balancing heaven and earth: musings of the jung variety.

Balancing Heaven and Earth: A Memoir of Visions, Dreams, and Realizations by Robert A. Johnson.

I don't think I have ever had such a hard time returning a book to the library before.

I renewed this book the maximum number of times, then checked it in just so I could check it back out again.

It did take me awhile to read the whole thing, that was part of it. 

But I think it was hard to let go of because it became like a close friend to me.

I spent a significant amount of time over the last few weeks processing the content, revisiting the best parts and writing down quotes and elements that I want to remember and come back to.

As I sit down and reflect on this book and what it has meant to me, I am overwhelmed.

I just physically held the book close to my chest and expressed my deepest gratitude over and over and over again to the universe for this gift.

It came exactly when it needed to.

The last couple years I have been so lost, so stuck, so trapped. I have been so depressed and my life has lacked any sense of meaning.

This beautiful book and its wisdom has started bringing all that missing meaning right back to me.

As much as I hate to admit that all these depressing aspects of my life actually served a purpose, I can't really deny it.

I'm not sure I would have been made ready any other way.

I feel like I had to experience that dark night of my soul in order to recognize just what was missing and to be open to these slender threads the universe had waiting for me.

Experiencing this transformation while reading this book and The Dance of the Dissident Daughter wouldn't have been so significant and meaningful if it weren't for the experiences that have led me to this time and place.

I have never believed in chance.

I'm a big "fate" kind of person, honestly.

It was no coincidence or accident that all of these things are coming into my life.

I had to reach the point of pure exhaustion to be ready for my own enlightenment.

I love the part of this book where he talks about enlightenment actually being experienced as more of a breakdown, as one's world falling apart.

I have felt exactly that for the last couple years, that my world is falling apart. I have carried around that weight of darkness, despair, and hopelessness.

I love that he says this is necessary in order to reach a higher level of consciousness/intelligence/creativity and genius.

There really has been purpose in my pain.

I love that some of his experiences so closely parallel my own. It is almost just freaky that he outlines almost exactly, down to the detail, a dream that I have been building in my head for years now that he has actually lived as a reality.

Like this is yet another sign, another slender thread, really just the universe screaming at the top of its lungs for me to pay attention and to make it my reality.

He even talks about yoga for crying out loud.

Everything, everything, EVERYTHING is connecting and coming together and I almost can't even handle it.

As I hold this book close to my heart, I am in awe.

That this person who lived in a completely different time and place could have a life that mirrors mine in a way that is so beautiful and freaky and that he could not only just experience those things, but also write about them.

And that I could stumble across this particular book at this particular time and that the world can all make sense again in all of it's beautiful, broken glory.

Gotta love those slender threads of synchronicity.

And I absolutely believe that it is no coincidence that my interest in his life and his theory has led me to a closer look at my dreams.

Dreams containing (among other things) common themes of a fresh start, new beginnings, expanded thinking, shift in personal identity, undergoing a transition, reconnection to an old self, inner transformation, rebirth, healing.

Like all of this is just part of a greater plan, a bigger picture stemming from a larger consciousness.

And now I'm so awake I don't think I can ever go back to sleep.

I will just have to keep reading, learning, and expanding in tune with the universe and following every last slender thread into enlightenment. 

roof, yard, and taxes: metaphors for life.

Today I feel raw. I blame it on satan's sacrificial waterfall which is about to descend.

I feel as if I am being gutted open like a fish, torn apart by the proverbial hooks that I always seem to find myself caught on when swimming upstream.

Just yesterday I was reflecting on how much better I felt about life in general. I was counting myself lucky that my depression seems to have lifted.

Like maybe the steps of self-care I have been intentionally taking finally got me up the ladder far enough that I'm no longer buried in this never-ending pit of despair.

Today I fell right back into that damn sink hole.

Stupid adulting.

You guys, it is the middle of April. I looked at the calendar the other day and wanted to cry.

Even though I have spent the last few months focusing on myself and making attempts at unburying myself from end-of-life feelings, I feel like I checked out a little.

As I reflect back on this period of time, I wonder, "where was I?" Like all these days, weeks, and months have gone by, and I don't really remember it.

I look at my kids' school calendars on the fridge and I feel doom and guilt about things I need to worry about that are coming up.

Simultaneously, I'm thinking "holy shit, it is almost May and then school is over for good" and "didn't school just start?!"

