To Have Loved and Lost

Today, on the fourteenth anniversary of THE  terrible, horrible no good, very bad day, I took my grief out of the mothballs in the closet.  Giving it a good shake to remove the cobwebs, I held it up to the sun and inspected it.  Considering how often it has been used and abused over the past fourteen years,  it is in remarkably good condition.   

Through the years I have used it less and less.   But on October 29th each year, the memories come rushing back like a tidal wave.  And no matter how much I think  that time should have built up the sandbags high enough to protect my heart, the waves of grief sweep over me once again, drawing me down into the depths of despair.  

 Often it strikes suddenly and without warning.  One minute I am driving in the car and the next I am swept down into a deep, dark place that is the memory of the unimaginable pain of losing a child through a failed adoption.  It is as if time stands still, and I am transported back to the moment I placed her last bag into the car and watched her drive away from me forever.   

And then suddenly I am back to reality, I can breathe again, the imaginary carving knife is removed from my chest and life goes on.  But I am left feeling as if the wind has been knocked from my body.  The world is gray.  Nothing tastes good.  Colors are subdued.   

As I continue working, I accomplish the tasks before me.  A phone is picked up, a question answered, an appointment set, and an email sent.  But all the time, I am bracing myself for the next assault.  For I know it will come as sure as the sun will rise each day.  

And then again without warning, another flashback to a house packed in the U-haul leaving the house dark and empty and the tears that came until late into the night.   When you have wept longer and harder than you ever thought possible, you lay on the floor limp and lifeless as a rag doll, hoping the ground will open and swallow you whole.  But that is not the way life or Heavenly Father works.  Instead you are given a chance to stretch and grow from the pain and to feel the comfort that only the Savior can offer.   

And suddenly it is time to fix dinner and pick up kids and do the things that mothers do.  Eventually the evening is over and the day, THE DREADED DAY, comes to a close.  But before I go to bed, I sit quietly in my rocking chair with that grief that is as familiar to me as my favorite pair of jeans or worn out quilt.  Rocking back and forth, as if to soothe that grief back to sleep.

  And as I rock that grief, I sing softly that eventually, all will be right.   That perhaps someday the pain will fade to a bearable level.  All the time knowing if that day were to come, I would feel that diminished pain to be a betrayal, and so I would never let it happen. 

 My grief and I, we have spent some special bonding time together through the years and today, and I am ready to place it back in the closet for another year.  Life will go on.  I will laugh and and I will smile and sometimes even cry.  Rationally I know that enjoying my life today does not mean I loved her any less.  

 But somehow, I will be forever changed by the fact that I loved and lost.  And perhaps it is OK, because I have grown used to this person I have become.  The one that keeps a special piece of my heart locked up and set aside for a blue eyed, blonde haired three year old little girl, who is now seventeen.   

We will be forever connected she and I, by an invisible thread, and someday, if not in this life, then the next, we will meet again.  And it is the joy of that day that I must cling to like a life preserver as I swim to shore out of the chilly, crippling depths of despair.

Until next year, my friend.  See ya, next year.

The Whole Famdamily

 As part of our family reunion we got family pictures taken.

Let me just say, that I don't really enjoy family pictures

because there seems to be a lot of complaining and whining

that goes along with the picture taking.
And then there are the kids comments as well.

Add that to the whole stress of what to wear, 

and it just seems to be a miserable time.

As a matter of fact, we haven't had very many family pictures since

Trent was 12.

But while we were all there we managed to stand together and we don't

look completely horrible, so there is that.

 Here is one of the three kids.

Hard to believe how grown up they have become.

And the one with the spouse.

And I do kind of like this one of me and Diana.  

Glad I took my glasses off so there wouldn't be a glare.

And here is one of the whole extended family, except for the niece who was on her honeymoon, and my brother who was in Seattle.  Probably the best we will ever do in getting this many people together at the same time, especially now that the teenage boys will start heading off on missions.

So yay for the end of another family picture taking session.  And we are all mostly still talking to each other, so it is all good.

A New Loosing Streak

I think if I have to look for one more thing I am going to scream.

Jared woke me up this morning at 4:30 because he couldn't find his boxers or clothes that I had washed late last night. So I got up and found them for him, because it was not fun having him stand next to my bed in a towel dripping on me.

Next he asked if I had found his paper with his home room assignment on it. We had talked about it last night when he was going to bed. I was too tired and figured I would have time to find it this morning. So my searching began at 4:35. At 5:20 I stopped looking and made Jared breakfast. I then resumed the search until 5:45 when it was time to leave for seminary. I told him I would continue the search and hopefully find it before he had to go to school at 7:00.

Oh and did I mention that while I was looking through the piles of papers on my dining room table, I felt drops of water raining down? Yes indeedy it was raining in my house again. Dang, I so hate it when that happens. I am not even sure where the water was coming from, but the bathroom upstairs seems the likely culprit.

I went through the motions of punching a hole in the ceiling with a screw driver and placing buckets to catch the dripping water. It is still dripping 2 hours later, but it is not constant enough to be a hole in the pipe I don't think. For now it is under control and I will let my husband deal with it when he wakes up.

So the searching continued and I became more and more convinced that the needed paper had been thrown away in all the chaos of the past week. Next I tried to look it up on the Internet. First my computer told me that my Internet connection had failed. Next the Internet worked but the school link was broken. WHAT THE WHAT!!! Way to stress parents out on the first day of school.

Diana was trying to sleep on the couch, because we are painting her room and her bed is covered with junk. That is only adding to the chaos around here. Yesterday, I couldn't find my lesson manual which was slightly important seeing as how I was suppose to teach Sunday School and I had done zero preparation. Luckily I could print it off the Internet. Next I couldn't find my car keys and had to use my backup set, only to find my original keys in my church bag when I got there. And finally my husband and Jared were 15 minutes late to church because they could not find Jared's church clothes anywhere. Dang Bermuda triangle that lives at my house. Finally Jared borrowed one of my husband's shirts and wore a pair of jeans. Geez Louise.

And so back to this morning. Diana is now awake from all the cursing going on. She needs breakfast even though it is 6 am. I got her a bowl of cereal and decided to run over to the high school and see if I couldn't just find out the home room number.

The school was not very crowded at 6:20 in the morning. I talked with the secretary and she did not know if they had posted the list of home room numbers yet. Also her computer was being backed up and so she could not even look it up for me. I cursed the gods of technology once again.

