Spring Formal

Every year our stake puts on a formal dance for the youth, formerly known as the Laurels and Priests. Also, the dance was formally known as "Mormon Prom" or "Mo Pro." With the dissolution of the names of the Young Women groups, and the injunction to use the full, proper name of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, we are left with the unoriginal name "Spring Formal." Blah. 

Now that Annie and Maddie are 16 they were excited to go, as they had seen Elizabeth do. Emma got stuck in a rough spot with Covid happening her Junior year and I don't think she ever went to the church formal dance. She did go to high school Prom though her senior year, masked as we all still were. Being the cheap er, financially responsible family that we are, we were able to reuse Emma's formal for Maddie. Meaning we only had to purchase one formal dress this year. Whew. But Emma's dress was very, very long on Maddie, and it required some hemming. Cutting and sewing fancy fabrics make me so nervous because they are so slippery and tricky to work with. I complained online.

This dress had a diagonal layer that gave me some grief at the hemline. At the dress's proper length, it is tucked into the side hem. But three inches shorter, and I had to figure out how to make it properly drape into the bottom hem. It took me several tries before it didn't look awful.

Annie and Maddie have reached 6 months of driving independently licensed, which means they can legally drive friends. (Ahem, legally. They possibly, maybe have taken a couple of friends from the church to the school after seminary so people aren't stuck walking to school in the morning.) But driving friends to this dance was going to be a big deal. They haven't driven my van (the only vehicle big enough to drive everyone) in months. The added pressure of it being full of friends, to an unknown place and driving back late and in the dark was a lot to ask. But Annie stepped up and said she could do it. The night before the dance, Annie and I made the drive to the dance location on the far-reaches of Yakima so Annie could see where she was going. I drove there, and Annie drove back. 

The day of the dance, I did a deep clean on the good ol' minivan. It was going to be holding kids in their finery and I can't remember the last time I vacuumed it. I took the van to the car wash, then brought it home and emptied all the garbage that accumulates over time. Used water bottles, used tissues, candy wrappers, baggies, socks, a sweatshirt, papers, granola bars, all of it. I even cleaned out the cubby between the driver and passenger seats because.... why not. I found disposable masks in the bottom of it. That's how long it's been since I cleaned that out.

After the kids got home from school, we began the process of curling hair. I spent at least 45 minutes, but possibly close to an hour, curling both heads of hair. They have so much! Maybe someday I will insist they learn how to curl their own hair. Annie still wanted a pony tail, so this was my first try of something just a little more fancy than her usual low pony tail. Thanks Pinterest.

The girls had a "first dinner" because the dance also had a dinner but it wasn't starting until 7 pm. Then friends began to show up and we took some pictures.

Alex, Maddie, Jaxon, Kennedy, Noah, Annie

Kennedy did not attend the dance with Jaxon (they are 2nd cousins), but they got paired up for picture taking. Both Jaxon and Kennedy met up with their dates in Yakima.

They look so grown up! Sniff.

Then the 6 of them climbed into the minivan and they took off! For some reason, it was really hard for me to watch them all drive away. I knew Annie was nervous. I stood there in front of our house and waited to watch my van take off down the freeway. And away they went.

Once at the dance, they met up with more of the Sunnyside group. Jay and Bethany competed in the district track meet in Yakima, and then got ready for the dance at the house of someone from the stake gracious enough to open their doors to sweaty teens needing a place to shower and change. 

They did less dancing, and more eating, playing games, and hanging out around the property. They did stay to the bitter end (Annie's words) before making the drive back home. They dropped off Jay and Bethany, then everyone else was able to make their own way home. It was a late night, with the girls coming up around 11:50 pm to say goodnight and they had made it home.
 

New Gravel

The time had come for an upgrade for our driveway- long overdue gravel. Our driveway is so long, so purchasing 5 dump trucks of gravel is no small request. This was the year, we said. We were going to make our driveway as smooth-ish as possible, filling in potholes and the various wear and tear of living. We've been in this house since 2012, so it was more than time.

