Song of the Day

Oftentimes a blog post will be inspired by a particular song I've recently listened to, though it's just as likely I guess that the post itself will inspire the song choice. With that in mind, I've created "Diane's Song of the Day" over on the sidebar. It's just another bellweather of the state of mind I'm in when I write, which is fun for me to revisit.

Or sometimes I think the song really rocks and I just want to share. I'm really generous like that :)

Happy Birthday to Me!

For my birthday present, please leave a comment. Even if you never have before for whatever reason in the world, I would love to hear from you.

I'm so curious to see who reads my blog!

Wild Child

I had a great day Sunday. I couldn't sleep, so I snuck out of the house early in the morning, cranked up Jem on the CD player, drove all through Provo Canyon, and ran away for the day. I drove fast on winding roads, got lots of sun and fresh air, had an amazing chair lift ride up the mountain, ate a crazy good sandwich at Sundance, and had a fabulous time. It was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Tomorrow is my birthday, and I'll be 46. Not that 46 is old--I've heard that 50 is the new 30 after all, so I'm really only going to be about 26. But even so, I've been around awhile now. Some days my 20s seem like just yesterday, and others so long ago that I think they were just a dream. When opportunity smacks you upside the head and gives you a chance to look your past square in the eyes and reconcile it with your present--that, my friends, is an eye-opener. You may not be where you want to be in life, or look the way you want, or a host of other things, but do it anyway. You have to take those opportunities when they come, because if there's one thing that growing older has taught me, it is this: those chances don't always come back around for a second try. Carpe diem.

I had so much time up there to think and work things out, and I really created a fresh start for myself. Look at your true self, see where you are, reassess, correct your course, and move on. I'm not going to beat myself up anymore for what I did or didn't do. I keep looking at the past from my current position, and of course everything I did looks insane! That's why we get better with age (in most respects). But at the time, I struggled with things, made decisions one way or the other, and tried to make the best of whatever the consequences of those decisions entailed. Is that something to regret? Of course not!

So it's all good, things have a way of working out, and I am embracing it and being happy.

A Love Letter To Sweetie

Many years ago I met a brilliant, funny, intriguing grad student. He wasn't like other men I'd met. He liked to talk about art, film, and literature with me, subjects which I knew next to nothing about, but which he enthusiastically taught me. He cooked for me, we went for long walks together, and stayed up late talking and talking. One October night after a particularly hard day, he searched all over Chicago to find me daffodils and dutch iris, my very favorites. He was so concerned with making me happy, that I actually started to be again.

But there was a part of me that was still unhappy, and that part would leave the rest of me and race around the cosmos, frantically searching for something it didn't understand or recognize. And he took care of the rest of me during these voyages until that part came back for a moment or two. I knew he loved me, because he showed me every day, but I still wasn't sure if I was ready.

Then one night he read a poem to me, and it changed everything.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

--W. B. Yeats

I knew that he understood me, and that if I wasn't careful I would lose out on the opportunity to share a life with this wonderful man.

So I fell in love with him, and my pilgrim soul came home to rest.

Fresh Starts

When this picture was taken, I was 22 and fresh out of BYU. I had just landed my dream job with Leo Burnett in Chicago and left a few days later to start my new life. I ended a long-term relationship, packed up my stuff, and left Provo for good (or so I thought). I had a decent salary, was young, healthy, and, dare I say it, kind of cute. Within days I found a tiny but cheap apartment in Lincoln Park and jumped into yuppydom full force. So many great experiences and people came into my life, including my husband. There were definitely growing pains, but it was all leading me to a place I couldn't see in the beginning.

As I was walking tonight, I had so much to think about. I feel a bit like I did back in 1986 when the world was my oyster and the sky was the limit. So many interesting experiences and people have come into my life this year, and I'm trying to learn what I can from each. I feel like something big is about to happen to me, something that I can't imagine right now. There have definitely been some growing pains, as there always are, but I feel more confident than I did 23 years ago and am not quite so worried that I can't see around the corner.