I went to try and talk to the nurse about Jared's PE exemption, and noticed that the lists were posted on the cafeteria windows. I found the needed information and even walked over and found out where the room was for him.

I made my way back to the car and went to the church. Along the way I passed all the cars going to school. I guess they let seminary out 10 minutes early. I picked up Jared and returned to the school. Explained to him where to go to his class and navigated the parking lot of crazed parents and teenagers.

Now at 7:30, Diana is back asleep. I wonder if it will be hard to wake her up for school in half an hour.

I have to work today, of course. So it will be a long day. Perhaps I will go lay back down for a minute or two. Good thing, I went to bed at 8:45 last night.

Does anyone want to argue with me that I am not Nutty?

So that was my Monday morning, how was yours?

Much Ado About Nothing

The dreaded day of my IRS audit finally arrived. I have spent much of the past two weeks searching hi and low and near and far for my supporting documentation.

Yesterday, I put the finishing touches on the worksheets I created. I checked and double checked everything. I looked on map quest so I would know where exactly I was going to go. I made sure that all my folders were neatly stacked and ready to go.

I tried to reassure myself that all would be well, but I would be lying if I said that it wasn't difficult to go to sleep. It would also be a lie to say that I slept soundly through the night without a care in the world. I tossed and turned all night long whilst dreaming of the Spanish Inquisition.

Somehow, I snoozed my alarm and was very dismayed to wake and see that the time was 7:18. My appointment was for 8:00 am. Hurriedly I got dressed, telling myself that showers are highly over rated.

The computer beckoned to me to check and see if anyone had commented on my post yesterday. This was a mistake, because before I knew it 15 minutes had passed and I was later leaving than I wanted to be.

Once again, I cautiously sped trying to make up for lost time. There were two different routes I could have taken, but one of them had cars backed up onto the off ramp, so that made my decision easy.

Somehow I missed the building the first time I drove by and actually ran a red light to do a U-turn. I didn't have time to wait and there were no cars anywhere in the vicinity.

Anxiously, I pulled the parking garage ticket from the little machine. My stomach had now felt like I had swallowed a bucket of nails. Quickly, I parked and walked into the building. By now I was feeling a little dizzy and wondered if they have any paper bags I could breathe into.

The security guard checked out my appointment letter and told me to go through two large doors. I wondered if they would lock behind me and I would never be heard from again.

Once in the smallish waiting room, I picked up the phone and dialed the extension on my letter to let my examiner know I was there. He told me to wait for a few minutes.

I sat down and noticed a plant growing up and over the whole wall.

I thought it looked rather ominous and picture worthy. Quick as a bunny, I pulled out my camera and snapped a shot. The secretary behind the glass window informed me that it is against the law to take pictures in federal buildings. I said "Sorry, I didn't know, and it was just the plant anyway."

This secretary reminded me of the secretary in Monsters Inc. I asked her about the plant and she told me that it was 20 years old. Yikes, she did look ancient, but how long had she worked there? Perhaps that plant was her pride and joy, her only source of happiness in this life, and I had (gasp) taken a picture of it. Well, excuuuse me. Am I right, doesn't it look kind of creepy?

Finally, the door leading back to all the cubicles opened, and I was face to face with the MAN. I not sure what I expected, probably someone tall and spindly, with a comb over, and thick black rimmed glasses. The person I stood facing looked more like Wilford Brimley than Icabod Crane.

He seemed nice enough. He ushered me back to a cubicle in the back that even had a window. Somehow, I had envisioned a dark large room with spot lights and torture devices. There wasn't even anything remotely scary about this cubicle. In fact there was a cane laying on the back credenza and a Starbucks cup sitting next to the computer. All very normal run of the mill stuff.

I sat there waiting patiently. One person had given me the advice that I was not to offer any information, only answer questions as they were asked. This had me very worried because when I get nervous I tend to ramble on and fill any silence. So I was concentrating on not talking which made me even more nervous.

First he went over my rights. Blah, blah, blah and yada, yada, yada. Then he asked me a bunch of questions about whether I had any undeclared income or any rich uncles who died and left me millions of dollars that I had failed to report. I wondered that if you did have hidden money, would you just tell the IRS about it. The only question I could answer yes to was the one about getting an insurance settlement for my car that Trent totaled.

Then he asked me a bunch of information like my address and phone number. It kind of scared me to think that I had to give the IRS my cell phone number. All of these questions were harmless, though.

Finally, the moment of truth. We moved onto the part of him asking for my supporting detail about my cash contributions. I was a little put out to find out that he accepted just my letter from the church about my tithing. I didn't need all the copies of my canceled checks after all. What the what? Oh well it was reeeally fun to spend 6 hours digging through bank statements and at the bank in Utah. Seriously, I shouldn't complain, it was much easier this way. But why did the letter they sent me say I needed the dang copies, in the first place.

He did take the copies of the checks that I had given to Friends of Scouting and for Jared's scout camp. I really thought that he was going to question me about the scout camp, but I managed to keep from rambling on about it and he didn't say anything.

He made copies of the two receipts I had from Good Will. I was worried about those as well, but he didn't want anything more than the copies.

Then he did some things on his computer and printed out some forms. All the while I sat there dying from the suspense, but trying to remain calm.

In the end he told me that I did not owe any additional tax. And I would not be audited for 2008 or 2009. And just like that, it was over.

I pondered asking him if I could take my picture with him, but given the whole "it's against the rules" policy, I decided discretion was the better part of valor.

He shook my hand and escorted me out to the waiting room. The whole thing took 30 minutes. I spent longer in the car to get there and back.

And so just like some kind commenter had told me, it was much better than I had expected. Painless even. The worst part was all the stress and worry that I inflicted on myself before I even got there.

I came home and informed my husband, who was very relieved. He was convinced that all our assets were going to be confiscated and we would end up homeless living in a van down by the river. Except Vegas doesn't have any rivers. We do however own a van, so half of his dream could have come true. He's an optimist that way.

I did request that my family address me with "Hail the conquering hero" for the rest of the day, but they didn't seem keen on that idea.

At least now I can check "Stress out over the doom and gloom of the upcoming IRS audit" off my list of things to do each day. What will I do with all the spare time and added years to my life expectancy?

The Universe may be sending me a message, but nobody's home.

