Dandelion Magic

Now, the most astute amongst the smallest little group that reads this blog will notice that I have changed the look of my blog. I did this purposefully. Let me tell you a little bit about the meaning behind this change.

I love dandelions. As a young girl, I picked yellow dandelions and gave them to my mother as flowers. As I grew and matured, I popped the heads off yellow dandelions, killing them for sport, pretending they were the children at school who bullied me for being bigger than the other kids. I was big and tall. By the time I hit sixth grade, I was five feet, six inches tall, wore size nine in shoes and a size 12 in women's clothes. That's just the way I was made. Kids are ruthless. I was on student council, went to a county-wide leadership camp for which I was nominated by teachers and my principal, but there were two boys who called me fat, pulled my chairs out from under me at church, ridiculed me in front of everyone, and never relented. Looking back, I admire their persistence. I don't however, admire their mean-spirited behavior, their crass attitudes, and their parents' unwillingness to do what my parents would have done - make that stop instantly.

As a product of the 1980's household, discipline was not taking away a cell phone or taking me off a travel team. I didn't just get a stern lecture. I would go without my late-night reading sessions, my black and white television in the room I shared with my younger sister (and thus feel her wrath), face months worth of grounding, surely be made to apologize, and probably feel my dad's size 12 flip flop across my behind. Consequently, I behaved. I was a good-natured kid anyway, but I had older siblings and knew that behaving paid in spades.

So I took my aggression out on dandelions. One thing an Olson kid knew as that we did not mess with the less common white dandelions. I spent my young childhood in a small northern Utah town. Utah has four seasons, and after a wet winter, yellow dandelions begin to spring up all over the yard. They hail the advent of spring. I know, you thought it was daffodils and tulips, but for a kid like me, I knew winter was really over when our yard filled with yellow dandelions. I smeared their vibrant yellow all over the sidewalk, thrilled to see nature at work. And then I popped their heads off, picturing these cruel boys in my mind.

I'm sure my mom wishes dandelions actually looked that good. She probably also wishes that her favorite daughter didn't constantly turn the sidewalk yellow and then leave dead dandelion heads all over the yard, but she knew I was weird. 

Now, when most people think of dandelions, they think of the dandelions that did not usually grow in our yard. They were harder to find, especially completely intact. They were special. These were not to be destroyed. These dandelions, delicate and white, were for wishing only. With four kids in our house and a family with six kids across the street, white dandelions became a hot commodity. Once pickup baseball games began in our yards, they disappeared, hit with bats, balls, and random objects that became our bases. But I still sought them in earnest. 

On the magical day that I found an intact white dandelion, I carefully picked it directly from the grass. Then I stared at it forever, formulating the perfect wish. You see, any kid over age three knew that white dandelions were the secret to getting a wish granted. They were better than the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, and Santa combined. Their magical powers unlocked the keys to the wishes that no one else could grant. The trick was formulating that wish before the wind blew your chances away. Then you had to blow all the little white "blossoms" away in one giant blow. For a little girl, this nearly insurmountable task could take all spring and into the early summer to accomplish. But the hope, the magic renewed itself with each new dandelion. 

I wished for two things every summer. I wished for the bullies to quit, and I wished for my own room. 

The bullies still haven't quit, and now I voluntarily share a room with a smelly man. 

But I learned the truth about dandelions. 

Dandelions teach us to just let go.

I eventually learned to stand up to those bullies. In sixth grade, Evan Hernandez's torments reached an all-time high. I'd bruised my tailbone one too many times. 

My smart, although probably unconventional parents finally said, "If he says one more thing, you are allowed to punch him in the face. Just make sure you knock him to the ground with the first punch. And whatever you do, don't let any grownups see you."

Sure enough, he cornered me with his minions at recess the following day. After telling him I'd had enough and he needed to stop or I would punch his face out, he continued. I punched him in the face and knocked him out. Cold. He laid on his back in nasty standing rain water, his cronies mocking him for getting knocked out by a girl. The black eye had already started to form. He never bothered me again. And, of course, he never told a soul. 

That was the first time I used the white dandelion for its true purpose. I let go of my fear. I had over a foot and probably 50 pounds on that squirt, but I allowed him to control how I felt about myself. I allowed him to make me feel inferior. Never again. 