Ryan talked to the business about the length and width of the job, and we set up a day for delivery. They estimated 5 truck loads would be needed. The driver and truck arrived, and immediately called Ryan at work for instructions. Um, hello? I am here and can talk. Even when I went outside, the guy would not talk to me about the job. I don't know if it was because Ryan set up the delivery, or just don't look like a responsible party, or what. But it gets my dander up a bit. I was THERE. I could point to how far we wanted the gravel to go. I tried to explain we wanted probably two dump truck widths of gravel to go down our driveway. This is a new experience and I wasn't exactly sure how wide that would be, but it would be a start. Maybe I need to learn to be more assertive. The guy made three trips and said he was done. I felt like we needed more gravel laid on the driveway as it was not wide enough to cover. He thought it was fine.

I was right. Ryan came home and we discussed. He called the business back and we ordered two more loads. It looks so much better now.

I have spent a bit of time shoveling gravel around, to spread it nearer edges and smoother in other places.

It looks good. Also, the weather is really nice. I got out the shorts for running and fun socks. The gravel is still really dusty, blowing dust around as we drive. Plus all of the dusty footprints we leave inside. I will be glad to see some rain to wash the dirt down.

 

Ashes

In the end, my father's remains only stayed the weekend with us. I didn't like having them at my house one little bit. I texted my sister over the weekend, trying to come up with a game plan for the disposal of the cremated remains. I refuse to have them scattered at my house. I do not want any kind of daily reminder of him. I looked into prices of having the remains placed at a cemetery, and what goes into getting a permit to scatter them in a public place. He liked Deception Pass, but that's a long drive and looked to be a little complicated to be able to legally spread them there. My sister suggested she could spread them at her house when she planted trees in the spring. I think she expected me to also spread them at my house so it would be a 50/50 split, but again.... No daily reminders please. So in the end I took the box to the post office and shipped them to my sister. 

Proof that I am a hard-hearted person, leaving the box in the shed. 

I succumbed to curiosity before going to the post office. The required box for mailing human cremated remains is about 3 times larger than it needed to be. There was a length of brown paper scrunched in to prevent the remains container from rolling around too much. It was not as much packing paper as I would have expected the funeral home to use for safely mailing remains, but oh well. They were the budget option, so I shouldn't complain. 

Ultimately, there's not much left after the cremation. It could have been a bag of flour just looking at it.

 I taped the box back together again, with my sister's address covering mine. I belatedly realized it would have been cheaper to have originally have the remains mailed to my sister, but decisions needed to be made in the wake of the unexpected death and confusion of it all. 

The drive to the post office was my last moments with my dad. About 6-7 minutes of me yelling at the box sitting in the passenger seat. I guess some things needed to be said. Saying how he had made me feel. Calling him names. I don't swear as a rule. It's not something that appeals to me. But there was something immensely satisfying about calling him the south end of a donkey. Words matter, and there was something cathartic about those particular words. He had to just take my anger and not angrily justify himself, something he was unable to do in life.

Once I made it to the post office counter, the guy lead with "I'm sorry for your loss." Then told me that this particular box would have to be sent certified mail, implying the extra cost. I said I knew that, and I paid the $107 to mail the box to Iowa. I was done with it, and I was glad to be. 

Head Above Water

Weeks of waiting culminated yesterday with the delivery of my father's remains. I was a little worried that the mail person wouldn't even bother to try to deliver them. When the death certificates made it to town, the notice was left in our mailbox. If the mail delivery person had actually driven down our driveway A) we were home, and B) they would have left the notice on the front door or the table by the front door (because we've had a notice left on our glass door). I had to go to the post office last Monday to sign for the death certificates. Our mail delivery is a bit lazy. We've had packages left on top of our mailbox, halfway down our long driveway, in the middle of the driveway (I actually watched the delivery open the door of the van, drop the package on the ground, and make a U-turn around the package), on the retaining wall along the driveway, and in the flowers in front of the house- just kinda chucked into the middle of the flowers. Half of the time, our packages end up actually by our front door. You just never know what you will get. I guess I either got a responsible driver or I got a pity delivery. 