I hate when people tell me (or any parent for that matter) "don't wish this time away, you will look back and miss it." They are full of shit.

Yet, at the same time, I'm looking back at even the last few months, feeling that my kids got a little taller, a little bigger, a lot smarter. And somehow I missed it.

I was too self absorbed to even notice.

And I feel all the guilt. All the painful, irrational guilt.

And the grief and sadness of missing out. FOMO. It's a real thing yo. And now, apparently, part of my reality.

Today I got to really reacquaint myself with a lot of other things that I have been "missing out on" during these last few months when I was mentally checked out.

Item number one, taxes.

I have never in my life procrastinated doing my taxes. For crying out loud, I'm usually the girl harassing my employer for my W2s when I don't receive them by the second week in January.

Yet for the first time, I have waited until the very last possible day to file.

I guess this is what it is feels like to be a "normal" human being.

Screw being normal.

You know, most people are pretty human. They go with the flow, they don't stress and obsess over deadlines, organizing every bill and color coding their calendar. They miss a payment or a due date here or there. It's normal. It's life.

But that is not me.

I am embarrassed to tell you how many times I have been late on paying bills in the last few months. If I am being completely honest, I've even forgotten a few critical things completely.

It's like I look in the mirror and there is a completely different person staring back at me.

I don't like the anxiety that comes along with obsessing, but I don't like the after-effects of being so depressed that everything falls by the wayside, either.

I can't seem to find a balance.

The best part about today?

Having someone come look at our yard for a quote on a spring clean up.

Trust me, even though I have carefully tried to ignore it, I know things in the outdoor department have gotten bad.

Of all the things I have neglected the most this year, that stupid damn yard is definitely number one on the list.

There are weeds growing on the weeds. Half the lawn is dead. Asparagus stalks are two feet tall. Trees that we never planted are now taller than some of our existing shrubs and bushes.

It's bad. Really bad.

Like going to cost us $1200 (wtf?!) to clean up, bad.

Like, "do you mind me asking why you let it get this bad?" bad.

The guy thought we just moved here for crying out loud. You should have seen his mouth drop when I told him we have lived here for five years.

Cue some later ugly shame crying.

And as I am sitting here, in disbelief that we really let it get this bad, I can't help but draw comparisons to my innermost life. And how I have also let it get this bad.

A few months ago, I read an amazing book. Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd. It spoke to my soul on so many levels. Her writing is beautiful and her metaphors a gold mine.

So much of what she writes about resonates with me.

One particular passage really spoke to me though. She is talking about transformation metaphors and shares the following:

"Feminist theologian Carter Heyward suggests we consider the analogy of a house. If there's a structural problem, we don't fix it by changing the wallpaper. She says we must dig deeply into the foundation, discover the problem, and reconstruct the house. In other words, we must transform the house from the ground up."

My very first thought when reading that was "the roof."

I know, completely unrelated to the point of her quote, but that goddamn roof.

If you don't already know, we have a $10k+ roof issue on our hands. It is a burden I have been carrying since we discovered it over a year ago.

As I read this passage, I almost cried at just how metaphorical for my life this roof issue really is.

I have tried literally everything in attempts to find a solution to this stupid roof. I have left no stone unturned. Yet we are one big storm away from complete tragedy.

Just like my life. I have felt vulnerable, unprotected, one big storm away from an ending.

Ultimately, we are left with two options.

Get a loan or refinance to spend our hard earned/borrowed cash to fix a problem that we didn't create (and took steps to discover before we bought this damn place)

OR

Sell the house, disclosing the issue, taking the hit to our bank account that way, and being rid of this place for good.

Neither option is a very good one. We have been at a stalemate for a long time, trying to see how long we can avoid the issue before it blows up in our face.

While reading this magical quote, I couldn't help but see the parallel to the rest of my life.

Wanting something new and different, wanting to leave the old life completely behind in the dust. Wanting that weight to be magically lifted from my sore and sunken shoulders.

Yet also feeling sad about saying goodbye. Desperate to remember why we chose this damn house, what we loved about it in the first place. Wanting to want to take the time and energy needed to re-invest in it and make it like new again, better than new.

But also being so stuck in the middle and avoiding a decision because again, either route leads to pain and takes an unbearable amount of effort.

Instead I have just been doing what I (apparently now) do best. Avoiding.

Letting it get so bad. This bad.

But that is also my way. When I can't deal, I don't. I neglect.

