Pull up a chair and stay a while...

These past few months have been full of extremes. I have been finding myself high as a kite one day, and in a vegetative, puffy eyed coma the next, with each new development feeling like either a slap in the face, or a nice, firm tushy squeeze.

I was relating one of the lows to a friend of mine the other day and he said, and I quote, "Wow. I read your blog and think your life is so amazing, but then I talk to you and it turns out you have the world's worst life."

Hold on there, tiger.

In the grand scheme of things, I am pretty sure my life is better than that of at least 82% of the general population. The exception being people who are skinny without trying. And all of the Disney princesses. Who, come to think of it, are also definitely skinny without trying. Dirty wenches.

I'm also fairly certain that the things I write about on this blog don't sound that amazing. I mean, Sam misspelling my name on my Valentine's Day card is pretty amazing, I guess.

At any rate, his comment made me feel like I haven't been documenting the important things properly. It's so much easier to write about things that don't matter all that much. I personally find it exhausting to write about trials or difficult things I go through. It requires far too much introspection and gloom to put bad things into good words. I'd much rather hang out with a story that's funny or amusing.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, publicly gushing about the great things doesn't come easily to me, either. For some reason, I feel a little embarrassed and a lot braggy whenever I do. So instead, I sit here keeping a blog that's full of mediocrity and triviality.

I guess what I'm trying to gear you all up for is a rather lengthy record of some of the more significant, but less amusing things we've been going through as of late. I figure I can knock a lot of it out in this here post so I can git back ta writin' 'bout them funner things I like ta write about.

So here's my schizophrenic documentary of gloom and glee:

Dealing with my brother's death has been looming in the background of all of the craziness that has been 2010, and is still a major work in progress. This seems obvious enough, it's only been three months, but you'd be surprised how quickly people expect you to get over it and on with things. I was talking to a friend in my ward who just lost her newborn baby after 3 months of violent seizures and illness. She expressed that everyone has been commenting about how strong she's been, and how well she's handling things. And then she mentioned that she's obviously not going to walk around in public sobbing her eyes out all day long, and how she's actually not feeling strong or handling things well at all.

I wish I didn't relate to this, but I completely do. And it's not that I expect anything from anyone really, but when people ask me to do things or expect much from me, my first reaction is to still think, "But my brother just died!" like that's some sort of excuse they should have taken into consideration.

"Hey Vanessa, would you like to speak in church this Sunday?"

Yeah, remember my brother just died? Prolly not.

"Hey baby, do you feel like making tacos for dinner tonight?"

Need I remind you my brother just died!?

The worst part about it is that I'm realizing the lasting effects of his passing are more subconscious than anything. I have my breakdown moments where I think of him and bawl and go through all my pictures, hoping upon hope that I'll somehow magically find a new one I haven't already looked at a hundred times.... but more often than not, it manifests itself in my lack of motivation or interest in things that used to come so easily to me. Getting in the shower each day may as well be a marathon. And I certainly find it much easier and guilt free to take long naps in the middle of the day. My husband learned long ago that if the bed wasn't made when he got home, it was a day I wasn't to be screwed with. I can't remember the last time I made the bed.

On a different note, remember how I was feeling like I was in a constant skate-stomping-spazz-attack with all of this summer internship recruiting shiz Sam's been going through? Well, after the low point of that post, he pretty much made the recruiting world his b-word and the good news started flowing in like the salmon of Capistrano (name that movie). The culminating point came two weeks ago when he was offered an internship with his top choice firm.

I swear, sometimes I feel so overwhelmed and puffed up with pride in regards to my smarty-pants, uber-talented little lover that I have no choice but to get violent. I can say without hesitation that his internship offer brought with it more relief and gratitude than any bit of news in all my 24 years. In fact, I felt so humbled and unworthy of such good fortune that I actually told Sam that I felt our blessings were too rich and that something terrible had to be lurking around the corner. Turns out I'm so smart I can see into the future!

This last week I sadly began to have a miscarriage just days after finding out I was pregnant. People often trivialize miscarriages because they happen so frequently, but those who have suffered through them know the heaviness and turmoil they bring, both emotionally and physically. This one has been especially taxing on me because it is my fourth.

I don't talk about my miscarriages often because I can't handle the insensitive, jack-ass comments people make about them being commonplace. I don't care how common they are. I don't care how many people have had them. The bottom line is I have had FOUR. That's four perfect little Leahs I have imagined holding in my arms. Four perfect little dreams I have felt slip through my fingertips.

The plus side to these losses is the immense gratitude I feel for my stinky Turkey Sub. Leah gets the worst of it in the form of hugs and kisses that are a little too hard and tight and frequent. I often feel claustrophobic for her... but that doesn't stop me from pinning her down one last time and smashing her face with kisses until she shouts out and tries to take a swing at me. Sorry, Leah. Blame it on your little brothers and sisters who keep head-faking your mother.

And there you have it. My tushy squeezes and face slaps all wrapped up in a pretty little package. I always get a little stumped when I try to wrap up a post like this. Part of me just wants to say, "welp, see ya later!" without any concluding remarks at all. But I will say I'm pleased that Heavenly Father trusts and loves me enough to lob some pretty tough trials in my direction while simultaneously blessing me beyond description. And inside, I know that's exactly how this life is supposed to be.

Thanks for reading.

Oh, and here's a little clip Sam recorded on his phone when he told me he got his internship offer. If you listen closely, you'll hear me say, "I threw up this morning" at the very end. I had, indeed, been throwing up... my announcing it was simply my plea to not be judgy when I realized it was a clip that other people might be seeing. And now I'm sharing it with you. Enjoy!