Headbangin'

Do you ever feel like you are hitting your head (bam!) against a wall and you just can't stop (bam!) yourself.  It's a really hard wall like cement (bam!) and slightly crumbly like it's been there since the dawn of time (bam!).  And you can't stop even though it's very painful (bam!) and embarrassing since, well, stupidity is somewhat embarrassing.

I always take on more than I am able (bam!) then wonder why I'm miserable and paralyzed with stress (bam!) and end up with a crippling migraine (bam!).

I've heard people say, "my cup runneth over!" delighted by the overflow of goodness.  I'm leaning toward a different metaphor.  My plate is very, very full.  My food is bulging off my plate (bam!) and onto my nice tablecloth (bam!).  The peas are attacking me (bam!) and the gravy cannot be stopped!  My arms aren't big enough (bam!) and soon I'm smothered in gross gravy goop!

So, I de-goop (bam!).  Simplifiy (bam!).  Break some committments (bam!).  Rectify any dissappointed feelings (bam!).  And finally stop (bam!) banging (bam!) my precious (bam!) head....ahhh!

Someday I'll learn the wisdom of saying "no."

Remembering

There is this memory that I have that has given me an immense amount of comfort lately.  It's been a gift.  It isn't a specific memory that happened, rather a spot in my childhood home where I would spend a lot of time. In the quiet of our living room I would nestle on the couch, shoes off of course since this was our best room, and read or draw or snuggle up to a good afternoon nap.  It was ideal for me.  I could see the goings on outside since in front of me was our large front window.  And I wasn't easily seen by fellow Derr residents because of the short wall that separated the living room from our front hallway.  But I could see anyone who entered.  Truly it was the best spot in the house to just be without interruption.

Because of the monumental remodel of my mother's home a few years ago, that spot no longer exists.  Only in my memory it is alive and telling.  And it has much to say to me as a mother.  It reminds me of some simple ingredients to happiness.  Comfort.  Rich, warm, inviting smells.  Somebody's favorite food.  Laughter.  Giggles.  Occasionally staying up late just to be together.  Forgiveness.  Long hugs.  Saying "I love you" again and again.  Peaceful music.  Dancing in the kitchen.  Working side by side.  Talking.  Holding hands.  And love.  So much love.

No huge home necessary.  Fancy things not required.  Just us appreciating what we have, giving what we can, and loving each other immensely. 
  
I reflect back on our family situation at the time this memory is most strong.  It was not a time without struggle.  This is not a mere yearning for easier days without pain or responsibility.  We were fighting a losing battle with cancer yet this quiet enemy made us closer.  We made each moment count for we knew, yet again, one of our own would be called home soon.  I stayed home a lot during that time.  My sister took a million pictures and began the tradition of a family slide show each Christmas.  Our family turned inward and we set our priorities on hearth and home.  A lesson that can be easily forgotten.

So I allow myself to bathe in this memory of warm, glowing incandescent light, the smell of the wood burning fire, the sounds of a scratchy record player playing White Christmas by the Tab Choir.  I smile and again remember the simple ingredients for happiness.  I remember to turn to hearth and home.

Black Cats and Bats and Ghosts!

Today Logan and I decided to take a little stroll.  We played our favorite I Spy game which fizzled quickly with the surprise appearance of a very friendly fat black cat.  Now, being one of a very long line of dog people in my family I took a moment to think if Logan has even encountered a feline.  His initial apprehension told me probably not.

After about 5 minutes of strict observance of said fat feline, Logan decided it was his new favorite pal and began to follow it devotedly.  Fatty Catty led Logan through all sorts of rough terrain, though bushes and well manicured flower beds.  I watched with amusement from the sidewalk as Logan would never quite touch the cat but couldn't stay more than a foot away from this new furry being.

And the cat loved Logan!  He would run ahead then wait for Logan to catch up.  Then Logan would run and Cat would chase him then flop on the ground wanting his belly rub.  It was too cute and very appropiate for the season I must say.

After we said our goodbyes (a.k.a. me walking away with a kicking and screaming toddler until Cat was out of sight) we headed home, threw some rocks on our way and enjoyed the colors of fall hand in hand.