It's my new (old) favorite pattern. I think I actually blogged about this years ago when I discovered that "I have to make a mess before I can clean it up."

Like it is somehow desirable for me to let things get so bad because the clean up feels so magically delicious.

But this time, it tastes more like being poisoned by vinegar at four years old, and less like an orgasm over Del Taco's Carmel cheesecake bites.

I can't help but compare it to another quote from the Dissident Daughter book:

"Clarissa Pinkola Estes writes, 'If we were to abuse our children, Social Service would show up at our doors. If we were to abuse our pets, the Humane Society would come to take us away. But there is no Creativity Patrol or Soul Police to intervene if we insist on starving our own souls.'"

If there was a yard police, I would be under arrest. If there was a soul police, I'd be serving a life sentence.

But no one else cares that my yard looks like shit.

No one cares that my soul is sick.

These are messes that I have to deal with on my own.

The latter has been a slow work-in-progress. There is forward motion.

The former is apparently going to fuel my latest rants for a long (but unspecified amount of) time.

So there you have it. My major roof issue is a metaphor for my life and the decision paralysis I am faced with; my yard neglect, a parallel to the oversight of my soul.

I guess if I can't hold hope that the future will be any better, I can at least be curious, right?

no phone february.

When you tell people you are going phone-free for a month, they look at you like you're crazy. Maybe I am a little crazy, because despite the looks, I did it anyway. And can I just tell you, it was one of the most freeing experiences.

2012 Savannah had it all right... TV, phone, and Facebook are all so stifling. In fact, they are downright suffocating.

The first few days of #nophonefebruary were rough. It was weird to not have my nose rubbed up against a screen all day. My morning meetings were so odd. Sitting there in silence instead of connecting with an alternate reality was almost stressful. I am not a cheery person in the morning and I found myself uncomfortable with the awkward silence while everyone else seemed to be chatting with each other or glued to their own screens. 

The first day sans cell, I found myself reaching for it constantly while talking on my work phone. I was so bored with real life conversations, I couldn't be bothered to pay attention and felt the need to split myself to find sanity. As I reflected on this later in the day, I was a little overwhelmed by just how much I use my phone as a means to divide myself and attempt to be two places or do multiple things at once. Like I'm purposely opening up and trying to focus on 67 tabs on 6 different browsers all at the same freaking time. My brain already does that automatically, why am I choosing to add to that chaos?!

I was a little more rigid the first few days. I tried not to even carry my phone with me. I wanted to disconnect from it entirely, especially in the presence of other people. I wanted to practice the art of being present. And on day one, I realized that in order for this experiment to be successful, I was going to have to turn off nearly all my phone's notifications. It is crazy how often I would reach for my phone after hearing the pop of a bottlecap, or noticing the flashing blue light. I knew that was going to have to change and there was an intense freedom after letting go of the constant alerts.  

In fact, the first week I also invested a little time to go through both of my e-mail accounts and unsubscribe from nearly every newsletter or advertising I have ever been hoodwinked into being barraged by on the daily. It was so liberating to check my inbox after sometimes a week or more and not have 500 emails to sort and delete. 

I initially gave myself permission to use my phone for certain things during the month. Camera, google, GPS, calling/texting/messaging real life people. I was on the fence about posting to Instagram but since I had a slew of old photos to post, I gave myself permission share as long as I didn't open the app and start scrolling. Boy was that freaking hard. I don't know where this obsessive/compulsive need to scroll and swipe comes from, but I have really started to hate it about myself. 

I kept my phone close to me most days, so I feel a little dishonest saying I was completely phone free. Over time, I definitely became less rigid than when I started out. I am obsessed with taking pictures and I had lots of fun times with my boys and my favorite twins that had to be documented. I couldn't say no to the Snapchat begging and the resulting giggles. And who doesn't love long text conversations sharing funny memes and good music? I still stuck with my original parameters and even set timers to limit the amount of time I was spending on my designated "free passes."

One of the best parts of leaving my phone behind for a month was the amount of time it freed up for activities that were way more soul sustaining than mindlessly scrolling through social media. Already this year I have read more books than I probably read in all of 2017. In February alone I devoured five books after breaking free from the chains of Facebook. It was SO refreshing.

I found myself learning so many new things about myself. I had no idea how much I truly was using my phone to mindlessly numb and avoid things or feelings in my life that are uncomfortable or painful. I'm not going to lie, there were a few times that it was REALLY hard not to resort to my old drug of choice and just lose myself in the mindless monotony. I may have had a few moments that got the better of me, but overall, I stayed true to my commitment and it was SO worth it.

