There Are Nuclear Bombs In My Blood

Some of my jokes work.

Most don't.

I get it.

Growing up I watched my dad test his puns like nuclear weapons over Nevada. I would roll my eyes and think...really?
I have become my father. I try to not be punny. I try to not find the humor in a ball of lint, but the humor is everywhere and it taunts me. I hear it scratching at my brain and suddenly I'm saying something that if it works will get a laugh. And if it doesn't?? Just roll your eyes folks cause I'll probably try again sooner rather than later.
I worry sometimes I have hurt people's feelings, especially people who are just getting to know me or that I'm so comfortable with that my self deprecation and tendency to be sarcastic gets too close for comfort.
I remember my mom telling me some people would get annoyed with my father for comments he made. I get it now. He was trying to be funny. His identity was in being funny.
I hide behind humor. It's my trusty shield and has served me well in a life that's had some tough spots. If I leave someone laughing, maybe they will like me or think I'm fun or forget that sometimes life hurts and there can be joy. I'm still working out the kinks. And those of you who know me well, know that for every one laugh, there's ten that fall flat.


A little humor goes a long way, but I can't help it, I LOVE funny...it's in my blood.

Do I Have To Spell It Out For You?

Usually my husband's spelling, doesn't affect our lives too terribly much, however this note I received from him this morning gave me pause.

As a background,I am not a morning person. I have been known to say two words, but really before 10 AM you'd be better conversing with a DMV employee. Anyhow, in order to combat this personlity trait/opportunity for his sainthood and also because the hubby is the chipperest chiperoo you've ever encountered in the mornings, he does have a lot to say and will often leave me notes on the whiteboard. That, and the fact that I was snoozing away as he and my son left for their day.

So I ask you what does it look like he's saying to YOU???
Considering the rest of his message has to do with why he couldn't wear a suit to work and switching nights with me in attending the temple what I THOUGHT he said would still apply, don't ya think?

PS- if this is how you personally enjoy spelling warehouse, then please accept my deepest condolences because I will laugh at you too.


LOVE YA, honey!!! Come straight home after work, 'K?????

Pretty Pain-Final and Rethought

The end of my story was ready to go weeks ago. I thought I knew how it would end. I was wrong and it left me reeling.


I was wrong:

Something Tony likes it when I say and I probably don’t say enough. The final third of my story involved two surgeries, overdoses from several narcotics and the inability to see for a week and a half. It involved a blessing, the failure to follow promptings in regards to said blessing and thus the consequence of lost eyesight until the drug I was not supposed to take was out of my system. It involved me going to Denver to live for almost three months with my son and mother and going through extensive physical therapies and rehabilitation. It involved being able to have a second child against all odds and being able to hold her. It involved me being able to tell you that I know what the people of King Benjamin knew and that my prayer was indeed answered. All of that is true.

Mid-October Tony was approached by a headhunter and a trip to Miami and three interviews later we awaited an offer. The process was arduous and nerve wracking. I did not want to leave my family, friends, and ward. I didn’t want to leave my son’s school, his friends, or the new temple. The whole step of the way I felt like I was going to be saying goodbye. I had an epiphany when I realized that the new temple that was announced over conference was in the district we would be moving to. I looked up my condition and the largest facility that works with TOS patients in the rehabilitation that I need was only mere minutes from the company Tony was awaiting an offer from. It seemed like more than mere coincidence. I emailed my people I worked with in Denver and they had received their training from the man who started the facility in Miami. They told me that if I got this opportunity to go there, that it would be wonderful for my recovery.


Meanwhile at home, things were breaking down…literally. The garage door, the swamp cooler, the refrigerator, the dishwasher, a leak in the basement, my car, Tony’s jeep, a leak in the ceiling and we joked that it seemed like all things were pointing to this move since it seemed like a lot was happening to us right now. We joked about it a lot. The day came that we were waiting for them to fax the offer over and instead the call came from the headhunter. The woman who was runner up had a friend who knew the president of the company personally and he talked the president into changing his mind. It was she who received the offer.

We were stunned. That’s business and that’s life. But it was our life.
I didn’t understand why the facility that seemed tailor made for me had been RIGHT there.
I felt selfish.
I felt confused. It seemed right and we hadn’t gone looking for it, it had found us.
I realized that I have a lot to learn.
I realized that He knows the desires of my heart.
He knows what I need. He knows where I need to be. He knows what I am capable of even when I don’t believe it myself.

A couple of days after this happened I was kneeling in front of my dryer folding clothes. As I knelt I began to pray. First thoughts out of my mouth: “I’m sorry for being bad.” (Can you believe I said this?) I am ashamed to admit it now.
Overwhelming feeling: That I am NOT bad. That I am HIS daughter and that HE loves me. I changed my thought process.
“Please increase my faith,” I said.

