Regrets

"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." ~ Sydney Smith


I've been in a state of regret lately, regrettably.


I'm not talking about the regret that comes after I've eaten half a pan of brownies, or the regret that comes from turning down a brownie; although both are legitimate regrets. The regret I've been feeling lately comes from my own lack of sponteniety of opportunities presented.


Several weeks ago, my sweet sister calls me up to tell me that Donny Osmond was coming to the Centerville Walmart the next day to promote his new CD and sign autographs. She knows I love Donny (but not as much as Michael) (or my husband) and wanted to let me know in case I hadn't heard the exciting news. A few hours later, my sweet daughter called to tell me the same thing! Now anyone in their right frame of fun mind would have jumped at the opportunity, grabbed their lawn chair and sleeping bag, and camped out all night to get up close and personal with the big D. (I haven't been in the right frame of mind since Oprah announced her retirement). So naturally, I thought of all the reasons I shouldn't go, instead of just going.

• Trey has a ball game, and I don't want to miss it because I don't want him to think Donny is more importnat than he is.



• I would probably have to be in line by 8 in the morning if I want to see him, cause I just know swarms of Donny fans will be lining up at the crack of dawn.



• Centerville is 30 minutes away. Should I really be spending my gas money and time just to maybe get to see him?

In the end, Ms. Responsibly Boring won the war. I went to Trey's game instead. I can't even remember if his team won.

The next day was Mothers Day. We all met at my Mom's for dinner, and guess what the discussion around the dinner table was? My cousin (the same one who just recently had her first booked published, another one of my regrets) spontaneously decided to go to Walmart, and she just happens to live in Centerville, walks in with her little girl and lo and behold, see's Donny...and guess what? No long lines wrapping around the store. She now has a video of her little girl singing a song...with, you guessed it, Donny! UGH! That could have been me. I could have sung a duet with Donny. I often pretend I'm Marie and sing a little bit country, while he sings a little bit rock-n-roll, so I'm well prepared to take on a little puppy love with him.

Fortunately, Kayla bought me Donny & Marie's new CD for Mothers Day. Unfortunately it is not a autographed copy.

Okay, that was the beginning of May, my Month of Regrets. Regret no. 2: For months now, I've been looking at all my fun blogs, V & Co., Cluck Cluck Sew, Diary of a Quilter...etc, and all the blog talk has been about the big Quilters Market that was going to be hosted in Salt Lake this year. This is a pretty big deal, and I remember looking at pictures on their blogs last year about it, I think it was in Las Vegas...so I knew what a big deal it was. Suddenly, all my blogs were talking about how wonderful it was, and posting pictures about it...what the crap! Did I miss it?!

(picture of Vanessa and Cluck Cluck Sew blogger. Notice, I am not in the picture. Picture used without permission of Cluck Cluck Sew. Hoping she'll have pity on me and won't mind)

How did I not go? Why didn't I know when it was? Again, I have no one to blame my lack of spontaneous funness on, except my boring ol' self. I don't even know why I didn't think to click on their little side buttons that said in big bright letters "Quilters Market" and check out the details. Did I think because I wasn't a quilter blogger that I couldn't go? Was I waiting for a personal invitation? No excuses this time, I just don't know why I didn't. All I know is that all I'm left with is more regret.

So, I thought I might have found a way to redeem myself. I noticed another button on their blogs, that said "Sewing Summit", and just for kicks I clicked on it. Guess what? They're coming back! All my favorite bloggers, including Vanessa, are going to be teaching classes at the Sewing Summit in October at The Little America is Salt Lake! All is not lost...I have been given a second chance at life. So I start digging a little deeper, looked at all the fun instructors who would be there, looked at the dates and schedule, then I clicked on the button to register...and all spontenaiety left in me flew out the window. $275. For that much money I could make 4 quilts on my own.

