The World According to the Little Fish

My New Best Friend

2012-01-23T20:45:00.001-07:00

Did you ever read a book, and were just certain that if only the hero could meet YOU instead of the heroine, that filmmakers would have a much more interesting main character to work with than Bella Swan? Or watch TV, knowing that the only reason Jack Bauer wasn't knocking down YOUR door is because he was simply too darn busy saving America from terrorist-driven nuclear disaster to notice how hot you are?

Yeah, me neither. So the following is a totally new and different experience for me ...

I just finished reading "Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me?" by Mindy Kaling of The Office fame, and I am pretty sure that if she ever met me, or even just happened once to be one of the 9 folks who stumble across my blog on a daily basis, that we would be best friends. Instantly. In fact, I'm so sure of it, that if I were technologically savvy enough, I'd find a pic of her and one of her college roommates and totally photoshop my face onto the face of her roommate, just to prove my point. (I'd enlist the aid of my virtual friend Kristina, but she's too busy preparing her Sunbeam handouts for Sunday. And asking my 15 year old for help seems too um, what's the word?, loser-y.)

I know, I know, you think we come from totally separate worlds. You're correct. Mindy's in Hollywood, I'm in Boise. She's 5 years younger than me. I'm a stay-at-home Mormon mom of four, she's a single working woman, who doesn't sound like she's ever been religious. She loves to shop, I hate to shop. She's a comedy writer, and I'm more of an introspective, commentary-on-daily-life-experiences writer. Plus, she gets paid to write, and I'd probably have to shell out good money to get broader readership. (Which currently consists almost entirely of my dad. And Kristina.) And, as I probably should have mentioned first, Mindy grew up in Eastern Mass, I grew up in Western Mass. That's right. Night and Day.

So what am I thinking? Well, it's really pretty straightforward. Mindy is really funny. I am a comedy connoisseur. I love intellectual, subtle humor. So she'd tell jokes, and I'd laugh hysterically. That right there is a basis of a great relationship. She'd never feel threatened by my success, which I think is another big plus in my favor.

Reading Mindy's memoir felt like staying up all night at a sleep-over or at Girls' Camp and hearing all about her life. We really connected. I get all of her ironies and sarcastic asides. I identify with her thinly veiled insecurities. She has a brother, I have a brother. She had 2 girlfriends in college, I had 2 in high school ... one of whom is named Kelly (just like Mindy's character on The Office). She thinks married people should be pals ... my husband and I are totally pals. She loves romantic comedies, I love romantic comedies. And we both note the disturbing trend of female romantic leads with BMIs of 4 who eat like linebackers. Crazy, huh?! We're practically twins.

Of course, the problem is social circles. We don't run in the same ones. So meeting is going to be hard. My idea is this: Mindy seems to be the sort of girl who'd make a habit out of googling herself now and then. If she does it soon, this post might pop up. After reading it, then browsing around my blog, reading all of my deep and thoughtful posts, intermixed with touches of humor, she will leave me a comment with her cell number, we start texting, and the rest, as they say, is history. I'm so excited, I can hardly breathe.

I better get back on that diet. I want to look great when I'm her guest at the next Emmys.

Product Review, Eastwood-style

2012-01-17T14:30:00.000-07:00

Ritter Sport
Dark Chocolate with Whole Hazelnuts

THE GOOD: Super tasty dark chocolate & hazelnuts ... plenty of antioxidants, flavonoids, omega-3 fatty acids, protein, fiber, plant sterols and a lower glycemic index. Perfectly acceptable treat for someone watching her health.

THE BAD: The 3.5 oz bar qualifies as "about" 3 servings. (I'm not sure I even want to know what that implies.)

THE UGLY: Unless I happen to have two other people who enjoy dark chocolate and nuts with me at the moment, I am going to eat 3 servings. And it won't even take me super long to do. That's about 1/3 of my allotted calories for the day in a 20 minute sitting with an incredibly low food volume. Not my smartest move of the day.

Lost

2011-12-15T22:04:00.005-07:00

For the past 21 months, my life has been consumed, and I haven't felt at liberty to discuss any of it on this blog, until now.

In February 2010, my mother was diagnosed with stage 3C endometrial cancer. We almost lost her then. I brought her home to live with me in Idaho, where she began aggressive treatment. By the summer, her cancer had metastasized. Stage 4. Still, the treatment was effective in containing and killing her cancer, and hormone treatments kept the tumors in her liver from growing. Unfortunately, that treatment was so aggressive that it finally killed her as well as her disease. She passed away November 30th.

My mom was a good, kind, hard working, faithful woman. Yet she and I had a complicated relationship ... at least from my perspective. We weren't very alike, we two, and those differences in our personalities and even, ironically, our upbringings made it difficult for us to really communicate or connect about anything deeply significant. Add to this having to take on the role of caregiver, and I spent two years in emotional conflict. I frequently had less than kind feelings toward my mother, and that always then made me also feel guilty. What kind of daughter, after all, would be angry at a mother who was suffering the way that she was? To cope, I became emotionally detached at a time when my mother needed emotional support more than ever.

The last two months of her life I was able to let go. It wasn't very noble of me. My mom had become so weakened, so sick, so dependent, so frankly pitiful, that it was now impossible to continue to harbor resentments. She'd had surgery and was in the hospital for a total of 7 1/2 weeks. She then came home with hospice care and was only home for 3 weeks before she was gone. The last week, she wasn't able to speak to me. Saturday and Sunday she'd been more alert, and though unable to answer back, she was looking at me with an intensity that I was certain she understood what I was saying. I told her how much I loved her, what a great mom she'd been. I told her about the things I admired about how she'd lived her life. The great teacher she was, the kind neighbor, the caring daughter. Without actually saying the words, I was able to say goodbye. That Sunday night she fell asleep and never woke up. On Wednesday morning she passed away.

It's been two weeks. Two weeks and one day as of this publishing. It's funny, I find myself counting the time as I did the ages of my newborns. I don't plan to, it's just how I am thinking about this. In some ways don't miss her yet, as if she's not really dead but only away. I'm used to being without my mother. For years we lived 3,000 miles apart and only saw each other for 10 days every year. But for the past nearly two, she's been right in my home, needing attention and care. So in other ways I feel a little lost, like I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to be doing.

I assume that after the holidays, when the kids are back in school, my time will fill back up with whatever it is my time gets filled with. In the meantime, it's hard to go to bed when I should, and it's hard to want to stay awake during the day. It's hard to try to wrap my brain around this new motherless reality of mine, especially since, to be honest, I'm trying to avoid thinking of it as much as I can. There is a holiday to put on for my kids, and I can't seem to manage preparing for that and thinking about my mom at the same time. Processing may need to wait.

I keep thinking of the original lyrics to "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas:"

Someday soon we all will be together, if the fates allow.
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow,
And have ourselves a merry little Christmas now.

Clearly, the fates didn't allow for one last Christmas with my mother. But I assume that as time passes that fact will seem less tragic. Perhaps even next year I won't feel like I'm muddling through. It may take longer.

Merry Christmas, dear friends.

In the Quiet Heart

2011-09-02T08:00:00.004-06:00

I had a three distinct, consecutive experiences the other day that got me thinking about tolerance, understanding, and compassion.

#2 has had her learner's permit for two weeks. She is doing very, very well. However, she is still learning. It's why they don't just hand out licenses to kids on their birthdays. One of the things that is hard to do is to determine how much time you have to merge or turn into traffic. Because #2 is also still figuring out how much and when to accelerate, we are leaving very large buffers in car lengths when merging onto a busy road. That day we were sitting at a yield sign waiting for enough space when the guy behind us apparently decided that she'd missed some opportunities to go and honked. That sort of impatience is hard enough for me to blow off when I'm the driver, but when it's my kid, mama-bear began to emerge. I really wanted to let this guy have a piece of my mind. "Give my kid a break! She's been driving for two weeks! Come and see me in 7 years when your kid there starts to drive!" Of course, I couldn't do it. But man, did I ever want to.

We got to our destination, which was a frozen yogurt place, and ordered our last-day-of-summer treats. When #3 finished hers, she dumped her trash into a very small waste bin that was clearly intended for sample cups. Not the end of the world, but to avoid having my family fill the bin unnecessarily I mentioned to #1 that when she was finished she ought to use the bigger bin by the door. In response #1 threw a fit. She started yelling that she never used small trash cans and why was I telling her to use the big one--it was #3 who used the wrong can. She went on, and I tried to calm her down a little, but it's sometimes best just to drop it and let her tirade run it's course. As frequently happens in these cases, we got stared at by a woman who was also there with her teenage kids. It's not obvious by looking at #1 that she is mentally handicapped. And the sight of an almost 17 year old throwing a toddler-style fit is not pretty. I get that. But I always feel torn between wishing I could explain and feeling resentful that I should have to explain in order to have some grace extended to my child. So I (not very maturely) stared right back at the woman until she turned back around.

After dropping the kids home I needed to run to the store for school lunch supplies for the next morning. (I firmly believe in getting things done waaay in advance.) On the way, my gas started acting weirdly. I was loosing momentum and was getting ready to pull over to the shoulder just past a 4-way stop when my (11 month old) car died entirely. This left me without steering, so all I could do was coast to the stop-sign. I immediately turned on my hazards and literally within about 20 seconds two guys had each hopped out of their vehicles to help me push the car to the side of the road. I called Larry for help, and while I waited for him to arrive about every 5th car to pass during this rush-hour time asked if I needed help or a phone or gas or if help was on it's way. It was exceptional. Most of these folks were probably on their way home from being gone all day and yet were willing to take time to potentially give more time to help a stranger.

Standing there on the side of the road, I started to think about the difference between these situations and how others responded to my family and I. It wasn't hard to pinpoint. It all came down to the hazard lights. People instantly knew that I was in distress. They responded as I believe most of us would. There's no 14-year-old-new-driver light for my car. There's no severe-mental-retardation light for my daughter. And it didn't take long for me to think of the fact that perhaps there was a light that the impatient driver behind me was wishing he could flash, so that I could understand his mood or sense of urgency. Sure, he could have extended some compassion, but then so could have I toward him in return.

We never know who's husband is chronically ill, or who is care-giving a mother with cancer. Who battles anxiety, or who has kids with special needs. It might be me. But it might be the woman eating yogurt at the table next to me, or the guy driving a car behind me. And if it's not any of those concerns, it could very well be something else.

I love the LDS hymn "Lord, I Would Follow Thee." One of the verses sings,

Who am I to judge another when I walk imperfectly?
In the quiet heart is hidden sorrow that the eye can't see.

And in the next,

I would be my brother's keeper; I would learn the healer's art.
To the wounded and the weary, I would show a gentle heart.

It's that gentle heart that all of us yearn for as we muddle through life. And it's the gentle heart that many of us, myself most definitely included, need to practice giving more freely.

Happy New Year

2011-09-01T08:00:00.001-06:00

The following post was originally posted by myself on my friend Chris's blog in September 2009. I thought it was worth reposting here.

My father was a university student when I was born. I was in the third grade when he received his PhD. I went straight to college myself after graduating high school, and got married during my junior year. My husband started a master's program as I was finishing my bachelor's degree. And my two oldest children were in school when he finally decided not to pay to write a dissertation for a doctorate in history that he no longer planned to use. My oldest child is about to start ninth grade and my baby, second.

My entire life has revolved around the traditional school calendar.

I guess it makes sense then that I always feel a greater sense of renewal and starting afresh on September 1st than I do in January. In September we start new routines, we advance grades, we buy new clothes, new backpacks, and new supplies. In September we make new friends and reacquaint ourselves with old ones. We start new sport seasons in new, larger cleats. We are assigned new teachers and occasionally adjust to a whole new school. In January we merely pick up where we left off before the Christmas Holidays. And occasionally make resolutions that have generally been forgotten by February.

Last year was a stressful one for my family. We moved 900 miles away, built a house and a warehouse, faced a family tragedy and business and personal financial struggles. Many good things happened, too, and overall I feel blessed. But I approach this new school year ready to move on. I look forward to a year where we are settled into our surrounding environs and routines. Where the stressors we encounter are every-day, garden variety stresses. Where we have only one house payment and our business is all located in one state under one enormous roof. I look forward to getting more involved again at my kids' schools. As the four of them will be spread among three campuses, this should keep me plenty busy.

Just for good measure, I'll throw in here that I look forward to weighing about 15 pounds less than I currently do. But I'm sure that effort will be abandoned by October.

I Simply Remember My Favorite Things ...

2011-08-24T08:00:00.001-06:00

I really want to get back to posting more. Unfortunately, much of what goes through my head these days is a little bit of a downer. (See my last post ...) So, in an effort to show that I do in fact appreciate that my life is not absolutely horrible, I am posting a list of some of my biggest blessings at the moment. It's not the sort of thing I usually do. I run the risk of sounding cheesy, or worse, braggy. Today it's a risk I'll take. With a smile on my face.

I am so excited for #3. She is starting middle school next week, and with it, orchestra. Being a former band-geek myself, I love when my kids are involved with music, especially at school. She's been taking guitar for about 5 years now, and is adding violin. Her guitar teacher also teaches violin, and so their focus is shifting for a while until she starts to get the new instrument down. She's had 3 violin lessons now, and is doing really well. YAY, #3!

We've jokingly called this summer "the summer of #2." It's not entirely true, but a great deal of time has been spent by me on the road taking #2 to drivers' ed and soccer. The great news is that she's passed drivers' ed and is now in possession of a learner's permit. That's also the scary news. But honestly, it's not too bad. She does pretty well. And come late February, we will have another driver at our disposal, which will be cause for much rejoicing. The greatest news is that #2 made her high school JV soccer team. After being cut last year, she worked her little tail off, improved vastly, and is so excited to be part of the team. They are a great team, too. It's so much fun to watch her play in a stadium.

Along similar lines, #4 is taking a break from soccer. This is really a huge relief. It's a break for our schedule, and it will be good for him, as well. #4 likes sports on a recreational kind of level, but his true interests lie elsewhere. It will be good to pursue things like music and drama.

I am taking a vacation in a couple of weeks. It won't be long, but I'll be with a couple of my favorite people in a beautiful city, and I cannot wait.

It's almost fall. My favorite season. I'm really having to hold back pulling out the autumn decor. Sweater weather for me is as comforting as cocoa. Apples and pumpkins, rusty foliage and chrysanthemums. I hope the weather this year doesn't skip from summer to winter. I'll be crossing my fingers.

Then there is Yogalaxmi. She deserves her very own post. Be watching for more on her ...

Finally, no list of my blessings is ever complete without a little bit on my life partner. I would love to say that I got such a great husband because I knew what I was doing when I picked Larry. But let's face it--I was only 19. All I knew was that I couldn't stand the thought of continuing on with life without him. I lucked out. I got a talented, intelligent, hard-working, funny, responsible guy. There is no one on this planet who I'd rather spend time with. He is incredibly supportive of me, and he needs my support as well. He has also taken on responsibility for my mother. He does it willingly and patiently and selflessly. Today I am thankful that he was born 41 years ago. Here's to another 41, at least!

Paralysis

2011-07-25T15:00:00.000-06:00

Since I can remember (or at least since I've been old enough to have deadlines) there has existed for me a threshold of busy-ness beyond which I am unable to continue to function. Past that level I become virtually paralyzed by an overwhelming fear that nothing on my list can possibly be accomplished on time. And I do nothing. I am aware that this response is entirely self-defeating and ultimately self-fulfilling. Nothing will get done if I am not moving forward. The only reasonable course of action in these situations is to get to work. But it is crushingly difficult for me to do that when the list is too long. Some readers will not understand this at all. Others will totally get it. Brains are wired differently, and I believe this issue may be a symptom more on the anxiety-depression/functional acceptance spectrum rather than the hard-working/laziness spectrum.

Recently, I have become aware that this tendency of mine spills into other areas of my life beyond the "to do" lists. In fact, this post, which has been brewing and evolving in my brain for weeks now, was originally going to be about this sort of paralysis in relation to my body-image issues. Exciting, I know. To my credit, however, I did have a clever title and lots of little self-deprecating one-liners all ready to go. It may have been entertaining after all ...

I digress. As I pre-composed this post in my mind, I realized that at the moment my lack of inner peace involves SO much more than the number on the scale. I see areas everywhere where I am lacking, and where I'm really not headed in any sort of direction to improve, and I find it depressing. I am a Wife, a Mother, a Caregiver-Daughter, a Young Women President, a Dog Owner, a Gardener, an Amateur Artist/Musician/Seamstress, a Visiting Teacher, a Friend, a Blogger, a Reader, a Homemaker, a Chicken-Keeper, a Daughter of God, a Person with a Body. Without getting in the boring minutia of my pitiful life, I will simply say that the only role that I am not performing at a sub-par level is Reader. I am 6 books, or 11%, ahead of schedule to complete my goal of reading 52 books this year. Yay for me. Everywhere else my performance leaves much to be desired.

The list is too big. I am overwhelmed. And paralyzed.

In regards to my weight, I've been toying with the idea of how to *gasp* learn to be happy with the weight I am. I seriously don't know where to begin with that, but I feel like something has to give, and this is the only thing I see that can. Really though, it's a similar problem with the "everything else" part of my list. Is there a way for me to be at peace with who I am without giving up? I believe that we constantly need to be growing ... striving to be better. But for me, this comes with a super-sized side order of guilt and stress.

I am more than vaguely aware that the answer to this question has it's roots in prayer, in spiritual study, in service. Yet that awareness is easier for me to come by than to follow through on at this stage. The list is too big. I am overwhelmed. And paralyzed.

Ironically, it's the to-do-list type of activities which often overwhelm me that are keeping me from crawling under a rock at the moment. None of them takes emotional energy to perform. Drive to driver's ed? Check. Do the laundry? Check. Organize another YW activity? Check. And of course: Read? Check, check, check.

As I imagine comments to this post, I am tempted to turn them off. But instead of doing that (which frequently seems a little dramatic to me) I will just say that I'm not really looking for pity, or for solutions (unless they involve books and/or chocolate). If there's anything I need at the moment, it's camaraderie. Just so I know I'm not crazy. Or if I am crazy, to know that I'll have a lot of friends with me in the asylum.

Not Your Minister's Easter Post

2011-04-18T01:00:00.004-06:00

Happy Holy Week. It's a time for renewal, reflection, re-dedication, and mass quantities of chocolate. (Ugh. When will I EVER get my eating habits back on track?)

One of my favorite Easter stories comes from my aunt, who had a woman in her congregation take a stand about the commercialization of the holiest of holidays. No Easter goodies for her kids that year, only celebration of the atonement and resurrection. Her young son's plea? (You have to hear this in your mind coming from a little Southern Cali boy with an inexplicable New Jersey accent.) "Mommy, can't we at least have a chocolate Jesus on a cross?"

Well, we do try in our home to focus on the Savior as much as possible at this time. But there is no denying that what my kids look most forward to are new Sunday outfits, filled baskets, chocolate, orange rolls, dying boiled eggs, chocolate, the cousin egg-hunt on Saturday, and of course, chocolate. They won't be disappointed. We'll have it all. And then some. (Do I make the lime cheesecake for Sunday dessert or the carrot cake? And if I do the cake, do I make it into cute bunny cakes or cupcakes?)

But one thing I've never done with my kids is perpetuate the Easter Bunny myth. I just can't. You may ask why not. That would be an especially understandable query if you know me well enough to know that I love the Santa stuff and Tooth Fairy fun. We are nearly over loosing teeth chez nous, but I still won't admit to my kids aloud that there is no Santa. And they can't admit it to me either, because, as they are warned, Santa doesn't bring presents to kids who don't believe in him.

The thing is, I find the Easter Bunny idea to be kinda, well, creepy. I have nothing against bunnies in general. Nothin's cuter than a little lop running around your house. Bunny Peeps? My favorite shape. Let 'em get a little stale and those crunchy ears are the best, Jerry, the BEST. Bunny cakes were already addressed above. Chocolate bunnies? Do I even need to respond to this one?

But an over-grown rabbit, who may or may not sport formal-wear, hiding baskets and boiled eggs that weren't even his own but that *I* remember dying (yeah, this issue goes waaay back)? Well, that's over the top. I think I may prefer an encounter with an R.O.U.S. because I know for certain that I should attack on sight.

As a kid there were several years that I tried to stay up to catch the Easter Bunny in the act. I was skeptical, frankly, as well as creeped out. I often wanted to see Santa as well, yet I don't remember ever feeling the need to prove something--I just wanted to hug him. (I guess for me a magical little old man with reindeer and a sleigh was a much easier story to swallow.) Those Easter-eves I always fell asleep before the Bunny's arrival, and I wasn't ever sure if I was disappointed or relieved to have missed him.

One spring, when I was about 16, I actually got a gig as the Easter Bunny for a week or so at our local mall. Strangers all over Western Mass have photos of me with their kids and babies in boxes up in their attics. Of course, no one can tell it's me. I wouldn't even be able to tell you if it was me, thanks to that top-heavy, hot, Lysol-coated, condensation-filled helmet of a torture chamber they called a "mask." That thing was brutal. And it was hard to see out of. You couldn't look down. Most of the kids sitting on your lap are below eye-level, and it was hard to see where they were or what they were doing. I about freaked when I had to hold a several week old infant for photos. I was just glad she was too young to roll over. Also, the Easter Bunny doesn't talk. So I just got to give hugs and pat heads and wave like a beauty queen on a float. That was harder than one might think. Not only could I not see these kids ... I couldn't answer them. And the ones who weren't screaming were asking lots of questions.

When I became a mom, and #1 was getting old enough to start the Bunny thing, I just couldn't do it. And really, I didn't even need to. We always had the big egg hunt on Saturday with our cousins, and everyone knew it was the uncles out there hiding the eggs. (Which, I suppose, could be it's own brand of creepy.) So on Sundays, I just hid the baskets. And that was that. No freakish rabbit. Same great treats. Win-win.

I'll be interested to see what my kids do when they become parents. Maybe they'll go over-board with the Bunny since they had deprived childhoods. Or maybe I'll have passed on that particular neurosis to them, and we'll have a second generation of Bunny-free* Easter celebrations.