 I should have been more on the ball and asked how many of these packages she's delivered. This can't be a normal thing, right? Or is it? I kind of want to know. 

The box did not come in the house. Annie took it out to the shed. 

Now that I have the death certificates, it was time to start closing out accounts and attempt to pay on my dad's enormous bills. There was no school today, so I went down to Ryan's building for lunch and made some phone calls with him. Ryan is good moral support. We tried several times calling Chase bank. I've never had the opportunity to do banking on someone else's behalf and I don't know who or what to ask for, and we were not smart enough to get past the automated system for a long time. I have an account number but no PIN. The words "Death," "dead," "help," and "operator" did not give any results. Ryan finally had the magic touch and we got a real person. They transferred us over to another department. After going through my information, his information, I was told that someone had already told the bank he was dead. Fabulous, and my call was pointless. To get the time of death balance, I needed to go in person to the bank one town over and present myself, my ID, and the death certificate. 

In person banking is an over-long, drawn out process. We waited about a half hour to get a person to help us, and another half hour of questions, typing, and photocopies to be told that my father had someone else on the account so I am unable to access ANY of his money. I was not allowed to guess who that other person was for privacy reasons. And the lady helping us was quite sure that my father could not have had a safety deposit box through their bank because they had phased those out a year or two ago. 

I am so tired of the road blocks.

There was a credit card bill with the Chase bank account. I couldn't even authorize the payment of it. My ire and frustration had risen, and with it my voice. I said good luck getting that bill paid off because they were on their own. 

I hope people are gracious enough to brush off my over-wrought emotions. Death and grief, I am hoping, will earn me a little bit of a pass. I am usually better at hiding the worst of my emotional state, and not biting off the heads of people just doing their jobs.

Waiting

I have come to the conclusion that the USPS employs knuckle-dragging, mouth breathers. I've been attempting to watch the progress of the package containing my father's remains as it makes it way to my house. The package was received by USPS in Texas last Thursday, the 16th. And then.... nothing. Friday there was a package in Kent, WA and was due to make its appearance at my house the 21st. I was thinking it could even arrive earlier as some packages which arrive in Kent make their way here by the next day. Wouldn't that be nice to have the anticipation over and done with? I didn't realize there were two packages out there heading for my house and thought this one was my father's remains. The nervous anticipation hasn't only been affecting me. Ryan even had a dream over the weekend that the postal worker delivered my dad's remains in a wannabe cheap, plastic Tupperware container that was spilling ash as it was handed to him. It doesn't make sense that the anticipation of this delivery is bothering me so much, but it is. I feel weirdly anxious about it. 

In any case, since Friday morning the package has gone from Kent to Seattle (18th), to Spokane (also the 18th), to Yakima (again the 18th), then to Ellensburg (the 21-22nd) where it stayed all day instead of coming here. I don't know if they were playing pin-ball around the state of Washington or what, but that shipping route made no sense. If a package was in Yakima then its next stop should have been Sunnyside, not the opposite direction to Ellensburg. And what was with the trip to Spokane? I put in for a substitute at the temple Tuesday because I am supposed to sign for the delivery of my father's ashes whenever it arrives. I waited around all day for nothing. Sometimes the postal service website doesn't update very quickly, and the package time stamps will all of a sudden catch up with it after it's been delivered so I didn't know if it really would be delivered or not. I ran on the treadmill instead of in the freezing sunshine because I was afraid to miss the delivery. I waited with twitchy, nervous anticipation for two whole days, only to find out the package that came Wednesday night was just more of my dad's mail. I felt like such a fool. I was all worked up over a Priority Mail envelope of Medicare coupons, a Christmas card from someone I don't know, and health care stuff. 

