Pensievity

In which I feel like crap. But hopeful.

2011-08-22T08:00:00.049-07:00

So. I got the advanced copy of "The Entitlement Trap." You know, that new book that I told you about?

I was eager to read it. I love the authors. I love the buzz about this book. I love to improve myself as a mother. I dove right in.

I read the first couple chapters. Then I put it down. Then I cried.

It was so agonizingly obvious that my children are there. They are TRAPPED. They are ENTITLED. And I basically feel like the worst mother in the world.

It really isn't a very pleasant feeling.

I spent the next few days analyzing everything my children did. And coming away fantastically depressed. Everything they said and did seemed to point out how completely irresponsible they are - and how I am to blame. I'm a slave, and it's my fault.

While lamenting my fate and that of my posterity, I began talking to myself.

Hey, self. I said. It's been a while. But hey, perhaps you should keep reading that book and stuff. Maybe - just maybe - they'll tell you how to fix it!

Self? - Dude, I thank you.

I haven't finished it yet, but I already feel better. I am being handed tools that will put me on the road to fixing the problem. And I'm not depressed anymore. I'm excited. Hopeful. Sorta-almost-pretty-confident.

I can do this. They're teaching me how.

Please - please - if you haven't already, order this book here.

In which I share my best Public Humiliation Story

2011-08-17T08:00:00.002-07:00

Did that catch your attention?

So in high school, I was really into theater. I was in seven out of eight productions over the years, and my senior year I was even secretary of the organization. (Don't be impressed. I was the only one who applied. I don't remember doing squat. But I did get my name on a piece of paper.)

Here's the thing. I can't really sing. Or dance. Or even act. But I take up excellent background space.

My best friends always got the leads, and I was uber proud of them. No, really - I was never jealous. Although I did sometimes wish just a leetle bit that I at least had a name in a show - instead of the generic (and dreaded) CHORUS.

So imagine my over-the-top-giddiness when I was cast as a witch in the play Macbeth. Okay, so I didn't have a name, but I had LINES. And a lot of them! I practiced my double, double toil and trouble unto perfection.

We were awesome. And totally freaky.

Note: I do not have permission from these ladies to post this picture. Harmony, the one on the left, is still my bestest of besties. Am I forgiven, babe?

So opening night arrived, despite my nerves. And we totally stole the show. We were a hit!

.... and then, the school performance.

It was tradition to put on bits and pieces of the play during the school day, so as to entice the students to buy tickets and see the whole thing that night. It was kind of a big deal, and our reputations stood on the line. We were, after all, being scrutinized by the worst kind of critics. Teenagers.

We started off with our big cauldron scene. Dark. Lots of fake smoke. Flashy red strobe lights. Creepy voices. Circling the cauldron on an elevated platform, spotlights on us.

And Kat (the redhead in the middle) fell off the platform with an umpfff!

At first we didn't know what happened. She was utterly silent about the whole thing. I looked over and suddenly my co-witch had disappeared. With hundreds of my peers watching our every move, I looked down.

There she was, a look of utter panic on her face, as the stage hand under the platform pushed her back up. Shoved is a better word.

And I. Totally. Cracked. Up.

I laughed, giggled, spewed and snorted for the next five minutes straight. It felt like thirty. The other two witches had to say my lines as I succumbed to a complete and total laughing attack. The audience was laughing too - at me.

Did I mention this was supposed to be a tense, scary scene?

Yeah. I didn't get a part ever again.

In which I delve. And blush.

2011-08-15T08:00:00.000-07:00

So a bloggy friend recently posted a bunch of archives from waaay back - like from high school. It was hilarious - and enlightening. She always talks about her high school years like she was the biggest nerd. Ugly and unpopular. Yet I saw with my own eyes that she was beautiful - and seemingly confident, surrounded by friends.

It made me think, yo.

When I look back on high school, I cringe. I never felt pretty or socially "in." I was never teased or bullied - just largely ignored. I was the type to bring a book to a social event or party - if I got invited at all. I never knew what to say, and I wasn't so much a wallflower as a hide-in-the-bathroom weed. I would actually write down lists of things to say before I called someone. I felt like everyone was more popular than me, everyone was cooler than me, everyone was secure and self-assured and confident.

And I ... wasn't. I was a tongue-tied little mouse who hid behind big, baggy T-shirts and overalls every day. The essence of insecure.

But now - I wonder.

Did everyone feel that way?