*chocolate and marshmallows not excluded

All is Safely Gathered In (or: No Use Crying Over Dry Milk)

2011-03-04T11:30:00.002-07:00

There is an LDS cannery in Garden City, ID, just west of Boise. In the summer they can produce. In the winter, it's meat. Since we've moved here I've had the opportunity to serve there 4 or 5 times.

This is not something I love to do. In fact, I rather hate it. But our ward is assigned shifts to fill, and even though we are a huge unit, we seem to have trouble filling our slots. I have the time, my kids are all in school, and I am capable. Largely out of guilt, therefore, I sign up. There is indeed some satisfaction in helping to produce food that will be used for folks in need, some of whom I am sure I know and love. And if someday those folks happen to be my family and I ... well I am sure my service will take on additional meaning.

Yesterday I was scheduled to work from 12:30 to 4:30 canning beef chunks. It's as lovely an experience as it sounds. It's smelly and wet and greasy and cold. Or it's hot, if you're working by the steam. It's also deafening. Even with earplugs. Time drags on like it does no where else. I was downright whine-y to my husband about having to go. But I couldn't not--it just isn't in me to flake if I know I'm flaking. So I bundled up in a flannel shirt, wool socks, and rain boots, and set off.

I've always thought that the blessings of service would be severely diminished if that service was given grudgingly, which fact crossed my mind as I complained to Larry. Yet, in spite of a poor attitude, I was handed some pretty nice blessings. First, I was asked to run quality control. This consisted of taking three samples of cans packed with beef before water is added, weighing each can and taking an average, and then doing the same with three sealed cans, water added. I recorded this information along with the time and the lot number every 15 minutes. Not cold, not wet, not quite as stinky. No sore back, knees or feet. Of course, that meant that I only was productive for about 3.5 minutes in every 15, but even so, time was segmented in a way that made it move faster for me. I was extremely grateful.

The next blessing, I'd never have anticipated. Every time you serve in the cannery, you receive a blue card. This card entitles you to purchase canned items from the cannery. Generally, you are only allowed to purchase only bulk items which you can yourself. I needed some bulk dry milk, so I went in after my shift and bought that and a case of canned beef chunks. One of the workers there helped me load my order into my car, and on his way back into the warehouse said to me (here comes that next blessing), "Good luck with your food storage."

That shouldn't have made me cry. Should it have? No. I'm pretty sure not. But it did, because he'd said it with meaning, like he was really concerned for the welfare of my family. And so am I. We used up most of our food storage before moving to Idaho, and once we got here weren't in a great financial position to rebuild those stores. We have a lot of expired #10 cans, too, that need replacing. It's a big job ahead, and it's a goal of ours to get that in order this year. I have been making some baby steps, but it's time to work in earnest. For some reason, this little comment, made by a stranger, has pushed my determination to do so to the next level. Those six simple words were an enormous blessing.

I'm glad I went.

It's what's for dinner ...

2011-02-15T17:25:00.002-07:00

Okay. So some things just should not irritate me. But they do.

#1 has a habit of asking what's for dinner. This isn't necessarily the problem. It's when she asks, it's how often, and occasionally it's about the annoying Phineas and Ferb accent she uses. Sometimes I've been gone all day, I'm tired, and the second I walk through the door I hear, "What's for dinner?" Sometimes I've answered this question of hers several times and yet again I get asked, "What's for dinner?" Sometimes I can see that she's looking AT THE MENU posted on the fridge in our pantry as she's asking, "What's for dinner."

And it makes me want to scream.

#1 is not a creature of habit, per se ... she's a creature of expectations. She simply wants to know what is going to be happening in her life on any given day or in any given week. It's how she processes the world around her. The problem isn't really that she wants to know what dinner is, the problem is entirely my response. I really do want to have patience with her.

Yesterday, while shopping for a family "jobs" board, I was inspired with a solution to this problem of mine. I found a little red magnet board, the perfect size for hanging an index card with dinner printed on it. I came home, hung it, made a cute magnet, and posted our dinner for the night. #1 came home, and I showed her, and told her how she can always look on this board for the correct menu item. (I will occasionally switch around my weekly menu, so it's not always accurate.) #1 seemed very excited about this.

I congratulated myself.

Today #1 came home, went straight to the menu board, and asked, "What's for dinner tomorrow?"

More Than an Assignment

2011-02-03T19:07:00.004-07:00

A friend of mine, who I desperately wish I'd gotten to know better before she moved, asked for some experiences with Visiting Teaching that she can use in a lesson on Sunday. I'm writing mine here.

Quickly, for my non-LDS readers, I will give a description of Visiting Teaching. The women's organization for Church members is called Relief Society. Visiting Teaching is a program in Relief Society designed to minister to the physical and spiritual needs of the sisters. In an average sized congregation, sisters are paired into companionships and are assigned 2-4 sisters to visit. It is recommended that a formal visit is given monthly to each sister, to check on that sister and to bring a Gospel message. Then, throughout the month, any care or assistance that the sister may need is taken care of either by her Visiting Teachers personally, or if extra help is needed, the Visiting Teachers can let the leadership of the Relief Society know, and the help will be provided.

That's the ideal standard. It doesn't always happen that way. Humans are humans, and sometimes they get busy, distracted, uninspired, embarrassed, sick ... you get the picture ... and then the program doesn't run the way it ought. I will freely admit that I am not the world's best Visiting Teacher. I usually get my visits done, but I am not as great, in general, about that continuing support that I am supposed to be for the sisters I visit. There have been a few exceptions to this.

I have had some phenomenal visiting teachers, and I have had mediocre visiting teachers. And as I think back, the biggest difference has been whether or not these women have been my friends to begin with. I have had four in my life who were my good friends before the assignment was made. They loved me to begin with, they knew trials I was facing anyway, and I was willing to call on them when I needed help. These were also women who instead of asking, "How can I help?," would say, "I'm coming over to do this for you." Visiting Teaching at it's finest.

I did have one Visiting Teacher who was exceptional right from the start without knowing me previously. Not only did this woman come by for a monthly visit, she acted like I was her friend at church. She'd sit next to me during meetings. She'd smile when she saw me in the halls and ask me how things were going. She'd call occasionally to check up on me.

We had just moved to this area. It was a really hard time for our family. The bottom was falling out of our business, our house in CA was not selling, we were building a house and a warehouse which we were suddenly unsure we could afford. We had some stresses with our extended family. Larry was travelling to CA about twice a month. And frequently when he'd go, he'd give me some piece of bad business news, and take off, leaving me alone in a new place with no friends and no follow-up information about how maybe things weren't quite as desperate as he'd feared until he returned home several days later.

I was depressed. When Larry was gone I started to fall into the following routine: Get the kids up, make lunches, send them to school, go back to bed, wake up in time for them to come home, make dinner, help with homework, go to bed. If ever I was up when the kids weren't home, I was on line. That was the time that I had started to blog very regularly. It was a safer way to make friends and feel connected, and I love those friends I made, but the fact is that there is only so much comfort to be had through a computer screen, and much of what was really happening in my life I wasn't really sharing with the blogging community anyway.

One month, my Visiting Teachers were at my house, making their monthly visit, and this sister asked me if there was anything they could do for me. (This is pretty standard, and the standard answer is "No, we're just great. Thanks for asking.") Well, this sister had made enough of an impression on me about how much she really cared for me in just a few short months that I actually told her what I needed. It was a true first for me during a visit like that. I told her that every time Larry left I got stressed and depressed. I didn't tell her about the sleeping all day, because I was embarrassed. I DID tell her that it would be really great if we could get together and do something the next time he left. And we did. We made some cinnamon/applesauce ornaments at her house together, she made me lunch, and we talked about EVERYthing, including some things I'd not been able to share with anyone here. It was great. I still crawled into bed on other days, but at least that one day I was out and socializing and actually felt happy.

Yes, it's easy for me to come up with great examples of wonderful things that Visiting Teacher/Friends have done for me, but what I learned from this particular experience was that one of the best things that a Visiting Teacher can do is to become the real friend of the women she visits whether the relationship started that way or not. It takes time. It takes effort. And for people like me it takes reaching out of a comfort zone. It can be done. But it can't be done in just 30 minutes a month.

I wish I could report that I've taken this example to heart and have become that type of Visiting Teacher. I can't. But I think this month I may try a little harder to start being friends with the women I teach. I want them to know that to me they are more than just an assignment, and they won't feel that until it's true.

Happy Almost-February!

2011-01-31T12:00:00.003-07:00

#1 HaPpY bIrThDaY to my beautiful, sweet, talented, smart #3! 11 years ago today I was feeling great relief, physically and emotionally, if also a little beat up. It's hard to believe how quickly she is growing into a young woman. My love for #3 helps me to realize that I may indeed be worthy of the love of my Heavenly Father, strengths, weaknesses and all.

#2 What kind of idiot locks her keys in the trunk along with her groceries? Oh yeah ... that would be me. At least I have a patient husband willing to come rescue me.

#3 Everybody Wang Chung tonight. Perhaps I'm naive, but I have no idea what that means. Was it slang for something? Was it naughty? Was it like the Hustle? And why on earth did that band think that they were worthy of verb-hood? On the other hand, the song continues to get the air time to torment me a quarter of a century later, so maybe they were on to something.

iDreams

2011-01-03T08:10:00.000-07:00

For a while now, I've had occasional dreams that I call "facebook dreams." No, I'm not dreaming about facebook, rather, I am having dreams in which people from distinctly different, separate times or places in my life are featured together. As this never really happened before I had friends who were strangers to each other interacting with comments on my facebook posts, I've assumed that social networking was the prompt for these dreams.

The past week I've experienced a new type of internet inspired dream. Twice. The first time, I dreamt I was reading the blog of a real-life friend (which does in fact exist, and which I did in fact read regularly back when I blogged regularly). The post I read was a complaint about having to interact with annoying people. I was featured, by name, as an example of the type of person she can only manage to talk to when she "has the energy" for me. I was mortified and devastated, especially since I consider this to be one of my better friends in my area. (Even as I retell this dream, I am feeling some of the same negative reactions creeping in ... funny how my subconsciousness knows how to hit a nerve!) It thankfully was a dream in which I became aware that I was dreaming, and felt instant relief in the knowledge that this post was never written in real virtual life.

In my second dream I was reading an email from a woman I work with at Church. She was giving some calendar information, and telling us about some decisions she'd made regarding the auxiliary we serve in, being the president of that organization. The point of interest was that she announced that she'd resigned from the Ward Council. (For my non-LDS readers, the Ward Council is comprised of all of the presidents and leaders in a given congregation. The council meets monthly. One does not resign from this, but is only released with the end of one's calling as a leader.) And that was the big climax of my dream. Stephenie Meyer I clearly am not.

In each of these dreams, I was reading material on my lap-top, most of the dream consisting of text on a screen. The timing of these dreams seems especially odd to me, because I've been on the internet significantly less often in the past year than I had been the two years prior. It makes me wonder why I am dreaming these sorts of behaviors now. Why reading? And why on-line? I don't believe I've ever dreamed about reading novels, and I do that a ton. I am stumped, but it does look as though my dream-self is at last being propelled into the 21st century.

The final frontier? I have yet to dream about a person that I know exclusively on-line. Maybe that is coming. It seems certain it will if I continue dreaming about virtual interactions. I don't know which would impress me more--a dream about blogging with an otherwise un-met fellow blogger, or a dream about meeting such a person in real, non-virtual life. Perhaps time will tell. Until then, sweet dreams ...

The Spirit of the Season ...?

2010-12-06T11:07:00.004-07:00

So I walked in to the school office to sign in for volunteering this morning, and noticed one of those photo Christmas cards taped up on the cabinet for the faculty. Under the photograph of the happy couple, the card had printed:

Wishing you keep your friends close and your enemies closer.
Merry Christmas.

I was inspired, touched, by this sentiment of good will offered by my kids' school principal and her husband during this season commemorating of the birth of our Savior, bless their hearts. I realized that my typical Holiday greetings are severely lacking in warmth and meaning. Things like, "may you and your family find peace and happiness," or, "wishing you all the joy of the season," just sound trite and old fashioned.

I have a lot to do today to help my mother and get ready for my brother-in-law to arrive, but I'm setting those things aside for the moment to brain storm for a better tag line for our annual family Christmas letter. How about:

Let us all remember that the secret of success is sincerity.
Once you can fake that you’ve got it made.
Happy Holidays!

OR:

If this special time of year gives you lemons,
but does not also give you water and sugar,
you're going to have some crappy Christmas lemonade.
Ho Ho Ho!

OR:

If at first you don’t succeed, destroy all evidence that you even tried.
Mele Kilikimaka!

But I think I may go with:

Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that, who cares?
He'll be a mile away and shoeless.
Joyeux Noel!

I don't know. Do any of you have any ideas? Maybe I need to go find my good old book of Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey. Nothing says Feliz Navidad like SNL snark.

On A Certain Lack of Maturity

2010-04-14T00:54:00.002-06:00

I think I must need to grow up a little. Maybe God knows that, and is giving me ample opportunity.

I feel like I am in a holding pattern. One I've been in pretty continually for nearly two years. I am waiting. Waiting for life to change so that I can rejoin it. I realize how maladaptive that behavior is.

The thought occurred to me in February that perhaps there was some degree of relief experienced by Job once he'd really lost everything. "Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose," right? But if I'm being honest with myself, to identify with Job would be to imply that I possess some measure of patience. I do not.

Nor am I disciplined enough to make myself behave properly, even though. Many nights I fall asleep thinking, "This is ridiculous, Mina. You have got to pull yourself together and just work tomorrow. You'll feel better." I sit weekly in silent prayer through the Sacrament promising myself and God that I will do better this week. But I don't. Because I feel complete impotence. Changing my attitude will not materially change our struggles. That's a hard reality for me at the moment and I don't care to face it. It's easier to check out.

It reminds me of my early motherhood years which I spent waiting for life to settle down. Things improved only once I accepted the fact that life doesn't really do that. So intellectually, I'm there. Pining away for something different serves no purpose. Shutting down accomplishes nothing. Life is what it is, and I, and everyone around me, will be better off with a functional, happy person living it. Practically, however, I am a toddler, squeezing shut my eyelids to avoid the drops. (That reference is for you, Mom.) I'd rather wait to open my eyes once the infection is gone.

"Grow up," He tells me, "grow up."

Political Blatherings

2010-01-20T19:08:00.003-07:00

So for all of my political junkie friends, check out my other gig (which we really haven't done so well at keeping up with) for some of what has been bouncing around in my brain this week. I didn't post it here, because the last time I went all political few folks seemed to care. Of course, I had a more regular audience due to regular posting back then ...

Anyway, click and enjoy. Or not.

Good Taste

2009-12-10T17:37:00.005-07:00

It was one of the most beautiful things I had seen. It certainly was the most lovely of our Christmas tree ornaments. My mother’s visiting teacher had given her a handcrafted cardinal whose intricate detail shimmered in the light.

Mom and I established a new tradition as we argued over the placement of this gorgeous bird. I wanted to hang it front and center on the tree, at my eye level, for everyone to see and admire. Mom was generally very flexible in the tree-trimming ritual, letting us help with very little censure. But with the cardinal, she was insistent. It was a gift to HER, not me, and she would hang it where she wanted. She explained that the perfect location for her decoration was nearer the top of the tree and toward the rear, so that passers-by could see its beauty from the front window. I had to admit that this made sense. Sharing this ornament with as many people as possible was indeed charitable. Yet I was left discouraged with the lessened opportunity for my own enjoyment.

This continued for years. I was in high school still trying to convince my mother to hang the cardinal on the front of the tree. I came to understand at that time, however, that mothers are entitled to possessions as well as children, and that mine loved her cardinal as much as I did. It was therefore only fair to let her hang her treasure where she pleased, no matter how silly a place it seemed.

Christmas break, home from college my freshman year, was a turning point. The tree was decorated upon my arrival, but I helped take it down, as was the custom at our house, on New Year’s Day. Perhaps it was because I had been away from home, or maybe it was one of the first times that I had actually handled the bird, but as I put it away, I looked at this thing with fresh eyes. In truth, it must have been the first time I had done so since about age 9 or 10. It was with a great deal of shock and some disappointment, not only in the ornament, but also in myself, that I saw that cardinal for what it was.

It was one of the ugliest things I’d seen. It was a bright red piece of felt, edges pinked, trimmed with metallic cording, perched on a green pipe-cleaner, and covered with a gaudy pattern of glued-on sequins--blues and golds and greens and more reds, creating the bird’s features. “Mom,” I exclaimed, “this thing is hideous.”

“I know, Merinda, why do you think I always hung it on the back of the tree?”

Wow. She'd known. All that time. She didn’t hang it in back to be generous to our neighbors. She did it to hide it.

It was time for some serious self-evaluation. Was I that lacking in taste? My whole life I had believed I had great taste. Yes, it had certainly evolved, matured. But for some reason that I still can’t place, the cardinal had escaped the notice of the greater refinement of my eye. It was as if my 6-year-old self had dressed my 19-year-old self for a party and I hadn’t discovered that fact until half way through the evening. I felt exposed. I had loved and adored this horrendous, cheap, ugly bird. The previous year.

A few years back, my mother gave me the cardinal. It spends all year with my other tree ornaments in storage, but spends Christmas alone, still in the bottom of the box.

People with no relation to myself now frequently compliment me on my good taste and talent in decorating. Last summer my design for a decorative flag for the city was selected. A friend recently enlisted my help in choosing the color scheme for his new restaurant. My shameful past is safely concealed in a red and green Rubbermaid tub.

Can you say "midlife crisis"?

2009-11-10T15:20:00.005-07:00

An Open Letter to the Baby-Boom-Age Man I Encountered Whist Grocery Shopping Today:

Dear Mr. Walmart Shopper,

Some may call you snobby, others, ridiculous. But me, I call you an inspiration.

Your spiked hair-do lifted my spirits as I remembered back to my college days in the very early 90s when my boyfriend sported the same style. Of course, he was blond, and you are heavily salt-and-pepper, but it still took me right back. Who doesn't love to feel like a college kid again?

And nothing takes one's mind off of being in Idaho in November like spying a good, dark, fake tan peeking out from behind Ray-Bans worn indoors. No need to be pining away for the summer past or lusting after Christmas Caribbean cruises when the tropics come strolling down the deli aisle in the form of your pre-skin cancerous self!

A cream colored turtleneck sweater, a fine Italian leather blazer, and black dress slacks. It worked for wealthy sea men in the 1930s, afro-picking swingers in the 1970s, and remains a classic today. Well played, my friend.

Lastly, though perhaps I should have mentioned it first as it was what originally caught my eye, I thank you for your air of superior derision as you graced the rest of us lowly Walmart shoppers with your very presence. It sent a signal of solidarity--a reminder that although some of us would rather be at Neiman Marcus, these hard financial times have reached all walks of life.

Thank you, Mr. Walmart Shopper. Thank you for your style and class. Thank you for a fine example of holding your nose, er, I mean your head high in the midst of the undeserving. Thank you for reminding us all to leave our holey sweats at home. Thank you for the opportunity to practice stifling a laugh.

Most sincerely yours,

The Mousey Mom in the Cape Cod Hoodie in Aisle 9

F2: Friday's Feast, Soup or Treat

2009-10-30T00:00:00.006-06:00

Some occasions just taste a certain way to me. Food is such a central element of celebration and, as I am sure is quite common, I often get flavors stuck in my head as representing certain holidays. Some of those flavors traditionally make sense. Others are a little less obvious. For years, Halloween has tasted to me like taco soup.

I can't recall when I first made Taco Soup as the pre-trick-or-treat meal, but I did it for years. It's warm, it's hearty, and it's a little spicy--all a nice prelude to a cold, sugar-laden evening. Then we moved up to a small mountain community where Halloween was celebrated in the middle of town, complete with parade, carnival, haunted house, and businesses passing out candy. Those years dinner was hot dogs and hamburgers prepared by the Lion's Club.

Now we're back in a regular neighborhood, more or less, and so we will be able to reinstate our soup tradition. If you'd like to join us, I'll make a double batch. Alternately, you can make your own pot of soup. Make it ahead, even. I see no reason why this couldn't sit in a crock pot all day on low. Serve it with some corn muffins and apple slices. At our house, we also have a bowl of toasted pumpkin seeds, courtesy of our jack-o-lanterns, sitting out to munch on. (Dessert graciously supplied by the neighbors.)

Taco Soup

1 lb. ground beef
1 chopped onion
1 pkg. taco seasoning
1-20 oz. can stewed tomatoes, undrained
2 c. water
1-8 oz. can tomato sauce
1 can corn, undrained
1 can kidney beans, undrained

Cook beef and onion together in soup pot. Drain fat. Mix in taco seasoning. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes.

Top each serving with:

coarsely crushed tortilla chips
sour cream
grated cheddar cheese
chopped avocado, if desired

Visit Ca-Joh for more Friday Feast Halloween Fare.

F2: Friday's Feast, Recipe Swap

2009-10-15T23:00:00.000-06:00

I love autumn. I love the weather, I love the colors. I love Halloween and Thanksgiving. I love cinnamon and nutmeg and all of those warm spicy scents and flavors. And I love pumpkin! Pumpkin bread, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin ice cream (I recently had a pumpkin malt to die for at a local ice cream shop), pumpkin pie, pumpkin bars, pumpkin pasta (sounds weird, I know, but I once had an amazing pasta dish with a pumpkin cream sauce at a place called Café Aroma we used to frequent back in Cali), pumpkin roll, pumpkin Peeps (which, I grant, taste just like every other Peep), pumpkin bisque, and pumpkin cheesecake.

CaJoh is doing a recipe swap for his Friday Feast feature today, so head on over here for more great culinary contributions. Being the time of year it is, I decided to submit my new favorite Thanksgiving dessert, Spiced Pumpkin Cheesecake. I nabbed this recipe off of epicurious.com two years back. It was originally printed by Bon Appétit in October 2002. It is the best served with freshly whipped cream. I've thought about replacing the graham crackers in the crust with ginger snaps. I'd make the swap ounce for ounce. It makes one tall, rich, 10" cake.