I faced my next dandelion at age 29. After five and a half years in a mentally, emotionally, verbally, and sexually abusive marriage, I asked my parents for help. (Is anyone seeing a developing pattern?) I needed to leave, but I didn't know how. I didn't know who that strong girl who punched a kid to the ground had gone, but I knew I wanted her back. I made the decision to leave on Mother's Day in 2012, which coincided with my niece's first birthday. When my husband went camping that following Monday, I took my most prized possessions and left. I drove to San Diego, took a leave of absence from work, and never looked back. I just let go. I had no plan. No place to stay. No money. But I blew on that dandelion and knew it would be okay.

During the ensuing three years, I moved six times. I changed jobs four times. I gave away everything I owned except for those few prized possessions. I could fit my life in my car. But I did it anyway. I went to therapy and relived a pain I didn't think I could remember. I learned new terms like PTSD, GAD, MDD, guided imagery, Cognitive Behavioral Therapy, triggers, safe place. I learned what music I liked, what food I liked, how I wanted to wear my hair, how I wanted to dress, I learned how to be alone. And I bought stock in Kleenex....or I should have.

I lived in Los Angeles, had killer hair, had lost 80 pounds, and loved it. I lived with roommates I adored. Then something started calling me to Fresno. I hated Fresno. My pain lived in Fresno. The feeling never relented. I got sick, very sick. Things at work became unbearable. I moved home, started seeing my therapist again, lived with my mother again. We didn't know how to live together. We butted heads. I finally gave up my apartment in LA. I blew out that white dandelion. I moved in with a new roommate and shared a bathroom. YUCK! I started working at a feel-good job. I made half as much as I made in LA. My boss started nagging me to go on a date with this guy she knew. I refused. I refused for six months. 

Then I went bowling. In May 2015 I went bowling to shut her up. To shut everyone up and live my quiet, sad, solitary life.

On November 14th of that same year, I wore this necklace. Inside are little white dandelion "petals," preserved in a little acrylic sphere. 

That day was my wedding day to that goofy guy I was forced to spend an evening bowling with. We both went to prove everyone wrong, just to blow out a dandelion and let it go. It backfired, but I learned that, in letting go, the best things come to us. 

Today I spent some time on the phone with a dear friend. She's my best friend, actually. She finalized her divorce today. She stands where I stood five years ago. We laughed together, we cried together, and we talked about how meeting in Honors English 9 twenty years ago this fall was another great dandelion moment. We also talked about how we never could have imagined in a million years that our friendship could have survived three marriages (total), two divorces, two children, college, and cancer. She just saw a smart, mouthy girl that she could commiserate with about journal writing. That journal writing fostered a love for the written word in me and a friendship that has endured the unspeakable. That is the best dandelion of all. 

That English teacher knows who she is. She knows I hated those journals. She knows I thought writing about my weekends, my thoughts on grizzly bears and other seemingly random topics was a total waste of time, ink, and paper. What she may not know is that it created a lifelong friendship and probably saved my life. So thank you. Thank you for my best dandelion of all. The ability to be myself through the written word. The ability to survive the unthinkable, come out on top, and tell my best friend she will do the same. Thank you for giving me the tools I needed to blow out the most difficult dandelion of all - the ability to be myself.

Fourth Floor, Last Door and other thoughts

Every six months before our church's worldwide general conference, I review the addresses from the previous conference, look over the notes I took, look at goals I have made for myself, and then I review my life situation, look for questions to which I need answers, and spiritually prepare myself to receive inspiration. It's a rewarding and yet difficult process of introspection.

A few days ago, I listened to a talk that I actually had missed due to illness from the women's session of our last conference. Women's session is always my favorite. I leave feeling like I walk on water, can do no wrong, and should eat cake on a throne every day. 

Yes, I got the shirt to go with it. You can get one here. And then thank me for finding it and Melissa Radke for being amazing!

But, I digress. President Dieter Uchtdorf, one of the members of our church presidency, gave this amazing talk entitled, "Fourth Floor, Last Door." You can read it here. At the beginning of the discourse, he states, "Now, some of you might not feel worthy of such high praise. You might think you are too insignificant to have a meaningful influence on others. Perhaps you don’t even consider yourself a “woman of faith” because you sometimes struggle with doubt or fear." Those who have followed this blog know that I am this person. So, of course, I sobbed and sobbed. 

