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!

Much of the World's Sorrow

I always hated my curls.  For years I would get up as early as I could to blow dry and straighten my long blond locks until they were stick straight. 
Since I have the thickest hair in the world, this process would take me 30-45 minutes every morning.  It wasn't until I served my mission in England, with all it's humidity, that I finally let go and embraced my curls.  Now I let it go most of the time.

What changed? 
It wasn't so much the hair but the attitude that changed.  Back then I wanted to conform.  Straight was in.  Stick straight.  The hours (oh the hours!!) I spent on getting my hair just right before I felt I could face the world.  It was just me hiding myself.  The vibrant, lively, funny self that I am.  Now I'm letting my hair simply be as I'm striving to let myself simply be. 

Here is a clip from Harold and Maude.  I absolutely love this clip.  I often think about this when I find myself devaluing myself and my contribution to those around me.

Enjoy.  I know I always do.

My New Blog

Just avoiding my latest project to break-in this new blog of mine. I've been dabbling with my gallery pages for weeks but I think I'm finally ready to start posting regularly again. I've been trying to create a sort of hub for all my hobbies and interests and have finally figured out a wonderful and cheap solution. Now that I've discovered the somewhat new Page Gadget my dream of a virtual center of all things "Jenn" can finally be realized!



This blog address will now be our family blog as well as my art blog. It was too much upkeep to have separate blogs.

The "galleries" are still in a rough stage. I probably won't be listing prices and sizes at this point. It's an incredible feat to measure all my artwork. My goal is to get them uploaded and evenly spaced at this point. If there is ever any interest in artwork, commission work, or art lessons please let me know via email (check out my contact page) and I'll get you the details.


Now for more blogging...

I am currently at the tail end of a major home project...repainting the cabinets in the kitchen and both bathrooms. Actually, Nathan and I wrapped up the last of the painting and now I'm rearranging the kitchen contents to best suit my culinary needs. I got stuck at seasonings so I thought I'd blog.

Seasonings are always the worst to organize. They never get put back to their original location thus explaining why I have three containers of garlic powder all opened and half full. And when it comes to retrieving the back container I'm hopelessly impatient. I'm knocking over green sprinkles and paprika all to retrieve the cumin instead of the desired fennel seeds. By the time I seize what it is I'm grabbing for I'm looking into a shelf that reeks of chaos. I then bat my beautiful blue eyes at my darling detail-oriented husband who once again puts order to chaos while he explains the logic of putting this here and that there, yada yada yada.

Seasonings!

Well, I'd better get back to it. I just caught a glimpse at all the vitamin bottles we have. When was the last time I took a vitamin!