Spiced Pumpkin Cheesecake

Makes 12-16 servings

Crust

9 whole graham crackers (about 4 oz.), broken

1/4 c. sugar

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/4 c. butter, melted

Filling

4 8-oz. pkgs cream cheese, room temperature

1 1/2 c. sugar

3 large eggs

1 15-oz. can pure pumpkin

1 c. whipping cream

2 tsp. vanilla extract

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tsp. ground ginger

1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg

1/2 tsp. ground allspice

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 350. Wrap a double layer of heavy duty foil around outside of 10" springform pan. Combine crackers, sugar and cinnamon in food processor. Blend until crackers are finely ground, drizzle in butter, and pulse until crumbs begin to stick together. (Alternately, crush the crumbs in a plastic bag with a rolling pin, and mix together with remaining ingredients with fork.) Press mixture into bottom (not sides) of springform pan. Bake until crust is slightly golden, about 10 minutes. Remove to cooling rack but maintain oven temp while preparing filling.

Cream cream cheese and sugar in large bowl until smooth and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time. Add pumpkin and remaining 7 ingredients. Beat until just blended. Pour into prepared crust. Place pan in large roasting pan. add enough water to some halfway up sides of springform pan. Bake until slightly puffy and softly set and top is golden, about 1 1/2 hours. Transfer springform pan to cooling rack and cool. Cover and refrigerate cake overnight.

I guess I need to admit here to being at times a poor reader of directions, and I do not believe I have ever put the cake pan in a pan of water. And my cakes have always turned out great. Maybe I'll try the water bath this year, and see if I can tell a difference.

Well, I wish I had a great photo of this to share, but I haven't taken pics before, and there's no way I will make one of these just for that purpose. Because then I'd eat it.

The Gift

2009-10-14T08:50:00.000-06:00

Occasionally one receives a gift from an unlikely source or in an unexpected form. Yesterday mine came as a fast-moving front, bringing with it earlier-than-predicted rainfall, and ill children.

This autumn has been crazy. #2 and #4 are both in soccer. We've had more in the sport at a time in the past, but this year their practices do not overlap. Someone has soccer every night. And of course Larry is coaching #2 again, so he is also committed to three 90-minute practices and one 70-minute game per week. The evenings they are home, I am sitting at practice with #4, who I consider still too young to be dropped off. Two Tuesdays per month #3 has Activity Day with the 9 year-old girls in our congregation. Every Wednesday she has guitar lessons. Wednesday nights #s 1 & 2 have Mutual, our church youth group activities. One night a week I am supposed to be going on visits as a Ward Missionary.

I'm not listing all of this to earn awe or respect or pity. Many families I know have crazier schedules than that. I am listing it to simply complain. For me, at this point in my life and marriage, I do not like it. We have fewer family dinners. Our Family Home Evening gets bumped around and sometimes missed entirely. Family scripture study is suffering. Errands requiring more than just myself all get crammed in around Saturday games. With other stresses we are currently experiencing, I feel only further unsettled and disconnected at a time when I see that consistency and intimacy are just what we all need so desperately.

Yesterday morning my husband informed me that it was supposed to rain that night. (He is my sole weather source.) But the precipitation began around 2:00. About that time, I came home to a phone message from #3's Activity Day leader. Sick kids, no activity. I knew my girl would be disappointed, but I suddenly had an extra hour. Email from #4s coach: no practice. Suddenly we had an entire afternoon and evening!

I've been meaning to get to a local pumpkin stand with Larry's truck for weeks. They sell pumpkins, hay bales, and cornstalks on the cheap. Since I had arranged to pick up #s 3 and 4 from school, I decided to take them to get our hay and cornstalks. With my Suburban. In the rain. I think they thought I was nuts. I loaded two bales into the back, and a cornstalk along three rows of passenger seats, put my cash in the drop box, and made good use of my side mirrors on the way home. I was soaked and dirty and stinky and downright giddy. The kids were excitedly chattering about the holidays and the weather. I wondered aloud if the car would fit down our front walk, shortening the distance I had to carry this wet hay. I decided not. I informed the kids that we'd get some cocoa on arrival home, or at least after I'd gotten the hay out of the car because heaven knows I wasn't going to let it sit in there longer than necessary. #4 replied, "Kevin knows we've got hay in our car?"

We drank our cocoa, arranged our hay, made spaghetti sauce, and had dinner all together. I vacuumed out the Suburban and coated the back floor with Febreeze. (The car smells fine now, but the garage still smells like horse manure. The bales were out of the car before I ever parked it in the garage. Go figure.) We listened to the Family Home Evening lesson that #4 had had ready for a week and a half. We drove to the Boy Scout pumpkin stand and bought pumpkins for carving and some to last through Thanksgiving. #1 and I even had time to help Larry with some work he's been behind on. It was a great night.

Today my back is sore, and two of my kids are sick. So back to the grind. I guess if every day was such a gift, we wouldn't appreciate them. And I am still smiling.

Too Cool for School

2009-10-07T21:00:00.001-06:00

This week we had rain. So, being the good mom that I am, I made sure that everyone had an umbrella in their backpack. (I will pause here for nods of approval. Thank you.) #3 informed me that she needed a new one. "Is yours broken?" I asked. "No. ... But Mo-om! It's Hello Kitty."

#3 is in the fourth grade this year. She'll be 10 in January. And I guess this is the age when little girls start to want to grow up, disassociate themselves from their baby-ish interests of the past. It's interesting to watch. Because it's not as if the girls suddenly find little-kid things unappealing. It's just that they believe they will not be cool if such a penchant is made public. So every girl in 4th and 5th grade puts on the too-cool show for all the rest. My theory is that if they all knew that every one else still liked Barbies and baby dolls and Polly Pockets and My Little Pony, they'd all be a lot happier. But no one wants to be the first to admit it.

... until about eighth grade or so. Then all things "little-kid" are suddenly not only cool, but verging on retro-chic. The girls have established their maturity by this point, and now are willing to indulge in reliving the good old days of their youth, way back four or five years ago. To this level of self-confidence #2 has finally arrived. Of course, she and #1 had an advantage over #3 even during their too-cool phase. They had a younger sister they could "have" to play with. Even #2s friends would be so kind as to humor #3 with little-kid play when at our house. Poor #3 only has a little brother, and as her interest in Star Wars and Legos is severely limited, she's just forced to play it cool for a while.

Now a very generic, very mature striped umbrella sits in #3s backpack. And on #2s cut shin is slapped a Hello Kitty Band-Aid.

Me, I'm digging Star Wars chat with #4.

PHOTOS-- top left: #3 at age 3 with Strawberry Shortcake

bottom right: #3 at age 9 with the big girls

Busy making other plans

2009-09-17T18:15:00.000-06:00

There have been several times in my life where I've found myself re-defined. Not because I was wanting to make a change, but because I discovered that I am, in very essence, different than I thought I was, or in different circumstances than I had hoped for. Some have been small things, relatively easy to come to terms with. Others were much larger in scope.

I always thought I would love the maternal thing. You know--being pregnant, nursing, caring for tiny babies. My mother did. I loved other people's infants. Baby dolls were my favorite toys for more years than I really care to admit. My mom used to tell me about a friend of ours who really didn't care too much for kids until they were a bit older. Even her own. This story came with a judgemental undertone. What kind of mother, after all, didn't just adore her own babies? Something must have been wrong.

I got married young and became pregnant quickly. And I was sick. Very sick. Lose weight kind of sick. That finally subsided. Then I was uncomfortable. Water retaining, back aching, rib crushing uncomfortable. I could not wait to be done being pregnant. #1 was born 6 days early, which was good for my morale. Except that then I had the baby. A baby who had difficulty nursing. When she did nurse, she'd immediately projectile vomit most of what she'd consumed. She had a blocked tear duct. I had an over-active let-down reflex. We were wet and miserable a good deal of the time, or so it seemed. Breast-feeding was not comfortable for me, physically or emotionally. But I knew it was best, so I did it. And I felt guilty, because I did not enjoy it at all.

My pregnancies only got harder and much more painful with each baby. I never became comfortable with nursing. I continued to resent the infant schedule. I did, however, finally stop beating myself up for not being what I thought I should. I finally came to terms with the fact that I prefer older children. I loved each of my babies, but I enjoyed them more and more as they grow up and become more independent. I decided that nothing was wrong with me. Just different. As soon as I made that decision, the added stress of living up to unrealistic expectations lessened tremendously.

It was only a few years after that epiphany of mine that #1 was diagnosed with mild mental retardation. I can't say that it was a complete shock. We'd been testing her for different things for several years at that point. We knew that she was not developing at an expected rate. It was the beginning of her 1st grade year. I was happy on one level, because she finally started to receive the help that she so clearly needed. She also got more understanding from faculty and staff at the school. But I was also full of negative emotion. I was embarrassed. Silly, I know. I felt guilty for feeling that way. I never looked down on people with disabilities or their families. But some vain, arrogant part of me did not want that to be MY child. I was very smart. Did well in school. So did my brother. My dad has a PhD. and is well known in his small, specialized field. I married an intelligent, articulate, analytical man, in graduate school himself at the time. I fully anticipated having brilliant children. #1's disability was a blow.

I didn't share her diagnosis with many people right off. For some reason, it felt to me like admitting to failure. I was afraid that she'd be treated differently by family. I actually kept telling myself that she'd catch up at some point in the near future. That she was just behind and would turn out just fine and normal. I was waiting for that. I was impatient for it. I was not happy.

The best thing I ever did was sign her up for VIP soccer. VIP is the AYSO's special ed program. That first year was intimidating for #1. Our region only had one team, and so she was a 3rd grader playing with High School aged kids. But it did wonders for me. I watched the other moms. They acted like any other group of parents. They complained about bad attitudes. They laughed at funny things their kids said or did. They cheered when their kids made goals. They hassled them for not paying attention. Life was normal, and these moms were happy. And though it seems obvious in retrospect, that was the content of my next big epiphany. It didn't matter if #1 was retarded or not. She was the same girl I have loved her whole life. It would really be fine if she never caught up to her peers. Maybe her peers were a different set than I was thinking. Not a worse set, just a different one. I started to drop my unrealistic expectations of my daughter and started to be happy with my family as it was.

We moved to the mountains the next year. #1 had a much better experience at school. We were also in a different AYSO region; one that was incredibly supportive of their VIP program. I became very good friends with the coach, and got involved with the kids. Some of the kindest, sweetest, most genuine people I have ever interacted with I would never have met had I only been the mother of "brilliant" children.

One of the first things I do now in way of introducing my daughter is tell people that she is mentally retarded (because you don't notice right off). It's who she is. And it helps people to interact with her more appropriately. When we built our home we added an apartment in the walk-out basement to be used by #1 when the time comes for her to have some more independence. I love seeing that space. Larry and I want to serve a mission together. We really hope that #1 will be allowed to come with us, and serve as well. I'm proud of her when she reaches out of her comfort zone, when she makes friends. I love what a nurturing, caring person she is. I delight in her simple faith. She makes all of us in her family better people for knowing and loving her.

I'm not living the life I had planned, or in the way I figured. But it is my life. It's a good one, too, and I am grateful for it.

See you 'round the net

2009-08-17T11:00:00.001-06:00

After a two-plus month long hiatus, I can be found today posting on Ca-Joh's blog. He has guest bloggers posting all this week while he's on vacation. Read my post about the New Year here.

Ca-Joh is a thoughtful and interesting bloggist, with personal philosophies, funny stories, poetry, and a weekly Friday Feast food-themed feature that all can join in on. I lovingly refer to him as my "man-reader." He had become a good internet friend. If you're not familiar with his blog already, check it out here.

Strutting

2009-06-14T21:20:00.002-06:00

Today on the way home from church we saw a tom turkey who appeared to be posing for a Thanks-giving Day portrait. My son was impressed. We see the turkey all the time, but never with his tail feathers fanned out in display. He wanted to know why Tom was strutting his stuff. I told him that the turkey was trying to impress the girls.

Speaking of which ...

Just this past week as I was driving home from the grocery store I spotted 4 turkeys walking along the side of the road. These turkeys were human males, appearing to be in their late teens or early twenties at most. They were fully clothed with the notable exception of their rear-ends, which were exposed. I was not impressed, and surprisingly not even very disgusted. I was simply confused. Questions to pose the quartet flooded my mind as I passed them. "What are you all thinking? Are you serious? What is the goal here? Trying to be funny? Racy? Tough? Imposing? Want another beer?" Some level of intoxication seemed to me the most rational explanation.

The last day of school was a Wednesday, my regular day in #3's classroom, and I went in. The first hour of the day was taken up with a fifth grade "graduation" assembly. At the end of the assembly we all rose and waited for the new grads to file out. Most of the kids proceeded down to aisle toward the back door. A handful of turkeys raced up to the stage and began, er, dancing, I suppose. They were gyrating in awkward, preteen craziness, looking ludicrous. I noted to #3s teacher that only boys were goofing-off on the stage, my assumption being that the girls were more mature and taking the event more seriously. His response was not what I'd been thinking. He said, "Well, we don't have colorful feathers or big manes, and we've got to show the girls what we have to offer somehow." Hm. I don't know about their female classmates, but I failed to see the charm.

It starts young. Years ago when #2 was five, we were at a rehearsal for a Primary Christmas program. The children were singing "Away in a Manger." #2 was seated next to a little boy who was a year ahead of her in Primary but sat next to her in kindergarten. A friend of mine got my attention and motioned to the kids. I looked over to see the boy flexing his muscles for my girl. My high school psych teacher would have added to this picture the caption: "It's THAT way to the beach." #2 in turn was looking very impressed, batting her lashes, and giggling with one little hand demurely covering her mouth. Seven plus years later, I'm not sure what kind of turkey is now earning her admiration.

So many strutting rituals seem very silly to me. And yet, there are indeed feathers that will catch my attention. Some are physical--nice shoulders, nice back and chest. More important ones are intellectual. I know that an intelligent sense of humor will make a regular-looking guy seem quite enticing in my view. And of course, a sexy, raspy tenor or baritone singing voice makes me weak in the knees. We all have our turn-ons. I'm not sure that most of the turkeys out there are thinking about these sorts of subtleties in their efforts to show off. Maybe I'm an odd bird. But my guess would be that I'm not so very unique.

So to all you Toms out there, I'd suggest that simply being yourself will attract the girl that is right for you. And for heaven's sake, cover your bum.

It's not good bye, just see you later ...

2009-05-09T07:00:00.000-06:00

When I started blogging a little over three years ago, my goal was to post twice monthly. My audience was myself and my close friends and family. Subject matter varied somewhat but was essentially commentary on my life. Not a diary of the minutea of daily life, but insights in to how I experience what goes on around me. I've always been overly introspective and this blog served as a stage for indulgence in that activity.

Then last summer we moved to Idaho. Several other very personal stresses developed about the same time, and I felt alone. I didn't really have much of anyone to talk with here, and I've never been great at keeping long distance friendships going. Also around this time my cousin Lisa began dipping more deeply into the blogging pool, and I started to watch the interactions going on in her comment section. I eventually started making blogging friends myself, and realized that in order to keep interest going in my blog, I needed to up my posting efforts.

So began my journey through the blogosphere. I must admit that I enjoyed having a slightly broader audience. That was my biggest motivator. Of course, this is largely a mutual admiration soceity--I'll read yours if you read mine. I found some great blogs out there, funny, honest, articulate, and I even made a few friends. Most of those friends I have yet to meet, but one, at least, is in my ward, and it's been a great way to get to know her. I also became much closer to my cousin than I think I've ever been. So good things have come of this.

But as all of you wonderful bloggists know, reading blogs and making meaningful comments can become rather consuming. And I am done. Spending hours a week on Blogspot is not really how I want to spend all my time. I'm not great at balance. I tend to obsess. Usually, however, I can obsess in an ADD kind of way, bouncing from one project to the next. I actually have come to appreciate Facebook that way. I can be on there for five minutes or nearly an entire day if I want, and then ignore it for weeks. My friends are still there on my return, and no one has really even missed me. Blogging is a bigger commitment. I already have as many big commitments as I can handle.

I'm not removing my blog. I reserve the right to post now and then, as the spirit moves. I plan on visiting my fellow bloggers now and then. I might even leave a comment. Then again, I might not. I realize that this means I may loose some of the friendships that I have started. And I think I have decided that that will be okay. I will miss you. I hope at least some of you will miss me. But life sort of goes that way, doesn't it?

So friends, email me, leave a message on my Facebook wall, and I promise I will keep in touch. Otherwise, if you're interested, check in now and then. I may very well have something to share.

Pencil it in

2009-04-27T09:00:00.001-06:00

I keep myself organized with a wall calendar. I like that everything is posted there for the entire family to see. Of course, the youngest two kids haven't caught the vision of checking the calendar yet. I'm also pretty sure that Larry never looks at it. If he did, he'd not be so frequently surprised about our plans. But #s 1 and 2 always have a pretty good handle on the schedule.

This method also has its limitations. The biggest one is pretty obvious. The calendar is on my wall. At home. It doesn't come with me to the doctor or the dentist or the hairdresser. So as I'm setting appointments, I'm always hoping that nothing conflicts. I'm also banking on the fact that I will remember by the time I arrive home to write the appointment on the calendar. If I have errands to run first, I may be in trouble.

Years ago I bought myself a planner. I really wanted it to work out. I used it very sporadically with limited success. For several years at least its only function has been that of address book. Secondary address book. I have a primary one, which I received as a graduation gift from my young women presidency, that contains most of my addresses. There are only a few entries that are current only in the planner. Fifteen minutes of transcribing would eliminate the need for it entirely.

Here are my hang-ups with my planner:

1) I'm not bad at writing things down in it. I am bad at remembering to always have it with me. I am also bad at checking it to see what I have going on that day as it simply becomes part of the clutter on my desk. Or on the counter. Or on my nightstand. Like everything else.

2) I don't like seeing only one week at a time, I prefer putting my schedule in a larger context. Perhaps I should have listed this first. It's a big problem for me. And yes, I know planners come with monthly inserts. But then the little squares are too small to write more than one item in. I often have four or more.

3) When I use my planner, it becomes the place to jot down my to do list. This makes for a very filled up, hard-to-read, easy-to-miss-events calendar--even with the larger weekly sized squares.

4) I can never get over the feeling that I need that wall calendar, so I end up recording information in duplicate. That gets old pretty darn quickly. And if I'm not perfect about writing appointments in both places ... well, I'm sure you can imagine the potential problems. I think that if ever I want to make the transition once and for all I will need to give up the wall calendar.

For the gluttons for punishment still reading at this point, I will now share the story that necessitated this dry, wordy build-up. It may not, in truth, be funny enough to have warranted this post. What can I say? The muse is still on holiday, I am assuming somewhere warm where she is sipping fruity beverages and getting a very nice tan.

Last summer I was given a small, paperback 2009 planner. I thought, okay, not as bulky, cute--maybe this will work. So far this year there are only three weeks that I've written in. The first week of January, the second week of February, and the week before Easter. I found the planner today, under a pile of papers on my desk, opened to that pre-Easter entry. I chuckled to myself as I remembered filling in everything that had to be done that busy week and never looking at it again after that. I checked out the page more closely. The events happened three weeks ago. But the dates read May 3rd through May 9th. I hadn't noticed.

The really funny part is that when I saw what I'd done, I was annoyed because I now cannot use the planner next week. I'd written in pen.

Knowing

2009-04-24T07:00:00.003-06:00

My muse must be on holiday, for I am uninspired. Bemoaning this fact to #2, she procured a dictionary from the library, opened up to a random page and asked me for a number from 1 to 20. The 18th word on her selected page was "knowing." That is my writing assignment.

No redos.

KNOWING is a good word. I like to know. In fact I hate NOT knowing. That's the worst part about childbirth. When is that baby going to come? Well, here is your due date, and a 4 week period surrounding that date will be considered "full-term." We won't let you go much later, and we'll try to keep you from going earlier, but really, we're not sure. Somebody please shoot me now.

So what do I know? Less than my 7 year old. At least, that's his perspective. He knows much. He knows all sorts of facts. Some of those facts can be verified in reference books. Others are of a more, er, obscure origin. He knows how to light a fire. He knows what a pterodactyl sounded like. He knows how to talk to animals. But not sheep. He can't talk to sheep. He can also see in the dark with his one owl eye, but I suppose that's really more of a super-power than knowledge.

My 14 year old knows that I am a mean, nasty mother who never lets her sleep in and expects her to do preposterous things like bathe. She also already knows whatever it is that I am about to tell her. I'm useless. I know.

#3 knows how to play the guitar. She knows how to sing very loudly in the shower or in her bedroom. She does not know how to sing loudly when she's performing with her guitar. Thankfully, at our house we know how to plug a mic into a guitar amp.

#2. Where to begin? Well, #2 knows how to be funny. Larry and I are pretty proud of that fact. She now knows how to sew an Easter dress. She knows how to spell a lot of words that I cannot. She knows how to be an incredible friend and support to her disabled sister.

I know that I am ready for sustained warm weather. I know school will be out before I know it. I know that I am putting off my brain surgery indefinitely. I know that coming to Idaho was a good move. I know that I spend too much time on-line. I know that my husband adores me. (I adore him, too.) I know that the folks in D.C. are ridiculously out of touch. I know that if I track what I eat I will lose weight. Knowing how to motivate myself to follow that course seems to be the problem. I know that I'm currently crushing on a 27 year old Idol contestant with a phenomenally sexy voice who may or may not be homosexual. Don't worry--Larry knows it's someone's voice that gets me every time.

I don't know exactly how things will work out for us with our business and personal finances, which frustrates me. Knowing that I have no control over any of that frustrates me as well. But I also know that no matter what, the most important things will remain intact: my husband, my kids, and the Gospel. What else, really, is there to know?

Withering interest

2009-04-20T07:00:00.008-06:00

Nearly 21 years ago I was assigned to read Wuthering Heights in my sophomore AP English class. I think I may have read three chapters. It was all I could take. I have no idea how I managed the chapter quizzes and final test on the book. Maybe I failed them.

Ever since, this title has rested on a dusty shelf in my mind labeled "To Read." This past Christmas, a paperback copy was wrapped and under the tree with a tag addressed to "Mina." I anxiously began.

Last Thursday night, I finished.