I was thrilled when I saw the latest post from Funny Farmer. She shared with us this fascinating anagram website. At first I couldn't remember what an anagram was, but then I accessed my useless information I learned from movies file in my brain. In National Treasure, Nicolas Cage uses an anagram as the password to get in and steal the Constitution.

Just as this website touts, I typed in my full name to find out what lurks within my name. What hidden message could be contained within the letters of my moniker?

Do you want to know?

Really?







Damnation, charmed pain

Well, all righty then. Thank you universe for that lovely uplifting message. And actually it might explain a lot.

Like why the education system has to be so difficult and cause me so much pain and suffering. Like when I went to the high school to see about getting Jared set up in the home bound program and I went to the registration office, only to be sent to the attendance office, but that person wasn't there, so they said go to the registration office. And stop by the nurses office, and the counselors office. And I ran around the high school hamster wheel for about an hour before I gave up and decided to come back when the people who actually know what to do, were there.

Or why last week I was in a minor traffic altercation, when the light turned green and I was trying to organize Jared's paper work for home bound schooling, and so I stepped on the gas while looking down at said papers, but the lady in the car in front of me had put her car in park so she could scratch her foot and did not proceed to drive when the light turned green, so I bumped into her pretty hard. No damage to the cars, just my heart and nervous system. So, no worries.

Or why when I went to the ATM to make a deposit, the machine decided to just eat my envelope without crediting me for the $1300 check, and so I went inside to the bank and waited for an hour whilst they retrieved my check.

And this was just one of my days last week. Sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier to give myself a paper cut and pour lemon juice in it, just to save the universe from some of its trouble.

Then, I could send the universe an email, informing it that I had been tortured and tormented already that day, and it could check me off the list of people needing to be afflicted that day.

Just a thought. But seriously knowing the hidden message in my name explains a lot about my life. Don't ya think?

Exercise releases the stress in your life, unless it is opposite day.

I went back to the gym on Friday night, for the first time since October. That brings the total number of times I have taken advantage of my membership to six. Five times in October, and one time in February. So let's see, that would make my per visit cost to be about $25. Stop it, inner accountant, let it go.

So for my $25 dollars, I have been subjected to the humiliation of seeing myself in all the mirrors. The horror and terror, I am pretty sure I saw a small child cry and run away. At least I am sure it would have if it wasn't being entertained at the play room.

I think if I ever own a gym, there will be a no mirror rule. Or better yet, the mirrors should be magical and show you what you will look like if you continue to come to the gym, because then when you see yourself at home, you would jump in the car and go to the gym to see your self the way you could be.

Or maybe for that much money, they could provide me with a blindfold and guide dog to get me from the dressing room to the machines in the women's gym. Or better yet, how about a conveyor belt like they have in airports. I think it is so rude to make people walk to where they are going to be exercising. We should just be able to ride along and jump off where we want to start our work out.

In addition to humiliation, as an added bonus, I get to have TMI (too much information) in the form of what color thong underwear the person exercising in front of me is wearing, because her sweats keep falling down. Or if she bends over to stretch. Again with the horror and terror. Seriously there should be a law or something. Can I get an amen sister? Talk about a bang for your buck. Eeeewww.

Then there is the annoying part when you can't get one of the machines that has a TV on it and lets you pick the channel you want to watch, so you can numb your senses about the fact that you are exercising. Instead, you are stuck with the four TV choices that are up on the wall. These consist of MTV, Comedy Channel, Fox News, or discovery channel showing Dirty Jobs. I would much rather watch the food channel while I am exercising. Might as well plan what you deserve to eat because you exercised, right?

Man this is good stuff, I should become a marketer for the gym, huh?

After the gym, I decided to stop and get some Chinese food. My husband was gone on a camp out, and I didn't feel like cooking after working out.

Diana was with me, she loves the playroom at the gym, especially the DDR, dance video game they have.

She took the keys out of the ignition and said she would hold them for me. I should have known better. This is me and my life we are talking about here. Have I learned, nothing from the past. Apparently not, so I am doomed, doomed I say.

We ordered. Waited patiently in an impatient way for our food. Then we headed to the car. I looked for the keys, at which time I remembered that she had them last. I asked her where the keys were to which she replied she didn't have them. Problem.

We went back inside, and I asked if anyone had turned in some keys. No luck. We searched everywhere she had been in the restaurant, the table, the pop/soda machine, everywhere. NO keys.

I went out and looked to see if they were still in the car. NO. We looked to see if they had fallen on the ground while we were walking in. NOPE.

My mind raced as to what to do. My husband was gone right, so he was useless. Actually at this moment the other two spare keys to my car are lost and this was the only one I had. I cursed my lack of making 20 copies for just such occasions.

Just as a side note, about 18 years ago, I lost a set of car keys while I was at work. I drove the 17 miles to work in the morning, and then even went out to lunch. But when it was time to go home, no keys to be found anywhere. Finally my husband had to get someone to drive him to bring me an extra key as we were a one car family at the time. Good grief. And I never did find that key. Who knows. Bermuda triangle, is my best theory.

So back to my daughter and me, stranded at Pick up Styx. I was thinking that she may have dropped them into the garbage can when she threw away the wrapper to her straw. I looked in to see if anything was evident. NO. Just uneaten food, napkins, drink cups. You know just the kind of thing you would rather be dead than stick your hand into.

It was as I was weighing the options of searching through the disgusting trash can, calling a friend to give us a ride home leaving the car stranded, or paying an arm and a leg to a lock smith, when a worker came and saved our life. One of the other workers had found the keys somewhere. We were spared from spending our Friday night dumpster diving.

It is at this point that I am thinking my kids are ganging up on me to see how long it will take me to pull all my hair out. They must really want to see me bald. What will be my breaking point? I bet they even have a pool.

And I still have the answered questions of will my nice padded cell have Internet connection so I can still blog, and when they come to take me away and put me in the straight jacket, will it make me look fat.

Another one bites the dust, or not.

Almost everything in my life sucks right now, except my vacuum cleaner. Just so you know. Because I am sure you were wondering, weren't you? It is due to a long series of unfortunate events, that I am suckless in the cleaning of my floors. Usually when people tell you suck, it is a bad thing, but this is not one of those times.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far, away, well before we had kids, at least. That would be almost 18 years ago. We had the money to buy the things we needed in life. Funny how that works, you get kids and all your money just flies out the window by the buckets full.

Back to the story, right after we were married, we lived in a furnished basement apartment for the five years we were at BYU. See we liked BYU so much we hated to leave. And this apartment was something right out of the book Charly.

