Procrastinators, rejoice! If you haven't yet settled on a planner or calendar system for 2012, then have I got the the giveaway for you?
Yes, yes I do.
I know I'm not the ONLY one who's been a bit reluctant to admit that it's really 2012 already. The little old lady in line behind me at the bank this morning was stopping in solely for a free calendar for her kitchen. Well, I promise you I have something better than a free bank calendar.
It's the customizeable photo planner for 2012! (Heck, even if you do have another system, throw it out and use this one instead. I absolutely love it.)
My 2012 Photo Planner
Here's my cover and title page. I used the For the Record product line from Echo Park Paper Co. And a little tradition I started last year was to include my "one little word" for the year in the decor of the title page, to remind me to keep it in mind all year long. My word this year: PRAY. (Not familiar with "one little word"? It's an idea started by Ali Edwards, where you choose one word as a theme to guide your life all year long. It's SO much friendlier than setting a list of resolutions.)
For my month pages, I decided to browse through my photo files and choose one favorite scenery shot taken in each month, from any year between 2004 and 2011. I love these shots! They remind me of memorable vacations, scenes from where I live, and more. On the reverse sides of these pages, I may or may not scrapbook a photo taken during the current month, as I progress throughout the year. (I already have a year-long phototography project on my plate!)
Yes, indeed, I did "put a bird on it."
So, what do you say? Do you want to win one? Leave me a comment sharing your hopes and dreams for 2012, and I'll pick two random winners! (I'll ship to winners in the U.S. for free.)
Alternate Approach: My 2011 Photo Planner I also used a My Book Planner in 2011, and here was my approach last year:
My one little word for 2011 was: PURPOSE. It was a good word.
On the front side of each month page, I included a photo or two from the previous year (2010), and then throughout the year, I'd scrapbook a couple of pictures to represent the current year (which was 2011).
Above: photos from February 2010 followed by one cute shot from February 2011.
Above: March 2010 photos followed by one very special photo from March 2011.
Have fun with your 2012 planning system, whatever you have in mind!
Yesterday, on January 12th, 2012, I took twelve photos of my everyday life, and I printed them for my forthcoming scrapbook page for January. Here they are, awaiting some paper, glue, and all that other scrapbooky stuff!
This is part of the Take Twelve photo challenge hosted over at Ella Publishing Co. this year, and it's been a blast so far!
It's easy to get so busy that I forget to take very many meaningful photos of my regular days, and this challenge is going to solve that problem for me this year.
I had planned to use our "nice" camera for this project, so I could practice my Nikon DSLR skills. (I get lucky shots now and then, like Jovie jumping mid-air as seen above, but I have lots to learn.)
But, alas, I found it to be so much more convenient to just use my camera phone for most of my pictures. In fact, I started using Instagram for the first time yesterday, which is a camera app for the iPhone, and it was surprisingly fun. (My first thought was, I don't need one more app to learn or one more social site to keep up with, but when the timing is right, it can be FUN to have one more app to learn and one more social site to play with.)
So here are a few pointers from me to you, in case you're even a little bit intrigued by Take Twelve:
1. You don't have to commit to ONE camera for the whole day of photos. I took three photos on my DSLR and nine on my camera phone. And I'm still going to turn them into a fun layout. You'll see.
2. Recruit some friends! I talked my sister, Michele, and my sisters-in-law, Suzanne and Becky, to join the challenge! (And a few of my cousins too.) And they're not even consistent scrapbookers, if they scrapbook at all. But the challenge is appealing to them because it's DOABLE and it fits into their very busy lives. And I'm going to share their pages with you here on my blog all year long, too. Just to prove that people of any skill level, or interest level for that matter, can do this.
3. YES you can still join the challenge, even though January 12th is already in the past. I blogged all about it over at The Daily Trumpet today, so go find out how you can still take 144 awesome photos of your everyday life this year—and get the support and encouragement you need to make 12 scrapbook pages with them.
4. Sign up for the Ella Publishing Co. email list, so you can get email reminders when it's time to take your next set of photos.
