D is for Dad

**This is 'D' in the A-Z series**

I remember well one of my dad's most favorite stories to tell about me as a young child. He told it often and actually still tells it from time to time. It must be one of his favorite stories. And so the story goes something like this. A long time ago, when I was really little, my family and I were on a drive out to visit some family friends. Apparently I was upset, as I often was, at my dad because I was under the impression that I was not going to be able to swim that afternoon and I had been looking forward to swimming. Unbeknownst to me, my swimsuit was en route with the rest of us because there WAS going to be swimming involved that afternoon. So anyway, my dad did something he used to do all.the.time. Oh wait, he still does this...and I'm 33. As he was driving he turned to the rest of us, his captive audience, and said, "Who loves Dad?". My mom and my brother Kelly both put their hands excitedly in the air and shouted, "I do, I do". I sat there silent, no doubt with my lip turned down and dad said, "Well, what about you Ashley?". And what did I say at the tender age of 5 or 6? "Dad, I don't love you...I don't even like you".

It can be rough to be a dad. I don't know this from experience of course, but I do know that sometimes dads get the short end of the stick. I'm not even going to try and lie and tell you that I didn't have a favorite parent growing up. I did. And it was my mom. Just like I'm not going to lie and tell you I don't have a favorite child...oh wait, yes I am ;).

My whole world revolved around my mom. We had the traditional family set up with mom at home, slaving away to raise happy children and dad off supporting the family. He traveled a lot, we didn't see him a lot, and well, mom used phrases like, "You just wait until your dad gets home!", which don't exactly instill a longing in a kid for her dad to eventually get home. I remember I got more spankings from my dad than I did from my mom too. So he was sort of the "hard" parent and my mom was the "soft" one.

When I fell off my scooter and scraped myself up, it was mom kissing and bandaging my injuries. Later when I had problems with friends, it was my mom who helped me solve them or listened as I cried. And even later still, when boys broke my heart, it was mom that I called first. Yet never once did I question that my dad loved and cherished me just as much as my mom did. I always knew he did. His love for me was as sure as the sun would rise every day. I still can't say exactly how my dad managed to let me know of his love for me though I have lots of ideas. But he did. I guess in that magical way that dads who aren't really involved with a lot of the day to day nitty-gritty manage to convey love to their kids anyway.

It was in the occasional embraces, the proud looks, the gentle guidance, and the occasional very stern reproaches that let me know I had crossed a line. It was also in quiet moments he never even knew I was aware of, like the time I fell asleep in their bed watching the Oscars when I was in the ninth grade. I weighed 100 pounds by that point and instead of waking me to go to bed, he carried me to my room, gently laid me in bed, and pulled the covers over me. I was far too big to be carried to bed, but he did it anyway. And also in the time he tried (in vain) to lovingly critique my latest poem. I was a budding poet in junior high school and I wrote an absolute masterpiece one day. I proudly showed it to my dad and he exclaimed about how wonderful it was...but there was just one problem. I had written the line, "Alas, it was the dawn of a new day". I had meant it to be happy (like, "yay! A new day is coming!") and had used the word "alas" inappropriately. My dad lovingly told me of my mistake. I was NOT appreciative at all and felt offended for days afterward. In those days, constructive criticism was not on my radar.

But I'm grateful for his guidance now. I'm pretty sure my dad never changed my diaper, brushed my teeth, or sat with me in the bathroom as I heaved into the toilet (Although, he did once take me to the emergency room when I hurt my neck. The doctor's name was Dr. Crick. True story!). But he did teach me to be strong, resilient, and to persevere. He helped mold and shape me into who I am today. He taught me the importance of education and the pitfalls of a weak mind. For these gifts I am grateful. I am now and was always aware that he loves me. And I think that is the best gift he has ever given me.