Water heater in the kitchen, water closet for a bathroom, and a bedroom, that's it. The good news of this place is that there was no where to go but up from there. Some people said that they had not even lived anywhere as ghetto as that, on their missions.

The bathroom ceiling was about 2 inches shorter than my husband. You could sit on the commode and touch the wall in the shower with one hand and the other wall of the bathroom with the other. Serious claustrophobia, if you know what I mean.

But the upside to this place was the price. We got what we paid for and we didn't get what we didn't pay for, if you know what I mean. Guess how much it was a month? You will never guess, except Funny Farmer, because she lived there after us. Oh and Stephanie, she lived there too. OK, I will tell you, $125 a MONTH including our heat, which in Provo is the same as gold. Can you believe it? I know I am ancient, but this was not that long ago.

I am convinced that it was the best deal in town. Great for struggling college students needing to pay tuition. And besides we lived on love and macaroni and cheese. We didn't need things like stinkin living rooms.

The point to all this ridiculous detail into the first five years of our marriage is that the place came with a vacuum. Now it may have been a vacuum that came across the plains with the pioneers, but it was a vacuum nonetheless.

So I never needed to get a vacuum. Finally, when we moved into the student housing at graduate school, the time had come. I was working and so even though we were students, no kids remember, so we still had money. And now we were paying $300 a month. The horror, I know. Tragic.

It was at this point that we bought a very nice canister Kenmore vacuum at Sears. The way that thing just followed me around, sucking up any thing on the carpet brought tears to my eyes. Of course again no kids, so not that much sucking up needed.

Fast forward 18 years and countless vacuum bags later. The sucking up still brings tears to my eyes, but they are tears of dismay and disappointment not joy and happiness . In fact it is not uncommon for my vacuum to spit at me instead of suck. That is just wrong and spiteful, to suck things up only to spit them all back out. Very insensitive.

And so even though I think I have been very faithful in following the adage to use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without. The doing with out has got to end. Sometimes no amount of duct tape can beat a dead horse.

Any of you who were reading this blog last summer, know that I had every intention of buying a new vacuum at the Fourth of July sales. But that is right when Jared got sick, so it never happened. And then one thing after another, and here I am with still no vacuum.

My sister did try valiantly when she was here at the beginning of December. She went to Wal Mart and bought a vacuum. She even vacuumed my whole house. But she thought it was too heavy, especially to carry up and down the stairs, so she even more kindly took it back.

We then bought a smaller more light weight one. But that one didn't really work out either. It kind of looked like a toy and it was hard to push over the rugs on my laminate floors.

You might be reading this in horrified wonderment at how I could live for so long without a vacuum. I share your astonishment. One reason is that the first floor of my house is laminate flooring, so a broom works for cleaning purposes. The other reason, is that it has just not made it to the top of the priority list. And hey, you can't feel guilty for not vacuuming, if you don't even own a vacuum, right? Well some might, but I can't.

So at this time I bid a fond farewell to my old vacuum. Thanks for all the great cleaning memories over the past two decades. Good bye, farewell, Adios, Sionara, Adieu, parting is such sweet sorrow.

I can no longer live with your lazy ways, I need something that sucks.

So long Sucker (soccer)

Dear Rainbow Youth Soccer League,



This letter is to inform you of my resignation from your organization. I know that we have had a nine year relationship, but let's face it is over. Yes, I have threatend to leave you many times before, but this time is for real.



Never again will I be subjected to the season starting late and without uniforms. Nor will I have to deal with constant schedule changes. No more hassles with picture day happening or not happening. No more worries about where are soccer cleats, shin guards, or uniforms. No more Saturdays at the soccer field under blazing heat or piercing cold. Never again will I come home with heat exhaustion rendering me useless for the rest of the day. No more sun burns. Hauling a cooler full of ice, drinks, chips or fruit snacks, a thing of the past. Not to mention the stress of forgetting it is your turn for snack day and disappointing young children. That pressure gone too. No more 8:00 am games. That is just wrong. Saturdays are for sleeping in. No more coaching responsibilities. No snack schedules to deal with. No calling the whole team at 9:00 pm Friday night because Taste of Las Vegas is happening the next day and the game is cancelled. No more paying for silk screening the team shirts. No more planning end of season parties. No more trophies to buy.

The only thing I will miss about soccer is the great friends we made over the years. It is sad to not see the other parents every week. When you go through years together as a team, you tend to bond together.

So I bid a not so fond farewell to the soccer mom years of my life. Good bye, good riddance, and Adieu. I started out a young, enthusiastic mom cheering on her kid, and have ended up a bitter, cranky old woman. I think you may have stolen some of the best years of my life. I hope it was worth it. The jury is still out on that one, I think.

Sincerely, Pat Hammond

Hanging by a thread

I want so desperately to have something funny, witty , and clever to write about. Perhaps I could make something up. Because honestly I have lost my smile and laughing place. And I don't know how to get it back again.

Instead I have a hole the size of a Mac truck in my heart where all my hope used to reside. It feels like someone has placed a large boulder on my chest making it hard to breathe. And my heart is racing a million miles a minute. Nothing I eat even tastes very good, so it seems like a waste of time. And why do my feet feel like they weigh about a 100 lbs each?

It reminds me of the line in Sleepless in Seattle. I think that Tom Hanks character describes what the pain is like best when he says "First I will breathe in, and then I will breathe out." It is like you have to make a conscious decision to go on living.

Little things like fighting through the system of getting my car to pass its smog inspection, seem like insurmountable tasks. Although truthfully I did experience a miracle when on the fourth try, it did pass the smog after getting a new battery which sucked away my time and money.

I suppose all this is just normal grieving stuff. Personally I hate grief, even good grief, Charlie Brown. The only part of grief I like is the denial stage. That part is good because you are still too numb to feel anything. I always say that denial is my favorite stage of grief. Probably not a good sign when you have a favorite stage of grief. Not so much a fan of the anger and pain part of grief. Takes so much energy.

I have a niece who twisted her knee and wrote about how painful it was to sit out of her dance class for just a few days. She felt like life was going on with out her. I can totally relate. It seems every where I look, I am reminded that Jared is missing out on things.

