It's not about you.

A quiet moment is terribly elusive these days, which is probably why it's taken me so long to sit and write.  The last few months have been interesting, to say the least, and I find that retrospection and introspection have become my constant companions.

A few months ago, there started to be chatter in the ward about the pending change of the guard as the Bishopric was nearing their five year tenure.  I suppose it's the same in all wards, as there's a natural curiosity and even an excitement that comes with change of this type.  There were many moments when Mike and I would catch ourselves speculating who it might be, and without speaking it out loud, my mind would always come back to Mike.  I laughed.  Sometimes out loud.  Then I'd think, "He'd be a GREAT counselor!" But just as quickly as the thought would come into my mind, another thought would replace it: Bishop.  This went on for a good two months until finally I forced myself to stop thinking about it altogether.  It was just too "unrealistic" and honestly, I didn't want to think about the consequences a call of this magnitude would mean for our young family.  Too overwhelming.  Too daunting.  Besides, with two time-consuming callings of my own, a fledgling company to run, a household to maintain and a family to raise, I was looking for ways to remove burdens, not add them to our platters.
One Sunday particularly embodied the old adage, "Anything that can go wrong, will."  After a rough night for Dixon (which translates into no sleep for Mom and Dad), Mike got up and left for his usual 7 am Stake meetings.  Before my feet could even hit the floor, I was in a bad mood.  I awoke to find that the kids had gotten up and poured their own cereal, which, around here is the equivalent to a monsoon roaring through the kitchen.  Cereal and milk were everywhere, and as if that wasn't enough, two of my lovely children were now throwing up that cereal and milk.  Talk about wanting to move to Australia.  I kept trying to talk myself out of being such a grump, but I was not budging.  My day continued, with little nuisances being thrown at me right and left and I was just plain angry about it all.  Angry that I didn't get to go to church.  Angry that my children couldn't see that mom was in a bad mood, so they should be on their best behavior so as to make things easier on their poor mother.  Angry that I had to answer the darn mortuary phone every time it rang.  Angry that I had to clean up puke.  Angry that I had to break up fights and listen to squabbling and pick up dirty socks laying on the floor.  Angry that Mike got to sit peacefully through his meetings and feel the Spirit and pay attention to talks and lessons.  Angry that I was still in pajamas with greasy hair hanging in my face. Angry. Angry. Angry. 
Then the phone rang.  Too angry to answer, I let it go to voicemail.  "Brother Stringham, this is Pres. Austad.  I'd like to speak with you for a minute if I could today..."  Not an unusual request, considering Mike's on the High Council.  It's probably just something having to do with the Blood Drive or Pennies by the Inch.  But I knew it had nothing to do with the blood drive or with Pennies by the Inch.  Mike came in and I mumbled to him angrily that there was a message for him on the phone.  He listened to the message, then went to our room and shut the door.  Moments later, he came into the kitchen where I was stirring dinner on the stove--in my pajams, with my greasy hair pulled back in a pony.  Pres. Austad wants to see us tonight.   "D@%!-it!"  I whisper-yelled as I burned myself on the stove, letting a superlative fly that hadn't come from my lips in years.  I spun around to see Mike standing with the phone in his hand, awaiting my reply, which clearly was not the one he was expecting as the Stake Pres. listened on the other end of the line.  With a look of horror, I said, "Yes, of course we'll come see him."  Then with a knot in the pit of my stomach, I finally dragged my angry, filthy self into the shower.
How can the Lord ask us to do this? We can't possibly manage this calling.  How am I going to do this on my own, without Mike there to help me?  Is this really happening?  Couldn't it be something else?
Then, with a clarity my mind rarely enjoys, the thought came, "It's not about you."  Well, that was enough.  My pity party had been crashed and I knew it was time to just stop being angry.  We left the puking children at home with Maggie and went to the Stake offices where we were greeted warmly by Pres. Austad.  The dread was gone.  The knot in my stomach was gone, and Mike's vice-grip on my hand had loosened considerably.  Pres. Austad pushed a letter across the desk to us and said, "I received this letter in the mail this week from the First Presidency, directing me to call you, Brother Stringham, as the Bishop of the Roy 8th Ward."  The Spirit in the room was palpable.  The call was accepted without reservation as we knew that we'd been prepared to receive it.  The promptings and thoughts we'd had in the months preceding all made perfect sense.  Our inability to leave the mortuary and consequently the ward, no matter how many times we tried, made perfect sense.  The several responsibilities Mike had been given as a High Councilor, and that he unquestioningly fulfilled, prepared him to serve in this capacity.  Hindsight is an amazing blessing.
We kept this information to ourselves for nearly a month.  Only a few family members were even made aware of the call before last week's Sacrament Meeting, and by the look of surprise on people's faces as we walked into the chapel with our little entourage, it was an unexpected change.