After combing through my email to find the one with the tracking number for the package that does say I need to sign for it, I discovered the reason I wasn't getting updates on that one is because it was just "en route to the next facility." That package was lost in the system for a week. I sent a message to USPS through Facebook messenger just before bedtime last night asking about my father's cremated remains and what to do about a lost package. I woke up to a response saying, "Thanks for contacting us. I see that your item has updated on this morning... you may continue to see updates periodically until final delivery." (The extra word "on" and the .... are exactly as my message was written.) I'm still feeling peeved about the whole mail situation, and replied that I stayed home all day Tuesday and since Monday was a holiday there was no way of knowing the package was delayed. And after losing my father's remains for a week, they didn't think an apology was in order? Yes, I realize I sound snippy. That's how I feel. An apology from the customer service rep doesn't seem like a huge ask though. Especially since that package was only supposed to take 1 to 2 days to reach its destination.

I think my emotions are a little, tiny bit less angry than they have been. I don't have a lot of new memories assaulting me. Just some random stupid ones, like my dad really loved to cheat in games. He thought it was funny to deal extra cards to other people in Uno, or play a couple of cards together to play down his hand faster. Or things like that. I feel a certain amount of self-loathing for letting him stay in my life as an adult at all. What was I thinking? Where were my healthy boundaries? I continued to let him make me feel small and bad about myself. That was so stupid of me. After much pondering and prayer, I think the answer is- some days we were the only thing keeping him from committing suicide. He would ask every so often if he could just be done with life. And as problematic as he was, suicide isn't the answer. If the pain of having him sporadically in my life was the cost of keeping him from such drastic measures, then I guess I need to figure out how to be ok with that. Watching others deal with the guilt and pain of family members committing suicide looks even worse. 

In other news, Maddie is still battling her tummy troubles. She seems to struggle the most in the early mornings, so getting to sleep in every day during our three day weekend meant she didn't throw up. Ryan took her to the doctor Monday. She has new anti-nausea medicine that dissolves under the tongue and we are hoping will help. She took some Tuesday morning, but she threw up again after seminary and again on Thursday. She's making good use out of those blue puke bags I used to have stashed in the minivan. Wednesday the girls did not go to seminary, due to Annie going to an evening FFA event and getting home late Tuesday evening. Maddie is still nauseous, lethargic, and has very little appetite. I've taken to buying 7-Up to get her to drink anything. We never buy pop but I am desperate.

Threats

Once upon a time, I saw this fun idea on Pinterest called "Kindness Elves." Instead of Elf on the Shelf, this elf would leave service ideas for the family. I thought to myself, "What a great idea! What better focus could we have at Christmas time?" I found this cute little elf at Hobby Lobby that cost about $3, and all I needed was a plan.... that never materialized. The Christmas season always gets away from me. So the little elf stayed packed away for a year or two, and then the kids found it. I confessed to my un-materialized plans. I got some disappointed looks, but we all moved on. The girls took to hiding him around the house themselves but without any altruistic ideas. He might be stuck in the Christmas tree, in the wreath on the front door, on a book shelf, or in the fridge. You just never knew where he might show up. 

Last year the elf got himself an accessory- a knife made out of tin foil. I feel a bit threatened this year.  Here he is on the banister up to my bedroom:

And in the cupholder on the treadmill:

And in the knick-knacks on the piano:

These pictures have all been taken since we put the Christmas decorations away. I hope the kids are trying to be humorous to shake me out of my grumpy moods.

Trials

I got an email this morning with a tracking number for a package coming from Texas. I guess that means my dad has been cremated. The funeral home hadn't been firm on when that was going to occur but enough time has elapsed so... it's done. His remains are en route to my house. At some point we'll have to decide what to do with them. I still don't know what to do. Part of me wants the decision to be made already, and another part isn't in a hurry at all. There are no easy answers to all of this. I'm still mad at him and he won't be coming in my house. He can wait in the garage until.... I have an answer. I do have to sign for the package when "he" arrives. His cremated remains aren't really him anymore, but saying he/him is a kind of verbal short-hand for "his cremated remains." I watched a YouTube video about cremation. The only bits that are left after cremation are just very charred bones in a state of ashes. Everything else burns off. It's simultaneously very gross and interesting, and something for which I am very grateful I don't have to deal with. I am glad there are all kinds of people in the world, including those who can take care of the dead without being totally grossed out.