Like on Sundays when all his friends pass the sacrament, I used to feel secret happiness watching him fulfil his priesthood duty. And several of his friends made the high school soccer team. We had even considered that he might give football a try. It seems funny now, but as we drove to the hospital, he actually told me that he didn't want to play sports anymore. I think that was the pain talking, but maybe he was prophetic. He can't mow the lawn. He can't sit through school or seminary or church. He can't even put his socks on by himself. He can't carry a drink of water to where he wants to sit. Will he be able to drive? All these and so many more of these things run through my mind constantly.

We went to the doctor yesterday. A new x-ray shows that his hip is partially dislocated. This can only be fixed by surgery. So we are stopping physical therapy. Jared will be referred to another doctor who specializes in hips. Bottom line, more waiting and wondering what the future will bring.

In the mean time Jared and I are having so much fun together each day. You know the kind of fun where he asks me to help him every 5 minutes, and questions who I am talking to on the phone, and why and what am I talking about. The kind of fun where I hear this all day long: Please get me more water, please get my chair from the shower so I can poop, please take my chair back upstairs to the shower so I can stop smelling bad, Please cook me bacon, Please can I have my lactose pill, Please can you get me clean clothes, Please can you make me something to eat, Please can I have a turn on the lap top, Please can you lift my legs into the car, Please can you let me do it myself because you are hurting me, Please stop looking at me, Please stop talking to me, Please don't sing along to the radio, please take me to my 2 millionth doctor appointment. Yes it is just all kinds of fun 24/7 around here. And if he isn't telling me all these things in person, then he texts them to me.

Apparently even when a master is polite, slavery is still a bummer and not all it is cracked up to be. And perhaps that is one of my biggest griefs. I am suppose to be childless for about 5-6 hours a day. I have been robbed of my freedom and forced into slavery to an invalid child and his unknown future. It really bites, big time.

And then there is the part when I am suppose to get him to do things he doesn't want to do. Like his physical therapy exercises, like his school work on the computer, Like even getting ready to go to an appointment on time. It is just pretty much non stop frustrations, because let's face it there is not really any way I can force a 132 (oh yea, good news, he gained 5 pounds,) so 137 lb kid to do anything. Ultimately he has darn free agency and even though I feel completely responsible, I may not have a choice. Yea, nothing frustrating about that.

I realize that he is completely frustrated about the whole situation. This makes for irritability, and sadly I am the one around to experience most of this joyful behavior.

So pretty much both of us are going crazy. This week I am at the end of my rope and am thinking that one of us has got to die. I volunteer. Today I even spent some time trying to research buying a cemetery plot where my grandparents are buried. It is my new dream, that if I have to live in Vegas for the rest of my life, gosh darn, I will not be buried here. I want to be buried in the Fairview Cemetery in Cache Valley. I think it will be fairly inexpensive. But Jehoshaphat, the Fairview Cemetery does not seem to have a web site. How rude! How else am I suppose to make the plans for my demise? So I suppose I will have to go on living a while longer.

Like I said at the top, I want this blog to be all happiness, laughter, puppies, and sunshine, but sometimes that is just not the way it is. I still kind of remember that things will work out just fine in the end. If not in this life then in the next. Sometimes it just gets hard and we need to sit and cry for a while. So sorry you had to witness my falling apart in blog form. I will go back to being my cheerful happy self someday. For now I hope that you will still keep checking in to see when that day will be. If you enjoyed this melt down you might enjoy this one or maybe this one. Unless you are a faithful reader and never miss a post. In which case, could you please comment, because I am starting to feel like I am talking to myself, which is adding to my deduction that I am crazy. So help a girl out, if you can. Sorry to be so pathetic that I have to beg for comments. Nevermind I take it back.

Death by Bureaucracy

As opposed to death by poisoning or death by gunshot. Death by bureaucracy should be particularly drawn out and painful. I'll be happy to let you know.

The dictionary defines bureaucracy as follows:

1.government by many bureaus, administrators, and petty officials.

2.the body of officials and administrators, esp. of a government or government department.

3.excessive multiplication of, and concentration of power in, administrative bureaus or administrators.

4. administration characterized by excessive red tape and routine.

I love the petty official part of the definition. Do you suppose that is on the job application for government officials? Do you posses the skill to be petty? Also are able to thrive in an environment where nothing makes sense? Then great you are hired.

I have added my own definition as well:

5. A system developed to suck away people's life source and will to live until all that is left is a crumpled shell of a human being.

So if not actually dead, possessing many of the same characteristics such as lifelessness and loss of color. And if bureaucracy doesn't literally kill me, it may cause me to pull all my hair out leaving me bald and unable to show my face in public. Hence rendering me dead to all who know me.

Yesterday bureaucracy kicked my can to Timbuktu and back again. Here are just a few of the brick walls I have been hitting me head against lately.

My car needs to be smogged.

I was suppose to register it last Friday.

When my car was tested, it did not pass the test.

Not because it is emitting harmful toxic waste into the atmosphere, no because the computer in the car does not have enough information.

Somehow it had been reset to zero and so that makes the government think that it has been tampered with.

It is a 2005 for crying out loud, how is it not passing the test?

The guy helping me who looked like he just got out of jail, wasn't really all that helpful or clear about what I should do about the problem.

I went to my mechanic. Yeah, they weren't really sure what to do about it either.

So I was able to attend the joyful DMV in person and get an extension.

But I still am not really sure what to do. Maybe I could give up driving. That would go well with my plan to hide in a corner and ignore all my responsibilities.

Trent does not want to take Zoology.

A new regulation wants kids to have 3 science credits for something called the 21st century diploma,

Trent has 2.5 science credits,

You can graduate with a standard diploma with 2 science credits,

The school refused to drop him from Zoology until he registered in an independent study science class,

Trent's mother has been otherwise occupied with things like doctor appointments, grief over son's permanent disability, being out of town, and the worst head cold known to man.

Trent has been in to talk with the counselor about this several times

Trent has not attended the class even once in four weeks, because in his mind he has already dropped it,

Yesterday was the last day to officially drop the class, otherwise he would just get a "F" on his transcript.

After a twenty minute conversation with the counselor where things like "rules are rules" "that's just the way it is", "lump it or leave it" were bandied about, I was force to put my hands around the counselors throat. Seriously I did it, in a joking way more or less of course, but in my mind I was more not so much less.

After this attempt on the counselors life, I asked about the standard diploma

She then informed me that there is the option of waiving the 21st century requirement.

After I recovered from my seizure, I said for sure we were interested in that option.

She informed me that they can not find the form that needs to be filled out to waive the requirement.