He then discussed that when we doubt, when we don't get the answers we are seeking, when we are alone, in the dark, when we are so overwhelmed and have more than we can handle, rather than listening harder, we should listen differently for inspiration, guidance, answers, and help. 

And that late night, worrying about my OBGYN appointment the next day, doomed to a lifetime that I knew I would hate, a lightbulb went off. Not in my brain, not on my nightstand, but in my spirit, the light turned on! I needed to listen differently. God had a plan for me, he answered, he showed it to me, but I didn't listen correctly. I remained fixed on having my ducks in a row, or even resigned to having them fenced in my yard, but he wanted them in a pond - a beautiful pond full of lily pads and fish, surrounded by cattails and daffodils and tulips and all the beautiful shade trees I could ever want! I wanted the city and he wanted a beautiful spring garden.

Three hours later, I got up and with new, expanded vision, I went to my doctor's appointment. I still had no job, no fertility, and was looking at years of education and student debt, but the sky seemed bluer, the trees greener, and the sun brighter than I'd ever seen it, and for the first time in months, I felt that I could trust God to open a tiny window. I might have to eat fruits and veggies and chicken for a while to fit through that window, but He was going to open it. And I was okay with that option. EARTH SHATTERING!

For some reason, Dr. Reddington's office was slammed. I arrived early and waited. And waited. And waited. Soon enough, those feelings of doom and devastation began to sink in again. I fought to suppress them with all my might. Finally, the medical assistant called my name, and I went back to a room. Dr, Reddington walked in soon enough, and she gave me a big hug. Just in case some people reading this don't know, doctors don't usually hug. She then told me that I have another fibroid by my bladder and intestines, but she wants to wait to do surgery until she can get the specialized oncologist to operate with her, and if I'm not in too much pain, we'll watch things for a few months. I told her, "I'm all surgeried out right now anyway." 

What happened next almost made me fall off the examining table half naked. She asked about my current plans, and I told her about my last job experience and that I'd decided to go back to school. She commented on the absurdity of people expecting employees to be miserable at work. We laughed about it. She then said, "I need a receptionist. I don't want to question your wellness or offend you, but I need someone who can be here every day. Do you think you can do that?" I explained to her that I needed a reason to get out of bed every day, and that I needed the income. She responded that she figured that was probably the main issue and asked if I could speak with her office manager before I left. I, of course, felt the need to reassure her that I am incredibly smart and a very fast learner. 

She said, "Aimee, I know that. Do you think I would offer you the job if I didn't? Besides, I know Kristi. I know your family. I just want to make sure I'm not setting you up for failure."

She left the room, and I sat there, reeling. I thought, What in the world? Who goes to their OBGYN and comes out of the appointment with a job offer? This just doesn't happen! I talked to Melanie, the office manager, and we agreed to a working interview so I could make sure the job was something I could handle. I went in yesterday, and of course, the office staff are great, the environment is great, and the timing is great. 

This is the best thing - it forces me to face my grief head on. I'll see women and children every day. I'll see pregnant women every day. I'll deal with them every day. I've been paralyzed by grief. This is my worst nightmare becoming my life, and now I can work through it in a positive manner. This is my window.

Happiness is...

Sometimes when life gets hard, when I want to crawl in a hole and eat M&Ms forever, I force myself to look for something good in my life. I look for something to stop the proverbial hemorrhaging so I can come out of the hole and maybe eat some dinosaur chicken nuggets.

I spent all week in bed unless I had a doctor's appointment or labs. I bled all week. I cramped all week. I almost puked when I stood up - all week. It was so much fun.

I learned on Friday that I have two thyroid nodules that need biopsies and suspicious adhesions around my uterus.

The only reason I kept my uterus was with the hope that I could do IVF with donor eggs. And then I bled all week.

I had a job interview on Wednesday. I had to reschedule for Thursday because I was having ultrasounds done. No one wants to go to a job interview after having nodules and adhesions poked and prodded, especially trans vaginally. Kids, if you don't know what trans vaginally means, don't ask. It will scar you.

