Skip to main content

I Knew How to Fix the Pillows

I have six throw pillows in our great room. Four on the couch and two on the love seat. They are different and they compliment each other; I like to have them arranged a certain way, but I'm not stressed if they're not. They are often thrown on the wrong couch or the floor or heaped up in a jumble. I now know why my mother refused to have them. They look cute for a few hours if I fluff them up before I go to bed, but by morning scripture time they are a mess. I just fix them from time to time throughout the day or leave them as they are. 

Last night we discovered that Estelle, who has been struggling emotionally, has just kicked it up a notch. I have been feeling very helpless as to how to help her. She doesn't really want to talk to me and is often rude to me. We have been considering counseling and this event just confirmed the need for it.  I hate watching my kids struggle so much! 

Destry and I were talking to some of the kids while Estelle was in the shower. We were encouraging them to be extra kind and to avoid engaging in confrontation with her. 

Taylor asked me to rub his shoulders for a few minutes-he does that quite often. He usually rubs mine too so it is a win/win. I was sitting on the love seat and Taylor was on the floor in front of me getting his massage while we were talking. 

The pillows were in disarray, like they are more often than not. After only a few seconds of shoulder rubbing I stood up picked up the pillows and put them where I like them then sat back down. Taylor said to me, "So all this talking of doing things differently encouraged you to arrange the pillows?" I laughed and said, "I guess it did."

Later as I was in bed pondering on the events of the day. I realized that fixing the pillows was something I could do. I feel out of control in some aspects of my life and that was one thing that I knew how to put into place. 

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Day He Died

Thirteen years ago today I was at an aquarium in the Gateway Shopping Center in Salt Lake City. I was with my sister-in-law, JuNette; her son Andrew and my three oldest children. Spencer had just turned five the day before, Taylor was three and a half, and Emma was 22 months. The aquarium was new and small, but we enjoyed our time there. After we had been there for some time JuNette handed me her phone and said that Destry had been trying to get a hold of me for quite some time. Destry told me not to worry, but that he and Christine were driving to my childhood home in Springville to check on my dad because no one had heard from him and he hadn't shown up to pick up my mom from the hospital.  My siblings and I had been worried about my mom's welfare because she had had a gastric bypass surgery to help her to loose weight and to improve both her health and her quality of life. The surgery had gone well and she was ready to come home on this day 13 years ago. Oddly, my dad neve

Her Life was Not as Sweet

A couple of years ago at a moment when my mom was expressing her love to her children and grandchildren, she mentioned that her Patriarchal Blessing stated she would live for as long as "life was sweet for her." She told us that while she missed her sweetheart dearly, life was indeed sweet. I thought that was a blessing for her and for us. This past year has been quite difficult for her. Last November she began having pain in her upper back, arms, and shoulders. She visited a pain clinic and received a series of injections providing her with some relief. By Spring her hands and feet were swollen and misshapen and she had difficulty getting her body moving each morning. If she had a morning appointment she would wake up at 4:00 a.m. in order to get her hands moving so she could use them. In the spring her primary care physician suggested she see a rheumatologist.  In the past she has had bad experiences either with rheumatology medications or doctors and I began going to

"Jesus, Savior, Pilot Me"

As a mother stills her child,      Thou canst hush the ocean wild; From August to November of last year, Taylor has had four witnessed and likely two other grand mal seizures; all of them in his sleep. By the time he'd had his sixth the Sunday before Thanksgiving, I had reached the end of my rope. It was terrifying to see him stiffen, shake, foam at the mouth and turn purple for many minutes. This particular seizure was the worst and the longest. We were struggling to get him seen by a neurologist and I had decided to call the paramedics for the fourth time and this time to have him transported to the hospital even if he regained consciousness. He needed to be fast tracked to testing and medication.  Little did I know that that call would take me down a path I never in a million years imagined I would be on.  To summarize what happened after the paramedics arrived, they pushed me out of Taylor's room and refused to give me the time of day. Never mind, he has a complex medical h