Being able to disconnect online allowed me to develop and experience much more meaningful in-person connections. At one point, I felt like everything in my life started connecting. I would be reading a book (or two) and concepts would just start linking to soulful conversations with friends. This usually in turn led to more books to read and more interrelated connections between totally different books by different authors, written light years apart. Like a giant game of hot and cold that the universe was playing with me, where even seemingly unrelated connections became the nudge of "you are getting warmer, warmer, hot, hot hot!" I love it when that happens.

We are already almost halfway through March and I just want to go back to the freedom of #nophonefebruary. While I have caught myself again getting caught in the trap of obsessive scrolling, I have also held onto some benefits from this little project. I haven't turned my notifications back on. I haven't added any of my old haunts back to my homescreen (making it take more effort to reach them helps me to stay a little more mindful of going there with a specific purpose rather than to get sucked in again). And as much as I don't want to admit it to myself, I realized I actually have a lot more self-control when it comes to my consumption of social media. Now I just need to practice the art of choosing self-control instead of mindless indulgence.

Which makes it perfect that this month's challenge for me is #meditationmarch. With my newfound desire to leave Facebook in the dust, I figure I need a new escape. What better retreat than into the recesses of my mind to find some real peace? A daily meditation is just what the doctor ordered.

Wish me luck!

my inner borderline is raging

I should be working right now but I just can't. This morning I couldn't get myself out of bed, a regular occurrence for me these days. But this goes deeper than my hatred of mornings. I just have no desire to live life anymore. I'm at the bottom of a well of despair and there is no way to the top. I'm stuck, I'm trapped and it is dark as hell down here.

This didn't just happen overnight; like a good sauce, it has been simmering for quite awhile now.

Some days I wake up and feel normal, things are fine.

I will always tell you things are fine.

Until they are not, and it is right back to the bottom of the well I go.

Sometimes the darkness stays at bay for a day or two. Sometimes it rears it's ugly head hourly.

Recently I stumbled across an article while obsessively saving INFJ shit on Pinterest:

INFJ Stress: Caging Mr. Hyde.

The title alone spoke to me, because all too often lately I feel like I am living this double life of decent versus demon.

Before I really delved into the whole Meyers Briggs thing, I was so convinced I was a borderline.

Deep, relentless feelings. Ridiculous highs and tragic lows. This unbridled need for connection, yet this deep aching to just be left completely alone. The extremes, the black and white, the all or nothing. Being impulsive, reckless. Feeling empty. Never truly trusting anyone. Seeing through people's motives. Needing to find some escape and release from all of the damn head to toe, all consuming emotions.

When the darkness inevitably finds me, every time it comes with the thought, "my inner borderline is back."

She is such a bitch.

My first real therapist was just not convinced my self-diagnosis was accurate. Laughable now, but I was so upset by that.

Most people would run like hell from a borderline diagnosis. Why in the world was I so dead-set on claiming it?

At the time, learning about BPD (something I had never been exposed to before my Abnormal Psychology class) was validating.

Even if it was a diagnosis that carried a lot of stigma, it was an explanation for all of these aspects of myself that needed a birthplace.

Many years have gone by since that time and I think I hold more solid answers now than a "cookbook" diagnosis for myself (thanks Dr. Spaid, I will never forget your DSM class).

INFJ.

Less letters than it takes to spell borderline, and yet much more of an explanation for myself than I've ever experienced before.

The perfectionism, the idealism, the trouble trusting people. The walking contradictions, the depth. The conflicted extremes. The intense emotions. The "gift" of soaking everything and everyone up like a sponge and never knowing where the line is that separates other people from me.

I'm not a borderline, I'm an INFJ. I'm a "rare" personality, not a disorder.

The article above lists how INFJs can keep our inner Hyde (aka borderline) at bay and hints about the reasons that make him show his ugly face:

-We are too busy helping others to help ourselves.
-We have "too many irons in the fire" and are basically overachievers.
-We have too many stress-triggers.
-Our lives are physically cluttered which doesn't help our inner mental clutter.
-We don't ask for help.
-We don't take time to be alone because we feel guilty.

Wow.

If all the above aren't absolutely true right now for me, then Dr. Pepper is not the nectar of the gods (and we all know that it is.)