C is for Companionship (The Story of Joe and Ashley)

**I decided to take on the blogging A-Z challenge afterall. Only I am giving myself 2 months to do it instead of 1. So for me "A" was Asperger's, "B" was, um, one of the others, and I'm officially starting at "C".**

Have you ever wondered what life would be like if you were born a giant California Sea Cucumber, or an American Water Shrew? Or perhaps a Jaguar, Maned Sloth, or Common Frog? It seems that these animals have nothing in common. Some live on land, some in water. Some of them are hunters and some wait placidly for food to come to them. But they all have one thing in common. They are solitary. These guys, and many more just like them, live their whole lives alone with the exception of coming together to mate and produce young. The genetic and evolutionary drive for them to propagate their species forces them together for short periods of time. Many of these solitary species don't even raise the young that result from these clandestine meetings. They birth, lay their eggs, or do whatever they do to have young, leave them to be immediately self sufficient, and continue on with being solitary.

What if people were like this? We came together to have sex once per year, solely to possibly become pregnant, and then continued on with our solitary lives. Can you imagine? We would probably be intensely territorial too. Like I would growl at you and possibly attempt to rip out your throat if you dared come within 1/2 mile of me. I would do everything alone, including raise my young. It seems bleak to imagine not only having no one to touch, be touched by, talk to, eat with, share the responsibilities of life with, or complain to after a particularly hard day of being a mother...but to also have no desire to have these things in my life. Imagining life not only without Joe, but not even wanting Joe, is about as foreign for me as it can possibly get.

I will never forget the very first time I laid eyes on him, my Joe. I was at a fast and testimony meeting at my meat market, er, singles ward. I was sitting all the way in the back of the chapel and there were probably 200 people between me and the pulpit. I wasn't really paying much attention to what was going on but instead whispering with my best friend and room mate Sara. I'd like to pretend that I was feasting on the spoken word but instead I was no doubt whispering about some boy or another that had recently caught my interest. I was 22, kind of boy crazy, pretty (and I knew it), and on the hunt. I can admit that part about being on the hunt because, well, all of us were in that ward, any of us really at that time in our lives. Anyway, Joe came up to bear his testimony and suddenly, and inexplicably, as I had ignored most of the other testimonies, my attention was upon him.

He spoke about his mother. She had very recently passed away and I could see that she had been a very loving and powerful force in his life. He choked up a few times as he spoke in loving remembrance of this wonderful woman. I was still very much a child and the loss of a mother was one of the very worst things I could ever imagine. It still is actually. I immediately felt pain for him and for some strange reason, I wanted to walk up there, put my arms around him, and console him like I would a crying baby, saying "Shhh, shhh, it's going to be alright". Good thing I didn't, eh? I doubt I'd be sitting here writing about our marriage 10 years later ;).

I was so moved by his love for his mother, and though I didn't realize it at the time, his love for his Heavenly Father that I just had to meet that boy. It didn't hurt that I thought he was cute too. Well low and behold, by some mystical force, he wound up in my apartment just a few days later. It would seem that my room mate and him had been paired together for a church calling. Something about singles meeting, falling in love, and creating marriages. And so we met, officially, and for the first time.

After that, I sought him out every Sunday after church just to say hello. It sounds desperate, but really I was just trying to make an impression so that maybe he would eventually ask me out. I was dating around like a $10 dollar hooker and I really wanted him to ask me out so I'd have the chance to get to know him better. After at least a month of seeking him out each Sunday to say hello, he finally asked me out (and by the way, I just used the words "hooker", "Sunday", and "church" together in two sentences). Only he did it in such an awkward way that I got the impression he was trying to set me up with his buddy on a group date. I was crushed, and politely declined. It was only a few minutes later that I realized he was asking me out, so I went back to him (trying not to run) and said, "I'm so sorry, I thought you were asking me out for your friend. I wanted to go out with you, not your friend, and I would still love to go out with you". By then his fragile male ego had been offended and he replied with, "that's okay, I'll ask someone else". I know, it's like a comedy of errors.

You'd think that was the end of Joe and Ashley. But it wasn't. To my great delight both girls he tried to ask on this date he was planning turned him down and he was seeking me out again 3 days later. Of course I said yes and it literally was the best first date I had ever been on with anyone. We were both in bathing suits on that very first night and now I'm thinking his friend and him purposely planned it that way. I like to think that we were both exposed, literally and figuratively, sitting in that hot tub amongst the others. Later, when it was just us, we talked and talked until we were long past pruny and about to pass out from the heat of the hot tub. After that date, I was smitten. It was only a few more dates before we shared our first kiss and I was sold...hook, line, and sinker. And so two young people fell in love rather quickly, and here we are 10 years later looking forward to an eternity together.