One of the many, many things I admired about Rachel, even in the darkest depths of her grief, was that she was willing to open her heart and share her experiences—and to rely on others for help. She was able and willing to vocalize her needs. When I said, "What can I do?" She said, "Can you help me with this?" And I am truly grateful for that. It reminds me of a quote that I love:
"Trouble is a part of your life, and if you don’t share it, you don’t give the person who loves you a chance to love you enough." —Dinah Shore
Wendy Smedley and I (the three of us were all fellow editors at Simple Scrapbooks magazine) collected all of the blog entries Rachel had written about Daphne from the day she arrived in Alabama into an album. With so much time spent waiting in hospital rooms, Rachel had the time and opportunity to blog regularly about Daphne's progress.
Wendy hunted down an album and gathered a variety of page protectors with photo sleeves for 4 x 6 photos, so Rachel would be able to slip photos into the sleeves easily—preserving her memories in minutes without having to scrapbook the photos individually. (A task that would be overwhelming in the face of her loss.)
I formatted the blog entries to fit on 12 x 12 sheets of paper, with room at the end of blog posts for photos to be pasted in place. Simple, clean, and classic. And I know we had heaven on our side, because the entire process seriously took 1/4 of the time a project of this magnitude would normally take.
We kept the embellishments to a minimum, adorning each page with a pink paper strip, a pink stamped heart image, and that same heart stamp trimmed out and mounted on foam adhesive.
The tiny cellophane bag you see in all the pictures contains the heart stamp and the ink we used, which we included with the album so Rachel can add to the album if she wishes.
We also created sign-in pages for Rachel to set out at the funeral and viewing, and those pages slip inside the album as well, so everything can be kept in one place.
The idea for how to collect these pieces together truly was Rachel's vision, which Wendy and I carried out. Rachel somehow knew, even early on, that it would help her to have these pieces of Daphne's life contained in one orderly place that she could visit often. Her thoughts and memories and pictures of Daphne had a home of their own—a place where they belonged.
And also, I think, by having the story organized and framed in this way, within physical boundaries, there's a subtle (and much needed) message that Daphne's story can be framed and understood. There is sense and order and beauty here in this album and also on this earth, even if we can't see it all the time.
My friend, Rachel, and I were "expectant mothers" at the same time, but not in the usual way.
We talked with great anticipation about the baby girls we were both soon to adopt (mine from here in Utah, Rachel's from out of state) and how they would be friends, how we couldn't wait to photograph them together at parks or at swimming pools, how wonderful it would be for them to have a friend the same age who was also adopted.
We ran our lists of potential names past each other, deciding it was perfectly okay if we both used the middle name "Jane," since we both loved it so much. My baby arrived in October, miss Keira Jane Lucas. And Rachel's baby was born in January, little Daphne Jane Gainer.
When Rachel and her husband heard of Daphne's birth, they were told she had been born with a serious heart condition. And another baby, a healthy baby girl, had also been born at the same time in another state.
Rachel and her husband had the rare opportunity to choose which baby girl would be theirs. Many adoptive parents might have opted for the healthier baby automatically. But neither Rachel nor her husband could stop thinking about the "heart baby," fretting about her well-being, wondering if she would have the chance to have a loving home and a mother and father. They knew, without a doubt, that this sweet tiny infant in Alabama, who had a special heart, was meant to be theirs. One thing Rachel wrote, that has stayed with me, is this:
"We made our choice because we knew it was what God wanted for us and for Daphne. We couldn’t have made a different choice."
Rachel flew to Alabama, and lived there in the hospital with her baby girl for several weeks as she endured tests and surgeries and procedures that had the potential to save her life. When she was cleared to fly her new baby home to Utah, Rachel devoted herself to Daphne's care—and all the hospital stays, supplemental oxygen, and constant monitoring that entailed—with lots of help from Daphne's eager big sister, Shelby.