I woke up on Thursday in so much pain I couldn't stand up, so I tried to reschedule my interview again, and of course, that didn't happen. Who needs a job as Handi Ride dispatch anyway, right? Who needs a job, period?

I really brought my best this week.

Then I looked back in hindsight, and I saw tender mercies all around me. The Lord gave me little miracles to keep going just one more day. I decided I couldn't go into next week without acknowledging the miracles in my life.

On Wednesday I went to see a friend. Her son entered the MTC that day. I'd gotten him a couple of ties and some socks. He loves camouflage, so I bought camo wrapping paper and bright orange string to wrap the gift. My friend excitedly showed me that he'd used the tether string from his package to mark his luggage and was grateful it could be hunter orange. It brought a smile to my face.

Thursday night, my husband bought me dinosaur chicken nuggets, mint M&Ms, and peanuts. I wasn't kidding when I said that I could crawl in a hole and eat M&Ms forever. The night before I ate chocolate chips because I didn't have anything else sweet to eat. He could've told me to eat the boneless skinless chicken breasts we have in the freezer or that I could eat regular gluten free chicken nuggets, but he got me dino nuggets because they make life more fun! And the peanuts? When I was a kid, my Grandpa Barkdull always had a glass jar of Planter's Peanuts by his chair. I stole a handful from that jar whenever I got a chance. I love peanuts. I asked Scott to get me some for the baseball game. I was expecting a small container, but I got a jumbo size jar of peanuts!

Friday was the Fresno State baseball game. I was too sick to go, so Scott went alone. He didn't complain at all that he had to go by himself. He left me with my peanuts and M&Ms and went to the game alone. He surprised me with a Shamrock Shake from McDonald's, which I didn't eat, and then didn't complain that I didn't eat it. He just put it in the refrigerator.

Today was our Stake Women's Conference, and I really wanted to attend, but I still was not well enough to go. Devastated, I called my mom and cried. She consoled me. She currently has a banged up face, banged up knees, and probable concussion because she fell on Wednesday night while trying to fulfill her church calling and talk to me 10 million times at the same time. But she didn't say one word about how I was monopolizing her time. She told me she was sorry that I am still having health problems. She told me how unfair it is that I can't live my life the way I want to live it and that I should be able to enjoy myself. She told me that she prays for me and fasts for me and would take my burdens if she were able to do so.

This afternoon, Scott got my Shamrock shake out of the freezer and we watched The Great British Baking Show (that could be completely wrong, by the way) together. After one episode, I went back to bed. Later in the evening, He came in to check on me, and we talked. I'm still learning how to grieve the loss of biological children, and he is a great sounding board. He is a wonderful listener.

After I told him what I am feeling and what I think I might need, he told me he supports me and supports my decisions. This was the greatest tender mercy of all. Knowing that he trusts me and supports me in all I do is miraculous. Finding him was miraculous. I thank God every day for him because I thought I would never be worthy of a partner who shares my burdens, trusts my judgment, encourages me to follow my dreams, and wants me to succeed and be happy. He loves me for who I am, would never want to change me, and challenges me to do better, be better, and love myself more.

Sometimes when I am in the depths of despair, when my trials bog me down, when depression tries to swallow me whole, I forget that there is still good in my life, that life is beautiful, and that there is always something better than the bad I see around me. I'm so blessed to have a Savior who reminds me that life is beautiful. The sun always comes through the clouds, and I can always look forward to a brighter tomorrow. Happiness isn't dependent upon wealth, social status, health, number of friends, the size of my house, or how many children are in that house. Happiness is solely dependent upon recognizing the Lord's hand in my life.

They Said It'll Never be More Than You Can Handle

Am I the only person who wonders who "They" are?

People repeat different placative phrases all the time. Those phrases often begin with "they".

"They say life is supposed to be hard."

"They say that it's worth it in the end."

"They say it could always get worse before it gets better."

"They say you'll never get more than you can handle."

So who is, collectively, "They", and where can I go to smack "Them" around for a little while?

I went to an open house for a departing missionary on Saturday night. I have been struggling with anxiety and depression for the last two weeks. When I say struggling, I mean it's been hard to find a reason to get out of bed before 2:00PM. I'd been rallying so that I could slap a smile on because I am so proud of this young man. SO, so proud, and I wanted him to know that I'm in his corner one hundred percent. So I got up, got dressed, put on make-up, fixed my hair, and made a real effort.

