Hi.

There's so much to tell you.

But I can't.

Life's a ...well, Life's rough. I've decided to take a step back. I think I finally can. Refocus on my children, because my husband and I, well, are in large disagreement over how to handle some things. So, while he sorts out his thoughts, because that always takes him F O R E V E R and figures out how to bridge some of this gap (I've been working on bridging, at least desperately trying to) I'm going to drown myself in my kids. Smiles. Hugs. Kisses. Stories. And, well, laundry, cuz kids who don't have clothes is not so good. Some baking. Some cleaning out of bedroom closets. You know, stuff for my kids.

I'm tired of worrying about other people. There is so little one can do for others. I'm starting to take the perspective that I have Jilled it a little. Let me explain.

When I was a teenager, there was a lot going on that was hard to take. Messy divorce, nasty non speaking terms, new religion, big stuff for a hormonal obnoxious teenager (I admit it). My mom didn't have a lot of the perspective about this religion to use it to her advantage in counseling me. For example, our church leader I believe is a prophet of God in our day. While he doesn't receive revelation for little Marie Jones necessarily, he does for the general direction of the church, and who should lead it, and where our focus needs to be as a group. Before Christ there were prophets, after Christ the apostles were prophets, why not today?

Anyway, these prophets counsel youth should not date until 16. Then, only in groups of friends, not just one boy and one girl, until they are at least 18. The idea is not to get too attached to one person when you are still a kid. Be friends, have fun, but don't put yourself in positions to take things further than you should.

Good advice, no?

My mom wasn't in a position to say, "Well Honey, the prophet tells us we shouldn't X Y or Z."

Already, with my oldest at 12, it's a handy thing to have.

Not only that, but you follow up with, "So why don't you pray about that and see what sort of feelings Heavenly Father gives you about this."

But Jill? She knew. And she had a listening ear. She was hugely instrumental in my life for a year or so. And then? It was too much. We both realized, as I turned a corner, I was looking to her to tell me what I should do.

"He who is compelled in all things, the same is a slothful and not a wise servant." That's from the scriptures, though I never remember where. It basically means, to me anyway, we shouldn't always have to have someone tell us what to do. Parents aren't supposed to constantly tell their kids do this do this do this. They are to guide, and then let them choose for themselves, and know they will goof it up, and then help them learn from it, and move forward, always progressing.

Jill and I both knew, her probably sooner then me, that I reached a point where I wasn't bouncing ideas off of her anymore. I was asking her to tell me what to do.

And that wasn't right. Enabling is automatically seen as a bad thing, if you are enabling someone to do really awful things. But what about when you enable someone to simply do... nothing. To stop growing, to stop learning. To not feel. To not think for themselves. Isn't that just as bad?

I've been in some pretty deep things lately. And it isn't right. It stops me from being able to function as I need to. It stops others from having to do the things they need to. Isn't that enabling? Enabling people to hide from the world, to hide from their choices, to hide from their faults, well I think it stops them from progressing.

When I was gone so much this summer, my children suffered. They didn't suffer unnecessarily, it was necessary. They didn't suffer in vain, they grew and developed levels of compassion heretofore unreached by any children their age I have ever encountered. They didn't suffer against their will. There was only one day, that's right ONE DAY in the whole messy awful thing that they said, No mom, please come home. It was the evening of July 31. I wouldn't have been home before bed, I would have been there when they woke up, and they readied for the first fair on August 1.

I couldn't. I told them, "I promise I will be at the fair when you get there."

Savannah died at 3 am. I had just dozed off for a nap in the room, so that I wouldn't fall asleep at the wheel. My leg was nudged, and I could hear soft crying, and I knew. The angels, the THOUSANDS of angels, had finally taken her with them that night. And we had all known she was waiting for Beka, who had arrived around 7 the night of the 31st.

My children suffered. All children suffer, the world is a sad place, some suffering is abhorrent to us, other is seen as the way life goes. Ask any one of my boys if they would do it differently, and they will say no, not unless Savannah could still be alive. They loved her. Michael wanted to go with her so she wouldn't be alone. Dedicated love for a friend.

But it's time to put them first again, above all else. Above stupid sarcasm, above grown ups who can't figure out how to talk to each other, above steers, above scrapbooking, above friends who PMS and brother in laws who have no compassion.

And I'm looking forward to it.