It's important to note that I often get through a novel in 2 or 3 days, depending on how much I like the book and how much time I can steal from my other responsibilities at the moment. Lately, I've been able to steal a fair amount of time. Since starting Heights, I've read The Host, Spires of Stone, The Friday Night Knitting Club, Tower of Strength (which I reviewed here), the entire Twilight series for the second time, and the Midnight Sun partial draft. I also moved, I felted two purses, I sewed two dresses and guided the sewing of another dress. However, anytime I'd pick up Wuthering Heights, and I'd fall asleep after a chapter or two.

How do I hate thee, Wuthering Heights? Let me count [a few of] the ways ...

I dislike the multiple narrators. Mr. Lockwood, to whom the story is being related by Nelly the servant, seems entirely extraneous. I see that his existance just provides a platform for the telling of the tale, but I think it's too much. It's even a little consfusing at times when Nelly is describing accounts given to her by yet other characters.

The main characters, Heathcliff and Catherine, are anti-heros. They are in love, but their insanely bad behavior and selfishness not only destroys their lives but the lives of most all around them as well. I read a piece on this book that claimed that this was a more true to life situation than the typical love story with a happy ending. Well, happy endings may be slightly unrealistic, but I can't say that I often find violent, malevolent, murderous, vindictive narcissists falling in love and ruining everything they touch, either.

Even the non-evil characters are not really good. They are spineless and manipulative in their own rights. There is not a redeeming personality in the lot. There isn't even an endearing one. Nor were they characters I loved to hate. I will conceed that by the last two pages the younger Cathy and Hareton appeared that they would fare well together with the all rest of their family finally in the grave. Yet it hardly seemed redemptive of the story at large.

I don't get in to the Gothic themes of the mid-nineteenth century. Plot twists become over the top for literature not meant to be fantasy. The crazy first wife in Jane Eyre is about the most I can handle; I at least found that story line somewhat intriguing. Heights, no. It's plot was just, in my opinion, long and drawn out and messy and not the slightest bit interesting. I'd call it a train wreck, but I had no problem looking away. It was maintaining enough interest to continue that was difficult.

I am glad I read and finished this book. I am also glad that I ate a plate of escargot once on a cruise. That way, if offered them ever again, I can simply reply that I'm not in the mood for snails at the moment. But I think that neither Wuthering Heights nor escargot deserve the "classic" status that they enjoy.

F2: Friday's Feast, OCCD

2009-04-17T08:20:00.001-06:00

Obsessive Compulsive Checkout Disorder.

I have had this disorder in varying degrees my entire grocery shopping career. And right now I am at a high point. Or maybe that's a low point. I guess it depends on who you're askin'.

I like to put things on the checkout belt in categories. This habit became more ingrained when I lived in the mountains and needed to put all of my cold things in a cooler for the half-hour drive home. One would think that a bagger would do that automatically. Uhhhh, no. One might then think that if a customer specifically asked that all of her cold things be put together, that they could manage it. Wrong again. I always had to look through my bags to take out the stragglers. And if I'd asked, I would become extremely irritated at the necessity of that obnoxious, time consuming task. So I stopped asking and became extra diligent about my categories.

Boxed items all are put on the belt together. Then meats. Freezer, refrigerated, and deli items. Cans and jars. Any bottled juices. Baking goods. Fresh produce. Breads. That's pretty much it. I do group non-grocery items together after the food items.

This really doesn't take as long as it may seem it would. That's why the boxes tend to go on first. Those are bulky, easy to spot. Once they're out of the cart, it's easy to sort the rest. A lot of it is already grouped in my cart that way, just because of how the aisles are arranged.

I never thought that anyone noticed this. Maybe they haven't in the past. But the last time I went grocery shopping, the cashier, who was also bagging, commented on my anal behavior (her words). Rather than criticizing, she was thanking me. It was so much easier to bag that way, she said. I told her she was welcome and felt gratified. I instantly realized that any hope I had at rehabilitation was just dashed. Reinforcement like that will sustain my OCCD for quite a while.

Visit CaJoh for more Friday Feast links.

At the risk of being put on watch as a potential domestic terrorist by the MIAC* ...

2009-04-15T13:45:00.001-06:00

A few weeks back Representative Michele Bachmann (R-MN) questioned Treasury Secretary Tim Geithner and Chairman Bernanke of the Federal Reserve about the constitutionality of the radical bailouts which began last year. Continuing to point back to the authorization given by the House of Representatives, Geithner never answered the basic question of where in the Constitution authority is given to the Treasury to interfere so drastically with the private sector. As Congresswoman Bachmann pressed the point, he had a look on his face that would say, "I do not know this 'Constitution' of which you speak." It's like that old Andy Griffith episode where Barney cannot repeat one word of the preamble correctly. But at least Barney thought he had it memorized!

I'm a member of a book club of several women in my ward who are interested in learning and discussing and becoming more involved in politics. Yesterday, we had our second meeting, and reviewed the Constitution. As I read the articles for the first time in decades I realized that while we site the occasional Amendment here and there, we as a society have forgotten much of the vision the Founding Fathers had for this great Democratic Republic.

George Washington said:

"This Constitution is really, in it formation, a government of the people ... No government before introduces among mankind ever contained so many checks and such efficacious restraints to prevent it from degenerating into any species of oppression ... The balances arising from the distribution of the legislative, executive, and judicial powers are the best that have [ever] been instituted."

-from a proposed address to Congress, 1789, as quoted by W. Cleon Skousen in The 5000 Year Leap

The Constitution is wrought with wisdom, laying out an incredibly ingenious format for a government, including the method for changing the document should change become necessary. Dependence on case law and a desire to emulate other countries have in many cases kept us removed as a Nation from using this defining document to maintain our way of life. Some see this as a positive progression. Others, myself included, do not. Republican and Democrat politicians alike seem to have trouble setting limits for themselves as the governing body of the country. They all seem, for instance, to ignore the 10th Amendment. (Kudos to Texas for invoking it yesterday.)

Regardless of one's position on the usefulness and relevance of the Constitution, I think it is important for United States Citizens to know what it contains. I think it is the most useful way to analyze the direction that the country is headed in at any given time, not just now. Be informed. Read and re-read the Constitution. Pay some attention to politics. And then use that information to become involved in whatever small way you can. The greater the level of public involvement in politics, the better able we are to keep this a "government of the people."

*Read here to see why it's dangerous that I not only voted for Bob Barr and lean Libertarian, but that I obviously feel the country is moving away from the Constitution and am a States rights supporter. Those are only a few of the reasons why you should apparently never sell me manure.

General Conference on-line Book Club

2009-04-13T10:50:00.000-06:00

I'd like to bear my testimony of blogging ...

Well, not exactly. I have had a bit of a love/hate relationship with this consuming pass time. I often think I waste too much time on the blogosphere that would be better spent in service to my family. But then there are elements of this community that are not only fun, but seem genuinely worth while. Today I found one such element through my bloggy bff Erin.

The site is called Diapers and Divinity and the author is Stephanie. She is starting up an on-line reading club. Each Sunday she'll assign a talk from the latest LDS General Conference. Those participating will read and hopefully get a dialogue going in the comment section of the weekly post. Her personal goal with this is to base her scripture study for the week on that particular talk. She's starting with Elder Holland's fabulous talk on the atonement.

I am so excited for this. Every season my goal is to re-read all of the conference talks before the next session. I have done it a few times, but I often don't quite get there. This will be a great way to pace myself with a more directed plan. If you're interested, link over to Stephanie's site for a better description of her club.

Yeah, blogging!

F2: Friday's Feast, Easter Menu Light

2009-04-10T00:00:00.003-06:00

My good bloggy friend CaJoh has created a recurring feature post called Friday's Feast, dedicated to all things epicurean. If you're interested in his vision for the feature, click here.

This week seemed like a no-brainer. It's Easter weekend. Time to meditate core beliefs. Time to celebrate hope and new life. Time, also, to eat. Time to eat a lot. I guess one upside here is that, opposed to Christmas Season which runs a month complete, Easter feasting generally only lasts the weekend. That's a little easier on the waistline.

The past few years, however, I have tried to lighten up our Easter dinner, mostly to lessen the guilt of eating my weight in jelly beans, m&ms, and Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs. I have given up some of the traditional foods that I grew up on and adore, but I have found the replacements to be quite elegant.

Traditional:

Ham
Cheese Potatoes (funeral-style)
Artichokes
Jello-Salad
Rolls
Several Desserts

New:

Roasted Pork Loin
Roasted Sweet Potatoes
Asparagus
Fresh Fruit Salad
Orange Rolls (This one is worse.)
Green Salad
Carrot Cake bunnies

I got a recipe from Kelly a few years ago for a spiced maple marinade that gives the slightest sweet crust to the pork loin. The sweet potatoes I peel, cube, and toss with a little olive oil and sprinkle lightly with cinnamon and allspice before roasting. The asparagus is only better than the artichokes because of the dipping factor. I saute´ them in a little olive oil and freshly pressed garlic. Now the rolls. Regular rolls are healthier than these orange rolls of my grandma's that are an unglazed cinnamon-style roll. They are scrumptious, though, and remind me of my grandma. So they stay.

The carrot cake I make is pretty good, if I do say so myself. It is my mother's recipe, lightened up just a touch. It gets rave reviews. I use applesauce in place of the oil, and I use neufchatel

cheese in the frosting. Still not a diet food, by any stretch, but I like to pretend it's healthier. I need to try it sometime with wheat flour to see what that does to the recipe. But not on Easter. I make the bunnies by baking two 9" round cakes. Each round makes one bunny. Cut the round in half across the diameter and frost together taco-style. It will sit on it's cut ends. You then carve out a little chunk to create a neck and stick that on the other end of the cake for a tail. You end up with a three-humped cake. Frost that. Add jellybean eyes and nose to the head. The ears you can cut from construction paper and insert into the head. I often surround the little guys with green tinted coconut and more jelly beans. (The photo I got on-line. I don't cover my bunny with coconut, because some of my kids don't like it. I also make a slightly smaller head by cutting the notch further down the arc. I think it's a little cuter that way.)

Have a blessed Easter weekend! And bon apetit!

But when she was bad ...

2009-04-08T07:00:00.005-06:00

There was a little girl

Who had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

And when she was good

She was very, very good.

But when she was bad she was horrid!

This nursery rhyme took on new, personal meaning for me with the birth of #2. She didn't have curls right away. In fact, she was nearly two before there were soft little ringlets framing her face. But her Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde personality reared its cute little pink head with in days of birth.

#2 was a delightful baby and toddler. She was smiley and smart and funny and cute as a button. Until she became upset. And becoming upset was not, unfortunately, a rare thing. Sometimes there was a clear cause of the tantrum, but many times there was not. Not that it mattered. Remedying the problem did not end the fit. #2 held grudges.

One such grudge was created when Larry's parents took #2 and her older sister down to visit Larry's grandparents, about 20 minutes away. #2 was about 4 months old. They weren't going to stay long, and they were armed with some expressed milk and a bottle. #2 was fine all during the car ride down. She was fine visiting her great-grandma and grandpa. Then she started to get hungry. It wasn't even the hunger that sent her over the edge. It was the bottle. Forget the fact that it was filled with the good stuff she was used to. Forget the fact that she was addicted to pacifiers, and therefore no stranger to the silicon nipple. The combination of the two was absolutely unacceptable. She screamed.

The visit was cut short. She screamed for 20 minutes on the car ride home. She screamed when she saw me. She screamed as I tried to give her what she'd wanted in the first place. She rigidly screamed for an entire hour in my arms before she settled down and nursed. And then, of course, she fell asleep.

When she was a little older, maybe almost two, #2 would often get angry because of something she was not allowed to do or have. I discovered a trick, quite inadvertantly, that worked very well. I would put her in her crib and tell her she could come out when she stopped crying. Then I'd watch covertly from the door. After a certain amount of time, she'd throw her pacifier to the floor. Gradually she'd shift her screams from whatever the power-struggle had been about in the first place to indignation over an out-of-reach binkie. I'd usually let her go a few minutes like that, just to be sure the anger was fully transfered, and then I'd walk in and with an, "Oh, did you drop your binkie? Let me get that for you," I'd swoop her out of the crib, insert the plug, and cuddle the pacified little monster.

I was often afraid to go places. A fit could, and did, occur at any time. Some folks were understanding, but a shocking number were not. I got suggestions and glares and rude comments galore. "Believe me," I'd tell them, "if there were anything I could be doing to make it better, I'd be doing it." I vividly remember finishing a grocery shopping trip in tears with a crying #2 sitting in the cart and too much time invested to simply walk away. An elderly lady had given me a, "Well, I never," in produce, and I couldn't pull myself together until we were in the car. Poor, sweet #1 was so worried about me and kept asking what was wrong. I didn't know what to say. She clearly had no concept that this perpetual screaming was not normal.

It was at about age 3 that the tantrums stopped. #2 has no memory of the Mr. Hyde episodes. Interestingly enough, she has become my most even-keeled, pleasant kid. It's as if she got it all out those few, miserable years. There are still situations that make her get teary-eyed. But they tend to be times when she feels uncomfortable or nervous. And even then she tries very hard not to cry.

**Photos taken Christmas Day 1997, within less than an hour of each other. She was 13.5 months old. I can't remember why she was crying. It could have been anything, really.

Graduation Photos for "Pride (4 of 5)"

2009-04-06T11:03:00.005-06:00

What a sweet-heart. Larry fixed the scanner situation this morning for me. If I'd have known it would take actually posting about something without the photos I wanted, I'd have done this sooner.

So here are the photos that go with the post directly below. Please read that as well, if you're happening upon this all for the first time.

My dad and me, all dressed up for the Geek Prom.

Brigham Young University, April 1997

Bachelor of Science, cum kids

Larry, all dressed up in a long sleeve t-shirt and tennis shoes.

With Larry's mom and dad

Pride (4 of 5)

2009-04-06T07:00:00.001-06:00

Back in January my bloggy BFF Sherrie sent me an interview to complete, and I intended to do it over the following two or three weeks. It's taken a bit longer. For these last two questions, there are photos that I want to scan into my computer and add. Our scanner has been non-functional. But at the moment I'm having a hard time thinking of anything to post about that wouldn't make my readers go running for the nearest cliff to jump off. I'm not sure if this will contain photos, but it is at least positive.

Sher asks, What would you consider to be your greatest accomplishment in life, other than having a family?

The accomplishment of which I was the most proud was getting my bachelor's degree. It's not such a unique thing, and it's not like school was so very difficult for me. It's that my dad was proud of me that day.

I grew up around the university. My father was an undergrad student at San Diego State when I was born. When I was 18 months old we moved to Western Massachusetts where he began a doctoral program. That took him 8 years. Dad had a tendency to get distracted by tangential research lines. He told me once that if he could be a professional student, he would. Well, by the time he became Dr. Dad, PhD, my parents had divorced. My mother had no intention of moving, and so my dad stuck it out at UMass. Making a name for yourself at the institution where you got your degree is rare, and he worked hard and did it. For two summers I worked for him as a research assistant. It was great. If I were nearby, I'd take the job again in a heartbeat.

It was never a question of whether I was going to college, but where. I considered several schools, but in the end only sent in an application to BYU. It seemed safe, like I'd know what to expect. I was accepted, and I went for a semester and was miserable. (I don't handle change too well.) Over Christmas my mother convinced me to stick it out for one more semester, and I was glad because this time I loved it.

My sophomore year I met Larry and we got engaged my junior year. We also got married my junior year. I also became pregnant with #1 my junior year. That was a big year, I guess. I think all of those changes seemed bigger to my dad than they did to me. I had felt very grown up for a very long time, and was sure of my decisions, but when I look at 20 year-olds now and think of myself then, I must admit that I cringe a little.

We moved to California in August 1994, just before #1 was born. I was a senior at that point. Larry started his graduate studies at UC Riverside that winter. The following fall I started taking some classes at a local college and independent study courses from the Y. We just made sure that our classes never overlapped and truly shared parenting for a while. #2 was about 1 month old when I took my last BYU psych final. I just had to transfer the credits I earned in California, and apply for graduation.

I graduated in April 1997. We drove up to Provo and my dad flew out. My mother and father-in-law had three in-law children graduating that day and came as well.

In my mind, like the certainty of college attendance, I always knew I would graduate, even with a marriage, an out-of-state move and two kids. My dad, apparently, was not so sure. I think rather than a lack of faith in me, he simply better understood the difficulty of adult life and how easy it is to never get to something that you vowed to do. I understand that myself more and more as life goes on.

As the time drew near, he proudly informed his colleagues of my upcoming graduation. He told me in a congratulatory card that they ought to award an honored degree "cum kids." I can't think of another, non-family related, event that made me as happy and satisfied as that.

**Note: The scanner is scanning to Larry's computer now, but still not mine. He's working on it. I'll post photos as soon as I can.

I'm a sucker for romance ...

2009-04-01T00:00:00.002-06:00

... which may not seem too extraordinary. Lots of girls are.

Favorite movies? Romantic comedies. Favorite TV shows? Well, those are rarely romantic, but it sure helps if there is some husky, manly lead character with great shoulders that I can lust after. Books that I read over and over? Romances. Or maybe I should re-categorize that as love stories, since the traditional "romance novel" is generally trash I avoid. I adore love stories, especially love stories set in times when men were gentlemen and women were modest. Hence my Austen compulsion. I often loose myself for days in the countryside of Regency England, falling in love over again with dapper young men in riding coats, preferably with a small fortune at their disposal. I'm no classics snob, though, and I've even been known to fall for an old fashioned vampire and a modern werewolf all in one story.

I have discovered a new author who transports me to another time and place,

introducing me to strong, compelling women and honorable men who love them. Annette Lyon is an LDS author with six titles under her publication belt, four of which are historical novels centered around Utah temples in the 1800s. Having read and loved Spires of Stone (which I would briefly summarize as Much Ado About Nothing builds the Salt Lake Temple), I was quite excited and very flattered to be asked by Annette to preview and review her new novel, Tower of Strength, set around the construction of the Manti Temple. See a beautifully done book trailer by clicking here.

Tower of Strength features Tabitha, a young bride who is tragically widowed before the birth of her first son. Fear has kept her from returning to her hometown of Manti for nearly seven years. Now a woman with greater maturity and courage, the purchase of the local Manti newspaper brings her back home to face her past, in the form of her cold and accusing mother-in-law.

Enter Samuel, a simple yet charming British immigrant himself recently widowed. Together Tabitha and Samuel find fast friendship and companionship that progresses into something more.

Far from a sugary story of love at first sight with a ride into the sunset, Annette addresses themes of pain and loss and reluctance to love for fear of losing more. And far from a flat telling of boy meets girl, Annette knits and purls rows of texture--equine adventure, news reporting, crime sleuthing-- and colorful characters who make you cringe and smile and laugh and cry. The resulting creation is a compelling tale that you can wrap around your shoulders and warm up with.

Though the setting is early Mormon Utah, I am confident that my non-LDS friends would enjoy Tower of Strength as well as my Mormon friends. Annette's writing has universal appeal. Her characters are real, their stories ring true.

Find Tower of Strength at Deseret Book. Annette's work can also be purchased on Amazon.

On a personal note, I'd like to add that happy as I am to have found a new source of romantic prose, I am more happy to have become acquainted with Annette through her blog, The Lyon's Tale. Annette is funny and kind, articulate and interesting, with diverse talents and interests. (Plus, she's practically my long lost twin!) If you're a grammar fanatic, or even just a sometimes wannabe writer like me, be sure to check out her Word Nerd Wednesday posts for an academic laugh. (Ooh, it's Wednesday--click over now!)

Boys and Girls

2009-03-20T10:02:00.003-06:00

Mina had finished cleaning the kitchen, dusting, and vacuuming with about 10 minutes to spare. She headed upstairs to put on a bra and deodorant and brush her teeth. Larry was in the shower.

"Hey, come on in, the water's fine," he tempted.

"Sorry. My visiting teachers will be here at 10," was the matter-of-fact reply.

"And we'll never know if we're in the shower."

Owa Tagoo Siam

2009-03-16T12:36:00.000-06:00

Have you ever done this singing exercise? It's really a joke, demonstrating proper diction. Sing it long and stretched out, all on the same note, connecting the syllables. That will give you the punch-line. And the proper title of this post.

#1 is preparing for high school next year. This is not necessarily the straight-forward process that it is for most kids. (Read why here.) So we got an email last week stating that the transition meeting would be held at the high school on the 16th and 17th from 8am to 3pm. The two-day time frame of the meeting led me to believe that this was open-registration style. Which made some sense, because that's pretty much what we're doing.

So first thing this morning, with a sick #2 at home with dad, who was now also responsible for making sure the little kids exited the house in time for their bus, #1 and I headed over to the middle school to check out and then to the high school.

Reaching the HS office, the secretary greeted us in a slightly confused fashion. She's usually notified about the transition appointments. Uh-oh. Appointments. I didn't actually have an appointment--just this meeting time. But I was positive it was today--the 16th and 17th. I was trying to imagine what dates I could have confused them with, but we are on spring break the 26th and 27th and I only received the notification on the 10th. She called the HS resource person. No answer. The vice-principal answered, but had no good information. She tried to call the middle school resource person. No answer. So she very kindly said, "Wait here. I'm going on a walk."

I decided to call Larry to have him check my email. Machine. But he called me back quickly at which point I was glared at, likely because of the sign on the office door that reads: No Cell Phones. I answered anyway, and Larry began to read over the email, "blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah, April 16th and 17th." What? April? Really? Oh my goodness. I am SUCH a dork.

So now, I had to explain to the student office assistant the situation, sending my apologies to the secretary through her. I had to take #1 back to the middle school to check her in and explain there how I got the wrong month. Talk about embarrassing. It was in fact, a runner-up for a most embarrassing moment, except that everyone involved was so darned nice about it. I'd made a comment to #1 in the car about what an idiot I am, and she even replied, "Mom, you're not an idiot!" I appreciated the vote of confidence, but I must admit that in my head I vehemently disagreed.

At least I mistook the month for one earlier, rather than one later. I'd rather look like an air-head than an uninvolved, unconcerned parent.

Even New Music Makes Me Feel Old

2009-03-10T23:45:00.006-06:00

So I have a little bit of a thing for John Mayer. It's mostly the guitar playin' and the sexy voice and all. What can I say, I have a history of falling for guitarists with sexy voices. Ask Larry.