I'm excited for Mike--not that I'm looking forward to him riding an emotional roller coaster as he'll try to help people through their trials and challenges and heartaches.  But I know that with all this will come a new understanding and a new kind of growth.  I've seen how being on the High Council has changed him, and I can only assume that the Lord has even more work to do on him, and I'm so proud of the way Mike has allowed himself to be what the Lord wants him to be. 

I don't pretend to know the first thing about being a Bishop's wife, but I think I'll manage as long as I can remember, "It's not about you."

So.....here we go!  Wish us luck, and a few prayers our way would be appreciated!

If you give Amanda a cookie...

If you give Amanda a cookie, she will probably want a Diet Coke to go with it.  

As she's pouring her Coke into a tall glass covered in white film, thanks to the new Utah law forbidding phosphates in dishwasher detergent, she'll remember that she needs to start the dishwasher.  

On her way to the dishwasher, she'll step on Cheerios someone dumped onto the floor in proclamation that breakfast was over, and grab the broom to clean them up.  

As she sweeps the kitchen floor, she'll notice the Cheerio mess extending into the living room, so she'll follow it to find the mother-lode in a pile behind the couch.  

As she bends down to get a better look, she'll probably see the chocolate handprints on the arm of the couch, and remove the slip covers for an overdue spin through the washing machine.  

On her way to the laundry room, she'll realize that she should check the girls' bedrooms for dirty clothes before starting the washer, so she'll head downstairs.  

After walking to the other side of the basement, she'll probably notice that a tornado has turned a minutes-ago clean toy room into a disaster zone of epic proportions and in her furor, turn and stomp back up the stairs to get as far away from the mess as possible.

Once she reaches the top of the stairs, she'll probably see the landscape of coats, hats, gloves and snow boots strewn across the floor, with nary a thing hanging on its hook.  While muttering things about kids, grounded, locked in their rooms, and just let them freeze, under her breath, she'll start hanging things up and notice a crumbled paper under a boot and upon closer inspection will see that it's the homework she spent an hour working on with her daughter the night before.

She'll probably shake her head in disbelief and go back up into the kitchen to put the paper on the shelf where she's sure to find it again, and while she's there, she'll notice the phone bill on the shelf and remember that she needs to pay it today.

She'll sit on the side of the couch that now has an indentation remarkably the size of her posterior, and log onto the internet.  Before signing onto Bill Pay, her Facebook page automatically pops up and she'll probably spend the next 30-45 minutes checking statuses and commenting on all the Jimmer jokes.

While she's reading The Jimmer jokes, she'll get a great idea for hilarious valentines and open up her Publisher to start creating them.


While she's laughing hysterically at her own humor, shell need a tissue to wipe yesterday's mascara out of her eye.  


She'll walk to the bathroom and question how on earth the turquoise, white and red striped Aquafresh toothpaste got smeared across the top of the doorway.


She'll probably go to the hallway linen closet to get out a washcloth and upon opening the cupboard, become victim to a waterfall of hair accessories, deodorant, hand towels and pom poms.


She'll have to bend down to pick everything up and when she does, she'll find the spare Church key she's been searching for for two weeks.


She'll need to put the key in a memorable place, so she'll realize the best place is the kitchen shelf.

Once in the kitchen, she'll look around and realize that the dishwasher is not on, the laundry has not been started, the floor is filthy, there's still toothpaste on the bathroom door, the contents of the linen closet are on the hallway floor, the phone bill has not been paid, she can't find the key that was just in her hand, and there's a warm Diet Coke next to a cookie on the counter.

Amanda clearly doesn't need any more cookies.  
But she's in desperate need of a cold Diet Coke.

Work or Play?

Ever since I was unexpectedly (and unknowingly) replaced as the Box Tops Coordinator at our school, I've been trying to figure out how to put in my required 30 hours of volunteer work (we're at a Charter School where volunteering is mandatory).  I didn't do a darn thing the whole first half of the year, mostly in protest of my ousting.  (Which I realize is totally ridiculous, since not another soul probably even knew of or cared about my displacement.)

Mike's had a slow work week, so when an email came about a volunteer opportunity at the school, I figured I should take advantage of not needing to find a babysitter, and start whittling down my hours.

I had a little information about what Mrs. J wanted on the bulletin board, so I sketched something out on a piece of paper and started to work.  The 4th graders are working on reports on North American animals, so that (and that it needed Spanish translation) was my only stipulation.  I was supposed to have some helpers, but in my overachieving, controlling fashion, I hyperfocused and did it all myself before anyone had a chance to screw it up give helpful suggestions.

  Here's what I came up with:

All the animals assigned to the kids are represented here and it was so cute to see them get excited when they saw "their" animal up on the board.  I even had comments from some of the "smart kids" congratulating me for putting the animals into their correct habitats.  (Thank you, Google, for helping me not embarrass my college educated self, or my 4th grade daughter.)

This particular board took me 12 hours from start to finish, when I include all the time it took me to find pictures of the animals online.  I guess I'm doing alright on those volunteer hours....

