Doing okay

I've had several people ask how I'm doing, so I thought I'd give an update. For the most part I am doing well. I'm healing physically and getting a little stronger as the days pass. I'm trying not to "overdo it" to give myself time to heal, but I have a hard time staying down and home for very long. I get lonely and really want to be around other people. It has become apparent during this whole ordeal just how much I need to talk (I know, not too surprising to most of you). I guess it's my way of processing all of the thoughts and emotions running through me right now. But mostly I am happy and enjoying my simple days at home with my kids. And it is so good for me when Mark is home--not just so he can do the dishes and put the kids to bed, though I love the help, but just having him around makes me feel stronger. I have received so much help and love and support from my friends and ward here, too. People have brought me meals and treats and flowers, cleaned my bathrooms, played with my kids, and been there for me. I will never forget how much all the small acts of service have meant to me.

I said I am doing well "for the most part" because every few days I have a little (or big) breakdown and I realize how not okay I am. It feels good to cry in those moments or hours. It feels good to pray. It feels good to call someone and talk through my heartache again. It feels good to sit and think about all the ways that the Lord has shown me He is with me.

My first day on my own, after Popsy went home, was Kimball's first day back to school after his 3-week break. He was gone all day, and Liza and Grant and I did all right until it was time to go get Kimball. I guess all the stress of the previous week and the change from having Popsy gone and having to go back to school left Kimball feeling empty. He was naughtier that night than I can ever remember. As I watched him gag about how bad the dinner smelled in front of my friend who'd made it for us, watched him climb up the door frame and kick Liza in the head for bugging him, watched him throw food at Miss Pam (my neighbor who is very Southern and holds fast to her "children should be proper and respectful at all times" mentality), talk back to me, and pick at Liza and Grant till they cried, I kept thinking, "Is that really my kid?" And Kimball wasn't the only one acting out. Grant climbed on me all through dinner to the point that my back and head ached, and of course Miss Pam was there so I couldn't exactly get out a rope and tie him to the chair like I wanted to. Liza spilled her entire plate on the floor because she was trying to rest her feet on the table. As soon as Miss Pam walked out the door at 7:00, I rushed all 3 kids to bed. I broke down that night. As I look back on the evening now, I can laugh about it. I can see what a small moment it was compared to all the great moments I have with my kids. I guess I share this random story because I hope that someday I'll be able to look back on the heartache of the past months and be able to put it all in perspective too. I won't ever laugh about it, I'm sure, but I hope that someday I'll be able to see the experiences with that wiser everything-turned-out-okay perspective and know that it was all for my good.