Of course not.

This is the letter I sent to school with Trent yesterday:

September 18, 2008

To Whom It May Concern:

I give my permission for Trenton Hammond to waive the 21st Century science requirement. I understand that he will graduate with only 2 science credits. When the form to officially waive this requirement is found, I will be happy to fill it out.
In the mean time, please drop him from Zoology.
If you have any questions please contact me at 555-5555.
Sincerely,

Patricia Hammond

See not even a death threat or anything.

My doctor leaves an ominous message on my answering machine

After a fun filled morning spent taking Jared to various appointments, I returned to my home for sanctuary.

I was met with a flashing message light on my phone.

The message was my doctor, informing me that she needed to talk to me about my blood work from the previous day.

She didn't say what was wrong, but conveyed that it was a serious matter and would I please call back and leave a number she could contact me with that day.

I called back, left the number and asked if the receptionist could tell me the results.

No sirree! The doctor is the only one who can give out results over the phone.

Well isn't that special.

So I had a fun filled afternoon of suspense and worry where I played through scenarios of my impending death.

Finally she got a hold of me, and told me that my Triglyceride cholesterol number went from a normal, healthy 115 last year to 375 this year. I don't even know what to think about this.

I really can not pin point how my diet is that different this year than last. One thing is that I did eat a whole bag of cheese curds the day before the test. Perhaps that skewed the test, but really would it be that much off. I kind of doubt it.

This month I will watch what I eat and take the test again. Maybe it is a mistake. That seems like an awfully big jump.

Of course the whole answer to much of what is wrong in my life would be to exercise. It is too bad driving ill tempered, teenage boys to doctor appointments doesn't count as exercise.

Thanks to all of you for listening to me whine and complain. When I do experience my nervous breakdown, I will try to get a video of it, K.

Running a marathon

Lest any of you get the misguided notion that I have somehow taken up running, let me assure you I am still a couch potato. But let me explain the title of this post. After several years of experience, I have come to the conclusion that the month of May is as taxing and exhausting as running a marathon. Why the establishment of higher education can not realize this, I am not sure. Perhaps they delight in torturing parents. Yeah, I bet that's it. This month Diana has had 3 choir concerts, and a dress rehearsal. Jared had two orchestra concerts and his eighth grade dance. Diana also had her A+ showcase that her school choir sang at. Besides that there was a special stake relief society event. And then there is just the normal life of soccer, young mens and young womens, activity days, oh yeah and dinner. Strange how people think they still need to eat every day no matter what else is going on. In addition to all this, apparently May is the perfect month for weddings and baby births. And on top of all of that, I worked for two weeks this month, pretty much full time both weeks. So I guess all this explains my lack of blogging in the month of May. I have a friend and she posted on her blog about how much she loved going to all her kids end of the year activities. She called it a payback month. I need to adopt her attitude. I do enjoy seeing my kids do well and perform, I just feel so exhausted that I haven't had the energy to really enjoy it all like I could have. Maybe next year I can train better. So here's looking forward to June when there is not quite as much going on. Just the kids home for the summer. Yeah that should be real nice and restful.

One Month and Counting

I can not let today pass by without commenting on the fact that Women's Conference is in exactly one month. Hurray, and hurry up and get here. Boy, I hope I manage to survive the rigors of the Hamster Wheel for one more month. It is grinding me up and spitting me out lately. Especially this whole time change thing. I know that it has been long enough that I should have adjusted, but I still can not beleive that it is already time to get up each morning. It seems like it takes the jaws of life, just to get me out of bed each day. And then I need those jaws of life to use on getting my kids up as well. Sheesh people, could we not just work with me here? So I will go on each day, knowing that I get to run away from home for several days in May. And Sherry Dew is the keynote speaker the first day. Yeah, I love to hear her speak.

Lost and Found

This happened a few weeks ago, but I meant to write about it and never did. On the Wednesday of this week, I picked Diana up from school and when we were half way home she exclaimed "Oh, no, I lost my glasses at school." I am fairly concerned/alarmed/exasperated by this comment. So I turn around and head back to the school. A second look in her desk, produced the missing specs. Crisis averted, we returned home.
Diana went to play at a neighbor's house and then we went to the church that evening for an enrichment class. She played in the gym for the nursery. The next morning those darn spectacles were nowhere to be found. Diana had to go to school with only two eyes that day instead of four. I wondered if the glasses had been left at the church. After borrowing some keys, I went and looked thoroughly through the whole church. Nada. I looked throughout my entire house. I called my neighbor and had her look at her house as well. Still nothing. By Friday I was giving up hope, figuring that they were a permanent casualty of the Bermuda triangle in my house. I called the eye doctor to see how much it would cost to replace the glasses with the same pair and was told it would cost $260 for new peepers. Yikes! Then I asked how much would the cheapest pair be, $150. Still out of my budget of $0. So I decided to wait just a bit longer. Perhaps vision is highly over rated. In the mean time, I spent any spare moment looking for those glasses like Indiana Jones looked for the Holy Grail.
That Saturday, I worked all afternoon. When I got home I found out that Jared has scored a goal in his soccer game that day. Of course he only scores when I am not there. Anyway we decided to go out to eat at IHOP to celebrate. Diana brought along her purse. We were sitting there waiting for our food to come, when Diana looks in her purse and what do you think she finds? Yup, you guessed it, the missing glasses. I am incredulous. How they came to be there, I do not know. But yay for not having to purchase new ones. Someone should develop glasses for kids with a GPS system installed. It is ridiculous how much of my life seems to revolve around finding people's glasses. Sheesh!

Library Follies

Many of you may know this about me, I have a terrible time returning my library books on time. I am not quite sure why this is the case. A big reason would be that much of the time when I look for my books to return them, they are lost in the Bermuda Triangle that lurks at my house. If I earned $5 an hour for all the time I have spent looking for lost library materials, I would be rich. There is a very exciting thing invented called e-mail notification. Where was this for all the years I have been accruing fines?

So two weeks ago, I got one of these coolio things, telling me my book would be due in just 3 days. This made the book due the day I had traffic school. I thought it nothing short of miraculous when I actually returned my book the day it was due. I was kind of disappointed when a band did not appear, balloons did not fall from the ceiling, I was not given a gold medal, academy award, or something akin to that. It was a red letter day for sure. I celebrated all the way home until I found the last cassette to the book still in my tape player. Yikes! My exuberance left me like the air out of an untied balloon. Oh well, surely I get an A for effort. Maybe next time I will actually manage to return all of the book on time.