I love this kid.

Head Shots: Amber and Timaree

Afternoon Lessons

I've been painting in the afternoons.

It's been my time to listen to my music.  To play with the colors I want.  It's been my time to refill and reflect and to just be.

I'm convinced that God grants us talents not just to be shared or for us to feel better about ourselves.  I'm convinced God has given each of us specific talents as a way to understand Him and His eternal principles.

The other day I'm painting; struggling to tap into my right brain where creativity lives and thrives.  I can't seem to get the color I want.  Every color I come up with doesn't belong.  It isn't right.  Then I realize I'm working too purely.  I need to dirty my color so it can recede and let the other colors appear more vivid.  So I mix my pure yellows and oranges with blue and let the color get muddy and rich.  I slide my brush through the earthiness and place a single brushstroke. It works and my subject reads beautifully.

I'm looking at this color I've created.  By itself it's yucky.  As a whole the color is purposeful and lovely.  In fact, it's my favorite part of the piece.

Then I catch the lesson.  I get the familiar overwhelming rush of warmth that lets me know what I'm feeling is true and important.  Every experience here on this earth is necessary for my overall growth.  Not just the happy times.  Every time I struggle.  Every time it seems things are yucky and I can't seem to make heads or tails of it.  It's simply a part of the whole.  It's that swipe of dirty color that makes the overall picture beautiful and meaningful.

Now when I look at that swipe; that simple brushstroke that recedes into the background I will think of the empathy I've developed.  The kindness.  The humility.  Slowly I learn the peace that comes from understanding this principle.  To accept the bad with the good.  That trials have their place in my development.

Mostly I learn to enjoy all the colors that I create.

His First Obsession

 It's times like these that I wish I had a video camera.  It all began when I was invited to go see Toy Story 3 with my sister and her kids.  Logan had never been inside a movie theater so I had no idea what to expect.  He was an angel.  He parked himself on my mom's lap, got himself a lifetime supply of popcorn, and started shoveling buttery bits of popcorn for 2 straight hours.  My mom thought he was asleep.  What was mistaken for sleep was post-popcorn fatigue while basking in a larger than life wave of lights and colors from the movie screen.  This boy was hooked.

I first realized the obsession when we walked into Target and saw a gigantic sign of Buzz and Woody.  I thought Logan was having some sort of fit.  Nope.  Pure joy at seeing his new best friends.  I had to tear him away from the sign which only meant I had 15 minutes of complete toddler meltdown at Target.

Then came Sam's Club.  I saw that Toy Story 1 and 2 were on sale for $12.  I thought they would make lovely Christmas presents for Logan.  Think again.  When I tried to take the movies from Logan he looked at me with fire in his eyes that said, "Over my dead body, Woman!"

Since then he has probably watched Toy Story over 20 times.  He sings (and conducts) to the introduction, he knows his favorite parts and screams at his not so favorite parts.  When it is over he begs me to put in the second one.  When I don't or when I interrupt the movie to, I don't know, FEED HIM, I know I have Toddler Hell to Pay. 

In the car today I put in a Disney CD that I had found and "You've Got A Friend In Me" came on.  Oh, the joy!!  He was ecstatic!  It was as if Woody and Buzz were in the car with him!  He "la-la-ed" the entire song.  When it was over he screamed until I played it again.  And again.  And again.  I now loathe that song.

I know this should drive me crazy but it actually makes me really happy.  He has his first passion.  Now I can write in his baby book that when Logan was 2 he was OBSESSED with Toy Story.

It's all good!

New Art Cards

I'm trying to paint 25 cards a week.  I did 14 last week (but prepped 150).  Let me know what you think!

For pricing and sizes check out the Cards page.

Custom Made French Toast

Logan and I often make french toast in the morning.  Here's the ritual:  I give piece of bread to Logan, he throws it in the egg/milk/cinnamon mixture.

Today he throws in another step:  I  give piece of bread to Logan, he takes a bite then throws the bread into the egg/milk/cinnamon mixture.  Every piece of toast has his bite mark.

Love it!