In my personal "journals" (if you can call them that, more like collection of loose thoughts that go floating through my head), you could find several snippets about this raging borderline that I keep locked in a cage.

I usually start to get into trouble when she starts rattling so loud I can't keep her quiet.

New epiphany: Borderline me = INFJ Grip Stress. It's practically textbook.

No wonder I can feel like a normal human being for years at a time and then turn into this raging demon.

Fast forward to last year.

Almost exactly this time of year, my inner borerline (newly re-framed Mr. Hyde) was causing such a big fuss I almost quit my job and walked out on my life completely.

I can be a really cynical person sometimes, but that day at work I was especially negative. Everything felt like someone taking my knuckles to a cheese grater and I just snapped a little.

Luckily I kept things in check enough to not lose my job, and didn't drive into oncoming traffic on the way home (though I may have considered it).

Since that time I have been riding this roller coaster of insanity, again with the highest of highs and lowest of lows. I have yet to find a way to jump off.

Last year I got so low I went back to therapy. It helped, it really did. But I got well enough to do it on my own again (with a little help from my empty pocketbook).

But now I've circled back to this preoccupation with existential dread. There have been so many things percolating, swimming and simmering beneath the surface.

I recently stumbled across another article that really struck me:

Here's What INFJs Absolutely Must Have in Order to Be Happy

I may or may not have sobbed a little while reading it.

For the last two years I have felt so trapped. I've been in the throes of a never-ending existential crisis. In this dark night of my soul I often find myself asking, what is the point of all this?

As an INFJ, I have to know the reason behind everything.

When it got to the point that I couldn't even find a reason behind my own life, I just kind of lost it.

A life devoid of meaning and purpose is not a life worth living.

As I read through the list of things needed by INFJs to feel happy, I felt almost numb.

-A creative outlet
-Space
-Meaningful relationships
-Helping others
-Being understood
-Staying true to their passions
-Reflection and self-care

All of these are so absent from my life right now.

It is no one's fault but my own.

For as long as I can remember I have put others' needs first.

I never take time alone for myself.

I am too busy doing, accomplishing, hustling for that damn worthiness.

As astute as I might be at noticing and understanding other people's feelings, I sure am shitty at understanding and dealing with my own.

The one thing I do have on the list above is an amazing friend. I really should pay her for all the free therapy she gives me. ;)

She sent me a beautiful Marco Polo last week that really socked me straight in the gut.

In a good way.

She went on about how I have this need to create that isn't being realized and that I am so caught up in trying to control for uncertainty that I'm not dealing with feelings of loss or sadness. That I am allowing the pressure and weight of the world to rest on my shoulders because I have shitty emotional boundaries and take on other people's stories which just leaves me drained when I lack the self-care to compensate. That I need to let go of the things that are "too much."

I don't know what scared me more. The fact that she was so spot on in her assessment, or the fact that I was vulnerable enough to let someone see me start to self destruct. Or maybe even that she cared enough to call me on my shit.

It took a few days to digest.

I still feel on the verge of vomiting at any given moment.

Like all this garbage I have been trying to suppress for so long is gurgling its way back up and I can't avoid it anymore.

And I don't just mean metaphorically.

It never ceases to fascinate me how interconnected our bodies are to our minds.

Can I just say how awesome it is to be not just mentally sick, but physically sick also? *Insert sarcasm*

I have toyed with the idea of making financial sacrifices to go back to therapy again, but ultimately I now feel that what I need isn't going to be found in another person.

I "know" the textbook answers. I need the soul answers. And as much as I love my therapist, those are just not going to manifest on a chair in an office.

I need my own time, my own space, my own permission to create my own healing.

And maybe a little more yoga.

live your truth.

i'm a well of emotion, overflowing.

i want to dry up, evaporate into thin air, slowly disappear.

it's not in the stars for me now.

i'm forced to wear this noose a little longer.

live your truth they all say.

but i'm suffocating in my shadow.

peter pan, come save me from this shit.

I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders every day.

Everything I do is for other people.

I work to make money to feed and care for my family.

I work to help other people, complete strangers.

I take care of my kids' physical needs and try (but fail miserably) to take care of their emotional needs, too.

I worry about having a clean house, the shopping, the laundry, the yard work, the car maintenance, the bills, the meal prep, the cooking, the doctors appointments, the kids' school schedules, homework, class parties.

I stress about buying the kids new clothes that fit because they grow too damn fast.