I didn't stay for the full two hours of church on Sunday. I left after sacrament meeting. I was both angry and ready for a good cry. Those seem to be my overriding emotions these days. A new, starry-eyed missionary gave a nice talk but it rubbed me wrong. His subject was faith. He held up the example of the 2,000 stripling warriors as how we all should be- and how things work out when we have faith. They were protected because of their faith in Jesus Christ. It's a sweet, but ultimately naive sentiment. Abinadi must not have been very faithful then. He died while testifying. In Alma chapter 14 there's a horrifying story about women and children being burned for their belief in front of Alma and Almulek. Were they just not faithful or righteous enough? Joseph and Emma Smith lost 4 of their first 5 children. Man, if only they'd just been more faithful, right? Maybe we are not promised any kind of reward in this life for living righteously. Maybe the whole point of the gospel is to point us toward a glorious reward after this life. We are promised strength in keeping our covenants. We are promised to be able to find some joy during our trials. But this life can be a great, big dumpster fire at times. There are glimmers of goodness here and there, and we ought to focus on those things. But expecting a hunky dory outcome in this life because we are being righteous and having faith in the Lord means you didn't understand the assignment. Because all of the children born into terrible home lives- what did they do? When loving family members are taken too soon, who was the person at fault then? Sickness? Loss of a job? There are too many difficult things people go through to mention. But none of these trials means a person wasn't being faithful. James E Faust said in a General Conference talk, "Here then is a great truth. In the pain, the agony, and the heroic endeavors of life, we pass through a refiner's fire, and the insignificant and the unimportant in our lives can melt away like dross and make our faith bright, intact, and strong. In this way the divine image can be mirrored in the soul. It is part of the purging toll exacted of some to become acquainted with God. In the agonies of life, we seem to listen better to the faint, godly whisperings of the Divine Shepherd." (The Refiner's Fire, 1979) So, I am hearing "refiner's fire" and "agony" and "purging." Sounds like the dumpster fire I mentioned earlier. Because sometimes there isn't a reason for the bad things that happen in this life. It isn't always the Lord's Will things turn out a certain way. (That's a Calvinist theology- thanks Standard of Truth podcast for pointing that out. Not everything is "the Lord's Will." We as beings with agency bring many consequences for ourselves and others. And other things just.... happen. Welcome to earth- a place of great beauty, but also fires, tornados, earthquakes, and being subjected to the consequences of other's choices, etc.) Mortal life just equals trials and experiences that hopefully lead to growth. But with the restored gospel, we can know that all of us here on the earth chose to have this mortal experience. Now comes the hard part- to find meaning in the suffering, and a better relationship with Jesus Christ amidst the trials. 

Maddie has been sick with the stomach flu for a week and a half now. She's only missed one full day of school all at once, but her attendance has been kind of spotty during portions of the day. At the one week mark, I took her to the doctor. He said that he wasn't really concerned. Many viruses last 3-5 days, so while 8 days is a bit long it wasn't worrisome yet. He prescribed some anti-nausea medicine as we've made our way through the over the counter kinds and not found a solution. It hasn't worked any better than any of the other kinds we've tried. Maddie is getting good at holding small amounts of puke in her mouth until she finds a receptacle for her stomach contents. It doesn't seem to matter if she has food or drink in her stomach in the morning. She pukes anyway. The issue with the "lower end" has gotten better. But I don't know if that's happening because she is getting better, or the anti-diarrhea medicine we give her in the evenings is helping. She can get small amounts to stay down in the late afternoon and evening time. We can go into the doctor again if she isn't better by next week. So we are counting down the days.

On a completely unrelated note, here's a story from last week.