But on March 18, at just 58 days old, sweet Daphne passed away, after enduring a 7 1/2 hour open-heart surgery. And while the grief has been overwhelming, Rachel knows that her little girl was loved every day of her life, and that she'll be a part of her family forever.
And this Saturday, she has put together a team to participate in the American Heart Association's Heart Walk, with the goal of collectively raising $2,500 for heart research. Keira and I will be walking with Team Daphne, and our personal fund-raising goal is $200.
Tomorrow, I'll share an album Wendy Smedley and I created for Rachel, in honor of Daphne. She was not on this earth for very long, but she was loved deeply and will be remembered always.
1. Once your baby learns to crawl, you learn to shower in 1/10th the time it used to take.
2. To get fresh cherry stains out of clothing, simply stretch the fabric over a bowl and pour boiling water over the stain. It disappears like magic!
3. Car repairs happen in twos. It seems that whenever one vehicle goes in for an expensive repair, the other vehicle inevitably gets jealous and starts developing symptoms as well.
4. The 35-year-old, female, human body can no longer handle getting less than 5 hours of total sleep two nights in a row.
5. Sometimes movies ARE just as good as the book.
6. A hanging basket of geraniums will survive a hot Utah summer even if it's only watered once a week; a hanging pot of zinnias will not.
7. When it comes to broken storm doors and barbecue grills, it is huge money saver to call the company to inquire after replacement parts. $25 or $50 later and some light labor (thanks Travis!), and both are as good as new.
8. It's nearly impossible to ruin Malt-o-Meal. And (recent epiphany!) you do not have to precisely measure the two ingredients. (Duh!) It turns out exactly the same if you just eyeball the water-meal ratio.
9. Daily affirmations really do work. ("I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and gosh darnit, people like me!")
10. The cutest age for a baby is whatever age the baby is at the moment. Just when you think she couldn't possibly be one smidgeon more adorable, she proves you wrong.
Shot with my Hipstamatic for iPhone Lens: John S Flash: Off Film: Ina's 1969
The view from my back yard. That hideous tangle of power lines gives me a jolt of annoyance every time I look out my back window. Or it used to.
Enter a houseguest, visiting from one of the flatter states. She and I were standing on my back patio, and just as I had opened my mouth to apologize for living in an old neighborhood with ugly, exposed power lines (when so many of the surrounding neighborhoods have buried lines), she said:
"Look at that view! I'd love to have such gorgeous mountains right in my back yard. You are so lucky."
My mouth snapped shut.
Of course. It really is a stunning view. My focus has been all wrong.
It's my choice to look past the ugly and drink in the beauty just beyond, rising majestically in the distance.
Journaling Prompt What areas of your life could use a new view? Have you had a recent epiphany that changed your perspective about the blessings in your life? What ugly scenes, memories, and moments have hidden beauty looming behind them, if you'd only open your eyes and see? Take a moment to write about it.
We continue "old news weekend" with an update about Angie's half-marathon from last month.
"Who cares about that any more?" more than one blog reader thought to herself when this headline popped up in her reader. But Angie feels compelled to share this because she made such a big deal about it before the race. (Trust us, this is far more interesting news than the more recent flower-bed weeding adventure from this afternoon.)
Lynsey and I at the train station at the start of the race at an unbearably early hour. We managed to sardine ourselves into the very last train heading to the start line. (Sorry, Lynsey, for always cutting things so close!)
Ready to run. Yes, I do call what I do "running," even though it may not appear much faster than a jog to the naked eye.
I do love the snap-a-photo-while-running technique. Everyone looks so chipper still, here at mile 3. (Wait until mile 10.)
Five down. We've all got that pep in our step and determined gleam in our eyes still.
At just a little over halfway, we're all extremely grateful for the extra downhill slope during this stretch. We can do it...
Mile 10. We're feeling the burn, and it shows in our strides.
Except this guy. He's the marathon winner, and he's already run 23 miles to our 10, and he looks like he'd be fine for 23 more.
The finish line. The blessed, glorious finish line.