Many mornings as the kids are eating breakfast and I am making lunches, Room for Squares is playing over our marvelous sound system. (Yes, it is the first album, but it is still my favorite.) He's also frequently on throughout the day right now in a little of a rotation with Ray LaMontagne, Paul McCartney's Flaming Pie album, and the occasional Carly Simon. I'm in a mellow music mood at the moment.

I also have this slight internet compulsion. Maybe you've noticed. When I read on Erin's blog about John Mayer's Twitter page, I enthusiastically signed right up. I don't check it out often. But it's a little interesting. I sometimes wonder if he's trying to sound more deep than he is, in a random sort of fashion. (Randomness is difficult, by definition, to create. A lot of bloggers try. For most, it's not a great idea.) That's probably just me being skeptical. Well, tonight I read this twittered gem:

Since when did news headlines come with question marks? "Is Talking To The Taliban The Right Approach?" I don't know! You tell me, THE NEWS.

3:17 PM Mar 9th from web

Wow. I'd hardly call myself wise, or very politically savvy, but it occurs to me that the answer to that questioning headline would be what's called editorializing. In other words, not fact. Opinion. Political commentary. Spin, perhaps. Sunday morning panel fodder. Not the job of THE NEWS.

Is THE NEWS supposed to tell us what to think now? Plenty of them do, but we take that with a grain of salt, right? And we're a little put off. Am I a fuddy duddy? I'm only 4 years older than this guy, but I suddenly feel like his mother's bridge partner. Maybe that's not a bad thing.

Especially considering the fact that I can't figure out why this composing formatting has a tendency to go all funky on me when I copy and paste. Like huge letters, and the wrong color font. Trying to fix it makes it worse. It usually publishes correctly. It's a gamble. See. I fit right in with that canasta and pinochle set. Rambling on about crazy kids today, muddling my way around these complicated machines ...

Friday Flashback: "The Good Wife"

2009-03-06T07:00:00.002-07:00

Thursday, August 24, 2006

I received an email from a good friend. It was supposedly an article from Good Housekeeping Magazine from 1955 entitled "The Good Wife's Guide." While of questionable origin, it is interesting to reflect on. It was comprised of 18 bullet points, the main gist of each one being how to treat your man to keep him happy. We've come a long way since 1955. Some of those changes have been good, but in my opinion, not all.

GOOD CHANGES I almost have to laugh reading bullet #18, "A good wife always knows her place." Are we pack animals? I come in right after Larry? I could make some semi-nasty comments on "position," but I'll refrain here. My grandma used to say that the man is the head of the household, but his wife is the neck, and the neck turns the head. It's by no means an original, but leads me to believe that even in 1955, women had different ideas about their place.

Bullet #17: "Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him." Hello? I guess I'd be raving mad at this one also were I not busting a seam from laughter. When Larry was going back and forth with the grad school question, he always wanted my opinion. I never felt it was my place to give one because I was not the one having to attend school and do the work, and it was determining his profession, not mine. From Larry's point of view, although he is the one working, he's doing it on behalf of us as a couple and a family, and therefore didn't feel right about making that major a decision with out my input and mutual agreement. We have indeed come a long way.

UNFORTUNATE CHANGES If this were slightly altered, the same article could be called "The Good Spouse," and the information would be invaluable. I suppose it could be argued that it is precisely because if the one-sidedness of the suggestions that the article is shameful. I could see that point. I think as a society however, many of us try to drop the expectation on wives rather than extend it to husbands.

The end of bullet #6 reads, "After all, catering for his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction." Someone (not, I believe, my friend) had incredulously underlined this statement. But it is true. And unless you have married a total jerk, catering to his needs with be rewarded by his catering to yours. That, my friends, is the basis of a good marriage. If I do all I can to take good care of Larry and he does all he can to take good care of me, both of our needs are then met in a very unselfish, giving way.

Bullet #3 reads, "Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him, His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it." Guess what, my day needs a lift, too. If I am fun and interesting, Larry will be, too. I've heard it said that people who are bored are people who are boring. There is a lot of truth to that. I married my best friend for, among other reasons, companionship. If I am a lousy companion, what was the point?

Bullet #12: "Your goal: try to make sure your home is a place of peace, order and tranquility where your husband can renew himself in body and spirit." Wow. That should be the goal for the benefit of us all! Easy to manage? Uh--no. But a good goal none the less.

Bullet #8: "Be happy to see him." Do I even need to say "duh?"

I am sad that our world becomes increasingly unconcerned with manners and respect, with kindness and selflessness. I think of an extreme case of a miserable person I know who feels that he is never shown enough love. But it's because he doesn't know how to show love himself. He only looks at what he thinks he's not getting, never at what he's not giving. It's a pitiful situation. Many of us, I'm sure all of us at times, could do wonders to increase our happiness by looking outside of ourselves and giving more. The Savior said that those who lose themselves for his sake would find themselves. I think that general sentiment applies to Christians and non-Christians alike. There is great satisfaction to be had in being a good wife, husband, mother, father, friend, child, citizen of the world.

The Fish's First Video Post Ever

2009-03-05T08:25:00.002-07:00

I had this emailed to me last night, and I actually forwarded it to a few of you, but this morning I cannot resist sharing it with you all. I keep watching it over and over with an enormous grin across my face. It is actually pretty amazing. But more than that it's as adorable as all get out. (Is that the phrase, Annette? Or am I going to be featured on a WNW post soon?)

Please enjoy the Smartie Pants Dance ...

**Added note: I was watching this again, and was suddenly reminded of #2 at about 3 years old. She'd rattled off something precocious, and Larry told her she was too smart for her shorts. She replied, "But I'm not wearing shorts, I have a dress."

Scented Senses: Memories of my Grandma

2009-03-02T09:20:00.000-07:00

**Please visit my friend Octamom's post: Morning Musings ... Aroma Memory**

My maternal grandmother visited us back east nearly every year once my parents were divorced. It was generally a three week trip, as airfares in the early 80s went down after extended stays. She'd sleep on a cot in my room, and I loved having that temporary roommate.

Grandma had a square yellow make-up case, resembling a small hard-case suit case which would now be a nightmare with the FAA. With her purse, it comprised her carry-on luggage, and I am positive she would have been quite reluctant to check it. Inside the case, a tray on top removed to reveal larger items stored beneath. The case contained make-up, creams, lotions, powders, toothbrush and paste, a shower cap, hair-rollers, pins, and aerosol spray, all neatly and precisely organized. This box encapsulated the scent of Grandma. It magnified it, even. And every morning and evening I would sit in the bathroom and watch Grandma make her toilette, methodically using every item in that case, often do-do-doing (Grandma's answer to humming) to her reflection in the medicine cabinet door.

I can't conjure that scent out of nothing, but I'd always been quite certain that I'd recognize it the moment I smelled it. But I'd never run across it. Even other elderly ladies of my acquaintance never quite smell like my Grandma.

I have a hard time with blushes. I prefer light-colored shades, but those rarely match my skin-tone very well. There was a Mary Kay color that I loved, but it was, of course, discontinued. I have yet to find a good replacement. Then this past fall, I found a color that looked like it would be a match. It was a Cover Girl Cheekers in Natural Shimmer. I was disappointed. In the color, that is. I have kept it, however, because it smells like my Grandma's make-up. I think that if I bought a can of AquaNet that I could fairly reproduce the scent of the entire case. As it is some mornings I open the little grey container, inhale, and transport myself to her arms, my small nose and lips against her soft, powdery cheek.

Grandma will have been gone for 8 years next month, and she'd been taken from us in some ways years before that. In reality I spent a fair amount of time with a Grandma who lived 3,000 miles away, and the time was generally fun and comforting. She was a blessing. And until the day that I can once again throw my arms about her, I may have to be content to remember that smell, and remember her love.

Spiritual Thoughts, Temporal Behavior

2009-02-25T07:55:00.002-07:00

For those of you unfamiliar with my family or my religion, I will start with two author's notes.

1. I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, better known as LDS or Mormons. We send out young men and women for 18 months to two years to proselytize, preach the gospel, and baptize. They put aside their regular lives for these missions and far from being compsensated for their efforts, they rather pay for the privilege to serve. To help them out financially (and also to get to know them) church members are encouraged to feed the missionaries meals at least once daily. That meal is generally dinner.

2. I have four children, three girls and a boy, whom I refer to on this blog in birth order as #s 1-4. They are aged 14, 12, 9, and 7. Numbers 3 and 4 are just under 23 months apart. They have a love-hate relationship. If we're keeping score, hate is usually ahead.

Now to my story. A few months back, a new elder (missionary) was transferred into our ward and announced to the congregation. His last name grabbed my attention, being my uncommon maiden name. I leaned over to my husband and whispered, "If he's from San Diego, we're cousins of some sort." He was indeed from San Diego, and we are second cousins--our grandfathers being brothers. I introduced myself to him after sacrament meeting and suggested we'd have to have him to dinner.

The dinner calendar in our ward is in high demand. In Western Mass, where I grew up, we had two sets of missionaries assigned full time to our ward because of the geographical size. In Southern California we usually had one. Here in the Boise area we have 5 wards sharing a set. The end of each month a calendar with 8 available dates is passed around Relief Society, and it's often filled after it has passed through 8 pairs of hands. So I approached the woman who manages the calendar directly and asked to be put on for February. Last night they came.

It was great to get to know Elder K. a little. There wasn't much to catch up on. The only person he had contact with in my family line was my grandfather. And I did not grow up in San Diego anyway, and really had very little interaction with my own first cousins. He was surprised my granddad wasn't a baseball fanatic like his. I can't picture mine with sports equipment. My uncles liked basketball. And out-jumping each other. Out-anythinging each other. We did find that harassment is apparently a family trait that crosses over through all of us.

At the end of the meal, Elder K. asked us if they could leave us with a short message. This is standard. And truly, I enjoy the spirit that the missionaries bring with them into our home, and usually this is part of that. Usually.

We adjourned to the family room where Elder K. asked if we had something to blindfold one of the kids with. A bandana was produced and tied around #3s eyes. He had her feel our family Book of Mormon and #4 set it somewhere out of the way. He spun #3 around several times and then instructed everyone to make tons of noise, except me. I was to be quietly giving #3 directions to find the book. I'm sure we all see where he was going with this. It was a good object lesson. Or it was until #4 ran and slammed into his blindfolded sister, tackling her to the floor. He thought that would be a more effective distraction than the yelling in her face that he was previously engaged in. He was right. But no one was hurt, no one even cried, and once we continued with the search, Elder S., who we'd learned earlier was #8 of 11 kids in his family, had a difficult time keeping a laugh suppressed.

Scriptures located, object lesson completed, Elder K. tried to make the message concrete by talking to the kids about listening to the Spirit and the Prophet and their parents rather than the negative influences of the world. This is the point at which #4, who had been laying exhaustedly on the floor, rolled to the side and let one rip. "Are you kidding me?," I quietly yelled. (You know that quiet mom yell. If you're a mom, you've done it.) Elder S. lost it this time, the suppressed laugh, that is. It was so embarrassing. Luckily the missionaries were in a hurry to get on to their next appointment before my son could act even more the part of the natural man, or I guess the natural boy.

It was so bad that when they left it was Larry who started the lecture about behaving with company in the house. Although, he added the caveat that it would be okay to pass gas if the visitor was Dustin (an employee and friend of Larry's) or Uncle Eric. Nice. I guess they never truly out-grow this, do they?

Brooke, Kim--be warned. #4 has permission from his father to act like a slob in your presence.

I would really like to have my cousin to dinner again before he's transferred. I assume he'll be happy to come. But I won't be surprised if he has his companion give the spiritual thought.

Priorities (3 of 5)

2009-02-24T07:15:00.001-07:00

Sher asks: If you were told you had only one year left to live, what would you do? What would you change, if anything, in your life?

I must say that a lot in my life would change. Some of these changes would be changes that I should make in my life anyway ... I need to read the scriptures more, I need to spend more one on one time with my kids, I need to be less verbally critical of my family and less critical in my head of others. I need to write in my journal and I need to throw away a lot of junk. I need to go on more walks with my husband and kids. I need to relax.

But there are many things that I'd change simply because priorities change with time. When I am working on my "list" for Christmas, things start getting cut the closer I get to the holiday. Does that mean that these were bad or not worthy of my time to begin with? No. All it means is that finding myself down to 4 days left, I need to start deciding what is absolutely essential, or nothing will get completely finished. So if I were to learn that I only had a year to live, instead of the 40-50 more that I anticipate, I'd begin to cut out the non-essential. That would include blogging. That would even include being my son's team mom. I'd still happily go to the games, but I doubt I'd spend my limited time to make sure everyone remembers their week to bring the snack. I wouldn't worry about losing weight. I'd hire someone to clean the house if I could afford it. Like most of us, these changes would largely revolve around my family and my God and finding ways to spend every possible moment with them.

Some of you may argue that we never really know how much time we have left. I could get hit by a bus tomorrow. (It's always a bus, isn't it?) Absolutely. And I agree that I should work on those things listed in the first paragraph because of it. But if I live my entire life assuming that it will be short, I will miss out on a lot of great non-essentials. My kids would feel smothered. I've written before about the end of summer and the growing pit in my stomach which develops as I worry that I'm not making the most of my remaining vacation time. It makes for a less enjoyable time off. I think the same would happen if I assumed my life was ticking down to a premature finish. That's no way to live.

I am thankful for a long life expectancy and relative good health. I am thankful that the days are getting longer again. I am thankful for the beautiful rainbow we saw out our front window yesterday. May we all live life a little more fully and be happy with where we are.

Back in the Saddle

2009-02-20T08:28:00.003-07:00

Well, this has been like the good old days, before I knew what followers were and I just tried to post twice a month. I often didn't make that goal. But blogging also took what was probably a more health place in my priority list. But more on that to come.

Moving. We are IN! Or we are out, depending on how you look at it. Being in is more exciting, but being out is the bigger relief. I love our house. It's beautiful and it functions well. A large percentage of boxes are unpacked and already off to their next job moving a friend of ours. There is certainly more to do. The further along I get in unpacking, the more obnoxious the chore becomes. I want to be magically done, and I also would like to know exactly where all the silly little things with no obvious home should go. I hate big stacks of boxes in the garage or closet that remain untouched for years.

In the past, I have hung art and photos as I have unpacked, considering it part of the process. When I'm finished, the house seems decorated. This time there is a combination of the open-concept lack of wall-space and very large expanses of the walls that do exist. They are so large that I feel silly hanging the little pictures that I own. And by little, I mean big. Just not enormous. The walls, therefore, remain largely empty. That fact bothers me. But I will just need to live with it until I have cash to go buy some jumbo wall art.

Lest I sound ungrateful, I have to tell you all some of the great things about the house. We are wired for sound in every room. I can plug in my iPod, turn on some soft hits of the 70's, and it will play everywhere if I want, or just in one room. I love this feature much more than I expected. I love two dishwashers, which means no dishes stacked in the sink. Ever. I love a heated kitchen floor. I love a central vac system. I love my mud room, but I wish that less mud and dirt tracked from it into the kitchen. I love, love, LOVE my pantry. And the up-stairs laundry room. And my library. I love the open family office off of the kitchen. There is really nothing I would change. I guess that's what building a custom home is all about. It was a great experience and it is a fantastic result. We are very blessed.

When I dropped off of the face of the blogosphere I'd been working on a series of questions from my friend Sher. I am working on the next installment of that for Monday. In the mean time, have a great week-end. It's good to be back.

We're Moving!

2009-02-05T15:29:00.003-07:00

It's official! Months of waiting and worrying and watching construction will finally pay off. We are moving into our new home this Saturday, February 7th.

Um, yeah, the day after tomorrow. When did I find this out? This morning. (To be fair, we were considering dates between the 7th and 14th. I just assumed we'd end up with the later date.) We had a small head start packing, so we really need to kick it into gear now. A friend from our ward came over this afternoon and packed up our kitchen. She was awesome! The kids and I are now busy getting everything else boxed up.

Well, I just wanted to take a second to update you all and let you know that I haven't forgotten anyone. I'll be back in the blogging game soon enough.

Here are a few photos of the new place.

The Laundry Room:

The Family Room:

The Kitchen (I am standing in the family room to take this shot.):

Any of you who Face Book with me can see more photos in my new album.

Weakness (2 of 5)

2009-02-02T08:30:00.003-07:00

Sher asks: What is your greatest weakness? Why? Another great question that makes me think. I'm going to answer this in a couple of different ways.

My greatest weakness is lack of discipline. I hate making myself do things I don't want to do, or stop doing things that I like, and I frequently don't. I know it sounds immature. It is. But that is the root of most of my struggles.

When I was first married, any time I became frustrated with my life, I'd make a laundry list in my journal of every flaw, every major shortcoming, and I'd map out a plan to overcome each. After a decade or so of this I began to look over past entries and found that nothing was ever fixed. I struggled with the same issues again and again. Bemoaning this fact to my husband, he pointed out that part of my problem stemmed from the fact that I am not a routine oriented person, (editorial note: following a routine takes discipline) but I am, rather, a project-driven type. This clicked. It explained in one nice little sentence a seeming smorgasbord of problems. It brought some degree of relief. I felt a little less out of control--I really just had the one major problem to work on.

Three years ago I joined Weight Watchers and lost 30 pounds. I'd kept to the plan and was successful. I thought that if I could find control over this little piece of my life, perhaps I would be able to find it elsewhere. Well, no sooner had I reached my goal than I was hit with a nerve disorder that consumed me for months. Everything else, including good eating habits, was put on hold. Once my meds were regulated and pain was minimal I returned to life as normal, except for the better nutrition thing. Over the last 2 years I have regained 20 of those pounds. For the past year I have been making feeble attempts to lose them, and have lost and found 7 to 9 pounds twice. Clearly, I really don't have this discipline thing down after all.

Yet I find myself with a new problem. I used to go to great lengths to hide these weaknesses. I was mortified by discovery of any imperfections. However, in the past year, and in the past few months particularly, I have experienced a shift. I have gone from embarrassment over weakness to embracing it, strutting it about, even. At first, I saw this as a breakthrough--being more honest about my struggles, feeling better about who I am. And that sounds healthier, doesn't it? Well, I am beginning to think that it is not. In developing this new habit of self-degradation, in the name of coming to terms with my weaknesses, I have let go of responsibility to become something better. I've given myself permission to fail. I went from privately moping about how horrible I am to publicly laughing at my nature and viewing myself as a vicitim of it. Neither outlook is adaptive.

So my next move? Well, I feel like I need to take some time to reconstruct my self-image. I need to look at my potential, my talents and my STRENGTHS. I need to do it without apology. Discipline is nothing more than consistent good choices. I need to decide that I am strong enough to choose to be better. Again and again. It doesn't mean I need to stop laughing at myself. But it means I need to stop treating myself like a big slob to get laughs so often. This will not be easily put into action, I know. I also know that the outcome may be worthwhile.

Interview by Sher, Part 1 of 5

2009-01-27T14:30:00.000-07:00

Sherrie, over at Sher the Love!, has sent me 5 questions for an interview-style tag. She answered all of the questions she'd been asked in one fantastic post, but my editing skills are not so finely honed. I will therefore complete this tag in five separate posts. I first want to take a second to tell you all how much I adore Sher and her blog. She's talented, open, honest, funny, and thought-provoking. And those are all qualities of a blogger that really attract me. This month she's been doing daily bucket-fillers, and she's done a fabulous job. So go check her out, after you read and comment here, of course.

The first question is: What is your life's passion? Tell us about why, and how you came to love that thing.

This question intimidates me a little. Especially because of who's asking it. Sher has a passion for music and running and has accomplished much with both.

I'm not certain that I have a life's passion. Is that horrible of me? I don't think I have the patience or focus for one. Larry suggested that he was my passion. True, I adore him. But he got lots of bloggy love in my last post. He then suggested that blogging was my passion. Ugh. I'm just not even going there with my ambivalence toward this enticing compulsion in which we all indulge.

As I thought, I decided that while I may not go so far as to label the following "passions" I certainly have a category of things that I really love. I love the arts. In nearly all of it's forms. I figured out too late in college that humanities is the study of exactly that. I would have minored in it.

I love music. I love listening, I love singing, I love playing the flute and the piano. I'm not fabulous at any of it, but it makes me happy. When I'm feeling discouraged, music lifts my spirits. The iPod is one of the best technological advances ever. It makes it so easy to listen to anything at any moment as the mood dictates. I also love the Hymns. The song of the righteous is a prayer unto God. And I often communicate my feelings to my God best through song.

I love visual arts. I love going to art museums. I love the Impressionist movement particularly, but seeing anything is amazing. I also dabble in this. I've been interested in paper cuts lately, and love to incorporate meaningful words where possible. I paint a little and draw a little, and do calligraphy a little. Again, I'm not brilliant at any of it, but I have fun. I like to teach basic art lessons to elementary and middle school kids. I had a great opportunity to learn to do this in the last community we lived in. Here I've used this new skill to do some art projects with #3's school class, and they're hooked.

Literature. I love to read. In fact, it's about time to pack up the books so that I won't be tempted as we try to move in the next week or so. I love to write and you all see some of the products of that hobby here. This post isn't my best sample, I fear. It feels too much like a list. I'm sure there is a way to improve on it. I am also sure I don't really feel like figuring out what that is at the moment.

There was no big journey leading me to the arts that I can pin point. I've been singing since I was two, making intricate construction paper masterpieces since not long after that. As a teenager I listened to the Beatles and Pink Floyd and Bach and Handel. My walls were plastered with Cassatt and Degas prints. (Though at age 12 it was kitties and Rick Springfield.)

I think that the arts speak to many, if not most, of us. They touch our souls and evoke emotion. So not only am I not quite passionate, I am also not original or unique. But, like Popeye, I am what I am. And aside from the occasional desire to be the master of one rather than a Jack of all trades, I'm happy with my interests and talents. Maybe someday I'll find the desire to apply myself and find that passion. In the mean time I'll go finish that grocery list that I started this morning, brush my teeth, and get to feeding my family.