Katie's teacher pretty much got on her knees and begged me to do her board next, so I reluctantly obliged and got hers done today. ;)

Another 4 hours shaved off--one more bulletin board and I'll have met my volunteer quota for the year!  Though with all of the requests from the other teachers in the past two days, I'm pretty sure I'll be exceeding my 30 hours.  Good thing it doesn't feel anything like work.  I kinda wish I'd figured this out 2 years ago!  Thank you, whomever decided someone else needed to do the Box Tops.  Who knew you were doing me such a favor?

Turning Point & Lesson Learned

This weekend was a true turning point for me. 

I spend a lot of time trying to function "in the moment" and losing sight of the future.  Sometimes--okay, MOST of the time--it's out of necessity.  Trying to get dinner ready while helping 3 kids with homework, a hungry, whiny baby at my hip while yelling at the 4 y.o. to stop banging on the piano tends to not bring out the best in me.  And after the meltdowns (by them and me), I'm filled with such regret that I didn't speak softly in the moment, then pray for forgiveness and help to do better the next day.  I've come to realize that preparation BEFORE those moments come can be the difference between the "Soft-Voiced Mom" and "Freak OUT Mom."  I'm trying to be better about it, but I'm not usually successful. 

As you know, I've been presented with an opportunity to make more of my business than I ever thought probable.  I've been scrambling the last couple of weeks to get everything ready for the trade shows that start in February, and freaking out and stressing out all along the way.  I've been swinging on a pendulum--back and forth--between "Get it all done, quick, quick, quick!" and "Just stop the madness now!  It's too much and you're neglecting too many other things!"   Amidst all the conflicting feelings, one little voice kept coming into my head, "If ye are prepared, ye shall not fear."

I've been buckled in the back seat, going along for the ride ever since I began this journey.  Things have fallen into place for me, and I knew that the next road was the right one, even though I didn't know what to expect or where I'd go next, or really what I was doing at all!  It's been a fun endeavor and I've figured it out along the way.  Things have changed, though, and I can feel it.  This conflict brewing in me has put me right back into "Freak Out Mom" mode, and this time, I'm paying attention.  I've had some concerns about taking this next step, about my own preparedness, so for the first time, (and because the time is now right) I unbuckled and climbed into the driver's seat. 

What I discovered over the weekend was that I'm invested in this emotionally.  I really hadn't supposed it before, but when I started to consider just giving it all up, a sad and empty feeling overcame me.  It surprised me to know that I really wanted this, because I always felt like I'd do it till it wasn't fun anymore--and it stopped being fun the minute I started freaking out.


After getting myself a Cliff's Notes version education on design/manufacturing/production/retail over the internet, and connecting with others within and without my little network, I finally saw the path that I need to put myself on, and it isn't what I thought.  It's neither "quick, quick, quick" nor "stop."  It's "slow down."  Imagine that!  I, who jump into everything at 100 mph, have just taken myself off cruise control and let off the gas.  I'm "speaking softly" in the moment and it's so refreshing!!!!  I no longer feel stress and worry and FEAR, because I have a different plan and a different path that takes me through all the preparation I need in order to eliminate it.

My Jan. 31st deadline is no longer.  I'm giving myself the next 6 mo. to a year to do it the right way, and I've never felt better about a decision in my life!!!  There's something to be said about stopping to see the big picture and I'm so grateful that this most important life lesson was one I could truly learn at a bright and hopeful beginning instead of at the end of fear and failure.

New Year, New Opportunity

I really thought that once the holidays were over, I could finally breathe. 

What was I thinking????  

All I did was replace one thing with about three others that I was putting off until such a time as this. 
Great job, Jonesy. 
Way to fool yourself into seeing a light at the end of the first tunnel. 

So, you wanna know about my new project now that Christmas is over?? Do ya?  Do ya?

Well.....................................................

I've been busy gathering samples, organizing order forms, creating display boards, and shopping for new fabrics. 

Why?

Because I now have a Retail Sales Rep. who will be taking MY ties to several HUGE trade shows in NY, DC, Chicago, Philly--and she's expecting BIG THINGS!!!!!!!!!!

This is me being cautiously optomistic....YAY!!!!

Now....back to work.

Savior Subway Art

I waited and waited for someone to come up with some great subway art that captured the true meaning of Christmas. 

I have this whole nativity vignette on my piano that begged for something less commercial.

With all the great graphic artists out there, you'd think there'd be SOMETHING, but alas, I couldn't find it, so...I made my own!  

I'm so NOT a graphic artist, but I really like how these turned out.  AND you can pick your color!  

P.S. These would make great VT gifts, YW gifts, or neighbor gifts, and all you have to do is print it off and maybe find some cute frame to put it in!

Hope you like it--Merry CHRISTmas to you all!

(May not be printed for financial gain.  Personal use only.)