It's interesting to me that those who knew me in high school do not remember me this way. I didn't get invited to many parties, but I had plenty of my own. I was never voted into a captaincy or leadership position, but I was a member of a lot of clubs. I never had a lead in a play, but I was a great chorus member.

I laughed a lot. And I made others laugh. Maybe the popular kids didn't know who I was, but my fellow underlings did. 'Cept I didn't call them underlings. I called them friends.

My husband and I joke that the first twenty years of marriage is just to figure out what happened the first twenty years of our lives.

As I hit the big thirty, I find myself wanting to revisit those critical high school years.

This week you're invited to explore ME - fifteen years ago.

Let the psychoanalysis and insecurities begin!

Faith is ...

2011-08-08T09:30:00.000-07:00

Sending your children to school.

And yes, I got home and bawled.

In which I bask - and beg

2011-08-05T08:00:00.001-07:00

I have a hero.

Did you know that?

Her name is Linda Eyre. You may have noticed her on my sidebar. She has nine children, and has written countless books on parenting. My favorite, "A Joyful Mother of Children," has been read so many times that the spine is falling apart. I've underlined and dog-eared it to death. She shares so many REAL stories that keep me laughing and feeling normal, and yet gives me so much hope at the same time. She makes my dreams of raising (spiritual, strong, intelligent, kind, compassionate, responsible, forgiving, open, industrious, patriotic, creative) LEADERS seem achievable. She taught me the value of structure and organization and planning - and the treasure that is flexibility and quality time and just enjoying the moment. She taught me that motherhood is hard work - and more joyful than any other work out there. She taught me concrete skills to help me teach values that we all want for our children.

She and her husband Richard have a new book coming out that our country NEEDS right now - "The Entitlement Trap." It's hitting the stores in September, but the more people pre-order it, the higher it will climb up the best-seller list, and the more people it will reach. This is one of those books that can change the world, one family at a time. We really need to get Congress to get a copy.

If you pre-order now, you'll get a 33% discount ($12 instead of $18) AND get it sooner than the bookstores do. Just go to http://entitlementtrap.com/overview.htm and click on the pre-order tab at the top.

Please do yourself a favor and order this book!

(And no, I've not been given any incentives to peddle this book. And I've already pre-ordered mine!)

In which lightening strikes a little too late

2011-08-02T08:09:00.000-07:00

So I'm on my way to the doctor with a crabby NBC in the back. Mommy Diagnosis: ear infection.

(me, unabashedly showing off how adorable he is, even though these pictures have nothing to do with this story.

he certainly didn't look like this on the way to the doctor.)

They couldn't squeeze me in at my normal office, and their other location was in relatively unfamiliar territory. I was driving a bit slow, knowing I had to turn right into the parking lot soon and afraid I would miss it.

Enter Big Bad Black Truck, merging in directly behind me. Can't see his headlights. He's mad I'm going slow. I'm ignoring him.

I'm watching signs closely, hands at 10 and 2. I see it. I turn. I squealed the tires only a leetle bit.

Big Bad Black Truck SLAMS on his brakes, spewing black smoke everywhere. In my rearview mirror, I see him flip a Uey (how do spell that?!) IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD and follow me into the parking lot.

Um, really?

Big Bad Black Truck, riding my tail. I glance at the NBC. He's sucking his thumb, thoroughly unconcerned.

I pull into a space and cautiously open my door.

...

I didn't know the F word could be used in so many different verb tenses. It was actually rather impressive in an obtuse way.

Among other things, he said

that I was an awful driver
that I was lucky he didn't run me over right now
that he had four kids in the car and they all could have died, how dare I, etc., etc.
that I was ... a lot of foul things

Insert the F word about twenty times and you'll have a rough idea of what he sounded like. Really, it didn't even make sense.

Confound it, I started to giggle. It was just all so ridiculous.

He concluded by calling me the wildly creative name of a female dog, and screeched off into the sun.

My hands were shaking for a good ten minutes.

After the doctor's appointment, on the way home, I pondered on what I could have said had I been in possession of my vocal faculties.

"You're an incredible role model for your four children. They must adore you."
"You must be having a really bad day if a slightly late turn can make you that ornery. Do you want a hug?"
"You shouldn't even have four kids in the back of a pick-up, you know."

But my mom said it best -

"Jesus loves you, but everyone else thinks you're a jerk."

So, I should probably post something

2011-08-01T08:00:00.002-07:00

Seeing as I announced I'M BACK, and all.

So.

Soooooooo.