Note: Please be patient with me over the next few weeks as I visit your blogs a bit more sporadically than usual. Once we're settled in the new house, I am sure I'll be back to my regular stalking habits. Thanks, Mina

I have the awesomest awesomey awesome husband in the whole world!

2009-01-23T14:32:00.001-07:00

Well, he's perfect for me, anyway. He's funny and smart. He does the crossword with me. He always checks for which exhibitions are running at the local art museum of any city we'll be visiting--for me. Lots of years he gets me rings for our anniversary, because I have a thing for them. He loads my iPod full of soft hits of the 70's, he warms up my side of the bed before I get in it. And when I'm 20 pounds overweight, he's just happy because that means bigger boobs.

This year for my birthday, my awesome husband got me the awesomest gift EVER:

That's right! Tickets to see:

Jerry Seinfeld was playing Thursday night at BSU. The show was fantastic. Larry and I are huge fans. It's almost embarrassing how we relate his show to life around us on a nearly daily basis. It was surreal to see Jerry on stage. I know that face and voice so well, it felt like I'd seen him hundreds of times. Like this was somehow no different than watching him on TV. Well, different than watching the sit com. But no different than, say, the Larry King interview. We had 4th row (after the orchestra pit) seats, so we could clearly see every expression. I guess I was expecting something different. To feel something new in seeing him in person.

As for the performance, he was hilarious, of course. He gives a clean, well delivered show. And his observational humor just nails it every time. He nailed the way I imitate my husband's voice when I'm irritated with him. He nailed the way some people need to bring their @$$ into the conversation any way they can. He did a funny bit about "great" and "sucks" and how those two states of being are much closer than we may think. They may be, in fact, the same.

It was a memorable night. Thank you, Larry the Great!

And the Winner Is ...

2009-01-21T20:00:00.003-07:00

Well, this drawing drew in more folks than I ever would have imagined. There were an astounding 77 comments on that post, which I realize however may be small potatoes to some of you, and a total of 63 entrants. Among those 63 people there were a grand total of 152 separate entries in the give-away.

I am especially grateful for those of you who have stuck around and continue to read and comment. I hope I am getting around to all of your blogs. I am trying, anyway, and I have found some great ones. And really, that is what this was about, getting to know more of you wonderful fellow bloggers.

With 152 entries, #2 and I decided to assign each entry a ticket, which took a while longer than one may think! Tickets assigned, they were put into a 40 oz peanut butter jar that had been finished off and washed out just last week (fabulous timing!). Now, I must admit that #2 decided to do practice drawings all afternoon, letting me know who won each dry run. I won't sport with your feelings by letting you know the outcome of those drawings.

At 8:00 we checked my email to make sure there were no stragglers. #2 held the tub while I pulled out Ticket # 286 677. We checked our list to find that number belonged to a fellow knitter ... Annette at The Lyon's Tale!!! Congratulations, Annette. I will be in touch about where to send your purse and chocolate.

If any of you have not been over to The Lyon's Tale, please go check it out. Annette is an LDS fiction author, and she's lately been blogging about her journey to publication. It is fascinating to read. I also appreciate that Annette is one of those girls who signed up for the give-away but has returned and become a genuine reader, always with a comment or an email.

Thanks, Annette! Thanks, everyone!

Aw, Shucks!

2009-01-21T17:40:00.000-07:00

Well, it's been pretty good for a Wednesday. I actually will have more to post about my birthday on Friday, but I wanted to get a couple of thanks out there today.

I got the older girls up for school as usual at 6:20, and then since it was my birthday I curled up in my favorite chair with my warmest blanket and snoozed until it was time for them to leave. When they opened the front door they found this:

Which had apparently by delivered the night before by my sweet sister-in-law Kim and her family. The note under "We love you" is letting me know that she'll be bringing dinner by tonight. Score. a) Kim is a brilliant cook. Yum! b) My girls had wanted to make tacos for me tonight for dinner, and when they saw this said, "Good, we can make the tacos Thursday. That's two nights off! ThAnKs, KiM (and Eric and Kids)!

Also, a package arrived last week from Shauna, who is so incredibly sweet to keep track of her bloggy friends' birthdays. (I'm lucky I'm keeping track of all of your blogs.) Since I'm a little mental about not opening presents early, this afternoon I opened a talk from President Hinckley called "In the Arms of His Love," a picture of the Savior, and a card and magnet that read, "The most precious things are not things." Shauna also posted on her blog about my birthday.

ThAnKs, ShAuNa!!

Larry and I went to Subway for lunch, and I came home to sixteen Facebook birthday greetings and seven new birthday comments on my last post. Thanks to everyone for contributing to a great birthday!

Cyber-Walk of the Stars ...

2009-01-20T07:00:00.001-07:00

A big THANK YOU to a big friend for a big award. Erin, over at If you Give a Mom a Moment, has graciously bestowed me with the Super Stalker Award. I'm guessing most of you stalk her blog anyway, but if you don't ... head on over. She's funny and honest and entertaining. And she's a great stalker and commenter herself. She has become a good friend.

This award is presented to a Super blogger. This person is not only a terrific person, but a great bloggy friend. More than just a Stalker, they are a loyal reader who cares. The comments that they leave in their wake are sincere and heart-felt -making it apparent that they are truly interested. That someone cares. To which we reward them by saying:

YOU ARE A SUPER STALKER!

This award belongs to YOU!

All we ask is the following:
1-In your own time, share this award with ONE other blogger who you feel is worthy of the Super Stalker title. This award is not to be handed out freely, but deliberately given from one Super Stalker to another -Making the recipient deserving. Keeping the award true to its form and the reason for its beginning.
2-As you award that one Super Blogger, include this message in its entirety along with your acceptance speech.

3-Enjoy your REWARD! You DESERVE IT! You EARNED IT!

Well, I do try to care about the people in the blogs I visit. I read their entire post, and I leave comments that usually show that fact. (I will always have an opinion.) I figure that's how I want people to treat my blog and that is how they will get to know me a bit. It won't be by skimming. Of course, I'm not perfect, and I do have this thing called a family that I'm supposed to be taking care of ... so before I start to wallow in my distress over these conflicting pulls on my time, I will announce the recipient of this award.

This Super Stalker Award goes to someone who faithfully reads and comments on my blog and has spread her blogging wings with great rapidity and flair. I now see her all around "town." The best thing for me is that this stalker lives close enough that we are able to use this tool to make a real, live, face-to-face friendship out of it. And I'm grateful, because otherwise she'd still just be "that beautiful Valiant 9 teacher who teaches with her husband." This is for YOU, Heatherlyn.

Nativity?

2009-01-19T07:00:00.001-07:00

Well, before the actual post begins, I need to take care of a little bloggy business.

First off: ThAnK yOu!!! to all who voted for me over at Mormon Mommy Blogs. I came in third of nine, which I could hardly believe, and which may have had something to do with my husband, an employee of whom started talking to me about my blog the other night. Anyway, thanks everyone! It sounds like they are going to run spotlights on the top three blogs. Cool. (I probably would have known this is how they roll if I headed over there more often. Sorry, Motherboard!)

Secondly: Less than 2 days left to enter my GiVe AwAy!!! If you have left a comment on the original post, you are entered. Many of you are entered multiple times. I'll have to count, because I'm unsure if there are enough BINGO numbers for all of the entries. If there aren't, we'll have to change plans just a tad and use tickets instead. (Which I have on hand as a few years back I had a great plan for doling out TV watching privileges. I never did it. Don't ask me why those aren't in long-term storage, like the photos I'd love to scan in for the following post, because I'm not sure.) Deadline= Tuesday, Jan 20th, 8:pm MST. The winner will be posted Wednesday night at 8:pm. Good luck!

Every year, as the date approached, my mother would begin to tell again the story of the most special birth we knew. I learned the events of the weeks preceding, those of the birth itself, the visitors to the baby, and the gifts they brought. I knew all of the details as if it were the story of my own life.

Wait a minute. It was the story of my life. Forget the birth of the Savior (although I knew that one very well, too) when I was growing up the most important holiday of all was my birthday. I won't bore you all with the story in the detail that I annually heard it recited, only with the most important fact that my dad had been drinking Dr. Pepper at some point that morning.

With that kind of build-up, you may imagine the day itself. It was always over the top. Even if I wasn't having an actual party there were flowers and streamers and balloons and once little silk flowers hanging with the balloons. Always my favorite dinner and always a chocolate swirl cheesecake. My birthday was just a huge deal. And it was my favorite holiday.

Then came my 18th birthday. I was living in the dorm at college. My mom had made me a cheesecake over the Christmas break, just so that she wouldn't miss it. I was afraid my big day would be not so special at all. Then came the box. Jenny, you'll remember. There were not only presents, but decorations and plates and forks and napkins. And it was good she included those paper goods, because she used the BYU food department's service of sending me a chocolate cake complete with balloons. Not only that, but that day on campus there was a guest speaker--Rosa Parks. So I went. That was amazing. She was living history, and I got to hear her speak. What a birthday!

Then came my 19th birthday. Six of us girls were renting an apartment off campus. My mother had sent me back on the airplane with pink carnations (among my favorites). I can't remember if she'd made me a cheesecake, because I made one myself for the actual day. I got a big package from her on my birthday, balloons from one of my roomies, a dozed beautiful red roses from a, ahem, friend in the Navy, and chocolate turtles from Larry, who wasn't sure what message he was trying to send with them. That day, I'd had to see my social psych professor about an assignment I needed some guidance on, and he told me that I could be a mouth model. Again, if I had to be away from home, I couldn't ask for a better day.

Then came my 20th. I'd been married for three and a half weeks. I wasn't yet as good as I am now about bluntly telling Larry my expectations for any given event. In fact, I wouldn't do it at all. Because that's not romantic. (Don't worry, I've learned!) So we went to a play that I had to attend for a humanities class, and I think I made myself dinner, and Larry got me the movie "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead." Have you seen this? It's great. It's Hamlet told from the perspective of, obviously, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. I love it. And I loved it then, which he knew. Um, but not for a birthday present. I think I cried that night. I learned that birthdays are not such the big deal for every family that they were for my mother. My husband began to learn that he'd need to put a lot more effort into holidays than he thought if he wanted a happy wife. I say "began" because this was a lesson years in the learning.

Now? Well, now birthdays are not the major holidays for me that they once were. And I say that entirely honestly. I sometimes don't even have any dessert at all. And I don't care. Rarely flowers and never balloons. And that is fine. As long as I don't have to cook dinner. I don't care if Larry takes me out or brings home take-out, I am happy. No cooking, no dishes, happy birthday to me. And as for my kids, I certainly try to make a special day for them, but I'm also trying to not set them up for disappointment on that first married birthday. If they're having a party, though, I do tend to go all out. But that's a subject for another post.

This year I will turn 35. I am teaching an art lesson to #3's class in the morning, and I'm going to see if Larry will then meet me for lunch. #3 also has a guitar lesson to go to and that night #s 1& 2 have Young Women at church and Larry has Scouts. I'm guessing I'll need to remind him that I don't want to cook. And that's fine. It's certainly better than being pissed that he forgot. I'm not seeing cheesecake in my near future. I'm getting an awesome present though. (I'll tell ya how it went later.)

And, maybe, if they're interested, I'll tell my kids the story of the birth of their mother. In detail. Just this once.

Friday Flashback: "Cookies, Conversation, and a Little Celebrity"

2009-01-16T07:00:00.003-07:00

Welcome to my first Friday Flashback. When I wrote Monday's post, I had an older post from the first year of my blog already in mind. When I went to look it up today, I found this one and changed my mind. I worry that this may not be my most impressive piece, and I really wanted to start off with a bang. So why this one? Well, I think it comes down to the fact that I'm really missing my husband while he's in CA this week. I know I'm blessed because he is returning, and also because we have a relationship that makes him so miss-able. But for tonight, I'm still kinda lonely, and reading this cheers me up. Enjoy ...

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Trying to get back into more regular date nights, Larry took me out for Chinese last Friday night. I love Chinese food. And I have to say, it's not just the food, it's the whole experience. Our little Chinese restaurant up here is no exception, although in a quirky sort of way.

There are several celebrity photographs gracing the wall, taken at the restaurant with the owner. The one that stands out, for various reasons, is of Dolly Parton. Over the PA system croons a recording of a female vocalist doing Beatles covers who sounds a bit like Vikki Carr which seems like it would play more easily in a bakery in Little Italy. The waitress/maitre'd tends to seat folks just a little too close together for the number of parties in the place. There is an art to spacing. I tend to require as much of a buffer as possible.

Dishes are plastic versions of the Asian-inspired china one might find elsewhere. This bothers me, I have to admit. Good plates are a one-time investment, unless you have a careless dish-washer. Perhaps that's their problem. The glasses are also plastic. Water, even with ice, seems warmer if you drink it out of plastic. Larry ordered a 7up and was served a can along with a plastic glass of ice. I noticed the trio seated next to us ordered beers and received glass glasses. They couldn't put a name with Dolly's face, and got a couple of photos of themselves seated around the table.

We ordered a family dinner with sweet and sour shrimp and beef with black mushrooms, then chatted over some great fried won tons, egg rolls and duck sauce served with our soups. We talked about important things, and things with almost no significance at all. We had to chat quietly to compensate for a small buffer space. Our food came a little slowly, but we weren't in any big rush. This restaurant is odd to me in that they seem to skimp a little on the rice. Most Chinese places serve enough rice with your meal for a small army. That said, we always have left-overs to bring home.

And, of course, who doesn't like fortune cookies? My brother used to recite a funny SNL bit about the people who make up the lucky numbers for the fortunes. "4? What the hell kind of lucky number is 4?" That's all I can ever remember of it. When I was a teenager the cool thing for me and my geeky friends to do was to add "in bed" to the end of our fortunes. It can get pretty darn funny. But being grown up now and married . . . it's even funnier. It may even pan out. But not this time. I got, "You love playing to a crowd."

Larry opened my truck door as we left. I was thankful that chivalry is not entirely dead, and Larry was thankful that I appreciate such a gesture. Maybe the greatness of the night wasn't the restaurant at all. Maybe it was being with my sweetheart, with no one needing a drink filled or more ketchup squirted on their plate, or beans picked out or chicken cut up. Yeah, I think that was it.

Happy Birthday, Cave Cousin!!!

2009-01-14T07:00:00.002-07:00

It's Lisa's birthday! (I'm not sure if she's as comfortable as I am just rattling off her age, so I'll leave that to her.)

If you have not been to Clan of the Cave Hair, go now. Lisa is funny and articulate and always just a great read! Lisa also has a site, Fit for Service, which deals with becoming fit spiritually and emotionally as well as physically. She posts some very inspirational things there. She makes me think, and I love to think.

Many of you have figured out that I am currently mid-move. We moved into a temporary rental house in August and looks like we'll be in the new house the first week or two of February. 2/3 of our stuff has been in storage with the moving company this whole time and will be delivered there. Which is awesome, because I don't have to pack it again. But it also sucks when I want something like ... a photo of Lisa and I as teenagers or maybe toddlers. So I'll have to find an excuse to do that another time.

Please go visit her blogs, read some of her stuff, and wish her a happy birthday.

Happy birthday, cousin! I love you. -min

This is NOT a photo of the purse you could win:

2009-01-13T07:00:00.004-07:00

It's a photo of a green one just like it that I made for my step-mom's birthday. I finished it on the 10th. Her birthday was on the 8th. It's wrapped and waiting for me to mail it. And that's how I roll.

This design is taken from my dear friend Leslie, who introduced me to hand-felting. She made a purse like this for me a few years back, and I've wanted to try it since. I'm just now getting to it. I probably should be more original, but I don't think she'll mind.

I thought I'd take another photo with my hand, to show size better. The green yarn (and my hand) are reading a little washed out. Oh well, you get the idea:

And finally a shot of your purse in progress. (Again, this yarn is reading slightly lighter than it is. But it's close.) You can see that I'm about 1/2 way done with the first side as of Monday afternoon:

I'd have gotten further Sunday night during 24, but I couldn't find my red yarn and Jack Bauer was being all Jack Bauer-y so I didn't have patience to look for long. I should be able to get the purse almost knitted during 24 tonight (well, last night as you read this).

Don't you love 24? I was so bummed last year with those selfish strikers who thought nothing of ME and what I was missing out on. At least he's back in action now. My husband seems to think he's heard this is it's last season. Could that be true? I certainly hope not. I do love House, but he's nothing to drool over. I used to pride myself when I was newly married on not lusting after TV and movie stars like I did as a teenager. And I didn't. I guess my head was elsewhere. Like nursing and diapering and all of that great stuff. But now, I might as well be 15. I don't even mind admitting it. Funny how your outlook changes like that.

So where was I? Ah yes, the contest. Entries accepted up to a week from today. If you're interested, please comment on the ORIGINAL POST, or I may think I've already entered you. I'm astounded by the number of entrants I'm getting. I was figuring I might pick up a couple of new readers who were friends of friends who might be kind enough to post my mug on their sidebar. I assume it's because of all of the unanticipated traffic from Mormon Mommy Blogs. I'm not sure how I am going to keep up with everyone. I guess I'll just say that if you begin to be a regular commenter, I'll be sure to read you, too. Maybe only a few days a week, (I've got to find some balance here!) but I'll be there!

A Little History ...

2009-01-12T07:00:00.003-07:00

**Please remember to give me a vote at Mormon Mommy Blogs, if you haven't already. Tuesday is the deadline!**

I began this blog in April of 2006 when I tried to comment on the new blog of an old friend and somehow didn't see how to do it without creating a Blogger account. This was, clearly, back before Google owned Blogger. I saw later how to just comment, but I'd already taken the plunge.

My blog was never meant to be an actual journal of daily life, never really a way for friends and family to keep track of us. I wasn't interested in that. I wanted only to write.

A few years before I made a list of things from my childhood that I wanted to write about. I think I wrote two essays. I emailed them to my dad (and probably also my mom) to read. He's not an easy critic, and he was impressed. But I never did more. So I saw this as an opportunity to continue with these stories. I'm not sure that I've actually blogged anything off of that list, but I've been inspired by my thoughts and feelings and other memories that have arisen as I went.

I used to post about twice a month. That was my goal, at any rate. But sometimes it was less. My audience of 6 consisted of my dad, my mom, my college roommate Jenny, sometimes my HS best bud Kelly, a dear friend from forever Laura, and the occasional person who actually followed the link that is at the bottom of all of my emails. Jenny used to comment on each post. Sometimes I'd get an email from my mom or Laura about a post. Once my dad emailed me that he thought I should have a much broader readership than I did. Laura emailed me that she thought I could write a column. But really, it never mattered much to me. I was writing for myself. And I read my posts much more frequently than I wrote them.

Then this summer I moved to Idaho after 14 years in Southern California. And I am glad, but I have felt very displaced. For some reason, at this same time, one of my sometimes-readers who many of you know as Clan of the Cave Hair seemed to be visiting my blog a little more frequently and I was checking out hers more in return. I was impressed with all of her readers, all of these friends that she had in the blogging world. For a while I really assumed that these were all people she knew in real life who happened to blog. I'd been "blogging" for two years, but had never really entered any portion of the blogging community and did not understand how it ticked.

So, being lonely, I started peeking in on some of these blogs of gals who commented on Lisa's posts. But I would never presume to comment. These people didn't know me and would probably be annoyed that I was invading their privacy. But then on Brittany's blog (an author, WOW) there was a post or two about a meet and greet. After a couple of readings I realized that everyone was meeting each other. Like, for the first time. I think Brittany was the first person who's blog I commented on. She loves Jane Austen books, and so do I, and I thought that might give me an in. She didn't seem to mind, so I continued.

I can't remember all the details of how this blogging experience blossomed for me, but it gradually did. And I came to understand that most of these girls (and men, Ca-Joh) were a lot like me. Not the kids at the cool table, as I'd originally assumed, but misfit kids and insecure ones and funny ones and sweet ones and neurotic ones and pretty normal ones. I found that I could make friends. Not fake friends. Real friends. Just on-line.

I also realized that I'd need to post more often than twice a month to keep an audience. Figuring out just how to do that continues to be a challenge for me. I don't want tons of fluff on here. I don't mind and even quite enjoy reading it other places, but I want to keep the purpose of this blog largely in tact as a place for me to write.

That is not why I want begin to post the occasional "Friday Flashback." I want to do it because I've written some pretty good stuff in the past nearly three years, if I do say so myself, and I'd love to have more than 6 people read it. (I may even get 12 people to read it now!) Look for my first flashback on the 16th. I'll pick a good 'un.

Nothing Says "Celebrate" Like Bribing Bloggers to be Your Friend ...

2009-01-09T07:00:00.003-07:00

... and I'm not proud. (Vain, but not proud.) So that's just what I'll do.

This is my 100th POST!

Can you believe it? After a short 2 years and 9 months I have finally pressed "publish post" 100 times. And what do folks here in bloggy-land do to celebrate 100 posts but have a cool GIVEAWAY!!??

And what, you may ask, am I giving away? A beautiful felted purse! Lovingly knitted and expertly hand-felted by yours truly. (It will be ready to go in denim blue or choose your favorite color and wait a couple of weeks for production.) The purse will likely contain some chocolate, which every giveaway should include. It's perfect for times when you (or your wife) just need enough space for your cell, lip gloss and ATM card. You could even fit in some mints or a mini-pack of tissues.

The Method: I realize that there are marvelous, fancy-pants tools out there for finding winners. But that is not nearly as fun as assigning each entrant from 1 to 5 BINGO numbers, putting the balls in the cage, and giving it a spin. (Also, this way, I can get the kids involved in my blogging, which will make me feel better about repeatedly putting them off to post and read my blog-list. I'm a thoughtful mom like that.)

How to Enter: You earn your first entry by commenting on this post. Pretty typical. You may earn additional optional entries, up to FOUR MORE, by:

Being or becoming a follower or being Kristina P.
Mentioning my giveaway on your blog in a post or on your side bar, linking back here. (You'll need to let me know you've done this.)
Reading a past post from September 2008 or earlier, and commenting on it. (If you're Jenny W., comment on newer posts!) Read as many as will get you to a grand total of FIVE.

The Deadline: Get all of this done by Tuesday, January 20th, 8:00 pm MST.

The Drawing: Wednesday, January 21st. I will announce the result at 8:00 pm MST.