Green Eyed Distraction

Occasionally I feel this obnoxious tendency to compare myself to others.  I know I'm not alone.  It seems an epidemic among young mothers.  It doesn't matter if she works or stays at home; nobody is immune to the Green Eyed Monster.

What really aggravates me about jealousy is that I don't catch it right away.  I'll be well into my inner tantrum; thinking the worst about my own situation and realizing the impossible chasm envy creates.  Then when I realize what's going on I'm down on myself for being so petty!  Sheesh!

My only hope, my only sense of peace comes from thinking that each day I mature.  Every inner battle I have I'm closer to recognizing Greenie sooner and see him for what he really is-a distraction. 

I have a lot to offer this world.  I have a lot to offer my family.  I really don't care if Tootsie can run 5 marathons in two months or how many words Barbie's kid Cletis can spout.  I'm on my own path here and I rather like it.

Short Thought About a Great Friend

I have this friend.  She is amazing.  Her name is Keri and she lives very far away in New Zealand.  One of my January resolutions was to regularly email her after many years of occasional contact.  Nothing could have been better for me.  Keri is my kindredest of kindred spirits.  And I feel so lucky to have such a friend.  I could easily be green with envy with how fabulous she is but I'm not.  It's never a competition with us, only support.  I have many cheerleaders in my life and she's among the ones with the loudest cheers and the biggest pom-poms.

How lucky I am!

Look What I Made Yesterday!

My sister Michelle is in town.  Every visit includes at least one outing with just the nieces and nephews.  Usually bowling is the number one activity but she decided to change it up a bit with a trip to Wheeler Farm followed by an egg-dying session out on the lawn.

I have to say egg-dying has certainly come a long way.  The kiddos loved dipping and retrieving the eggs from their colored soak but the tweens and I went haywire with the accessories.  Here's a few of my creations.

Alien Egg

Andy Warhol Egg

Salvador Dali Egg

Just Wanted To Try Furry Eyebrows Egg

I thought this kit was great for the creative spirit.  Again, the young kiddos liked the dipping, not so keen on the accessories.  The five years olds loved the stickers but struggled getting the hair to cooperate.  And they tend to use way too much of everything so it was a good lesson on sharing and taking turns.  The teenagers loved this.  They easily plowed through two dozen eggs.  I think dying eggs in June might be our new favorite Aunt Mi-Jenn activity. 

A Familiar Tug

There has been a familiar tug inside of me this year to learn more about my dad. I know I don't have a lot of time to delve into my dad's family history, but I can't ignore this tug any longer.

When we were living with my mom a couple years ago I was asked to give a talk on Mother's day. Being my home ward, it wasn't a complete surprise that Brother Blackham, a man I knew well but never really talked to, would come up to me and tell me how much I reminded him of my dad. He then talked with me for about 30 minutes about his memory of my dad. They were home teaching companions and friends. All this time... I never knew.

This was not the first time this has happened. I was a junior sitting in seminary class. We had a substitute who was reading the class roster to determine class attendance. When he got to my name he said, "Are you Ken Derr's daughter?" Turns out he worked with Dad at the Church Office Building. He goes on to say rather dramatically, in front of everyone which horrified me, "Your dad was as big as a mountain with a heart just as big!" I don't know if it was the combination of embarrassment and just the raw tenderness of my dad's name but I just started crying.

I lost my dad when I was six. The memories I have are starting to fade. During my teenage years I felt "the tug" for the first time. I asked everyone in my family about my dad. I got a lot of mixed memories. My siblings either remember the really happy times or the hard times. I was praying constantly to let the sadness pass and I wanted to know if he loved me. Then I had a dream.

My dad is given an hour to visit us. I am six and very short.  When I stand next to him all I can see is his hand. I don't look up. I watch from afar as he spends time with his children. I don't let him out of my sight.  But all I see is his hand.

There are eight of us so I know it will be awhile until he gets to me. I don't want to impose but it's getting late and I know I won't have much time. I start to become anxious and  I fear that I will be forgotten. I don't see him anymore which terrifies me. Did he leave without seeing me?  Did I miss my chance?  When my anxiety is at it's peak the view shifts.