Back To School

I started back to work today. It felt great to see everyone and be back where I feel like I contribute something. My opinions mattered and I felt real affection from everyone. Thanks for making me feel so loved, girls!

When I got out of college I got a hot-shot job in Chicago where I got to spend other people's money by the bucket load and was wined and dined every day by very nice people with bottomless pockets. It was awesome! Lunches, dinners, parties on boats, seaplanes at my disposal--what a great job. Of course it was the 80s and no one bothered about silly details like where the money was coming from to actually pay for it all. Not my problem! Then I got married, and we decided that I would stay home with the kids when we had them. By that point, I was so starved for babies that I couldn't wait to stay home and sew Halloween costumes and bake cookies.

Well, we were naive about how far money really stretches. Sure, you can make your own baby wipes and drink only powdered milk. I know people who have done just that. But it wasn't long before the needs of our family outstripped my economizing skills. Little jobs started coming my way for lots of different things, but I was always able to still be at home.

When Tinkerbell started first grade, I realized how much I hated being in an empty house. Of course there is still a mountain of things I could spend my time on--ironing, laundry, dishes, paperwork, cleaning--but it was miserable not having a little voice in the house with me. So I started working at her school.

My first job there was teaching Gifted/Talented in grades 1-6. I had never taught before, and suddenly I had to come up with a curriculum map and daily lesson plans for the entire year. It was overwhelming and I really didn't know if I could do it. But with lots of help from my colleagues I slowly got the hang of things and began to settle in. Soon I wasn't just trying to keep the kids corralled but actually sitting with them and laughing over their writing and silly jokes. I got hugs in the hall, sweet love notes from six year-olds, and parents told me how much the kids loved my class. My day was full of positive reinforcement and I found that working with kids, even other people's kids, was the most fun I'd ever had on a job.

As my own kids have gotten older, my desire to stay home has lessened and lessened. Of course I love summer vacation--who doesn't love sleeping in and having no particular place you have to be every day--but once school starts back up again I couldn't imagine being home alone to work on projects, no matter how desperately they need it. I feel like I've found something I'm good at and really love, and that's more important even than the pay cut we all took this year to keep doing it. And that's truly saying something.

The Things We Don't Say

I just spent a fab morning making crepes with Kata and Rachel. Sweetie spoils us with them sometimes, but this time I learned how to make true Hungarian ones, with a real Hungarian chef.

This started out as a group Visiting Teaching meeting. We invited the girls we teach over to Kata's and she was going to instruct us in the art of crepe-making. As it turned out, only Rachel could come, which is honestly how I would prefer it anyway. The three of us have a great time talking and things get pretty candid, which is how I like it.

If the only perception a girl/young woman had of motherhood was from Relief Society on Sundays, they would only scratch the tip of the iceberg. What about when someone is horrified that they got pregnant--again? How about the children of neighbors that you can't abide and want to torment in subtle ways? What if we give birth to an ugly baby? How many kids can I stop at without feeling guilty?

Church leaders try to sanctify mothers and endow them with the noblest of hearts and intentions. The pressure! We're only human, and have as many frailties, doubts, and anger management issues as anyone else. We love our own children, but no way are we changing the neighbor kid's diaper. And do we really need to be eternal Primary teachers? Do you not trust us with the general population of young marrieds and empty-nesters? How about giving us time off for good behavior, at least? Though I must confess, you will have to pry my Primary piano accompanist job from my cold, dead hands.

And then we admit that being a mom isn't nearly as bad as we thought it would be. We kind of dig being pregnant, at least most of us do. Being a chick isn't that bad, we guess. That having a baby fall asleep in your arms is one of the most amazing experiences one can have. We could even learn to love an ugly baby in time, or at least try to.

These talks are good for the soul, even if they involve things we'd never discuss in polite society. There are some women who seem to handle motherhood with such natural ability and grace that the rest of us feel inadequate. There are others who make us feel pretty darned proud of ourselves after encounters with their horrible offspring. We're all just doing our best, most days, and hoping the kids are so distracted by their crazy mothers that they don't remember the other ones.