Happy 4th of July, 2012!  I can't believe what year it is and how long ago our country declared it's independence.  So many years, and so many trials, troubles, wars and contentions.  So much good, love, kindness and generosity in the very same world.  It's amazing to me that these things totally exist together, but they most certainly do.  I see it in every aspect of life.  It would be easy to concentrate on those things that are wicked, evil or just plain bad, but I'm glad there are good things to think about.  I have so much to be grateful for--family, home, country and the gospel.  Doesn't every good thing stem from one of those?

I am thankful for two fathers who fought for our freedom.  They are both gone, but their memories live on and the gratitude is still there.  Grandad, in a moment when he was "back in the the time of WWII," was talking about going to war.  His son asked why he wanted to do that.  His comment was something along the lines of, "I wouldn't be able to call myself an American if I weren't willing to fight for my country."  I think most all the young men of that time felt the same way.  I am grateful for them.

Family is everything!  I cannot imagine what life would be like without my husband.  Every day I look forward to speaking with him (some days I don't really see him because of crazy work schedules), but generally we have a few moments on the phone during those days.   Tomorrow I get to see him all day long.  My kids bring such joy to me.  Life would be so strange without them.  We were married for almost five years before Taylor was born, and we had a great time together before that.  But looking back, it seems that our life together finally started when we had our first child.  The rest was just playtime and none of it really mattered.  Having children, raising a family, struggling together, growing, learning, laughing and loving.  Those are the things that matter.  That's what we'll be able to take with us and keep and hold forever.  I am so grateful to be a mother.  Jobs don't matter.  Someone commented years ago when I started working part time, oh now you'll have some Sally time.  Now you'll be able to be you.  What?  What does that even mean?  I feel like I'm more "me" with my kids than without them.  Of course it's nice to have a few moments to myself now and then, but working and being away from my family is not "me."  Even though I like my job and the people I work with, I'd much rather be home with my family.  I'm totally jealous of every moment I spend away from them.

I love my house.  I love being there.  Of course there are things that need to be fixed, updated or simply replaced.  And of course I one had a dream of a humongous house, but now I realize that's just more to clean, furnish and upkeep.  Sometimes I've visited big fancy houses and felt a tiny bit jealous, but when I returned home to my house, I knew I was home and I had such a wash of relief come over me, that I've never felt that way again.  I am grateful for my house, my home.  The place where we are a family together, where we can "be" who we are.

I think I've always had a testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.  But I think as I grow older and my opportunities in the Church change, I realize how important and how much a part of me the gospel really is.  There are days when I feel like I'm just going through the motions of being a Mormon, but then I know what I need to do.  It's like what President Spencer W. Kimball said: “I find that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away."  We all know what we need to do to bridge that gap, but it's just the doing of it.  It's so easy to get caught up in the daily "stuff"--all the stuff that doesn't really matter.  I think it's time to get back on the "do what I need to do" bandwagon.

I am grateful to live in this country.  I am grateful for my family, my home and my religion.  I am truly thankful to know that Heavenly Father knows me personally.  I have no doubt about that.  I am thankful for His love.

Well I'm trying to "fix" my blog and I think I'm just making a bigger mess of things.  It's been months since I've opened this up, and now when I do, the background is kind of strange.  The whole setup is different and I'm so lame I can't quite figure out what to do.  I'm trying!  I need one of my nifty nieces here to fix it for me, then I could just type.  I've felt strange not writing anything.  Taylor is home and I don't have his blog to work with every week, and I've totally neglected my own.  Not that anyone is missing anything in my life, since life just goes on, right?  But needless to say, I feel like I should be writing.  I'll post this and then see if I can fix again!

I have to say it is harder to send a missionary than it was to be one. A former mission president where I work told me that it's totally the ultimate sacrifice to send out a missionary, and I completely agree.

As a missionary, I was just excited to go and have this great adventure. Sending my son was incredibly difficult, just like taking him to Kindergarten that first day. I knew he needed to go, I wanted him to go, but I wanted him home where I could always take care of him. I bawled and bawled and didn't think he could make it without me. But he did then, and he has now.

My little boy comes home in 9 days, and now I'm wondering if I can survive not having a missionary out in the field. He was safe. I knew where he was and what he was doing. He was truly on the Lord's errand and His servant. I understood his experiences because I had some of the same experiences. I was glad he was there, doing what he'd planned for his whole life.

Don't misunderstand, I'm thrilled to have him home, but I have truly enjoyed the blessings of supporting a missionary; financially, emotionally, and spiritually. I am so grateful for this wonderful opportunity he has had to teach the gospel, serve the Lord, learn a new language, broaden his horizons by seeing people in a different country and learning about their lives, culture, food and even their weather. I will be sad that he has to leave that, just as I was sad to leave the people I had learned to love and feel at home with on my mission. It will be hard to know that he has to come home and face "real life" and be part of the contributing adults to society. I know he'll miss having that spiritual mantel that he was blessed with when he was set apart as a missionary, and it will never, ever be quite like that again. But, I am so very grateful that he chose to be a missionary, never doubted that he would be, and always knew what the Lord wanted him to do.

Many years ago I was a sister missionary. I remember not wanting to put on my nametag in the MTC because then it was REAL and there was no going back. And then at the end of the mission, I didn't ever want to take it off. I still have my nametag in my dresser drawer. I've used it in RS lessons, in Primary, and love wearing it when I have those few occasions to do so. I wonder how Taylor will feel about his nametag. Will he be sick of it, or feel naked without it?

Nine days! I think I'm almost more emotional now than I was when Taylor was leaving in 9 days. I've been crying all day and can't really even say why. I told my husband yesterday that having a son ready and willing to go on a mission was something I planned for his whole life--and that day came. He was ready and he went. But now what? I can see into the future with a wife and kids, but I don't think I ever really planned for what happens after the mission and before the wife (hopefully there will be plenty of time!).

I'm excited, nervous, anxious, restless, grateful, happy and a total wreck. I feel like I'm nesting--like when a new baby was coming. I'm cleaning stupid things in my house that nobody will ever notice, especially not Taylor, and not even any guests who show up for his homecoming. This weekend I cleaned under my dresser and behind the bedside table. Last week I cleaned the tops of my cupboards. Tomorrow I'm going for window sills and around the edge of the kitchen floor where it meets up with the floorboards, under the cupboards. I think I'm going crazy! I'm not sure if I'll survive the next 9 days.

Deep breath.

It’s a new year, more or less . . .*

more patience while driving – less frustration with dough-head drivers who shouldn’t be behind the wheel
more reading of good books – less mindless surfing
more compliments – less criticism
more new recipes cooked – less quick dinners that are lame
more cleaning at home – less dust
more reading of scriptures and church magazines – less time doing nothing
more exercise – less body fat
more healthy eating – less junk food
more kindness – less craziness with people who don’t know what they’re talking about
more sincere prayers – less “blah, blah, blah bless this and thanks for that” prayers
more smiles – less grumping
less spending when I don’t need to – more money in the bank
more preparation with whatever I need to do – less last-minute hurrying, not getting things done the way I would want
less anger – more being a duck—letting things roll off my back like water off a duck (I’m a duck! I’m a duck!)
less thinking I’m right – more seeing the other person’s side, even when they're wrong
less jumping to conclusions – more actual listening
more righteousness – less fence sitting and “holding on to my favorite sins”
less silly errands – more gas in the car

*(Yes, I know some of these should be listed as "fewer" instead of "less," but that doesn't work with the theme.)

There's a beginning. I have actually thought of tons more, but mostly at 2 in the morning while I'm laying in bed. So now I don't really remember them. Why do they always seem to be much more profound at that time?