I worry about world peace.

I worry about my family members.

My biggest fear is losing the people I love and I worry about it, irrationally, all the time.

I worry about people on the internet who I don't even know.

I had a conversation today with a patient's family member and (hypocritically) told her she can't take care of other people without taking care of herself first. It is self care 101, but a lesson (like many) that apparently don't apply to me. Because I'm the goddamn exception to everything, didn't you know?

I am drowning over here, and no one has ever taught me to swim. I can't breathe and even though it is supposed to be biologically impossible not to be able to perform that basic human function, I suck at that too.

My plate is always overflowing. It is never going to change. The garbage just keeps on piling up. Another mess for me to clean up.

But I don't want to anymore. I'm done.

I want someone to clean up after me.

I want someone to worry about me.

I want someone to go to work for me. To cook and clean for me. To take care of me.

To buy me what I need, and to take time for and think of me.

To teach me how to deal with this shithole of a life and all these relentless feelings.

What a freaking fantasy.

I want to be a kid. I spent my whole life, desperate to have the freedom of being an adult. I wanted to run away from childhood so badly.

Yet here I am an adult and longing to run away again. Take me to fucking neverland, Peter. I don't ever want to come back.

a picture is worth a thousand words.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Looks look I will be writing for awhile...

A few months ago, I lost over 2000 precious photos and videos that were deleted in an instant from my phone. I have agonized for months over getting them back. I have tried everything humanly possible to retrieve them, but here I am... writing this post. I'm sure there is some kind of symbolism or metaphor in the fact that all of my backups failed me. Or maybe it really is just my terrible luck. Either way, it does not change the fact that I am devastated.

For the last two days I have felt like I'm gasping for air, racing against the clock. I didn't want to end the year without wrapping up this year's memories with a pretty bow. I was hoping, against all hope, that somehow, someway, I would have gotten them all back, intact. Like a kid on Christmas hoping for Santa to deliver a Christmas miracle. But Santa isn't real, and there is no such thing as miracles. Technology is supposed to make our lives better, not make us prisoners of our own lives. Yet here I sit, in a cell of my own making.

I'm mourning for these lost photographs like I have mourned over the loss of loved ones. To someone who has a complicated relationship with time and with memory, it is impossible for me to just let go. "At least it was just a few months worth." Easy for you to say. But a lot happened in those months. Moments I captured and recorded that I can never get back...

Visits to my kid's very first classrooms, the start to their journey of learning.

Miles practicing and executing his "hurricane in a bowl" Scientist of the Week experiment. 

Bowling and other good times with my parents who came down for a fall visit which left me and the kids teary over the goodbyes we had to say when the weekend came to an end.

A fall family 5K that Atticus ran nearly non-stop, giving motivational speeches to himself and to me the entire time about how "we can do this!"

A labor day camping trip to Red Canyon where we froze our buns off in the tent, snuggling together for warmth; with hikes later to Kodachrome and Grosvenor Arch (and knarly, bumpy car rides where we thought we might die).

Staying overnight at Grandma Beatty's so Brett could run the Cedar City half marathon and going to IHOP with grandma after.

Our first "movie in the park." The kids loved Lego Batman and it was the perfect weather to lie on a blanket under the stars and enjoy some family time.

A visit to the memorial crosses in Vegas following the terrible shooting which left me in awe of the humanity that can arise out of tragedy.

A trip up north for a play therapy training with Tiffany complete with late night laughing fits and snorting Dr. Pepper out of my nose in the hotel bed.

A night alone with my baby sister reliving Cornbellys memories, and sneaking into the princess village to take our traditional pumpkin carriage selfie that started it all.

Spending days and hours with Brett and the boys exploring all the new and old Cornbellys haunts. I don't want to forget how hard the boys begged to go down the sack race slide over and over. Or how proud and excited Miles was to make it to the very top of the rock wall. Or laying on the giant swing with Atticus with the sun on our faces as we pushed pause on time and just relaxed. Or how I couldn't stop laughing while rolling in the rat rollers.Or how hard the boys tried to pull the tractor and excited they were to get it to move. Or the extra visit with the cousins and playing the mini golf and riding the grain train which now told us a fun, new little story. Or how tightly Atticus clung to me while riding the new Barn Swing and Corn Flyer rides. Or how obsessed the boys were with riding the stationary tractors and turning the crank to start the engine. They could have played on the playground pirate ship for days. We had to pull them away from watching the animal band and the new dog show. Or jumping like monkeys on the jumping pillows. I think my favorite part was the new "Clunk the Crow" and the farmyard Skee-Ball. This place is so magical to me, and this has been my favorite visit since the kids were born-- one truly for the books.