The thing about it is this: It’s His will, not mine and sometimes things just happen. Who knows why? Our family has been incredibly blessed. Service has been rendered to us that enlarges my soul.


I am happy. I am finding peace. I am learning that life is not just to be endured and especially at this Christmas season when miracles truly do occur. If I could only convey how much my loved ones mean to me. I am grateful that we are staying because the people who surround me are priceless to me. My son, upon finding out we were staying was jumping up and down with excitement. He would be loathe to leave the friends he holds dear.

The ending to my story is not what I thought. But it hasn’t ended yet. It never really will, that’s the great thing. I never want it to. I cannot imagine not learning anything more, not experiencing growth. Yah, growing hurts, sometimes like hell, but at the end of the day it makes me rely on Him and I rejoice in that. He is the author, but He lets me write it down. Sometimes I write word by word, not even realizing where the comma goes (pretty much true of all my writing) When I go back and read it somehow it all flows. I have to erase a lot, I find myself repeating the same antidotes, I occasionally take poetic license, but I can’t put my pencil down. He knows what my story will be and we write it together…every day.


We here at The Benjamin Bunch wish you a beautiful Christmas.

Pretty Pain-volume 2

Just a note before I begin this second part: I hesitated in sharing this story, because in NO WAY am I trying to illicit sympathy or say woe is me. I have felt like I needed to share what happened to me in the hopes that it might help someone as well as documenting a journey in which I did not walk alone. And I glory in that. I am not a victim nor am I a hero. Like all of us, I have been extremely blessed and have a story to tell. Thank you for your comments. They were beautiful.


One day I was the last patient in yet another doctor's office. Another promise of healing crumbled, though in this instance this benevolent man gave my money back to me. He had tried everything he knew. At the end of our session, he took out his business card. He wrote T.O.S (Thoracic Outlet Syndrome) on it and handed it to me. "I think this is what you have."

He was the first to give it a name. I researched the condition on the internet and felt like I was finally coming home. I read a girl's story who was younger than I was. Her journey was remarkable and she had traveled to Denver for treatment. I did more research and Colorado was home to a brilliant surgeon who primarily did vascular surgery, but took thoracic patients as well. I did extensive research on his training, his facility, his patient testimonials, and booked a flight.

Within two minutes he had diagnosed me. He gave me a 3D CAT scan that was powerful enough to show the extra ribs as well as the fact that my sternum was rotated forward 25 degrees. He said that he had not seen an injury like that except in football players at the bottom of a dog pile. I assured him that I didn't play football, but I began to realize how badly I had been hurt.

He did a series of tests and warned me that the surgery I would undergo would be arduous and that he could not recommend it unless I had undergone every other treatment option available. At the time, I had never had surgery, with the exception of getting my wisdom teeth out. I was an all natural gal fond of reflexology and the health food store. I had stopped taking any type of narcotic long before because it wasn't touching the pain and I wanted to be lucid and present in my own life.

I flew home and for the next few weeks with my official diagnosis in hand, I saw more doctors, the head of the Utah PT Association, another chiropractor where I went through a torturous procedure that I wouldn't wish on anyone. I was so frustrated. I didn't want to have surgery. I didn't want to have major surgery where they would go up under my arm and cut out not my little extra cervical rib, but the first thoracic rib and that the chance of nicking a nerve and giving me permanent nerve damage was great. It was a long, risky and delicate procedure and I didn't want to have to endure it. Even having been in pain that long and wishing for relief, I was afraid.

During all this time, I was praying to know if I needed this surgery. I had no idea that one of the symptoms of my condition was that my nerves would misfire and warmth would spread throughout my entire body. I would have pins and needles, my heart would also feel warm and fluttery and I would feel comforted. On the day I realized that part of my condition were these symptoms that mimicked how I always felt the Spirit, I.WAS.LOW. I can’t tell you how useless I felt. I questioned how I would ever know if I was receiving divine guidance again. If I would know the difference. I knew that I needed to receive my inspiration differently than I had been, or worse yet, thought I had been receiving.

It was a turning point for me. I knew I had to understand how I would receive future promptings. I knew I could not lean on old ways because those ways may or may not be working. It was a scary place for me to be and I learned something. No matter the intensity of physical pain, spiritual anguish is so much worse.

I prayed late into the night with Tony by my side. Finally, I was given my answer. I was able to feel the spirit in a way I had never experienced before and it eclipsed the former ways I had always felt it.