Here we are, my dad and I, side by side on the couch. I'm looking down at my lap and hands. I look slightly to my left at Dad's hands on his lap. I didn't miss my chance after all. I have so much to say but I can't. Something is holding me back.  The anxiety starts again. Calmly he reaches for my hand and this overwhelming warm feeling sweeps over me. I'm instantly calm and I just know.  Words come into my head, "I am proud of you."

I wake up.

The next day I felt incredible peace but I'd never had a dream like that before. I decided to ask Brother Crowther who was the seminary president then. I told him everything. I told him of the stress I was feeling about my dad. The prayers I'd prayed to know if I was loved or if he knew me. It was a tearful meeting. Brother Crowther told me the dream was an answer to those prayers and that only I can decipher the meaning.

I've carried that dream around with me for a long, long time. It has carried me through some very difficult moments. Now I'm feeling that familiar "tug" again. I'm missing my dad, missing my step dad. Wondering if I'll ever feel completely whole in this life. Wondering if my family will ever feel whole again.

I have this strong feeling to start his genealogy and to start with his history.  This is an incredible feat that does not fit into my plans but I can start.

As my family journeyed to the familiar road to Provo cemetery yesterday I said a little prayer by my dad's gravestone.  It was a "help me do this, Dad" kind of prayer.  I've often felt him along side me, serving in the church we both love so dearly.  The last couple years I've deterred my focus a bit.  The everyday challenges of this world can be incredibly distracting.  I forget that when I try to face challenges on my own they are always more difficult.

This memorial day I'm grateful for my dad.  In no way am I glad that he is gone but I'm happy for those moments when he is close by.  And I look forward to the day when I can actually meet him and see his face with my own eyes.

Kenneth Thomas Derr

April 19, 1942 - November 16, 1985

It Takes a Village...

Logan's speech therapist, Katie, just left.  This week went a bit better for me than the first visit.  The first visit was just hard!  I really wouldn't consider myself a proud person but I felt a tinge of shame and jealousy as Katie just seemed to really connect with him.  By the time she left she had diffused a rather heated tantrum and taught him 2 new signs.  Watching her in action was fascinating.  She was mimicking any sounds he made and added a few of her own.  I felt like I was the third wheel in a monkey cage. I realized something after observing the Jane Goodall of toddlers... I had no idea how to help Logan speak.

So after a week of speaking in two word sentences and sabotaging Logan's play, he now can add "choo-choo" to his repertoire of spoken words.  I could kiss that train set my mother-in-law gave us.

This week with Katie was more pleasant for me.  I decided to observe more and simply be taught at her feet.  I'm no help to Logan if I'm too busy feeling sorry for my imperfections.

Sometimes my confidence as a mother is so easily shaken.  Other times it's so clear to me what I can contribute to my family.   I've always believed that it takes a village to raise a child.  Having lost a parent at such an early age forced me to really connect to those outside of my family circle.  Now, as a mother, I'm tempted to accept an implied expectation to be his everything.  To teach him everything, even if it's beyond my ability.  This leaves me incredibly empty and sad for myself because I always fall short.  It makes motherhood a very heavy burden.

So now, as I open the door to Katie, I welcome this woman who can help us communicate with one another.  She is part of my village that will help me raise my child.  She is not a reminder of what I could not do alone but a reminder to me that there is hope for the chasm that I cannot fill.

I look forward to meeting the other villagers who will have a hand in Logan's life.

Senior Pictures

'Tis the season for senior pictures. 

Disasters Happen

We have a morning routine at my house. Get up. Change Logan's diaper. Get him into the tub or into the shower with Daddy. Breakfast. I start my chores while Logan watches a bit of morning TV.

This routine has been relatively steady for the past 6 months or so. Occasionally a bit of stirring will occur if we have a doctor's appointment or other prearranged early morning happenings. But, all in all, our mornings have been quite dependable.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end. The culprit? I guess we could blame it on wrist development...

Logan can now open the door.

Now, Logan's newly developed motor skill hasn't completely ruined my morning routine for all time. Let's just say it made for a very interesting Thursday.