Ryan and I cuddle when we first get to bed at night. One night as we are spooning and Ryan's head is resting on my pillow, Ryan announces, "It's time for you to buy a new pillow." 

"Oh?" I said. "Are you wanting my pillow now?"

He said his was flat and lumpy and he was ready for mine. We have this weird tradition where I get a nice, thick, fluffy pillow and use it until it's halfway to retirement. At that point, Ryan wants it. He doesn't like new, fluffy pillows of his own. He likes my used ones. I used to buy new pillows two at a time, but Ryan prefers this method. It's peculiar, but it works for us.

Shakespearean Insults

 I am to the point in my grief journey that name calling feels appropriate. During Covid, we ran across a Shakespeare Insult Generator that has provided much amusement during the last 5 years. So if you feel the need to hurl insults and can't think of anything beyond the usual, general profane ones- might I suggest "dissembling, beetle-headed maggot-pie" or "lumpish, boil-brained apple-john" or "churlish, onion-eyed miscreant" or "rank, tardy-gaited ratsbane." Two of those may have found their way onto the binder holding my dad's paperwork. His paperwork used to reside in a leather (or leather-like) black binder, but the papers were sent binder-free and I found a used school binder to put them in that serves its purpose. I'm still waiting on death certificates to arrive before I can do much more to see if he can pay off any of his debts. He has roughly a quarter of a million dollars owed to one hospital alone. So "pay off" might be stretching it a tad. It might be more along the lines of "here's a death certificate and I'm sorry." 

I had two boxes of his belongings arrive at my house. I knew his bills, phone, and ID would be coming, so the rest has been a surprise. I'm trying to see the humor in what came, but I'm really struggling to find any. I've already mentioned the box with the baggie of nail clippers and pictures of his karate friends. The second box arrived Saturday. In it was the following: a wifi booster, a usb wall plug, a knife with a roughly 6 inch blade (ish? I'm guessing here), a large pocket knife, two pairs of binoculars, old ear phones (nothing nice- just wired ones you can buy for cheap), two western belts (one being the one he gave me as a teen and then asked for it back), a really ugly bolo tie, a shoe horn, his scriptures, and some other odds and ends. Inside the scriptures were more pictures of his karate buddies from years ago. I am logically trying to understand why the karate friend pictures. One was a really good friend of his who died several years ago. I guess he didn't feel abandoned by the karate friends? But why no pictures at all of his children? For someone who "loved his children so much" isn't that odd? Is it because he didn't have any pictures left because he was angry at us? Did his sister just not send those? Am I being punished for not taking care of him in his hour of need? But then why did she send all of those weird odds and ends? A shoe horn? Really? What am I supposed to do with those things? 

I've been thinking it is time to get a new set of scriptures. I'm still using my old seminary set, and there have been updates made since then especially to the D&C which we are studying this year. I tried to tell myself it could be a fortuitous windfall. I told his sister I didn't want his scriptures. I still don't. Looking at them, I feel a sense of revulsion. I can't use those. We had a missionary correlation meeting at our house yesterday and Ryan tried to get 3 sets of missionaries to take them and give them to someone. Surely there is someone out there that could benefit from a full set of scriptures. My dad didn't believe in marking his scriptures, so they look very nice. We had no takers. I just want them gone and out of my house. 

I feel the same sense of "get that away from me" with his key chain. I saw him use that for a lot of years. I am less repulsed by the USB wall plug and could probably find a use for it. I am going to send my sister the items she thought her boys might like. She said her boys (she has two boys and two girls) were the closest to my dad and they are taking his death hard. My kids aren't seeming very affected by his death. They aren't sad. They saw my tumultuous feelings regarding my father so maybe between that and not seeing him very much, they just didn't attach at all? Or, and I'm wondering if this is a big factor, my children are not boys. My dad put in more effort to have a relationship with his grandsons. My dad gave me money to buy gifts for my children most Christmases, but would actually buy gifts for my sister's boys. I remember him being pleased with himself- finding baby boots and little boy toys for my sister's first born son. Sexist pig. Whoops sorry, time for the Shakespearean insult generator: lumpish, clay-brained lout.