Regrettably, I did not register. I'll probably regret that later too. (heavy sigh)

Big girls sometimes do cry

Meltdowns are a pretty common occurance around here, although I'm pretty good at masking them behind a good cryer of a chick-flick. When I feel a melt down coming on, "PS I love You" is a good one to turn too, since it's pretty much instantaneous and lasts a good 90 minutes. By the time the movie is over, I feel refreshed, renewed somehow. Whereas "A Walk to Remember" only gives you 15 minutes of crying time at the end. The problem with that is, even when the movie is over, I'm still crying and have a hard time stopping, because I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

That's my problem, I've discovered. When I need to have a good cry, I have a hard time stopping until I've had a good cry. Now don't get too caught up in the why or what I'm crying about, because most of the time I couldn't even tell you. Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry. I hope someone out there can relate. The issue here is where and when a good cry comes on. Unfortunately for me, it hasn't always been in the privacy of my own home, where no one can see and I can freely let the tears flow.

My dear cousin had a public meltdown a little while ago, which prompted me to think back on a few of my own public meltdown humiliation moments, so I can assure her, she's not alone.

I've had several, but for her sake I'll revisit my most embarrassing. I'm hoping enough time has passed that I can admit this without reliving the humiliation, or at the very least, without crying as I'm writing about it.

It happened just 2 years ago after the funeral of my dear sweet Uncle Gus. I always cry at funerals, and it's expected, so unless it's audible, I don't consider that embarrassing.

After I got home from the funeral, I received a frantic call from my ward choir director wondering where I was. I had forgotten all about the fact that I was singing in the choir that afternoon at our church. Our stake was hosting the "Reflections of Christ" tour, and while people were waiting their turn to view the exhibit, they would sit quietly in the chapel and we were providing 'waiting music', so to speak.

Luckily I was already in my dress, so I headed out the door and arrived just as they were filing into the choir seats. To my utter horror, our first song was "Oh My Father", normally not a sad song, but it just so happened to be the hymn that the congretation sang at my uncles funeral. Now let me just preface what happened next by saying, music moves me to tears. Anytime. It doesn't have to be a funeral, or at church. So needless to say, I couldn't choke out the words at the funeral, I just sat with a open book on my lap and watched as the tears splashed on the pages. Often I go to my happy place, and try not to think about the words of the song so I don't become emotionally involved. But as I stood there with the choir and started to sing those words, "Oh my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place" I lost it! Tears started streaming down my face, snot started streaming down my face, and my book started raising in front of my face.

I have never been one of those pretty cryers like you see in the movie, where little tears silently overflow from the corner of the eyes. When I cry, there's no hiding the fact. My face gets all red and splotchy and starts contorting into what I call, 'ugly face'. I am not a pretty sight. So to stand in front of a whole congregation and cry was beyond embarrassing. I tried not to listen to the words, I tried to go to my happy place, but it was no use. Everything I had suppressed at the funeral was now coming out and trying to stop it was like trying to hold back Niagra Falls.

Eventually I just sat down. I tried to compose myself so I could join in again, but it was no use. I was having a meltdown, and there's no stopping it till it works its way out. I sat there through the whole performance, head down, dripping and sniffling and feeling like it would never end. I should have just left, but I was smack in the middle and didn't want to cause a scene, or draw any more attention to myself by climbing around the alto section, so I stayed and suffered; afraid to look up for fear of the pity I would see in the congegrations eyes. I'm sure my fellow choirsters were wondering what the heck was wrong with me, but I never gave them the chance to ask. As soon as we were done, I hightailed it out the door then drove around for 15 minutes til my face returned to a normal shade and the splotches disappeared. Because I for sure didn't want to go home looking like I had been crying. I knew if I did, Tary would have taken one look at me and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

And we all know what happens when someone asks you that, you start crying all over again.

A Mothers Day Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there lived a mom.

She was your average standard issued model mother. You know the type; tired all the time, stressed, overworked and underpaid.

One day, this mom found herself with an afternoon all to herself. Her husband had taken the kids shopping, for the next day was Mothers Day and they all wanted to buy her something special. Grateful for the reprieve, the mom laid down on the worn out couch and considered her options.

"Maybe I could start reading my book I've been meaning to get to but never have the time." But as she went to retrieve it from the bedroom, she noticed the weeks worth of laundry overflowing from the clothes hamper. Passing through the kitchen on the way to the laundry room, she noticed a sink full of dirty dishes, toys scattered throughout the house, floors to be mopped, toilets and sinks to be scrubbed, and heaven forbid if she didn't start thinking about defrosting some type of meat for dinner.