I'd like to say that our journey together so far has been completely without bumps, just smooth sailin'. But it hasn't. We've had arguments, tears have been shed, disappointments have occurred, and many tense moments have come to pass. But that's not our story. Ours is a story of seeing past these many petty moments to a bigger picture, and of realizing that any relationship requires tending. The most beautiful rose bush in the garden needs to be pruned, watered, fertilized, and tended lovingly if it is to grow and stay beautiful. I like to think we are like that rosebush, growing beautifully because we take the time to be sure our souls both individually and together are being fed, watered, and loved.

And so I couldn't be more grateful that I'm not a maned sloth, or a sea cucumber, or any other solitary animal. I couldn't be more grateful that Joe loved his mother so much and felt compelled to bear his testimony of his love for her and Heavenly Father, so that I might notice him in a sea of others. I couldn't be more grateful that I was worthy of him and he of me, and that we were able to enter into the Lord's house and be sealed to each other for all of eternity. Death can part us but for only a little while. And really, motherhood is hard. I'm incredibly thankful that I have someone to share my most sacred calling with...both in the good times and the bad ones.

A is for Asperger's

**This is A in the A-Z series**

My wonderful sister-in-law recently committed to blog for every letter of the alphabet in the month of April. I admire this ambitious endeavor though I would probably never take it on myself. I know she'll do it. Me however, I know I would be setting myself up for failure. Anyway, she wrote her first post and it was titled, "A is for Asperger's". It was a sweet, informative post that I feel sort of laid her soul bare for the world (she believes that she would have been diagnosed with this disorder had she been evaluated as a child, and I think she is right). It got me thinking. Asperger Syndrome (pronounced AZ-perger, not ASS-perger or ASS-burger) has become so common that most of us are affected by it or know someone who is affected by it. We are closely affected by it. Our 8 year old son Noah has carried the diagnosis since he was 5 years old. We knew "something" was wrong though long before that.

I'll never forget the day Noah was born. I mean, what mother actually could forget the day their child came screaming into the world. Only Noah didn't scream. He came out with his eyes wide open, just staring around at everything. No crying. Very little squirming. Just wide eyed wonder at what was happening to him. I was terrified something was wrong because I was trained by many books and TV shows that babies come out screaming if they're healthy. I remember the doctor had to "rough him up" a little to get a small screech out of him. But nothing was wrong. And I have come to realize that the way Noah was born fits perfectly with who he is now.

We joked that he was an old soul because of his super long hair and wise little look. He was so dang cute. I thought he was perfect. He cried when he was hungry or needed something and that was pretty much it. At 6 weeks old he began sleeping through the night. I remember well the first morning I awoke and instantaneously realized that he had not gotten up at night to eat. I was so sure he was dead that I woke Joe and made him check the baby. I was terrified to look and see that he had died sometime in the night and we had slept right through it. I can be sort of pessimistic like that. Joe checked and it turned out that he was fine.

Noah grew to be so beautiful and so chubby. Random strangers often stopped us to remark at what a beautiful baby he was. At 3 months he needed his first haircut and we took him to a barber shop. He was hitting his milestones and had the most beautiful little smile. Life was wonderful. Our little man was so perfect.

When Noah was 2, I began to be very concerned that he wasn't developing language properly and he could not eat textured food. I was still feeding him baby food out of a jar. Any other food would cause him to gag and throw up. He had not pointed and he would not speak unless I asked him to say a word. He would repeat that one word, often using the same perfect diction and inflection that I used. And like so many it seems, every time I brought my concerns up with the pediatrician I got the old, "he'll catch up" dismissal. My intuition was screaming at me that something was wrong but no one, including me, wanted to believe it.

By the time Noah was 5, I knew he had autism. He spoke just fine, wanted to be social, even had a few friends. But he was odd, he struggled with social interaction, and well....he was just really quirky. I had been so freaking scared to face the truth that when I finally approached his speech therapist about my suspicions, I felt like I had unloaded a semi from my shoulders. We had him evaluated at the University of Utah and they confirmed my suspicions.