Yesterday, I stopped by the library quickly to return a book and get a new one. I also gave the missing tape back. Somehow they had not noticed that it was missing, and so my account was unscathed. Then last night, Diana talked me into taking her to the library. She hasn't been for a long time, which is restful for me. Quite honestly, it is usually her movies and tapes that go missing. One time after going through everything in her room, I found a movie under her chest of drawers. Another time, she lost a veggie tales CD. After going through the entire house and waiting several months hoping it would show up, I even ended up paying an outrageous fee. Several months later, I was going through some DVD's and found the darn CD along with two other DVD's in the "My Big Fat Greek Weeding" DVD case. Good Gracious, why hadn't I looked there first?

So when I got to the library last night, I wanted to see if the book I had checked out earlier was available on tape. Not paying enough attention, I tried to use the computer for self check out. This did not show me the library catalog, but it did show that I had 3 items checked out. This shocked me, because I had only checked out 2 things earlier. It showed that I still had the book "The Falcon at the Portal" checked out. That was the name of the book on tape I returned earlier. Full of indignation, I went to the front desk and demanded justice. The librarian went and looked in the back and sure enough, found the book I returned. She profusely apologized and took the item off my account. Diana picked out several movies and CD's and we went home. Imagine my dismay when I went into my room and found the book "Falcon at the Portal" laying on my floor. Apparently I had checked out both the book, and the book on tape. So the computer was right after all. Now I get to go back to the library and eat humble pie. When I found this sitting on the dining room table, I may have discovered my problem. Perhaps it is my missing brain.

Drama at the DMV

For those of you who did not know, Trent turned 16 on May 7th. This has been a much anticipated event because of the fact that you are eligible for a driver's license at this milestone in life. Of course we had gone through the trauma of visiting the DMV six months ago when he obtained the wonderful permit. This allowed him to drive a car with a licensed driver accompanying him. In fact not only did it allow this, it was required that he drive for 50 hours before he would be allowed to apply for an actual drivers license. I don't know about the rest of you but I try anything to avoid spending time in my car driving. And now we needed to log in what seemed like an insurmountable amount of time. Because of my wonderful 2 mile radius in which most things I regularly frequent exist, Trent was not able to get much driving time in by just going where we usually go. Hence most Saturday afternoons would find us out on the open road for at least an hour at a time. And if just the actual driving was not enough, we had to write a 500 volume narrative about our travels. The DMV required that each time we drive, we fill in a log sheet about the trip. We needed to include the starting and stopping time, was it day or night, was the weather dry or wet, did we drive on residential, arterial, or freeway type roads, was the traffic heavy, moderate or light. Sheesh this log had more details than my journal for the past six months. I tried to make myself useful during our time in the car. For instance sometimes I would read, another time I took my cleaning supplies including a toothbrush and did some deep cleaning. The only problem was that I could not really clean the driver's side as Trent was in the way. I was overjoyed when we finished up the 50 hours during spring break in April. Then we had only to wait for our appointment for the driving test.



Finally the scheduled day arrived, May 18th. Our appointment was at 8:00 am and we were early. There was a large group of people standing outside the door waiting for it to open. I was very happy when they opened the door and said that anyone with an appointment could come right in. We went in and showed our lovely 3 page log of driving time along with proof of drivers ed class, registration and insurance. We sat down and waited for a few moments and then they called his name and off he went. I tried to sit but was too anxious and so I strolled over to the very small window to see how it was going. I could see Trent in the car with the examiner behind the car checking to see that all the lights were working. Imagine my dismay when the guy walked back into the DMV. I ran to meet him and was told that one of the rear tail lights was out. He then told me that if we could get it fixed and be back in 20 mins, Trent could still take the test. I sprinted to the car and off we went in search of a car parts store. We decided to go west and sure enough a few blocks away we found an Auto Zone. We pulled into the parking lot and I ran inside to find the required light bulb. The store attendant seemed to take forever as he looked up the part number. I quickly explained that we had a limited amount of time to get this fixed. Once the part was purchased we had to borrow a tool to remove the cover plate to the tail light. Of course at first we had the wrong size and I had to go back in the store to get a different one. Then we struggled to remove the bolts or whatever you would call the things keeping the cover plate in place. Finally after what seemed like an eternity, the bulb was replaced and we were on our way back down the street to the DMV. We went in and miraculously we had made it in time.

So off Trent went again, this time with a different examiner. Now I paced up and down as my adrenaline levels were off the chart making it impossible for me to wait calmly. When they returned we were ushered into a small room. The examiner informed us that Trent had some very bad habits in his driving. The first problem was that he would put his hands in his lap at stop lights. I think the fact that my car is a manual makes it more likely that you would take your hands off the wheel. The next thing she talked about was the fact that when he turned, he did not always stay in the same lane. I feel badly about this, because that is the way I drive. The final nail in the coffin, was the fact that at a school crossing guard, he did not come to a complete stop, because the guard was about to step back onto the curb. This was an automatic fail situation. We were both pretty upset because Trent really is a good driver and I was sure he would pass. The examiner told us we could call to get an appointment but it would most likely be for July. I didn't doubt this, as I had called six weeks earlier to make this appointment. The next option was to do something called standby. This is where you show up without an appointment and wait for an undetermined time hoping that someone else with an appointment will not show up. We were told to wait at least a week before coming back and to practice the things that he did wrong.

So a week later found once again at the DMV. The doors opened at 8:00 and so I figured that if we got there at 7:00 we would be close to the front of the line. We were shocked to find out that when we got there we were number 9 in line. The person who was number 1 had been there since 3:30 in the morning. The number 2 person had gotten there at 5:00. She had been there the day before and they had only gotten to number 4. She had number 5 and she had literally sat there from 8 til 4 and never got a chance to take her test. I began to wonder about what we were in for. I did come prepared to wait with a good book to read. While were outside waiting for the doors to open, it was pretty hot. Finally at 7:40 they came out and passed out the numbers. And then they finally let us in at 8:00. We sat down and began to wait. As I sat there I pondered the nature of the DMV. Is it not a modern day torture chamber? I bet Hitler would be disappointed to know of the ways he missed out on torturing people because of the lack of cars people owned back then. And truly a job at the DMV seems to require a certain meanness and joy in being cruel to others not to mention doing your job at the speed of grass growing. I believe that the DMV has the ability to turn one to the dark side of disbelief. It is a drainer of hope and life source. But that is just the musings of a deranged mother. Now back to our tale: Things looked hopeful when the first two standby people were called up by 8:20. Then numbers 3 & 4 were called up at 9:00. Something happened to number 8 and so we moved up a spot. Then people with appointments started showing up. This put the standby line to a stop. It began to look like we could be there for the entire day. Those of us waiting together became friends, bonded together by the horrific experience of being so much at some else's mercy. We discussed how someone should start a business where people could pay someone else to wait for them at the DMV. One guy said he would gladly have paid someone $100 to have waited for him. I don't think anyone could pay me enough to be there when I didn't have to for my own needs. Finally at 11:20 after more than 4 hours of waiting, Trent's name was called.