Thursday morning. Quite routine. I'm busily cleaning up breakfast, enjoying the sun and the smell of the cut grass. I can hear the lawn crew at work around our condo making things lovely and fresh. Then I take a quick break to go to the restroom. I usually keep the door open but I just wanted a few minutes to be alone without the watchful eyes of my two year old.

I can hear him outside the door begging to come in then just the sounds of the television. Business finished I open the door and turn into the kitchen not taking the quick second I usually take to check on Logan's whereabouts.

Then an urgent knock on the door followed by a series of rings (bad combo in my opinion). As I cross the family room my heart jumps when I realize Logan isn't where I put him. I open the door and see a familiar neighbor with Logan and behind him one of the lawn crew.

I gasped. Stunned I grab Logan with a hug and repeatedly say, "Thank You!" The neighbor who I've seen around but never talked with said very sweetly, "This gentlemen found him down the street. But don't worry, he [Logan] knew right where to take me when I asked him where his mommy was!" I could have kissed her for her kindness. The lawn man, however, not so compassionate. In his broken English he scolded, "You should watch him! He was behind the truck!"

I had no defense. I simply said thank you again, shut the door and hugged Logan who was completely unaware of the situation.

Being programmed into the day's routine we were off to our next errand on the list. Grocery shopping. As I was driving I was trying to push out the thoughts I was having. My mind kept wandering to "what might have happened!" I was pushing back tears trying to tell myself it's a new behavior for us all. We'll be more careful.

At the stoplight I pull up behind a truck that says in bold letters, "Disasters Happen." I cried. Oh, boy did I cry. I allowed myself five minutes to mourn my mistake. My human state. Those words of the lawn man burned into my brain, "You need to watch him!" I wanted to say, "I do! I do! I watch him all the time! I try to anticipate, to prevent, to teach. I set boundaries and repeat them over and over. I would strap him to my back until he's 30 years old if I could but I can't!"

Then my mind shifted to the neighbor. Her words of encouragement. Her pride in telling me that he knew the way back home. Then I prayed in gratitude. I'm so grateful that the lawn man saw him and brought him to the neighbor. I'm so grateful that their lawn truck was there to distract him from going onto a busier street. I'm so grateful for that wise neighbor who smiled and told me not to worry. I'm grateful that Logan knew his way back home.

It makes me realize that this feeling of helplessness will never go away. It has begun. Knowing his personality, Logan will often open doors on his own. And I hope he does. The only thing I can do is prepare him then pray that angels will surround him to keep him safe. I pray that human kindness will pull through. That whoever he meets will treat him with love and respect. But when they don't and he finds himself in need that he will come home.

This experience has been a tender one for me. I tend to gather little bits of what I learn on this journey of motherhood. This is a good bit. No matter how painful.

Pictures, pictures, and more pictures!

Logan is... Just.  So.  Funny!  I've picked up a new habit of watching him more.  My book club recently read Creation.  It's a biography of Charles Darwin.  I knew very little of this man but was greatly impressed with his character.  He would spend hours watching and observing his children.  This struck me as something I'd like to do as well.  Well, maybe not for hours but just more.  I'll even observe him through my camera just so I can always be creating pictures; always thinking of new ways to break up the space each artist is given.


He's growing.  He's becoming.  His character and personality are starting to really show.  Even though he's not yet speaking he expressive and communicative.  I may not be able to afford the luxury of a model as I once was during college, I have my most interesting subject.  My son. 

Here are just a few of our days together...

Logan is all about making his own choices lately.  I'm thoroughly excited about this phase!  He has also taken to this particular chair.  I'm pretty sure he values it as his greatest resource in his quest to get to higher ground.

Logan's newest and greatest discovery... Swimming goggles.  He showed up to bedtime sporting his new eyewear.  A creative mother couldn't have been more proud... or amused.

Logan was really into stacking for awhile.  He'd leave all sorts of shaky structures around.  Now it is Mr. Potato Head.  I love to see what facial concoction he's up to next.  

I really love to watch his determination.  It's so endearing and quite inspiring!