{Did I just hear crickets?}

Oooo! I know what to talk about!

I turned THIRTY.

see that there? that's my st. patty's day shirt. 'cept it says "lucky lass," so I can wear it every day of the year

Confession. I've been wanting to be 30 for a long, long time. I've been telling people I'm "turning thirty" for at least five years.

I think it's cuz people ALWAYS think I'm younger than I am. And it bugs.

As a newlywed, working in a dental office, a patient once asked me why I wasn't in school. As in, HIGH school.

I (not very sweetly) informed her I was a college graduate.

Another time, I was on a plane where all the people younger than 15 were given free headphones. I got one. I was 22.

I've been mistaken for my younger brother's girlfriend more times than either one of us care to recall. He is ten years younger than me.

I once took a group of teenagers to the pool, only to be told we needed an adult with us to swim. I had to produce my drivers license to prove it to the guy that I was, indeed an adult.

Thankfully, now that I'm a little older, and a little fatter, and actually do my hair now, it doesn't happen quite as much. But the past still rankles.

So now - finally! - I can enter the ranks of REAL. ADULTS. (Twenty somethings are only faking it, you know.)

In celebration, my husband and mom threw me a surprise birthday bash. It was awesome. And I don't have a single picture to prove it. Sorry.

Happy Birthday to me!

In which I am flabbergasted.

2011-07-27T14:51:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've ever actually used that word. It's kind of fun!

So! You all know the deliciousness that is Stepper, right? If not, dig in. Well, she had a giveaway a while back, and I

won

it.

And I didn't even have to cheat! Go me!

I was so supercalafragilisticexpialadocious excited to open it. There may have been excessive giggling.

(Yes, I have used THAT word before ... but I'm not about to type it again.)

And then my jaw proceeded to drop as the package just kept GOING .....

First up we have a CD of Stepper's favorite tunes. Before we proceed, check out that cover. You may have to enlarge it to fully appreciate the awesomeness. I don't know if it was talented Stepper or talented Stepper's Husband who drew it, but there is talent going on here.

Per her suggestion, I listened to it laying down on my back, in the dark, at full volume. That didn't last long, however, as my children heard the music. (Plus also, I was laying down. Why is laying-down-mommy the most intriguing toy?)

Um, WOW. I hadn't heard of a single song on there, but I can tell already I'm about to be obsessed. It's been a while since I've listened to songs purely for my own enjoyment (Safety Kids, Peter and the Wolf, and Les Mes are kind of all we listen to lately, although they are all amazing in their own right), and I'd forgotten that I used to. Listen to music, I mean.

Laying down with my eyes closed, my children twirling all around me, I remembered myself. I remembered that I used to listen to music 24/7. I remembered that I'm a person, not just a mommy. I remembered a whole part of me that has been sleeping for some time.

Thank you, Stepper, for waking her up.

Next up we have The Cutest Notebooks and Post-it Notes. How did you know, Stepper? How did you know that I carry paper with me everywhere I go? And that my thoughts are so much more inspired when the paper is pretty?

A mustache. How freakin' cool is that.

Mr. Squishy got it to stick all by itself, since he has a cold.

The coolest retro pins and magnets EVER. They make me feel, like, HIP. My fridge doesn't know what to do with itself.

The most beautiful rose earrings and matching ring. They trick people into thinking I'm refined and fashionable. I love them.

And perhaps my favorite - MONSTERS!

Yes, she hand made all of those! Ever since I first saw her monsters on her blog, I wanted one. Or two. Or four.

And she read my mind!

They are quite at home on our stairway mantel. Although they may meander to the computer desk. Or the basement toy shelf. Or the couch. Or the kids' beds. Or my bed.

I'm in love.

But!

There was more - much more! Retro paper glasses, thank you cards, a whole truffle bar ... I'm tellin' ya, my jaw may never fully recover from the droppage that happened here last night.

Thank you, Stepper, for brightening every corner of my day!

Um. Wow. I'm actually posting.

2011-07-27T14:25:00.000-07:00

Confession. For the first month of my Summer Sabbatical, it was nice. Soooo nice. When I had free time, I wasn't scanning photos for blog ideas, wishing I had paid more attention in my photography class, staring at a blank page, feeling guilty for not commenting more, stressed and pressure-ized to blog every day. It wasn't on my chore-list, and it was wonderful.

Instead, I read. And hung out with the fam. And read some more. Oh, and I read, too.

And then, after a few weeks ... I started to get these ideas. Funny phrases would fly through my head and I'd think, "hey, I should use that on a blog ..." only to realize I wasn't blogging.