One could argue that my prayers were not answered because my pain was not taken away. However, at this point I was no longer praying that it would be taken away. I found this excerpt of a poem entitled "At Journey's End" by Elaine Christensen that sums up nicely how I was feeling:

"Now we kneel here...grateful for every unanswered plea that proved us

Faith is the mountain that does not flee,

The water that does not part,

The rock that won't turn into bread-

Instead, marks our dead."

I became a bit obsessed about looking into a mirror. I know it sounds prideful. I was checking my collarbones. I couldn’t see one of them anymore. I worried that the broken body I had witnessed in the 3D CAT scan was apparent when others viewed me. I tried not to think of myself as damaged, but I admit I struggled with loving my own body.

I was at the temple during this time and in the session was a lovely young woman sitting in the row in front of me. She could have been a model and I found myself wishing I could look like her, be like her. Writing this now, I sound so ungrateful, but I was having such a hard time coming to terms with pain, with my present circumstances and I longed to think of myself as some lovely creature, not the wounded soul I felt I was.

After the session, I was in the foyer waiting for Tony to come out. I looked up to see the same woman I had taken notice of and she shyly approached me. She told me she had observed me in the session and wanted me to know how beautiful she thought I was.

I was stunned and could not do much more than thank her. But as we regarded each other, I began to weep. It was a miraculous moment and a tender mercy of the Lord. I have never forgotten it. And there have been numerous times I have needed to draw upon that reminder.

Finally, I knew it was enough. Tony and I called all our family and friends and they joined us in a fast.

And we flew back to Denver.

Pretty Pain-volume 1

In 2002 I was reading the Book of Mormon on King Benjamin's dissertation to his people. When he was through "they all cried with on voice saying: Yea we believe all the words which thou hast spoken unto us; and also, we know of their surety and truth, because of the spirit of the Lord omnipotent, which has wrought a mighty change in us, or in our hearts, that we have no more disposition to do evil, but to do good continually."

I wanted to feel the way they did.


I didn't yet understand what that 'mighty change' was and I wanted it more than anything. I got on my knees and I pled, I begged to feel as they did, to truly be converted. I didn't understand what this journey would entail, perhaps I thought a feeling would come over me or I could wake up the next day changed. I had no idea what was in store, but I have never regretted praying for this gift on that day.

Within 2 days I had fallen down a flight of stairs. I would unknowingly go to an unlicensed massage therapist who would hurt me terribly and set in motion a condition that lay dormant and that I didn't even realize I had.
I was born with two extra cervical ribs and because of that there is very limited space in my brachial plexus which causes my arteries and nerves to become impinged. It is called Thoracic Outlet Syndrome.

I will not attempt to describe in too much detail how it feels, but mine was severe enough that it felt as if someone was sticking icepicks into my shoulder, back ,arms, neck, head and face. And it never went away. I stopped sleeping, I began dropping things so had to stop holding my 18 month old son. He would take a stool and climb into my lap and I would silently weep, but never so he could see. I never wanted my baby to know how much I hurt. Everyone else would keep their distance because the slightest touch would be agony.

I went to neurologists, orthopedic surgeons, chiropractors, physical therapists. No one knew what was wrong and several told me it was in my head and to go get 'help'. Xrays and MRIs showed nothing. I thought maybe I was crazy. I received so many blessings that my baby would lay his hands on my head and bless me and the experience gave him an empathy that I cannot regret that he carries.

I pled for the pain to go away. I prayed for deliverance. I prayed for a year. That's how long it took to get a diagnosis. I would visualize myself literally taking the Lord's hand and holding it for comfort. He was the only source of relief. My nerves misfired all the time, I would have unbidden pins and needles, my extremities would go numb and I wondered who this creature was that my body had become. My spirit yearned for release from this physical prison.

During this time I was called to teach Relief Society to the women of our church. I couldn't understand this call. I could barely move. Other people cleaned my home and cared for my son and the Lord wanted me to stand in front of all these other women for forty minutes? What could I possibly teach them? What was I except the one others pitied?

I accepted the calling. I sat in my chair and I immersed myself in the scriptures, in great books of gospel doctrine and I learned. I continued to pray for deliverance and then my prayers began to change. I went through the classic stages of grief though I hadn't lost a loved one, I'd lost myself.
The first Sunday I would teach approached and I prayed that somehow by my diligence I could be healed of this phantom malady that racked my body. The day dawned and I stood in front of the sea of faces and the pain left me...I opened my mouth and was filled with sweet relief. I taught the lesson and testified and the words were not my own. I had a profound witness that God loved me and I had a powerful love for these women I would teach.

I said "Amen" and sat down and immediately I came to myself again and the pain chained itself back to my body. I would go through the same process every month I taught. You can imagine how I looked forward to that temporary respite. How I truly sought to obtain the word so in that moment I could truly declare what he would have me declare. How this 'weakness' became the catalyst for the opportunity to walk with HIM.