This time he had yet another examiner. Off they went. I felt nauseous. I wanted to watch and yet I didn't want to see what would happened. Somehow the 20 minutes of the test went by, and we went again into the little room. This time the examiner wanted to know who had taught Trent to drive. Yikes, I resembled that remark! He proceeded to say that you can not drive with one hand on the stick shift and that you can not coast into a stop sign or light and leave the car in neutral. He also lost points for going to fast in a school zone. And so bottom line, he had failed again. I could not believe it. I asked the guy why the first examiner had not mentioned anything about being in neutral or the fact that you needed to keep both hands on the wheel as much as possible. He couldn't say. He finally went and got the first test and told Trent that he had fixed all the original problems, but that there had been different ones the second time. I asked the guy if he thought that it was possible to pass the test with a manual car. He said it might be better if we could use an automatic, but I didn't think Trent would do well in our van since he hardly ever drives it. The examiner stated that he didn't think it was a good idea to do the standby thing, because all that waiting is hard on ones nerves. I could whole heartedly agree with that statement. He told us we needed to get an appointment. We said we didn't want to wait all the way until July. He then took pity on us and looked in the appointment book and found a cancellation that was for the next Tuesday, just 4 days away. We went home glad to have an appointment for the next time we came back.

Once again we practiced. I personally had lost all hope of ever getting a license for Trent. I figured that sitting at the DMV would just become a regular part of my weekly routine. Finally Tuesday came. The appointment was for 1:00 so Trent went to school. I picked him up at 12:45 and off we went for the third try. We parked and went in. I felt the familiar feeling of nausea. We showed our paper work and after just 5 minutes of waiting they called Trent's name. Off he went with yet, the fourth examiner. There are only 6 people who do the driving test so we had met almost all of them. Luckily for me, a friend called me just as he was leaving. I think this kept me from having to go and throw up my lunch. Honestly I don't know when the last time was that I had felt such anxiety. And before I knew it, he was back and we went to the small room again. Trent sat down, and the guy said not to look so worried because he had passed. I don't think either of us believed him at first. I asked if there was anything he needed to work on, and the guy said "No, he got 100%". I was shocked. How did he go from failing twice to getting 100%. We were both so happy. Next we were off to get the picture taken and few minutes later Trent was the proud owner of a bad picture on his driver's license. It was a very happy day! Later that night he had his spring Orchestra concert and instead of me having to drive him to the school, he just took himself early and then we came later when the concert started. YEAH! I am very excited for him to be able to be in charge of taking himself where he needs to be. He will start a job in a week when school is out. Good job, Trent for hanging in there and not giving up!
We bought a third car from our next door neighbor for $100. Since then we have spent $1500 getting it to run. It is running but did not pass the smog. Once we get that cleared up it will be time to get it registered. I wonder how long I will sit at the DMV for that?

Copier Karma

When I was a teenager, (many, many, years ago) I had several jobs in many different offices. Invariably part of that job would entail engaging a copy machine. And I don't mean a proposal of marriage. Oh, no this is a proposal of an entirely different kind. As I progressed through several jobs, I became better acquainted with various kinds of copiers and their unique quirks. Little did I know that these jobs were preparing me for one of the daunting jobs of motherhood: PARENT HELPER.
At the beginning of each year, I arrange with my children's teacher to help in the class for an hour or two each week. This decision is based on the advice of a wise friend and mother that volunteering in one classroom is less draining than volunteering for the PTA. And yet a useful way to show my child that I value their education and want to contribute to their success. Although I did help with the PTA for the first two years Trent was in school, I have found it to be a vortex of endless need I need to avoid like the plague. And just like avoiding a black hole, I have avoided what I fear may drain my last drop of life source I like to call the "will to live." And so instead I have helped in my child's classroom pretty much each week. I guess I believed all that stuff they send home saying that studies show that children whose parents are involved in their education do better. This is probably just propaganda produced by the school system facing budget cuts and looking for free labor, but I digress.
Each week I show up and almost with out fail the teacher will say "Could you make some copies.?" And this is where I often foolishly say "Sure how many do you need?" And then I am laden with several workbooks with sticky notes sticking from the pages I need to copy and several reams of paper weighing somewhere in the neighborhood of a ton. And yes you must haul your own paper down to the copy room, because paper is a valuable resource not to be left unguarded near the copier where hapless oafs can waste it all. And off I go wondering the ever pressing question "Will I have good copier karma today or not?" Yes over the many years that I have dealt with copiers, I have come to find that there is such a thing as copier karma. Whether or not you have good copier karma will determine your copying experience.
Will it take 15 minutes or 3 days?
Will the two sided feature actually work or not?
Will you burn various parts of your arm as you unjam page after page of crinkled, ink smeared paper?
Will you run out of paper and have to walk the mile back to the room to obtain the last 2 pieces you need to finish the copy job?
Will you accidentally push the enlarge button and only copy the right had corner of the 120 page book you are copying?
Will there be a line around the school yard just to get a turn on the copier so you can find out the answers to the questions already mentioned?
These are just a few of the things good copier karma will determine. I am constantly amazed at how different my copying experience can be. Whether I am done quickly and have a great feeling of competency and accomplishment, or whether I stand there so long I loose the feeling in my feet and wonder how someone smart enough to earn a college degree can be stupid enough to show up week after week to be defeated and frustrated by a machine all in the hands of copier karma. Copier karma, you either have it or you don't. If only there were some sort of chart that could be consulted or a gauge on the room of the copier room wall. You know kind of like a radioactive gauge or something. Anyone else had similar experiences, or is it just me?