(Before you get all excited for comic awesomeness, I have now forgotten all those funny phrases. Forgiveness, please.)

Another thing happened. I stopped taking pictures. It was like, without that little orange funky-looking "B" haunting me, I had no reason to document my life. Who knew.

Even sadder, we stopped dating. I know. I KNOW! Very weird, considering we didn't start our "52 Dates" thing just to blog about it - but without accountability, it didn't happen. We've been boring all summer.

I'm so disappointed in us.

So even though summer's not quite over, and there's still two weeks left before school starts, and it's not like I really have anything to say -

I'M BACK.

Because more than anything -

I missed you!

I've decided to take -

2011-05-31T14:33:00.001-07:00

a SUMMER SABBATICAL.

I will probably continue to post about our Date Nights, but for the most part I'll be doing the following:

Monday:

AM - groceries, library
PM - science project

Tuesday:

AM - pool
PM - neighbor's day camp

Wednesday

AM - themed outing
PM - Little Prince art class, "home date" with Sunshine, possibly a movie afterward

Thursday

AM - playdates
PM - home craft projects

Friday

AM - summer movies at the theater (ten movies for six bucks!)
PM - get a babysitter for the two little ones while they're taking their naps, and have a date with the two older ones

We also have daily time blocked out for reading, math and boredom. I'm a big believer in unstructured time. How will they learn to creatively fill their time if they don't have any time to fill?

And following last year's "Surviving Summer," we have weekly themes. Every theme will include a craft, an activity, a recipe, an outing, and a service project. The kids helped me select themes for this year. We've got:

Dinosaurs
Science
South America
Africa
Asia
United States
Trains
Farm
Cars

I'm still available through email (and I'd be happy to email you my list of the fun things we're doing), and I'm sure I'll float around the blogosphere occasionally. But in the meantime, just know I haven't died or anything. I'm just hangin' with these guys.

Have a great summer, and see you in August!

Today, on this most sacred of Memorial Days,

2011-05-30T08:00:00.001-07:00

we will be cleaning the garage.

I'm so pumped.

What are you doing?

Last day

2011-05-26T09:27:00.000-07:00

... of school!

Is it weird that I might be even more excited than my kids?!

Confession: I did not always feel this way. There was a time when I counted down to kindergarten like Christmas. Except a Christmas I got to open every day.

I think the difference is planning. Before, the summer months represented one big long stretch of emptyboringnothingness.

(That sounds terrifying.)

But now that I've learned about routines and systems and scheduling? Summer ROCKS.

Let the festivities begin!

In which I have an epiphany

2011-05-25T09:52:00.001-07:00

I've decided tennis is the perfect marital sport.

My Man and I played during our Fantastical Free Weekend, in true hoity-toity fashion.

And during the many minutes I spent chasing balls, I ruminated upon the subject that is tennis.

Thing first.

It's easy to keep score. There aren't many rules. I can follow them. (I STILL don't really get football.)

It's equally masculine and feminine. There need not be any embarrassment on either side. (He would never do Pilates with me, for example.)

It is fun for all skill levels. Even if you are completely deplorable at the sport, you still spend just as much time as an expert hitting the ball back and forth. (On the other hand, when 'playing' basketball, I basically never touch the ball.)

It's a decent workout. Not much standing around, waiting. And yet you're not running constantly, either. There's room for conversation. (I think it falls somewhere in between soccer and golf.)

It's fairly accessible. And outside. Most places have tennis courts, and once you buy rackets - which can be had for cheap, if you so desire - you're done. (Ice skating and skiing this is not.)

It's easy to fit into a schedule. You can play it for fifteen minutes or two hours. (Whereas swimming you couldn't squeeze into a nap schedule.)

It's perfect for two. You don't need more people to have fun. (Baseball for one couple is laughable.)

It's fairly ageless. Young people play it. Old people play it. (I've never seen the elderly play hockey, however.)

And most of all, My Man loves it.