I casually perused social media as I procrastinated my shower that afternoon. (I never said I got out of bed earlier than usual that day.) As I perused, I found that ANOTHER person I knew sneezed and was pregnant. Of course, five million cries of joy sounded across Facebook, the Heavens opened, and all of Mormondom rejoiced together. Because that's what we do. We are culturally programed to rejoice when people reproduce naturally.

I made a snide comment to my husband, got in the shower, and cried for 20 minutes. Because that's what real people do.

As I was finishing my make-up, I got a FaceTime call from my niece. She's a doll, and she has helped me stay sane for many years now. I stopped what I was doing and talked to her for a few minutes. As we were talking, she told me, very excitedly, that her aunt, my sister-in-law's sister, is having a baby. I told her that I had heard, changed the subject, and (I still feel guilty for doing this) started to look away and finish my eyeliner. I ignored my five-year-old niece because I couldn't handle it. Luckily, she asked to talk to Uncle Scott shortly after that.

After she hung up, and I had a fresh face of make-up, great hair, and my cute outfit for this open house, I said, "I'm fine. I'm ready. We can't be late. Let's go." Scott told me to talk. I cried and threw things and told him I couldn't ruin my make-up. Because that's what real people do.

We went to the open house, and things were going swimmingly. I talked to people I knew, made jokes (because if people are laughing there's no time to be serious), and ate way too much bad food (because food makes everything better). I had gone into the front room to meet one of Scott's former bosses and got to talking with people  in there when a couple with the cutest little girl walked in. I quickly recognized them, I had been her visiting teacher when she was newly divorced with three little kids, and I went to high school with his older brother. Their baby was enchanted by my paper cup, so I played with her. Luckily, they didn't stay too long. Rations were running low, so I put myself to work in the kitchen. Because that's what real people do.

I looked in my friend's fridge to see if there was any Dr. Pepper anywhere. I couldn't find any. I looked in her cupboard as well. Nothing. I thought of escaping and buying some. I ate more chocolate peanut better Rice Krispie treats. I sent Scott to ask her if she had a secret stash of the juice. Because that's what people do.

When she found me and gave me a bottle of DP, she took me back to the front room to talk. As I told her that I secretly hate people who sneeze and get pregnant all while being enchanted by their children, I fell apart. Because that's what real people do.

I went to LA the next day to see my dear friends bless their baby boy. They thought he would never come.  We went to lunch, we went to Malibu and I felt the wind on my face and smelled the sea salt and cried at the heavens. Because that's what real people do.

On the way home, I stopped and visited a dear friend. We met our freshman year of High School. She is the sweetest, kindest, most guileless person I have ever met. When people drove me crazy and I wanted to kick them off the quad, she was the first to say, "She has no where else to go. Just let her stay," When I told her not to accept a date to prom with the creepy guy who tried to blow up the school later that year, she told me, "I can't turn him down. He needs a friend right now." She has been through hell and back this last year. She is rebuilding her life from scratch. When I tell her I'm willing to punch, kick, castrate, and take other extraordinary measures, she responds, "I'm at peace with it. But I do need a big favor. Can you help with my taxes?" And she thinks she's asking for peace in the Middle East. I quietly say, "I will do your taxes for as long as you need me to do them."

She never asks about "They." She didn't once say, "Why is this happening?" She just asked for help with her taxes.

I woke up this morning and had started bleeding. A lot. I called my doctor, hoping to hear that it was normal. Instead I heard, "Can you come in tomorrow at 8:30AM?" When I saw the blood, my first thought was, They said it'll never be more than you can handle. This is more than I can handle.

"They" lie. Sometimes life is more than you can handle. Sometimes it is overwhelming. If someone says it's not, THEY are not a real person. Real people face insurmountable odds. They defy those odds. That's why "They" say that we never get more than we can handle.

Sometimes there isn't a choice. Sometimes life is sink or swim. Sometimes it's a choice to be Marlin or Dory. Be the control freak or dance in your underwear because that's the only option. So go buy some fun underwear because those will be the big girl panties that will help you swim.