Good luck. And YEAY ME!

VOTE FOR ME!!!

2009-01-08T08:53:00.003-07:00

Wow, I just found out this morning that I am on the ballot for the January Spotlight Blog over at Mormon Mommy Blogs. I'm totally honored. Thank you, thank you, to whoever nominated me!

So if you have liked what you've read here, please take a second and pop over and give me a vote. Tell your friends. Tell your coworkers. Tell your husbands (or wife). I don't even really have to win--although that would be cool. I'd just like to make a decent showing!

Polls close Tuesday, January 13th.

Simply Said

2009-01-07T08:25:00.000-07:00

Nothing is simpler or more potentially powerful than one well chosen word.

Apparently there is an idea circling the blogoshpere of using one word to inspire one's year in terms of improvement (I hesitate to use the "R" word). I've now seen it a few times, some posts serious and some in jest, but I got this idea initially from Octamom. While I'm rarely known for my brevity, the idea of a single word directing my progress appeals to me. It seems more achievable than a laundry list of all of the areas in my life which I feel are lacking. Finding that word, the one word that will make a bigger difference than any other, that is another story.

I think that people are drawn to different words the way they are drawn to colors or symbols. Words are in fact symbols, often, of deeper meanings. Many of the words that seemingly appeal to the masses have little pull on me. They seem broad in meaning, trite, pedestrian. Words inspiring change and improvement often fall into this category for me.

So change. Looking for change, for improvement. I thought about "skinny," but that sounded crass. I've seen "simplify" and I can appreciate that, but my problem would then using that simplified time and space wisely, which does not necessarily follow. "Blog less, Mother more" is a phrase rather than a word, and something I'm not sure I'm ready for.

This then, for me, came down to identifying my biggest challenge, or at least the most meaningful. That is easy. It is in my spiritual health that needs the most attention. I attend church meetings more than regularly. I fulfill my callings with thought and organization and care. When the compassionate service leader calls, I am there. I am a decent Visiting Teacher. I hold regular Family Home Evenings, family prayer and family scripture study. I also feed my kids breakfast and make their lunches. But I often don't eat myself. And I generally don't read my scriptures on my own, and my prayer habits are not regular.

I do think a lot about my relationship with God, and my inadequacies there. Because I like to think. I don't need a schedule for thinking. So if some of that thinking can count as having a prayerful heart, maybe I'm not quite as bad off as I think. Taking an honest inventory, it seems I do best at personal spiritual health habits when I have made a project out of it for one reason or another. Because I also like a project. Or at least I am good at getting a project done.

So my word for the year is "Discipleship." I think discipleship is what is most important for me to develop, to focus on. Maybe a year-long project will turn into something more permanent, some changing of the hard-wiring in my system. I hope and suspect that other problems I see in my life will then fall into one of two categories. They will either naturally improve as a function of trying harder to follow my Savior or they will not matter so much. And I think I am at a stage in my life where I at least have the desire to let go of the things that matter less.

Now, first thing's first. I need to find a super-cool quote for my blog and contact my local vinyl lettering sales woman. Well, maybe not. But I do need to go have a morning prayer.

Back to Normal

2009-01-05T06:45:00.002-07:00

There is a photograph of Larry about 14 years ago to the day, sitting in our stark living room, glasses on, feet up, casually reading a history text. It is pasted into one of the few scrap books that I started early on in our family life on a page following the documentation of a very merry Christmas spent in Massachusetts. The caption reads: "Back to normal."

Every season of the year I greet with the gladness of anticipated joy and then bid farewell to with eagerness to be done with it, to move on. The Christmas Season is similar. There is something comforting about decorations that brighten the corners and soften the edges of the home, about smells of baking goodies reserved for December, and about music laced with joy, deep love and gratitude. I deck my halls Thanksgiving weekend, generally on Friday or Saturday. There was one year, however, that I did it gradually over that week. We were at my in-law's on Thanksgiving Day, and the rest of the week-end was free of the stress of cleaning and sorting and placing and hanging.

Ah, and the music. I love music. Years that have been particularly stressful of chaotic I find myself digging out the Christmas tapes or CDs or now just scrolling down my playlist and playing carols to myself, when no one else is around, as early as November 1st. This was one of those years. So as blogging friends complained about premature jingle bells heard after Halloween, I secretly crooned "White Christmas" along with Bing, and roasted chestnuts with Johnny Mathis.

As seasons change in nature, there is no normal. Well maybe in some places there is. In the southern California valleys there is the rainy season and the rest of the year. But in general the cycle of seasons keeps all transitions special and unique. When Christmas is over, however, life returns to an easier, neater, slower pace. Our Christmas Tree meets the curb on the 26th. (I must admit to being late this year. I de-decorated on the 27th.) Treasured items are carefully wrapped, packed into large Rubbermaid containers, and hoisted into the attic to the tunes of Led Zeppelin, Heart, and Journey. Or Paul Simon, Hootie, and the White Album. Depends on my mood.

It's fitting, I think, that we usher in the New Year with a natural de-cluttering of home and schedule. Maybe that helps us feel inspired to make those resolutions which are rarely kept. Sometimes I am anxious to say good-bye to a particular year, thinking that somehow the passing of the 31st, the flip of this particular calendar page, indicates a renewal, a washing away not of sin but of trial. 1998 was such a year. Larry had experienced some major health issues, #1 had had her first seizure, and maybe a second, and I declared that no one could get sick in 1999. It would not be allowed. But they did, of course.

This is another year like 1998. Some would try to read into the decade relationship, but there have been others in between. While we have on one hand been very blessed, we have on the other been very tried. I will not miss 2008. And deep inside, I wish that this man-made demarcation of time were more powerful than it is. I wish that this year could be void of heartache and worry and stress. But it won't even be free of moving and change. It won't be free of hospitals. It won't be free of budgetary concerns. It won't be free of diets. And these are just the problems that are foreseeable. Scheduled, even.

That knowledge notwithstanding, there is a certain comfort to getting up at 6 am this morning to wake the kids, make their lunches, and argue about the necessity of snow boots. Today I'll be driving the little kids to school. I'll make beds and fold some laundry. I'll vacuum and empty the dishwasher. I'll put the chicken on to marinate. I'll keep felting and I'll even pack a box or two.

This is about as normal as it gets.

On the Twelfth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-21T07:00:00.003-07:00

Twelve canes of candy

Eleven cranes a-folded

Ten points on antlers

Nine manger figures

Eight links for counting

Seven pm concert

Six handmade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited kids

Three bloggy gifts

Two dozen cookies

and a PRETTY DECORATED CHRISTMAS TREE!

Merry Christmas, Bloglanders!

...and we will now soon return to our regularly scheduled programming.

On the Eleventh Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-20T07:00:00.005-07:00

Eleven cranes a-folded

Ten points on antlers

Nine manger figures

Eight links for counting

Seven pm concert

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four handmade stockings

Three bloggy gifts

Two dozen cookies

and a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

Though I do do some origami, and can make cranes (with the instructions in front of me) I did not make these, but the friend of a friend who knows that we were without our regular decorations this year. So kind to share ...

On the Tenth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-19T07:00:00.002-07:00

Ten points on antlers

Nine manger figures

Eight links for counting

Seven pm concert

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited kids

Three bloggy gifts

Two dozen cookies

and a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

On the Ninth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-18T07:00:00.003-07:00

Nine manger figures

Eight links for counting

Seven pm concert

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited kids

Three bloggy gifts

Two dozen cookies

and a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-17T07:00:00.002-07:00

Eight links for counting

a Seven pm concert

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited kid

Three bloggy gifts

Two dozen cookies

and a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-16T20:20:00.001-07:00

a 7:pm concert (played by #2)

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited children

Three gifts from Shauna

Two dozen cookies

and a pretty, decorated Christmas Tree

#2 plays flute in the 7th grade concert band. The flutes are the first two rows to the right of the conductor. #2 is on the second row, second chair. I have to say, these kids are amazing. I have heard (and been in) my share of jr. high and high school bands, and this is one of the best I've heard, especially for how young they are. They play well, play together, and have an amazingly full and talented percussion section, which adds depth and fullness.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-15T13:40:00.000-07:00

Six homemade stockings

Five birthday guests

Four excited children

Three gifts from Shauna

Two dozen cookies,

and a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

The other "Mina's Christmases" picture this post will paint for you has not to do with the photo, but the time. I have set all of these posts to publish at 7 am. Some are missing photos as events are on-going, but I have been able to get them all ready by publish time. Not the stockings. I taped them up (because I need to buy hooks), shot them and uploaded the pictures the minute they were finished. (And these were pretty sloppily done by my standards--thank goodness the photo hides much of that.) It will be 1:40 by the time I post.

I spend all season, and all year for that matter, procrastinating. I always want to have everything ready to go ahead of time. But it almost never happens. The only time I was ready for Christmas early was the year I was scheduled to be induced on Dec 23rd. The sad fact is that if I had not decided to post about our stockings, they would remain yet unsewn.

Tomorrow's post is scheduled to publish at 9 pm. That is not because of procrastination, but because of the time of the event I will be posting about. Just so you know...

On the Fifth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-14T07:00:00.003-07:00

Five birthday guests

Four excited children

Three gifts from Shauna,

Two dozen cookies,

and a pretty decorated Christmas Tree.

Okay, to be honest here, there were 4 guests and one birthday boy. But "guests" alone fit the tune so much better. So I took poetic license. Though his party was yesterday, #4 turns 7 in another week and a half. In the photo he is second from the left.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-13T07:00:00.002-07:00

Four excited children

Three gifts from Shauna,

Two dozen cookies,

and a pretty, decorated Christmas Tree.

On the Third Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-12T07:00:00.003-07:00

Three gifts from Shauna,

Two dozen cookies,

and a pretty, decorated Christmas tree.

Thank you, Shauna! You are so very sweet. I don't know where you find the time ...

On the Second Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-11T07:00:00.003-07:00

Two dozen cookies, (made for the prison)

And a pretty decorated Christmas tree.

With all of the great comments I'm getting, I wanted to add two things. One, my 2 dozen cookies were a contribution to a Stake Relief Society annual project. The over 6,000 cookies get bagged into sets of 4 cookies and are delivered to the local state? prison. It's a really wonderful service and is this year particularly close to my heart.

Also, thanks for saying the cookies "look" yummy. I guess it's a good photo, because these are the ugliest Holiday cookies around. We sometimes call them ugly duck cookies. There's nothing to do to pretty them up. But they taste wonderful. Full of brown sugar, pecans, dates and candied cherries. Almost like a fruit cake. But actually delicious.

On the First Day of Christmas I posted on my Blog ...

2008-12-10T07:00:00.004-07:00

... a pretty decorated Christmas Tree.

Today through December 21, I will be posting 12 Posts of Christmas. I got the idea from Erin, the great. This will give a small peek into celebrations Chez Poisson.

Insecurity

2008-12-08T11:05:00.000-07:00

I was recently presented by Wendy with this "honest scrap" award. The original idea was to list 10 honest things about yourself. I knew, however, that I'd be writing an essay instead. Coming up with a topic took a while, but thanks to a Facebook chat I had with my schoolmate Tim and to some brainstorming in the shower, I am ready to write.

My dad left home when I was almost 7. (Just about exactly the same age as #4 this month.) The divorce was final when I was in 6th grade. It was long and drawn out. Absence of closure is not a helpful thing for someone who tends to brood over everything to begin with. Throughout that time, adults (including my parents, or at least my dad) always seemed to comment on how well I was handling the divorce. That was absolutely false. But an overwhelming desire to be very grown-up kept me from correcting any one.

To be honest, I was sad. I had been a bit of a daddy's girl, and to have him gone every night was not easy. I felt disillusioned. Divorce had been a fear of mine a year or two before, and one night I'd asked my parents if I would have a say in a decision like that. They had said yes, and I felt safe, because I knew my vote. Anger over that "lie" lasted well into my teens. More anger was directed toward my dad for leaving at all, for then quickly leaving the church, and for frequent miscommunication. Even more anger was directed toward his new mate for her existence and for being so hard to hate.

I felt embarrassed. Maybe not quite at first, but by 3rd or 4th grade, I was embarrassed to have a single mom, poor, living in an apartment. By middle school I was also continually embarrassed by our very old cars. That is, until I could drive the old cars. Lots of kids drove old cars. I was embarrassed to have very generic clothing. Ironically, now that I can generally shop wherever I'd like, most of what I own comes from Target. My kids aren't even embarrassed.

All of this fed what I believe to be a natural inclination toward insecurity. I felt like I had something to prove. I had to prove to my friends that I was friend-worthy. I had to prove to my cousins that I was family-worthy. I had to prove to myself that I was better than my surroundings.

This is not a good state to be in. Especially when a little kid decides that the best way to prove all of this is to tell everyone how great she is and show off. That is actually a fantastic way to lose friends and make your cousins think you're obnoxious. Losing friends and having family not like you is a great way to think you have something more to prove. It was, tritely put, a vicious circle.

Gradually through middle school and by high school, I found that the best thing to do was to keep my mouth shut (not only about how great I was but about most things) and hope for friends to find me. And some did. I decided that it did not matter, really, what anyone thought. But if I'm really being honest here, it did matter. I'm still not sure how to make it not matter. I acted back then in ways I am ashamed of to fit in and get just a tiny bit of attention with out the bragging.

Being honest, I still continue under the assumption that most people probably won't like me. Or like me enough to be my friend. I have a hard time putting myself on the line enough to reach out. I am always grateful for the friend here and there who reaches my direction, and then once I feel certain the rejection is not, in fact, eminent, I can finally open up. I am fully aware that this is a selfish way of thinking and behaving.

That has been the seductive aspect of blogging. Being in a brand new place, I have found it relatively easy to hop over to some one's blog, click "follow" and leave a comment. At least once I figured out that that action would not come off as presumptuous and bothersome. And you know what? A few kind folks have clicked "follow" on my site. They even return, some of them, to see what I have to say. This is the best my social life has been since kindergarten. To be honest, it's some of the best that I have felt about myself.

For more introspection, though hopefully less depressing, click here, here, and here. Otherwise stay tuned for my upcoming fluffy 12 days of Christmas posts, Dec 10-21.

Shameless Product Endorsement

2008-12-05T13:37:00.000-07:00

Well, except I'm not getting paid.

Not long ago, a fellow blogger listed "dog owners who don't train their dogs" as a pet peeve. Sorry. I'm in that category. Lucy is completely house broken, which she was not when we got her. And she can sit. And she does (usually) sit for me. I think that's about it. We're working on the not jumping on visitors thing which she is getting better about. And I've gotten her to stop waking me up to go potty in the night. But that's really it.

Let me 'splain. We got Lucy in August 2006 from my father-in-law's neighbor who'd gotten her for the kids for Christmas, but decided they didn't really want a dog after all. She hadn't been abused or really neglected. I think she was largely ignored. She was about 9 months old.

I immediately started walking her almost daily. This was a chore. She is a pure-bred Golden Retriever. It's not uncommon to see Goldens walking their owners. They are high-energy dogs. I thought, "I need to train this dog." (Especially since she was not, as I said earlier, housebroken.) So I bought some books and videos from "Uncle Matty" (this is not the shameless plug). Those really did help with the potty training. And I think they would have helped with the "heel" command too, but ...

It was just barely a couple of weeks later that I was hit in the middle of the night with Trigeminal Neuralgia. My life was turned on it's head for several months. Not walking Lucy anymore wasn't the worst of the pet troubles we had. We had a dwarf hamster that I stopped feeding and watering, and no one else thought to do it ... and she died. If I hadn't been in such constant pain followed by constant drugged-upness for months, I would have felt like a monster. As it was I felt pretty bad.

Anyway, I never got back into the walk the dog regularly thing. Send her in the back yard with the kids and a tennis ball just seemed much easier.

Since we've moved, though, I've been inspired to really train her. She still acts like a big puppy, and everyone would be happier with a trained dog. I read those books again. They are great. But I haven't actually used them. Then last Saturday, my brother-in-law sold the new puppy that #3 was sure was meant to be hers. TO help ease the devastation, Larry suggested we go let her pick out a new toy for Lucy. While toys were being analysed, I happened to see a dog harness. It claimed that it would instantly end pulling. I was totally skeptical. But for $9.99, I figured it was worth a shot.

Yesterday we tried to for the first time. INSTANT SUCCESS! I was absolutely astonished. This basically works by having a harness around the dog's chest with two straps that go under her "armpits" and lace through a loop. The ends of the armpit straps are connected to another loop where you hook your leash. So when the dog pulls, the straps tighten. I guess this is uncomfortable, and keeps the dog from running ahead. I am still unsure why this is more uncomfortable that the choking that always resulted in the past, but I guess it is, because it keeps her by my side. It's a Festivus MIRACLE!

I just got back from ... walking my dog. No choking. No arms pulling out of their sockets. It was wonderful. I like walking so much better when I'm walking her. I don't know why. But my hope is that this will get us back to the walks that we both need so badly. A tired puppy is a good puppy. And a walking Mina will hopefully be a skinnier Mina.

* Note: If you are interested in this product, check it out with the link above, but don't buy it there. It's $16.48 there versus the $9.99 that I paid at Walmart.

*Another Note: Here are photos of us, post-walk. I was trying to show the harness, but she wanted to lay down and have her belly rubbed, so there was limited success. Isn't she pretty, though?

Oh, my! Let's zoom out, shall we?

Ok, not a bad shot of the harness, but what the heck is she doing?

Can't she see I have a camera in my hand? Come on ... smile!

Well, now cute puppy and no harness. BAAAAAA!

Ok, finally! A little of the cute dog. A little of the harness.

Reason #43 why I am glad we moved to Idaho

2008-12-03T22:00:00.000-07:00

In Southern California:

Sudden bladder infection hits. Pain, blood, need medical attention.

Larry drives me to the ER (Urgent Care closes early), where I pee in a cup and wait 5 to 8 hours for a doctor to confirm what I already knew and get me a prescription.

Why the long wait? Because the ER is full of a) folks who are trying to get out of work the next day, and b) folks who use the ER as their regular doctor because they have no insurance, generally for a reason which I will not state because I will sound like an insensitive bigot.

Wait 45 minutes at the over-crowded pharmacy for my anti-biotics and pain meds.

Sleep all of the next day to make up for the whole ordeal.

In Idaho:

Sudden bladder infection hits. Pain, blood, need medical attention.

Larry is in California on business (bummer!), but helps me think while I find the number and address of an open Urgent Care Clinic open until 10 pm. I drive there, get registered there since I'm new, pee in a cup and wait 5 minutes for the test strip to develop.

No wait? What? I'm seriously the ONLY patient? Alrighty then!

Wait 15 minutes for a my prescriptions. Head home.

Total time gone: 1 hr. 20 min.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Last summer I was talking to a sales woman at Joann about moving up to Idaho. She said, "Well, I hope you like it, because you probably won't be able to move back if you don't."

Good.

Get Yourself a Blog Already

2008-12-02T11:10:00.000-07:00

Larry is in California this week. (Thankfully I have all of you to fill the void of my evenings!) Anyway, I just got an email sent from his cell phone. This is not in itself very strange. He knows I'm more likely to be at my computer than I am to hear my cell. He sent a photo he'd taken. Also not strange. I often get pictures of ridiculous things he sees for my entertainment. But what I got was this:

with the caption, "They fit just right!"

Let me back up to give a small amount of context. Larry was packing for the trip and opened a new package of socks. The label read, for shoe sizes 6 to 12. Larry started to gripe about such a large range of feet that were all expected to fit into this particular sock, adding to his frustration that socks never seem to fit him well. I pointed out that his size 9 foot was smack in the middle of that, which was a good sign. And I guess it was indeed.

Ok, is it me, or does this seem like just the kind of photo and story we'd run across as a post from one of our bloggy companions? In fact that thought struck me so hard that it was a little of a turn-off. It seemed, I don't know, feminine of him. (Not that I find blogging feminine, CaJoh, but there is certainly a feminine style of blogging. I don't see a post like this on your blog.) I mean, what's next, a picture of pouty-faced-Larry holding a up stripped screw? Maybe a fresh-out-of-the-salon photo--how do you like my new hair-cut?

Larry has mentioned more than once the idea that he start blogging. I'm not sure if that would annoy me or please me. I don't think he even knows my url. If I want him to see something on my blog I have to show him myself. Well, maybe he just wouldn't have Mormon Mommy Bloggers on his blog roll. I might have to "pay" him to list mine. Of course, I think he had ideas of posting insightful and humorous bits of wisdom rather than pictures of his feet.

Col. Mustard, in the Library, with the Candlestick

2008-11-28T10:08:00.000-07:00

Ok, well, not exactly. But we did solve the mystery of Stinky Pete. I originally posted about this almost an entire month ago, and the, er, trouble had been going on for a little under two weeks at that point. It's been a while, and I'm so relieved, if not a little grossed out, to have figured it out.

The solution reads like this: "The previous renters' cats, down the heating duct, with the urine."

It now makes sense that we didn't smell it until we started running the heater, heating "things" up. We contacted our landlord who reacted in a surprisingly unsurprised manner, and then called the heating and cooling guy who is coming Monday morning to replace that section of ducting. Until then, we have closed #4's vent, and covered it with a huge, folded towel. Larry bought a small space heater so #4 doesn't freeze.

Eew.

Holiday Spirit

2008-11-24T13:33:00.000-07:00

Dracula lived in the shower in the bathroom at the top of my stairs when I was a very little girl. Of course he only lived there when it was dark. His presence made it quite difficult for me to venture to the top floor by myself at night. It also made it hard for me to get to sleep. My bedroom was directly next to the bathroom where Dracula resided, and because of him, I would have nightmares about witches. I would frequently, therefore, drift off to dreamland in the safety of the downstairs living room, where my parents were watching TV. They would carry me, unknowing, up to my room and tuck me in.

Occasionally I fell asleep before having changed into a nightgown. I would then wake up the next morning devastated. It was like the whole night had been a waste. I had missed out on the optimal sleep experience. I was cheated out of blissful rest. I needed my jammies on. But it was too late. I would brood about my sad situation all day long. Things were never right again until I had slept through the next night properly clad.

