’m so thrilled for those who won in my categories. And I can say that with all sincerity.
My last thought:
“I am not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus for it is the power of God who brings salvation to ALL who believe.”
Romans 1:16

~ Natalie

I had never even heard of Natalie Grant before this incident was reported, but I was deeply touched by this song of hers that a friend just shared with me. I thought maybe she had written it in response to the backfire, but after listening I was no longer even thinking about the Grammy’s. Listen, and tell me what you are thinking about when she gets through.

When the song was over, I was thinking about my loved ones and what it is like to leave them, and how much I pray for their safety, protection, and happiness. I was also thinking about my Jesus and how holy and peaceful it feels to trust in Him and know without a doubt that one day I will look at Him in the eyes unashamed and tell Him that I did my best to live up to His name that I took upon me at baptism.

When I leave the room, I want people to know that I fully expect to meet my Jesus on the other side and that I will continue to trust Him to watch over whoever is left standing on the other side of the door. Whether they be Hollywood, gay, the Pope, the President of the United States, a cult member, my child, my friend, an alcoholic, a murderer, my favorite librarian…whatever and whoever they are…I know Jesus is watching over them and will make all things right according to whether or not they will accept Him in his terms. I do not stand in judgement, but I do stand for Him to the best of my ability and I do hope that someday we can all stand with Him together on the other side of the door. But guess what? The only way to get there is to leave the room. I kind of hope more people will start taking that part of the plan a little bit more serious. This life isn’t about seeking our own carnal desires, it’s about proving ourselves to God that we will choose Him no matter what comes our way.

I applaud you Natalie Grant.

Funniest Fish Funeral Ever

We had pet fish once.
They were named Dorothy and Goldie.
One for our last name and the color of the fish
and one for my grandma and Elmo’s fish.

I think they lasted in their bowl in my kitchen window for three days.
Abigail still recalls with great emotion the day she found them both laying belly-up.
“Their eyes, mom. They were just staring at me.”

Daddy was gone, so Papa took care of the situation.
Fortunately, somewhere in the book of life law is the rule
“Dads take care of pet burial.”

With papa’s love and care the fish took the next huge step in their circle of life:
they became garden fertilizer.
Our girls know how much papa loves their garden,
therefore they knew that the fish got a royal ending.

To this day, they beg me for more fish.
I always tell them no.
“You begged me for a cat.
You promised me you would take care of it.
I’ll sleep with it, feed it.
And you don’t.
Then you begged me for a dog.
Mom, we’ll walk it, we’ll feed it, we’ll play with it, we’ll give it a bath.
And I do it way more than you ever do.”

The first fish experience combined with the dog and cat makes three strikes.
I will never be guilt-ed into another fish experience.
Not unless it’s the fish that will end up on my plate to eat.
And we all know that salmon or tilapia aren’t going to fit in a tank.

We now settle for fish window shopping at Walmart every time we visit.
I think that makes me a “good enough” mom and that’s as high as I aim nowadays.

The other day on facebook, a friend asked a serious question.
Should she replace her son’s fish for the 5th time without telling him,
or just go ahead and tell him that it’s dead?

All I could think about was the master himself Bill Cosby.
How I love Bill Cosby.
I wish I could find other masterful and clean comedians to follow.