The scripture in Ephesians by the apostle Paul took on a poignant personal meaning for me:

"There was given to me a thorn in the flesh , the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure. For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ's sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong."


to be continued...

Life Guard

I just answered the door. My husband sent me flowers. On the card reads,

'Everything's going to be alright, rock-a-bye.'


I wish I could explain what my heart did when I read this...


This is the man who holds my fear, my sorrows, my pain so no one else has to perish under the weight.

And it has to be hell...

I know he wonders where his fun-loving, gregarious sweetheart goes and where the walking bundle of nerves wrapped up in scraps-of-scary comes from.
We tread water together sometimes, waterlogged with life and all too often it is I who must be rescued, but he can't pull me to safety because I'm holding him down, my arms flailing and legs kicking and he swallows too much water.
Still, he keeps his arm around me and drags me to the shore.
AGAIN.AND.AGAIN.
He lays there in the sand safe for a moment and I gaze at his form pummeled and bruised by the endless waves.

Sometimes he needs rescuing too.

And we plead to the Benevolent Soul who loves us perfectly. Plead for the Atonement to bind up our wounds and to hold us when we are incapable of holding each other and we plead endlessly for we fall back into the deep water ad nauseam. And HE saves both of us...

That being said, as an answer to the lovely lyrics of Shawn Mullins my sweetheart penned, I invoke the stylings of John and Paul (there is a controversy as to their true collaboration on this song):
'Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more
In my life I love you more'

"This is MY mom!"

Yesterday morning I had procured all the necessary books off the library shelves: Disney Princesses, Tinkerbell, A Princess and Her Horse, The Princess and the Pea, and Rapunzel. The munchkin and I sat at a small table in even smaller chairs and I read the tales to her two-year-old heart's content.

A boy, not much older than this daughter of mine, hoisted himself into a chair beside us and laid his offerings on the table: Marvel Superheros. He sat and listened to all the tales politely, though they were clearly not his forte'. He would interject facts such as "Have you seen this movie?" pointing to Wolverine, and "I like this movie," indicating The Incredible Hulk.

And all the while the clock continued it's circular cycle until an hour had passed and no one had come to claim this precious boy. It was time to leave and I was beginning to wonder if I needed to find his caregiver and who that could be who would abandon him with books they were not reading to him and answers they were withholding from his endless questions.

I held my little girl's hand and the boy toddled beside us and I must admit my feisty daughter scowled at him and said, "This is MY mom!" The little boy fell out of step with us and I ran off chasing down my long haired thundercloud as she stormed around the library.

As I approached the front desk, I saw him again. Growing tired, he was laying beside the checkout. A woman was walking toward the computers and he got up and stood beside her. She did not look at him, she did not speak to him, and he did not mention Wolverine and The Incredible Hulk to her. The last hour of his life was unknown to her and I admit I wanted to shake her as I walked by and shout, "WAKE UP!!"

I wish I had read a non princess story. I wish I had read him his Wolverine book or that he had said to my offspring, "This is MY mom!", but he didn't. He just looked at me and I clung to my girl, grateful that she is grateful (or at least possessive) that I am her mother.

I learned a valuable lesson. I am not just a mother when my two kids are with me. I am a mother in whatever circumstance I find myself in. As a woman, I have been blessed with compassion and empathy, but there are so many times I am guarded and careful. I've never regretted being too kind and in the moment I had an opportunity to mother a child who needed some time.

I'm hoping that someone somewhere is reading that little one a story. And I hope it's his mother...

And now for something completely different:

I was invited by my friend Melissa to play a blog game kind of like the old slumber party game “Telephone.”
One blogger starts a story and passes it on. Each blogger adds a part. It should be interesting to see where it goes.
So here it is:
A Writer-Mama’s Tale –
The Seduction of Vintage Grapes

Even the crickets had rested their legs when she sat back in her chair and sighed with a final sip of vintage grapes. Darkness swallowed……..

the sob that threatened to tear from throat as she watched her only child drive away. What did he know about the world outside of….

our small town. Was he ready for what laid ahead of him? Her lip quivered as she thought back to the days when….

Jason toddled behind his father through the vineyards and copied his every movement. Mark was young and full of hope and desire then. His face…..

,now lined from time and stress, still shined with pride for their son. As Jason's car drove away, they…

embraced as the breeze, pregnant with the scent of ripe grapes, swirled around them. Their eyes remained transfixed on the car until....

Mark cleared the emotional phlegm from his throat and held his faded blue goblet aloft. “Here’s to new beginnings.” Her first instinct was…

You can click on any of the sentences above to go to the author's original post then head on over to Mindi's blog on Wednesday to see what happens next!