Blurt

2011-05-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

KAY.

so I'm well aware that I didn't post at all last week - not even our Date Night

[especially our Date Night]

and the reason is - our Date Night last week was really a Date Weekend because it was The Date of the Year, which really means it was our Anniversary

cuz My Man's buddy from school is a manager at a swanky resort, and hooked us up with three days there for free

and we basically had the time of our lives

and lived like kings

and drank pretty fruity drinks by the side of the pool

and stayed in a suite with two balconies and fluffy bathrobes and a double-headed shower and a 100000000000 thread-count comforter

and we slept like kings

and we went to the spa

and we got massages and facials

and primped like kings

and we went to a five-star restaurant

and ate edible art that we couldn't really pronounce but was beyond delicious and just thinking about it makes my mouth water and my eyes roll back in my head

so we ate like kings

and then we went horseback riding

[and my butt hurt for three days]

but it was beautiful

and we didn't really ride like kings, but it was still fun

and everything was so unbelievably idyllic and perfect and I took a ton of pictures and had composed all these breathtaking descriptions for the blog and then My Man's friend said I couldn't blog about the fact that it was free.

and i died.

because if I DIDN'T blog about the Free Aspect of our kingly weekend, I fear I would come across as this stuck-up-hoity-toity-rich-lady-who-goes-to-the-spa-and-eats-at-five-star-restaurants-like-it's-no-big-deal-kinda-chick. Not that there's anything WRONG with being a stuck-up-hoity-toity-rich-lady-who-goes-to-the-spa-and-eats-at-five-star-restaurants-like-it's-no-big-deal-kinda-chick. I'm sure they're perfectly nice. But I'm not that chick. And I don't want to come across as that chick. Because I have a complex.

so then I didn't want to write anything at all, until My Man pointed out I could just NOT MENTION THE NAME OF THE HOTEL, and that was a brilliant idea, but my buzz was already killed and our weekend was magical and that's the end.

Yeah.

In which my soul sang

2011-05-23T08:00:00.000-07:00

So this past week we doubled.

With my mom and sister.

We rock.

We went to see an EVMCO concert. If you're from Arizona or California, you NEED to click that there link. And then go to a concert. Soon.

Basically, it was the most amazing choir I've ever heard live. (And yes, I've heard the MoTab.) And basically, it was the most amazing CONCERT I've ever heard live. Or dead. Not that I've heard many dead concerts. Ya know, whatever.

Basically, I love music.

The acoustics bounced right into my heart, sound waves radiating down my arms and electrifying my skin. My very blood echoed back every note.

I cried a lot. And laughed, too.

Basically, I was an emotional, soggy lump that night.

But in a really good way, albeit non-attractive.

Then we went out to dinner, and took goofy iPhone pictures.

And My Man auditioned for a Mentos commercial.

And I laughed [with] him.

Happy date night!

In which I'm pretty sappy

2011-05-11T18:41:00.000-07:00

I waited fourteen years for a sister.

Instead I got a brother. And another one. And ANOTHER one.

(I like them all very much, bytheway.)

But all the tear-jerker movies have sisters in them - and the books - and the posters - and the Hallmark walls and mugs.

And I wanted one. They looked like fun.

So my freshman year of high school, at the ripe old age of fourteen, I finally got my wish.

Abigail.

I carried her around with me everywhere. 'Doted' is a good word to use here. 'Worshipped' works too.

But then - I graduated.

And I moved.

And years went by.

And I got married.

And I kind of got demoted to a remote aunt-type-figure.

And we got totally gypped out of the REAL Sisters Stuff: the fingernail painting, the chick flicks, the gabbing and gossiping and giggling, the trading of clothes.

But now? Now? That kid sister lives with me. And we're making up for lost time.

We paint our nails.

And watch chick flicks.

And gab.

And gossip.

And giggle.

And my clothes and shoes are constantly missing now.

And this past weekend, we passed another Sister Rite: prom.

See that lil' lady there? That's my sister.

She was well worth the wait.

If you give a mom some motivation ...

2011-05-09T09:18:00.001-07:00

She'll probably start to clean her room.

And while cleaning that room, the Ginormous Tupperware of Scrapbook Stuff is liable to drive her suddenly crazy.

And she'll want to put it away.

Then she'll decide that the best place to put it is in the kitchen hutch. Which is full of sewing materials and kids' crafts.

So then she decides to move the sewing materials into the basement cabinet, and the kids crafts into kitchen cupboards.

And then she'll realize that the basement cabinet is already stuffed, and it would be better to put up some shelves.

So she'll run to Home Depot.

And while at Home Depot, she'll notice these nifty kitchen cupboard organizers, which would help make more room for kid crafts.

So she'll buy some.

When she gets home, she'll put up the shelves, and put the sewing stuff on them.

Then she'll move the dress-up clothes from their pile on the floor to the basement cabinet.

She'll commence putting in the nifty kitchen cupboard organizers to make room for kids crafts. Which are really hard to put in.