"Woe is me", the mother said aloud. She chuckled to herself as she realized that if her little one had been there, the child's favorite game of 20 questions would have undoubtedly followed as the mother would have had to explain the meaning of 'woe'. "I guess I can't be a martyr if no one is here to witness it", so she quickly set to the task of cleaning the house before her helpers returned and slowed her progress.

"Why do I even bother" she said aloud again, this time to the dust bunnies. "Housework never stays done. The floors I mop today will be smudged again tomorrow. There will always be hungry mouths to feed, no matter how many times I cook. Always dirty clothes and dishes to wash. I'm tired of working so hard on something that never stays done. I'm tired of taking care of everyone else. I wish I had a fairy god-mother who would take care of me instead."

No sooner were those words out of her mouth, when 'poof'...a tiny little woman with cotton candy pink bouffant hair and a poofy pink dress to match was at her side, wand intact and ready to use. "Your wish is my command. What is your desire?"

The mother, quite in shock and not sure what it was that she really wanted, said the first thing that came into her mind. "I need a vacation!" "Splendid! I know just the place" the fairy god-mother announced, and with the flick of her wrist, the magic wand transported them to a land far away.

"Here we go sweetie, land of the rising sun. A great place for a fresh start, don't you think?" The mom walked through flooded streets. Torn down buildings and debris was everywhere. Sidewalk shelters housed hundreds of people; crammed together on cots and mats. Pictures of missing or lost loved ones covered their make shift walls. Food was proportionately served as grateful refugees came with humbled hearts to accept the meager offering. "I'm in Japan", the mother thought, "I've always wanted to go to Japan. I've heard the people here are so gracious and have such wonderful manners. I wonder if this horrible tragedy has changed them." It didn't take long before her question was answered, as a small little boy, not much older than her own, smiled up at her as he offered her his bowl of rice. She could hardly make out his face as the tears welled up in her eyes. So much pain, so much sorrow. She could hardly bare it any longer. "Please, let's go" she whispered. "As you wish" said the fairy god-mother, and with another flick of the wrist, they were off.

"Where are we?" the mother wondered aloud as they found themselves walking in crowded dusty streets. Geography was never her strong suit, but by the look of things, she guessed they were somewhere in the middle east. The women they passed were covered from head to toe, always walking behind their husbands and submissive to their demands. All of the shops were segregated, and she noticed the women were not allowed to shop or eat at restaurants with the men. "How awful to be treated less than an equal to your husband" the mom thought. Suddenly feeling very exposed, she was ready to leave before they made a slave-wife out of her.

Scenes of sadness at every destination overwhelmed the mom. Homes and families torn apart from tornadoes and floods. Natural disasters causing heartache to many, poor choices causing greater heartache. Children living on the streets, trying to escape the realities of home life. Parents choosing addictions over their children. Sickness, starvation, drug and human trafficking. Parents and children mistreating each other. Misuse and abuse was way too common. It was more than she could bear.

"Where are you mom? Where are you?" The mother could hear her littlest one calling for her, but she didn't know how to get back to her. "Please fairy god-mother, send me back home. I miss my family. I miss their sticky kisses and endless questions. I miss my sweet husband and his corny jokes. I even miss my dirty house, and will never complain again about having a house to clean and children to feed. I love them, and they love me, and that's all I ever wanted and they're all I ever need. Please help me get back."

"There you are mommy! You should see what I got you for Mothers Day! Daddy said he would help me tie a ribbon around it cuz it's too hard to wrap flowers. You're gonna be so surprised!"

The mom awoke to the enthusiastic ramblings of her 4 year old, finding herself at home on the couch. She must have fallen asleep and dreamt the whole thing, for the dishes were still in the sink, the laundry still in the basket, and the dinner still frozen in the freezer. But she didn't care. The smile on her face as she enlisted the help from her children led her husband to believe that a few hours of alone time really boosted her spirits; it was just what she needed, and he was the hero. As she gave him a hug, she spied her daughter's stuffed pink fairy doll in the corner, gave her wink, then with a undeniable kiss, let her husband know it was truly, just what she needed.

The End.

Happy Mothers Day to all, but especially to mine. Love you Mom! Love you kids...thanks for making me the worlds happiest mom!