The memories just keep assaulting me. A game we used to play growing up was the tickle war. I thought it was maybe because he thought it was fun to get us to laugh. He told me he started it because he could get us to use our stomach muscles and keep them strong, so we wouldn't have childish round bellies. He started that when I was 2, maybe 3 years old? That was the reason behind "I'm going to tickle your spine through your belly button" game. The goatish, crook-pated barnacle.

Ryan used his Spanish branch clerk powers for a somewhat good, somewhat nefarious purpose one last time before he was released yesterday. Ryan looked up my dad's church records. He hadn't been moved from his ward in Spokane, from over a year ago. Rather than leave him on the ward's roll and no one knowing where he was, Ryan transferred my dad's records into the Spanish branch and then marked him as deceased. It makes me a little happy that his membership records were last in a Spanish branch, somewhere he would not have willingly gone. He did ask a number of times if he could move in with us, so.... maybe were giving him his wish for about 3 minutes? Ok, not really. It was more selfish than that. It was much easier to do that than track down his old bishop and call to inform his change of living status.

Pyschology

When I was in college I had planned to study English. I took my first Psychology class during either winter or spring trimester and it opened a new world to me. Suddenly I was very interested in the workings of the mind. I began to piece together a few things about my family. I figured out my dad suffered from depression, and that the parenting style that had been used on me was very "authoritarian." I asked my mom about the depression in my dad and she confirmed it. She didn't bring up the bipolar part. I called my dad on the parenting style they used, and the science behind why "authoritative" works better. My dad looked at me, said I was obedient and that was what mattered. I had a hard time explaining the seething and loathing feelings that lurked under the surface. And the resulting low self-esteem and difficulty having and expressing opinions. 

Since my dad died, I've done quite a lot of pondering on abuse and psychological disorders. My dad was abused. My mom was abused. I was abused. I think I've managed to break the worst of the cycle for my kids, as I am by no means great at parenting. But I also wish there was some kind of post-mortem evaluation that could be done on my dad. Physical autopsies are done after people die. I wish there was a way to crack open someone's brain and figure out what was going on in there. Would it help me understand him better? Could it help me forgive him and move on? I've spent some time researching psychological disorders and came across Borderline personality disorder. Now, I realize I am in no way qualified to make a diagnosis, but if I could hazard a guess- my money would be on this one for my dad.

I wish I could pull out some positive memories associated with my dad. My brain is only remembering the hard ones. And if there were some decent memories, they are tainted with resentment and anger. Like the first year my mom wasn't allowed to drive and he was in charge of getting us presents. We didn't even have a Christmas tree that year because our fake tree was packed away in a storage unit and it evidently wasn't worth finding. I remember the gifts I got that year. A sling shot and a BB gun. They were the kinds of things my dad wanted us to like at the time, but didn't really scream, "Danae would like this." He was giddy with anticipation to try them out. I think it was that same year, but it could have been the year after, I had a birthday and it was the absolute pits. There were no presents that I can remember. I got to choose my dinner and the movie to watch in the evening. My dad couldn't be bothered to drive home for the occasion. He waited until the weekend to come home because it was an hour long drive.

Throughout my adult life, my dad kept trying to get us to buy into his secret knowledge conspiracies. He had some books that would blow the church doctrine wide open. I was being a sheep just blindly following the prophet of the church. He knew better. Yes, the church had priesthood keys but it "wasn't being led right" according to the scriptures. As if he knew better than the man called by God and holding all of the priesthood keys.