You would think my world had ended the way I reacted. I'm ashamed of it still to this day. I cried...for like a year straight. I felt like his life was over and so was ours. I even once thought it would be better if he had been diagnosed with cancer. At least then he would be "normal". I refused to take him anywhere for fear of how we would be judged. Not just him, but me too. I separated myself from neighbors, church members, friends and even family. Basically, I threw myself the biggest pity party the world has ever seen. My pity party culminated in me feeling like I just wanted to die, and seriously considering leaving my car running...with me in it...with the garage door closed.

It took me quite awhile to come to terms with Noah's diagnosis. I was so afraid that he couldn't have a fulfilling or happy life with AS. Thankfully I climbed out of the hole I had dug myself before he grew up and had a perfect life just to spite me for giving up on him before he'd even had a chance to grow. I stopped asking "why us, why him" and started seeing the many blessings and tender mercies of the Lord that we had been given along the way. I started to see exactly who he was and even a small glimmer of who he was going to become (and he's gonna become something awesome, I just know it). I'm still scared sometimes and occasionally I still feel a little embarrassed at his quirks. But mostly I am happy to have him and proud of all his accomplishments. And so happy he's here with me in this life.

Noah is so dang smart, funny, charming, sweet, entertaining and all around wonderful. He always has been. Sure he gets into some interesting situations, collects things like you wouldn't believe, says the quirkiest things, and has lots of interesting hang ups when it comes to food. But I wouldn't trade him for the world. He brings so much joy into our lives. And he makes me see the world differently. Because of him, I'm able to understand in the most fundamental way that perfection is completely subjective. He is perfect to me.

I wanted to write this post because it very briefly touches on what it was like to have a child diagnosed on the spectrum. From a mother's point of view. I'm ashamed of who I became when I was confronted with the reality of his difficulties but I'm proud of who I've grown into because of them. We are definitely thrown curve balls in this life and how we handle them will define who we are. I don't want to be scared, hiding in a corner, afraid of life's challenges. I'd rather meet them head on, grow from them, and be an example for my children. Thankfully, I don't have to be perfect. And neither do they.

B is for Beach!

**This is B in the A-Z series**

So have you ever thought it would be fun to take your kids on a beach vacation...in the Caribbean? Joe and I have done this just the two of us enough times now that we decided our kids would really, really love to go. Plus, we were thinking about having another baby and figured this past summer would be great because there was no way this hypothetical baby would be born yet and it would be possible to go. Nevermind that I got pregnant like 5 seconds after we decided to "try" and spent our vacation 26 weeks pregnant and either waddling around like a duck or doing my best impression of a beached whale. So, we convinced my mom and dad to accompany us on this trip, found an amazing little house to rent right.on.the.beach, booked our airfare, and not so patiently waited until it was time to go.

Well, July 2012 arrived pretty fast considering we booked our trip the previous November and we found ourselves setting off with Noah, Isabella, and the yet to be named baby girl still growing in my womb. The journey to Turks and Caicos was not without, ah, frustrations. Like on the way there when we had to spend the night in a hotel near the Miami airport. The hotel was disgusting, we didn't get there until midnight so the kids had long since turned into gremlins, and I felt that if I didn't get into a bed right then, I might kill someone (probably a kid). That will go down as one of the worst nights of my life. It took the kids until well after 2am, lots of tears, and a few shrill screams to actually fall asleep. I laid awake in the horribly uncomfortable bed until 4am, fell asleep for 2 hours, and got up at 6am. Really, it was so much fun...

But never you mind because the next day we were ready to get to our final destination. So we left Miami alive (but barely) and in less than good spirits, but determined to enjoy ourselves in Turks and Caicos. We arrived on the island of Providenciales later that afternoon and were picked up by my parents who had already arrived the previous day. By that point my ankles were the size of Texas, I'm pretty sure I had gained about 8 pounds in fluid, and my nerves were frayed. But hey, we were in paradise, so I was ready to turn it all around :).