The traditional Halloween Party in Milford, complete with making witches fingers, decorating our own jack o' lantern mini pizzas, family cuddling on the couches watching movies, and Atticus's obsession over Bop It.

Atticus's fixation on wanting me to watch him go down the slide over and over again at my mom and dad's house as he squealed with joy.

A hair cut adventure which resulted in the most adorable, wild, blow dryer hair pictures.

A visit to Dallon and Kaitlin's complete with the boys running wild after the twins finally got to sleep. The boys wanted to show off their exercise skills and were running in place adorably and doing impressive push ups. Where do they get such energy?

Our annual Dixie football game where as per tradition, we never make through the whole game. Though it was so dang adorable to hear Atticus and his chanting: "come on Trailblazers, you can do it!"

A work teleconference in a room that made me feel like a character from Star Trek.

Atticus singing all kinds of songs while helping daddy empty the dishwasher, or the little conversations he creatively concocted with his cars and trains while playing.

Miles and Atticus playing basketball with the over-the-door hoop in Atticus's room, with Miles's crazy shooting skills and Atticus's adorable blocking skills. Or their football/tackling moves while running around the kitchen with a helmet and their Jazz jerseys on.

Dinner at the Cheesecake Factory in Las Vegas with cousins complete with trying my Funfetti cheesecake for the first time, and the boys snuggling with their cousin Jace and avoiding bedtime after.

The boys' first official Jazz game.We rode the train up to Salt Lake and explored the City Creek Mall for the first time--complete with a trip to the American Girl store where my childhood dreams came true. Atticus threw a fit about taking a family picture in front of the stadium which is ironic, as the photo obvs. didn't make it through this photo crisis of 2017. We got to jump in giant piles of leaves for the first time this fall, albeit landing on the cement below wasn't the most pleasant experience. We did not love the lines and the waiting, but the boys did love sitting court side to watch their favorite players warm up, and Atticus shocked me with his bravery and got Rodney Hood to sign his program. I think their favorite part was getting to shoot hoops on their own on the court after the game. Brett will never let me live it down that I scored a shot and he didn't. Even though we sat nosebleed for the actual game, the boys had a blast waving their obnoxious noise makers and barely stayed awake on the late train ride home. I think the only reason they managed to keep their eyes open was because we were all stuffing our faces with Korean treats we got for free from our favorite, awesome Cup Bop peeps.

A last minute trip to the trampoline park the night before Halloween. We had the place to ourselves and the boys bounced their little brains out. Of course Atticus's favorite part wasn't actually the jumping, but touching every button on the few arcade games that were there.

Atticus singing his "mean old witch with a hat" song that he learned in preschool over and over during the month of October.

A Halloween Trunk or Treat with the next door neighbors and a Halloween night trip to IHOP for Scary Face pancakes with two sets of twins and triplets AKA some of our favorite peeps. And the boys fighting with each other and their friends over who got to ring the doorbells while out trick or treating.

Miles losing his first tooth.

Miles participating on his first basketball team. I don't ever want to forget how adorable it was to watching him excitedly skip/jump all around the court, or refuse to shoot the ball, instead tossing it to team members at the earliest chance. Or hugging/tackling his new best buddy, Jaedon during practices. Or Atticus's newfound ability to sit completely still for an hour due to all of the distractions to keep his little brain occupied.

A solo trip to Zion after having a mental breakdown and screaming at the top of my lungs to Sum 41 on the drive there. The mountains, fall colors, and view overlooking Sand Hollow helped to calm my soul.

Practicing my french braiding skills on Atticus's hair.

So many, many memories.

I have mourned their loss over and over again. With each newfound hope that they might be restored, I have only been let down with the repeated "I'm sorry, we can't help you."

Today I found myself paralyzed and curled up back in bed, in tears once again over the fact that as much as I can't stand the thought of giving up, I have to let go.

Most people don't get it. I can't make them. But I'm trying hard to hold space for myself as as I heed the advice of the ever wise nayyirah waheed:

I'm starting off the new year by letting go of hope and moving on to reality.

Fist fighting my need to hold tight and instead choosing to let go and move on.

Happy New Year.