Hell yeah I'm going to post this picture! I sweated through 13.1 miles and paid $26 for it (plus another extremely unflattering mid-stride shot), with an obscene extra $8.95 for shipping that they secretly tack on when you're not looking. Race photos—it's a racket.
And here we are at the end, looking only a little worse for wear. We rode the train straight to Johanna's Kitchen (in our sweaty race gear, medals, and all) to consume omelettes and scones in honor of the Lucas family's April birthdays. We miscalculated our travel time and couldn't make it home to shower; meanwhile the whole family was waiting on us. Upon our arrival, I was both relieved and puzzled to see that we weren't the only patrons who went straight from race finish-line to local diner without showering in between.
My time two years ago: 2 hours, 23 minutes, and 48 seconds
My time this year: 2 hours, 31 minutes, and 04 seconds.
In 2009, I faithfully ran every run on my training schedule. I did not have 7 extra pounds of "baby weight" to carry around. I did not have an infant at home, which inspired me to miss at least one training one per week with no regrets. So I'll wear the extra 7 minutes proudly—it's really only 30 extra seconds per mile.
Besides, I placed 102nd out of 236 in my age/gender division, and 3,477th out of 4,444 overall. I can run faster than at least 1,000 of my fellow Utahans, and that's not so bad. :)
Journaling Prompt What's some "old news" you've been meaning to write about? Pull out your journal and get it down on paper, whatever it is. (Or, heck, blog about it. There's no shame in that.) Can't think of something? Write about your most recent accomplishment—anything you've done that makes you feel proud.
As I've reflected about mothers and motherhood, I've had other thoughts swirling in my head as well. Among them is compassion and sorrow for so many who are still in the throes of infertility. It's a grueling place to be.
There's the guilt that perhaps you're not relaxed enough, not trying hard enough, not in impeccable health, not young enough, not being aggressive enough with your doctor, and not confident about whether medical intervention or adoption is the path you should pursue.
For me, the guilt and self-doubt has been the worst part.
And I have to acknowledge that the struggle isn't necessarily over for me yet.
I attended an adoption conference last summer, which was a mandatory step to get qualified through our agency. I was skeptical about the title of one class I attended, called "The Joy of Infertility." But so much of what was shared has lodged permanently in my soul.
I needed that class more than I knew. The instructor was named Laurieann Thorpe, and as soon as she started speaking, sharing quotes from author Anna Quindlen and poems that I found unbearably beautiful, I wished she lived next door to me. This is someone I would be friends with for sure.
From her, a woman with one son via adoption, I learned that adoption does not cure infertility. It cures childlessness. This was a revelation.
Don't get me wrong; having my childnessess cured was certainly wonderful. For so many years, I just knew deep down that I was meant to be a mom, but I was terrified of how long I'd have to wait. I did try (and succeed) to live a happy and fulfilled life in the meantime, but there were some things I was putting on hold—certain projects I wouldn't commit to "just in case." The would-be nursery just sat there as an extra room that we never did anything with, because I couldn't bear to devote it to another purpose. And I couldn't bear to turn it into an official nursery quite yet either. And there were other things too. I was perpetually trying not to plan vacations or other things too far in advance, just in case. It's an unsettling spot to be in.
And then, when Keira Jane came along, I finally felt complete, like this is the life I was supposed to be living all along. Yes, I can most assuredly say that having my childlessness cured has been wonderful.
But in that class, I was warned (or prepared, I should say) that sorrow over infertility will rear its ugly head again at some point in the future. For me, it might be sorrow about not being able to give Keira another sibling, or the sorrow of never passing my genes on to another person, of being a genetic dead end.
I learned that infertility can be grouped in with miscarraige and even the loss birthmoms feel in something called "disenfranchised grief" or "ambiguous loss" or "the continuous presence of an absence."(That last phrase was from Anna Quindlen, and it's the perfect description.) You're not mourning for a loved one you had grown to love over years and years. You're mourning the loss of the dream you had of someone. And it's still real grief, although it's not publicly acknowledged or widely understood.