As I mentioned earlier, we rented a private home that was right on the beach. Long Bay Beach to be specific. The home was perfect for all of us and I have to say that one of the highlights of the trip was seeing our children wake up each day and run down to the waterline in their pajamas to pick through flotsam and jetsom that had washed up overnight. Well, to see pictures of them doing this on my mom's camera anyway because I slept late just about every morning.

Most of our trip was spent just playing on the beach. The kids could spend hours playing in the surf and sand. Noah was the best to watch play at the beach. He's old enough to actually go in the water by himself as long as an adult is sitting and watching him, even though I told him not to go past his waist. The water was generally very calm and clear, so he would go out on his boogie board, goggles on, and dive for treasure. Frequently I would look up from the book I was reading to think in a moment of panic, "where is Noah!". Only to spot both of his feet sticking up from the water's surface, a testament to the treasure collecting happening on the sandy ocean floor. He spent most of his time at the beach in the water, head down, feet up. We came home with many bits of coral, shells, and various types of sea plant life. He lovingly added each one to his collection of ocean things which is not to be confused with rocks and fossils which is an entirely different collection.

One of the highlights of our trip was the company we got to keep. We were lucky enough to have my mom and dad come with us on this trip! The house we rented was more than big enough for all of us and having two extra adult pairs of hands on deck was invaluable with our kids. Well, one and a half extra hands anyway because I can't quite count my dad as two :). The kids sure loved all the time with their Mimi and Papu and I don't think the trip would have been nearly as fun without them!

We spent most of our time in paradise right in our own backyard, so to speak. Our house was on the island of Providenciales, Long Bay Beach. I think we were about 100 feet from the waterline so really, there wasn't much need to go many other places. However, we did visit two other beaches that were quite noteworthy. The first was the most popular and populated beach on the island. It's called Grace Bay Beach and most of the large hotels are built along this several mile long, white sand crescent of beach. The water is perfectly calm, like barely a ripple. And it is so clear that if you avoid getting the intensely salty water in your mouth, you can almost feel like you are in a swimming pool. The bottom is incredibly smooth and sandy. The kind of sand that you don't sink in but rather it feels like a soft, silky smooth slab of concrete that doesn't give when you walk around. For those who are more than a little afraid of sea life (like me), this lack of sinking inches into sand is comforting. For those that enjoy scouring beaches for shells, sea life, coral, and other such "nature".....this might not be the beach for you. Our kids loved it, although Noah found himself bored after an hour because there was nothing for him to find and examine, the sand is THAT clean. I think it was Bella's favorite beach however because she was perfectly comfortable in the sparkling, clear water with only her trusty little inflatable ring as her swimming companion (rather than being stuck to Joe like glue).

The other amazing beach we went to was only accessible by boat. It was called "Half Moon Cay" and was basically just a tiny island. We went on a catamaran cruise to this little island and had an absolute blast. The catamaran was owned by a company called Sail Provo. They did a good job with getting us there, entertaining us, having adequate food and drink, and bringing us back home. My mom, who to this day can't really swim, was more than a little stressed to have our two young children on a boat in the middle of the ocean, but they were oblivious to any potential danger and simply delighted in the adventure. In fact, they were both so brave that at times it gave me a little bit of my mom's apprehension! We had quite the round with little Bella when we stopped to snorkel and she threw a fit about having to wear a life jacket in the open ocean. She wanted to jump off the boat and into the water, free of any silly life saving devices. Now, she can swim, like a fish, but the though of her tiny 4 year old self in the great big ocean and without a life jacket was, understandably, too much for me. So we held firm and eventually she agreed to go in with her life jacket on. To placate her toward the end of our snorkeling stop, we allowed her to jump off one time into Joe's waiting arms, and jump she did :).

Our trip to Providenciales was amazing and I know we'll go back some day. It really is a good place to take children. The restaurants are almost all accomodating to little ones and the water is incredibly clear and generally calm. We loved swimming in the warm water, strolling the beaches with their sugary white sand, and generally just being together. I have lots of advice and restaurant recommendations. If you need any, just ask :). There were actually 2 pictures of me taken on this trip and both of them showed what my nearly 7 month pregnant self did on this trip....

A lot of sitting down, interspersed with dips in the ocean here and there to stay cool.

Oh, and one last thing. The sunsets are amazing!