There have been years when the holidays have not seemed holiday-ish enough for me. I fear I am facing such a season. Thanksgiving is three days away, and it does not feel or smell or sound or taste like Thanksgiving to me yet. Sure, I'm eating Dryer's pumpkin ice cream every night and there is serious frost each morning, but I do not anticipate one of my favorite holidays coming right around the bend.

Not only does it not feel like Thanksgiving, but this being about as late as Thanksgiving gets, it does not feel like we're only a month out from Christmas. My closet is filled with wrapped presents, I've been playing Bing Crosby and Johnny Mathis and John Denver and the Muppets on my iPod, and I've already strewn some twinkle lights on my mantle. But no visions of sugar plums are dancing in my head.

In years past, when faced with this situation, I will begin to panic. For in my mind, just as one should spend the night in her nightgown, one should spend the holidays in the proper spirit, or the whole thing is a waste. The major difference being that it will take another 11 months for a shot at doing it right, rather than 16 hours. Panicking rarely gets me in the mood.

So what to do? I'm just not sure. I am guessing that Wednesday will help slightly. On Wednesday I'll make cranberry orange relish, and orange rolls, a French silk pie and a pumpkin cheesecake. On Wednesday I'll pull down the harvest ornamentation and replace it with this year's scant Christmas decor. On Wednesday the kids and I will make a construction paper Christmas countdown chain.

But then what? How do I avoid missing out on Christmas because I'm feeling like the daughter that Scrooge and the Grinch never had? I'm sure I could count my blessings and lose myself in service to others. That's the advice I'd give to someone else in my place. But my heart's not quite buying it.

When I was little and was made to go to sleep in my bed, I'd try to stave off witchy nightmares with thoughts of birthday parties, specifically my birthday parties. It seemed to work as well as anything. I don't see it being quite as effective in this particular instance. But maybe I should give it a shot.

So if you see me this holiday, please wish me a Happy Birthday instead of a Merry Christmas. And please refrain from commenting about my pink gingerbread men pj's which I may very well have on for good measure.

Tag, I'm It

2008-11-20T14:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, I am now officially swearing off swearing these things off. I guess if I want a spot in the bloggy world I need to play the bloggy game. Thanks to Tink for ABC-tagging me. Link to her survey to find out her super-cool greatest accomplishment. In fact, go do that while I try to come up with something super-cool to say. Go. Now. But please come back.

A-Attached or Single: Attached. Unless you're Johnny Depp or Mr. Darcy, and then I may give some consideration to that.

B--Best Friend(s): My real best friends, Kelly and Jenna, and hopefully now that we're up here, Kim--see N below--don't blog. (Kelly is considering it. She's following me now, which is a good first step.) But all of my eBFFs are listed to your right. Try Clan of the Cave Hair. She's probably my favorite eBFF out of nepotism.

C--Cake or Pie: Pie. That's easy. Unless it's cheesecake. Which I prefer to pie. But I don't think cheesecake really qualifies as cake, do you?

D--Day of Choice: Friday (see, Tink, it's almost like I'm copying you.)

E--Essential Item: Lipstick and mascara and my blow drier/round brush have a 3-way tie. I'm so vain. I even think this post is about me.

G--Greatest Accomplishment: I used to say my bachelor's degree, which I received when #2 was 5 months old. But 4 times now I have actually finished afghans that I started. So, you know...

H--Hometown: Northampton, MA, about which there is a book written by Tracy Kidder called (ironically) Home Town.

I--Indulgences: Chocolate, Reading

J--January or July: January, only because that's my birthday. I love my birthday. Especially if there is cheesecake.

K--Kids: 3 girls and 1 boy all call me Mom. Plus a husband who calls me Mina and a Golden who comes when I call her.

L--Life is Incomplete Without: I should say something meaningful like "the gospel," but my first reaction is "chocolate." The real answer, though, is Larry, also an "L."

M--Marriage Date: December 28, 1993

N--Number of Siblings: 1 younger brother, 1 brother-in-law and his wife (see B above), and 3 sisters-in-law and their husbands.

O--Oranges or Apples: Well, I love both fruits if they are good, but if they stink, they are also each NASTY. Overall, I think you can find better apples throughout the year. A great, juicy sweet orange, though. I am really bad at choosing.

P-Phobias: Spiders, crowds, and losing my husband

Q--Quotes: "Curtsey while you're thinking. It saves time." -The Queen of Hearts in Disney's Alice in Wonderland. Sorry, Brittany.

R--Reason to Smile: 20 followers. Aw, come on, someone--make me smile!

S--Season: Fall. I love everything about it. Maybe except soccer season which is OK, but I don't love it.

T--Tag 5 Friends: I hate this. I feel so presumptuous. But: Diane, Wendy at Going Incognito, Ramona, Brittany, and Kristina. You don't havta if you don't wanna. I'll know how to take it.

U--Unknown Facts About Me: Well, for most of you most things about me are unknown, aren't they. Keep reading my blog. Read past posts. Email me. I can't make a good list here. Not enough time. You'd all get bored.

V--Very Favorite Store(s): Target (Said with a french accent, of course.) I actually have a funny story about this. Hmm--maybe a post for another day.

W--Worst Habit: Is procrastination a habit? I procrastinate famously.

X--X-ray or Ultra Sound: I'm not quite even sure what this means. You need different tests for different problems. Neither of those are bad. What I'm not too keen on is an MRI. Those are a little freaky.

Y--Your Favorite Food: Low Point food (I'm trying to think positively, here)

Z--Zodiac Sign: Aquarius. Born, I believe, on the cusp.

Added 11/22: Check out April, who took my tag, and has a way cool blog.

More On Aging

2008-11-19T12:19:00.000-07:00

How does one go from looking forward to getting older to resenting it in less than two years? If I think about it, the process has actually only taken three months. It began when we moved to Idaho.

During the four years we spent in the mountains, I had always been the youngest by one or two if not the youngest adult at church. My friend who had children the age of my children and who served with me in Primary that entire time, was 11 years older than me. The other women were retirement age. At school there were moms younger than me, but it seemed that more of them were older. At least that was true of the parents I hung out with. Getting older did indeed give me added validity.

Here we live in a community filled with families. There are certainly parents older than I. More seem younger. Many of my kids' teachers are younger than I.

Though I've had this blog for 2 1/2 years, it's only since we moved that I've really entered the "blogging" community. (What can I say? I'm a little lonely. It's easier to sit here and make pretend friends on line than it is to go "out there" and find real ones.) I am finding that many of my fellow bloggers are very young. Like, I-would-have-hired-you-to-baby-sit-my-kids-or-could-have-been-your-Young-Women-leader-a-few-years-back, kind of young. I am grateful for anyone over the age of 30 who blogs.

It's not really age that's the problem. I'm fine with that. I have no reservations telling anyone who asks. I am 34. I will be 35 in January. This is not ancient. It's the increasing number of adults who were kids when I was already an adult that makes me feel old. Twice recently I have been "complimented" on the fact that I don't look old enough to have two middle schoolers. Ok, yeah, that's nice, thank you. But this really says to me, wow, you are OLD. Suddenly I feel it.

Today, I was helping in #3s class. Her teacher had read them a book about desert life and was pulling up the internet right there on the classroom pull down screen to research both the author of the book and desert life. He was having trouble getting their attention. I couldn't believe it. This was such cool technology, amazing compared to the reel to reel films I watched in elementary school. And I said so. The kids gave me a blank stare. They have no idea what a film reel is. The teacher (only about 6 years my junior) said, "Oh come on, you're not that old." Well, yes. If having watched films on a projector makes me old, then yes, I am that old. Video technology was certainly there in the very early 80s, but it was expensive, I never saw it in a classroom until maybe 6th or 7th grade.

You know, it's a lie that my attitude changed only with the move. I suddenly remember posting about the girls' middle school dance. That made me feel old, too. And that was June. Well, perhaps the move has just accelerated the inevitable. My baby is about to turn 7, and I am about to turn into a fogey. Maybe that's okay. I'll be good at it. I have a lot of old person habits already. I'm always cold, I knit, and Larry and I do the crossword. I'm sure there's more to that list, but I can't recall. My memory is going.

Where's my flannel blanket?

Safety First

2008-11-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

I will never cease to be amazed at the influence of trial attorneys and class action lawsuits on product packaging. "Oh, you mean that hot coffee might burn me?" And so it began. And so it continues ...

Larry recently purchased a set of little letter openers from Staples. Nothing fancy. Just those little plastic things with a blade embedded to slice envelopes. Fortunately, it came with some safety advice for our benefit. "They," the elusive, omnipresent "they" who seem to know what is good and healthy for us better than we ourselves, have decided that goggles aren't just for use with power tools anymore:

The bad news is that we cannot find our safety goggles at the moment. So though I hate to admit it, we've been flirting with danger, opening letters without goggles. Irresponsible, I know. And a bad example to the kids as well. It will give them permission some day, I am sure, to use unsafe letter-opening practices. And how will I feel when a flyaway envelope shred, or worse yet an opener slipped out of an over-exuberant hand, hits them in their unprotected eye? I will feel like the horrible mother that I am. And worst of all, because of the warning, I will have no legal case against Staples.

Please. What's next? A welding mask for nail clippers? Maybe steel-toed boots for a vacuum. Latex gloves with white-out. Just so long as they don't get sued.

Where I've been ...

2008-11-13T19:38:00.000-07:00

Kristina P. was kind enough to ask where I've been this past week. Thank you for noticing my absence. I feel loved.

To be honest, I have been busy with real live, non-virtual life. I mean REALLY booked. I'm not really the type to give a laundry list of mundane activities that mean little to anyone but myself. But I will say that Monday I spent about 6 hours picking out carpeting and tile for our house that's being built. A little stressful at the time, but I have a great designer helping me keep everything straight, and once it was done I was very excited. I have tile samples laid out all over our family room floor.

I guess ultimately my trouble is that I have yet to figure out how to be good in the blogging world and the actual world at the same time. Something gets neglected. This week it's been you guys. Sorry for that. Please enjoy my boobie post below.

Express Yourself

2008-11-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

In an effort to maintain a fair and balanced blog, I am following my modesty post with a post about the boobie shirt.

Last week Larry and I were eating lunch at Taco Bell. (Now before you all accuse me of having poor taste in Mexican food, I need to inform you that I in fact have excellent taste in Mexican food. I also like Taco Bell. I just don't categorize Taco Bell as Mexican food.) We were sitting in a booth by the soda fountain, as this was the table with the most sun, and I was cold. This was also a desirable location for engaging in one of my favorite pastimes, people watching. I watched as folks waited for their orders, emptied their trays, and filled and refilled their drinks.

One guy passed back and forth several times. He did not particularly catch my attention other than to note that he was not very attractive, and by that I mean that he was quite unattractive. It wasn't until his last refill before leaving the restaurant that I happened to read his T-shirt. "Boobies Make Me Smile." Something about a thirty-something ugly guy wearing an article of clothing with the word "boobies" screen printed on it made me burst into hysterical laughter. It was absurd. They seemed words more fitting for a shirt on a lewd teen-aged boy or a tongue-in-cheek onsie for a breast-fed baby.

I began to imagine circumstances he'd find himself in during a day, and wondered how his, er, statement would be received. I thought of him making a deposit at the bank, likely because Larry and I went to Taco Bell after making a deposit. What if he was helped by a well endowed teller? What if he smiled at her as he said hello? Could she help but wonder if he was only smiling at her boobies?

What if he encountered a large chested pharmacist? A grocery checker wearing a 38DD? A buxom state trouper with the power to ticket him for smiling at her boobies while going 50 in a 35? That facial expression on him was now entirely tainted by his wardrobe choice.

The social scientist in me wished I had seen the shirt in enough time to take off my pea coat to see if he'd smile at my boobies. Expressing this regret to Larry, he kindly offered smile at them for me himself instead.

Maybe I have it backwards. Maybe instead of inappropriate and offensive, this is a shirt that should be standard issue for the XY chromosome set.

Package Update

2008-11-06T18:57:00.001-07:00

Tuesday night, after the kids were in bed, I went into my room and pulled out the box:

Oooooh, pretty:

How exciting! This is going to be SOOO much fun:

I can't wait until Thursday:

Thursday night, the unwrapping:

It's Ruthie! :

Happy birthday, #2:

Kit and Ruthie, Great Depression BFFs:

The folks at American Girl sure help a mom out.

Well, what did you think it was? Oh my, the sick minds of some of the girls who read my blog! Do you actually think if I got one of "those" packages in the mail that I'd post about it? My dad reads this, for crying out loud! And my daughter.

If you want that kind of info from me, you'll have to email.

Modesty is the Best Policy

2008-11-05T06:01:00.000-07:00

I've been brainwashing my kids to be modest since they were walking and talking. I mean, I don't mind sun dresses on babies, but once you're in kindergarten, you need sleeves, little sister. Yes, I'm one of those moms.

Why? Because I was allowed to dress less modestly than I am comfortable with, looking back. I am embarrassed by photographs of myself with my returned-missionary, one-day-to-be-husband boyfriend, wearing tank tops and shorts with hems closer to my crotch than my knee. I will grant that tank tops were not what they are now. They used to have 2 to 3" wide straps. Now, they look like lingerie. And we girls were careful not to let our bra-straps show. 'Cause that's skanky. Or it was. Now it's "part of the outfit." Ugh.

But back to my kids.

This brainwashing has produced some funny moments, as well as modest kids. There was the day when #3 at age 3 shouted, "She's not being modest!" as we passed by a hussy mom dressed in hot pants, a push-up bra, and see-through camisole, picking up the kids from school. Maybe she wasn't a hussy. Maybe she was sweet and God-fearing and nice as could be. But that's not the look she was going for.

Then there were the months when #4 (my only son) was about 4 and thought that "modest" translated into "wear a shirt." I'm assuming this misconception came from the fact that in hearing my tutorials on modest dress he heard the common theme of covered shoulders and midriffs. However it came about, no one was allowed to see him without a shirt. He'd run from the bath to his room, wrapped in his towel to get that shirt on before his sisters saw him. Underwear and pants, on the other hand, were optional.

Then this past Saturday I had a great conversation with #3. Picking her up from her friend's birthday party, she was giving me the report. She definitely loved the eating doughnuts off of a string, but being a fruitaphobe, she wouldn't even try to bob for apples. I was gratified that she also found the bobbing for apples thing to be a little too "germy."

According to #3, some of the boys who were bobbing for apples got their shirts wet, and removed them. Apparently, they went shirtless for the rest of the party. Number 3 was appalled by this. She proceeded to get up on a little modesty police soap box (not at the party, although that would have been priceless--just for her mother) about how nasty it was to have shirtless boys at the party.

"One of them, you could even see their underwear," she ranted. "It was gross. Plus, I mean, when they get big, with big, hairy chests, and they take off their shirts, it's like, no one wants to see THAT. So get used to a shirt now."

You go, girl. I have no use for big, hairy chests, myself. I wanted to applaud and crack up all at the same time. I did neither. I chuckled, grabbed a pen and scribbled her words on the back of the party invitation, not at all distracted from my driving, and putting neither my daughter and I nor anyone else who may have been driving that country road in danger. What can I say? It was just too good to lose.

Modestly lessons, check. Driver safety lessons, ... Aren't driving lessons the dad's job?

It's Here!

2008-11-03T12:24:00.000-07:00

I am so excited. It came today in it's plain, brown wrapping. No company is listed in the return address. I appreciate their discretion. I need to hide it under my bed before the kids get home. I'll have to get it out once they're in bed. I can hardly wait! I can show Larry. Although he doesn't usually get into it as much as I do, believe it or not. And because #2 has been stalking my blog, it's not really safe to talk about here ...

... until Thursday night.

An Open Letter to Ringo Starr

2008-11-01T10:17:00.000-06:00

Peace and Love, Peace and Love.

Ringo, I am writing to you today to inform you in peace and love that after the 20th of November, I will no longer be accepting signed memorabilia from you. Please do not send me anything you have signed; concert t-shirts, LP or CD covers, key chains or tote bags. I simply DO NOT HAVE TIME to accept anything of this nature and it will be returned if it is dated after November 20th.

I was raised as a Beatles fan. Though my favorite was John, (you may imagine my devastation at his death when I was but 6 years old) I've always liked you, thought you were funny and cute and phenomenal on the drums. I could listen to Yellow Submarine, Act Naturally, and Octopus's Garden all day long. But the fact remains that I NO LONGER HAVE TIME for you to be my idol. Fortunately, I will continue to have time for Paul, who I am sure will never himself be too busy for the gratification of gushing fan mail.

Paul, please feel free to continue to send me signed Beatles, Wings, or solo memorabilia, which I will accept and gratefully acknowledge receipt of. A signed copy of Flaming Pie would be nice.

Peace and Love, Peace and Love,

Mina,

Paul fanatic

addendum:

**Please, dear readers, if this doesn't make much sense to you, be sure to follow the link in the text above to Ringo's announcement on You Tube.**

Happy Halloween

2008-10-31T12:37:00.000-06:00

This post could have been named, "A display of my mediocre photography and inability to successfully integrate text and images." But I guess these photos can speak for themselves.

(Gotta love Halloween Peeps!)

Who Do You Think You Are?

2008-10-29T17:58:00.000-06:00

It's not often I post twice in a week, let alone in a day. Today, however I am completing an assignment from Fit For Service. I am supposed to write about who I think I am. Not what I do, but who I am. This seems easier on the surface than it is in reality. I'm a pretty introspective person and my self-analysis is generally a muddled, murky sea of memories, regrets, desires, hopes, excuses, embarrassments, pride, and frustration. So I've been thinking all afternoon about how to succinctly convey the essence of myself. Here is what I have come up with.

I think that I am a talented person overall. I have some areas that lack such as athleticism, but in general I am good at what I do, and this without much effort. I am musical, creative, and a little artistic. I am intelligent, funny, and empathetic. I can be organized, detail oriented and am project-driven. I am a home-body and a good wife and a decent mom. I am traditionalist and religious.

On the other hand, I am not as spiritually minded as I'd like to be. I tend to procrastinate and am not disciplined. I am a yeller and am impatient with my kids. I get annoyed too easily. I care way too much what others think of me, which I suppose is technically vanity. I'm not stereotypically vain, rather I keep to myself on many, many levels to avoid rejection.

There I am. Good and bad in a nutshell. The bad list was as hard to keep short as the good list was to make long. That may say something about me as well. In fact I know that it does, but that something is not anything I'm ready to explore with an audience. There is a lot about myself that I wish were different. Some of it I can work on, and some of it I probably need to accept.

So who are you?

Stinky Pete

2008-10-29T06:48:00.000-06:00

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF NOSE.

That may be a slight overstatement, but this is still a little gross. About two weeks ago, maybe less, I went into my son's room to wake him up and found him curled up in a ball under his covers at the foot of his bed, his bared back revealing the fact that he was naked. He's only 6, so though certainly curious, this wasn't the gross part, like it may be a decade from now.

As I roused him from slumber, I asked him why he was sleeping at the foot of his bed and where his jammies were. He didn't seem to know. The confused look on his face was a combination of residual sleep, a belief that this was entirely normal behavior, and maybe embarrassment. I asked him if he'd peed in the night. He answered no. I only believed him because his bed linens were dry to the touch and odorless to the closely pressed nose. I figured this was just a weird night, and hoped it was not the beginning of a phase. The entire episode was quickly forgotten.

Early last week I entered my son's room to wake him in the morning. He sleeps with his door shut to prevent Lucy from entering at night and absconding with something precious just to turn it into a chew toy. I opened his door and was overwhelmed with the odor of stale urine. I went over to my boy and checked him for wetness (this may look like a simple crotch grab to many, but the expert mom will always recognize the scientific information gathering move for what it is). I felt his sheets, blankets, comforter, pillows, and they all felt dry. I started sniffing them and none contained the stench that wafted through the room. I then began to wonder if I'd really smelled what I thought I had. The scent seemed to have dissipated, and I couldn't tell what I was smelling. What it just a bad case of morning breath permeating the room? Well, our mornings are busy, and I couldn't find a source, so I moved on.

Every morning this continued. Bad smell, origin unclear, move on. Once Larry got back from California, I had him sniff the boy's room early morning to see if it was just me. He smelled it too. I finally washed all bedding. I figured this must be the problem, even though they really did not smell to me. I figured he had indeed peed that night a week or so ago, and just did it early enough in the night that all was dry by morning. But there was no blast of odor as the hot water in the washer hit the sheets, presumably drawing any dried up scents out of them. And the laundry room didn't smell as the second load waited for the first.

The first morning with the clean bedding, I entered the room to the scent of dryer sheets. Ah. Good. Guess that was it after all, I figured. Number 4 confessed that he had peed in bed the day I found him disrobed. He had been scared to tell me the truth. That must be because I routinely lock up and torture bed wetters in this family. Anyway, problem solved.

The second morning with the clean bedding, the stale urine was back. I began to be very frustrated. I began to get short with my son, questioning him about the source of this odor, and what pee pee garments he may have hidden where. My husband implicated Lucy, and even though she hasn't peed in the house in well over a year and a half, I sniffed out the carpet. Nothing. This is an elusive smell. The more you look for it, the less you can smell it. And you can't really smell it much during the day, even though #4 keeps his door shut then, too.

Yesterday afternoon, as I was preparing my home for the arrival of 8 & 9 year old girls from church for a service activity, I offered five dollars and one cent to the child who could produce the source of the odor. After a few minutes, I restlessly joined them, sniffing out individual toys. Two stuffed animals were found to be harboring some urine smells. They were removed to the laundry room. I found the toys. But I didn't get paid.

I need to go in this morning to wake up that little man. I've already sniffed his room and the laundry room. Laundry room, clean. #4's room, stinky. My sniffer is sniffed out. My dog is no reliable bloodhound, because I've thought of bringing her in there to see where she'll gravitate. I think I have no choice but to burn the contents of the room and start over.

Post Script: A few years back Larry and I went to Seattle for a breathing technique tutorial for Larry's asthma. We brought back a T-shirt with a little boy pirate named Stinky Pete for #4. Stinky Pete's speech bubble read, "We don't take no stinkin' baths!" #4 loved this shirt, and quoted it frequently, except that he pronounced it "stinksin'." Very adorable.