For the last couple of years before Keira arrived, I'd been waiting to "get over" infertility and make my peace with it before I pursued adoption. But I've realized that I'll never be over it all the way. It's a sadness that will hit me now and then, all throughout my life. Now that I know to expect that, I can stop thinking there's something wrong with me for still being sad sometimes, and I'm more prepared for what will come.
Laurieann Thorpe shared a hilarious video that I think many of us, whether infertile or not, can relate to. Feeling sad about not being able to start your family? Well stop it! Get over it! Isn't that what you feel like the world is telling you to do? It's not that simple.
For those of you going through this right now, I want to share two more quotes that were shared that day that helped me so much. I hope they help you.
A quote by Anna Quindlen, from her essay collection, Loud and Clear:
"Grief remains one of the few things that has the power to silence us. It is a whisper in the world and a clamor within. More than sex, more than faith, even more than its usher death, grief is unspoken, publicly ignored except for those moments at the funeral that are over too quickly, or the conversations among the cognoscenti, those of us who recognize in one another a kindred chasm deep in the center of who we are.
"Maybe we do not speak of it because death will mark all of us, sooner or later. Or maybe it is unspoken because grief is only the first part of it. After a time it becomes something less sharp but larger, too, a more enduring thing called loss.
"Perhaps that is why this is the least explored passage: because it has no end. The world loves closure, loves a thing that can, as they say, be gotten through. This is why it comes as a great surprise to find that loss is forever, that two decades after the event there are those occasions when something in you cries out at the continuous presence of an absence, 'An awful leisure,' Emily Dickinson once called what the living have after death."
And a poem by Billy Collins:
"She stopped at a page of clouds aloft in a pale sky, tinged with red and gold. This one is my favorite, she said, even though it was only a detail, a corner of a larger painting which she had never seen. Nor did she want to see the countryside below or the portrayal of some myth in order for the billowing clouds to seem complete.
''This was enough, this fraction of the whole, just as the leafy scene in the windows was enough now that the light was growing dim, as was she enough, perfectly by herself somewhere in the enormous mural of the world.''
You are enough. Perfectly by yourself. As I am. As we all are. And you're not alone.
p.s. Just now, I found a note written in the adoption conference program, while I was trying to decide if adoption was really truly right for us. It says "Something I need to get over: the feeling that I don't want to share." After what I wrote on Saturday, I'm happy to say that I have.
My eyes instantly welled up when I opened this sweet card from my sister-in-law earlier this week. Oh yeah, Mother's Day gets to be about ME this year.
I was surprised at how much that mattered to me. It was unexpected because, although many infertile women get the blues around Mother's Day, I never really did. I never got sad about my childlessness on scheduled holidays or specific times of the year. It would just hit me out of nowhere, here and there, without warning—that empty ache in my heart.
So imagine my surprise at feeling such pleasure over a simple card.
And Keira decided to commemorate my first Mother's Day by staying awake and screaming from 11 p.m. to 3:30 a.m. She's making sure I earn my motherhood stripes just in time for the big holiday. The poor little thing has a cold, she was a bit irregular (if you get my drift), and her teeth were bothering her, too.
But oh how I love the way she cuddles into me when she doesn't feel well, trying to soak in all the love and comfort she can.
She had an even worse cold, with an ear infection, the week before Easter, which was also the week before our big day of family pictures, her name & blessing, and her LDS temple sealing that I blogged about last week. I took her to the doctor the morning before the big day, and she was miserable. But miracle of miracles, she was in a perfect and happy mood all day--during pictures, at the church, and at the temple. (In the temple, she was beaming in a way that told us some part of her knew exactly what was going on.)
Only after we returned home did her little eyes begin to water again, and her nose start to drain, and her little hand reach back up to tug on her ear.
So many things about her are miraculous. From the way she came into our lives to the way she captures the heart of everyone she meets. I am amazed every day that I was given this gift.
If my last few posts are any indication, you might eventually see all 140 pictures Elisha Snow took for us at an ampitheater near my house. I love them!