My dad wanted his legacy to be money. He was aware that he hadn't been a very present father. He always threw himself wholeheartedly into his job. His life was mostly his job, sleep, and Kenpo karate. He did sleep a lot when he wasn't working. But after the dissolution of his third marriage, he was intent on setting up his Trust so that his assets didn't have to go through government probation and taxes, and would go directly to his kids. He set up a couple of Zoom calls with Ryan and me to walk us through where he had all of his documents and the steps we needed to complete so we could access his money. He also had opinions about how I was to distribute the money. It had to be based on what he felt were appropriate accomplishments and goals, not as a 50-50 split between my sister and me, or equal split between grandkids. Because you love your children no matter what didn't apply to him. I never wanted his money. He wouldn't take the time to try to get to know his grandkids. He just wanted to work to set aside money for us after he died. I thought it would be better to keep that money so he could take care of himself in his old age. So it's ironic that his "legacy" of money was lost in a crypto-currency scheme and huge hospital bills. 

Christmas Break

My last few posts have not been terribly cheerful. There has been some good in my life in the last couple of weeks. I think I need to take a few minutes and focus on the goodness in my life.

The first Sunday evening of Christmas break we had our annual Christmas dinner and Nativity with the Wises, plus playing bells and candy bar exchange. It wouldn't be Christmas without it. The Wises have graciously adopted us and they are our Sunnyside family. Annie and Maddie opted to be angels this year in the Nativity.

It is quite the production. There are 4 boxes of costumes for the kids to choose from, which is fortuitous since the group can be quite large some years. Elizabeth opted not to participate, but sat along the sidelines watching with the other adults. We sang several songs.

Monday night was Christmas Caroling. I think we had 7 families meet up at the church. Each family brought some cookies and we made up cookie plates for each house we caroled to. I think we made 7 stops, so each family had the chance to give a plate of cookies. It's a sweet experience to surprise people with songs and treats.

Tuesday, Christmas Eve was... a day. A sad and numb day. I am glad I had everything wrapped and prepared ahead of time. It's seriously the most on-top I've been. Often I have a few things left to wrap, and this year I didn't. Monday I felt the urge to have everything just done, and I am grateful for that tender mercy. I could be on auto-pilot, and everything worked out.

Christmas!

Annie and Maddie are really into the whole FFA vibe these days. We had some hand-me-down boots from a cousin, and some very cheap cowboy boots that Annie and Maddie had been wearing and they were ready for the real thing. They were pretty excited over the boots.

The aftermath of the presents wasn't as bad as it could have been. We have a system of putting all of the wrapping paper in a garbage bag as soon as it's off the present. Then we had our usual waffles and sausage for breakfast. We played one of our new games, watched a movie, and then had already made plans to go caroling again with the missionaries before I got the news that my dad had died. I stuck it out through most of the stops, but was really struggling by the end. We had planned to visit an older sister in a nursing home after the caroling, and I ended up just letting my family go while I stayed home. Ryan and the girls made dinner.

Friday, December 27th we drove up to the Moses Lake Temple to do baptisms as a family. Fridays my father-in-law works at the temple, so we caught a couple quick glances and a hug. Afterwards, we drove to my father-in-law's house to hang out with cousins. We only stayed a couple of hours maybe because I was just not in the mood for a lot of people. 

Saturday evening we celebrated Ryan's birthday. Ryan has been a trooper through all of this. He made his own birthday dinner (the kids helped, but let's face it-- he was not going to let the kids try their hand at something as important as a lamb roast) and was in charge of getting something he liked for dessert. I have not been my usual self. 

Sunday was Ryan's actual birthday. We attended church, and then immediately left afterwards to drive to Wenatchee for nephew Dash's baptism. Ryan and Dash share a birthday. I had made up tuna for sandwiches before church, and assembled the sandwiches in the car as we drove. No one likes squished tuna sandwiches, but no one was excited about premade peanut butter ones either. So it was sandwiches, apples, and some zebra popcorn we'd been given as a Christmas gift as a chaser for the boring sandwiches.

After the baptism and early dinner, we drove to Leavenworth to enjoy the beautiful Christmas lights since we were so close. It was wetter than we were expecting- so many puddles on the sidewalk. 

There is a photo of me and Ryan in Leavenworth, but it's painful for me to look at. I look gutted and kind of dead on the inside.