Motivation is failing.

By the end of the day,

only one nifty cupboard organizer is put in.
kids crafts are strewn all over the kitchen.
the new sewing materials' shelves are falling down.
scrapbook stuff is still in the Ginormous Tupperware.
and her room is messier than ever.

In which I brag. A lot.

2011-05-09T08:00:00.000-07:00

So My Man is done.

DONE!

First year of his executive MBA - history.

(The yard has really missed him. I think there's a couple kids lost back there.)

On Saturday one of his classmates threw a party to celebrate. No kids? Food? Music? Adult conversation? We were so there.

The party was a smash hit. Impeccably decorated, a live calypso band, catered Hawaiian meal - wow. And these really cool candles that looked like shells.

(I'm rather simple minded.)

Oh, and my date was essentially the Homecoming King.

Every time we mingled with a different group, I heard, "There's the whiz kid! Everyone's tutor! The first one done with the final!" Vigorous back slapping and grins. I didn't realize until then that My Man has quite the reputation for brains. I mean - I know he's a genius, but usually I'm the only one who knows. I like to see him recognized.

(He is sooooo going to hate this post.)

It was beyond fun to be hanging on the arm of the most popular, well-liked guy there. I'm so flippin' proud to be his wife.

Congratulations, hun. First, ASU. Next, the world.

That Girl by the numbers

2011-05-04T12:56:00.000-07:00

2 weeks of sickness in the house
1 bout of stomach flu
4 people with strep throat
2 ear infections
1 ruptured eardrum
1 case of pink eye
1 can of Lysol
1/2 canister of Clorox wipes
3 times I've washed the blankies/sheets/pillowcases
12983719641984714 times I've lost my temper
too many movies to count

...and we've been married 9 years
TODAY.

Happy Anniversary, my darling - it's just another day in paradise, isn't it?

In which we exhibit LOVE

2011-05-02T09:52:00.000-07:00

So we were supposed to fly kites this week. I got a really nifty kite from Costco and a baby-sitter all lined up. Excitement abounded. I love flying kites. It's whimsical. It's fun. It's different. It's playful. It's outside.

And then ... My Man got sick.

REALLY sick. His lymph nodes are like grapefruits and his fever raised the temperature in our room a couple degrees.

So I cancelled the baby-sitter, took the kids to fly kites, and laid out on the trampoline with My Man. (He needed some fresh air.)

We talked about the end of the world, food storage, depression and how to shield our children from pornography. A stimulating conversation.

Oh, and we took turns shielding each other from the blinding sun.

Now that's true love.

We're all rootin' for 'em

2011-04-29T11:08:00.000-07:00

photo here

The dress was gorgeous - timeless. Elegant. Classy.
The veil to-die-for.
Loved the uniform tribute to lost comrades.
Loved Pippa's dress.
Loved the kisses - and the giggles.
Loved the millions cheering them on.

And Wills? If you ever cheat on her, I'll kill you.

In which I shall speak words of wisdom

2011-04-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm convinced that PLANNING is the key to SUCCESS.

And I am equally convinced that sometimes you need to throw the plan out the window.

Because sometimes, when you're making dinner, you notice a couple hot air balloons landing the next block over.

And you have to turn the burner off - and go see it.

And sometimes, when you just got back from a long bike ride, you find out that your HOA is releasing 250,000 ladybugs.

And you have to guzzle your water - and go see it.

And sometimes, your kids are knock-you-down precious and wonderful and perfect -

And you should put down what you're doing - because you need to see that, too.

Dump

2011-04-26T10:54:00.000-07:00

So I'm long overdue for some Thought Dumping on this 'ere Pensieve of mine. I asked y'all some questions a while back, but didn't tell you MY answers. Thoroughly unfair. So here I go.

Essential Oils.

I have some friends that are totally into them. A couple are convinced that oils could cure the national debt, if applied correctly. But most use them in conjunction with practical use of the medical community. I fall in the latter category.

I became a convert when lavender oil cleared up the NBC's eczema completely. No, really. Hydrocortisone didn't work. Lotions didn't work. Lavender oil. It works.

I also rub peppermint oil on upset tummies, but it may be placebo effect. That's okay. It smells nice.

Homeschooling/Deep Thoughts on Parenting

This is big for me, and hard to put concisely into a vague white space on the internet. There was a lot of behind-the-scenes pondering and praying going on behind the following emotional vomit.

Essentially, I started listing all the reasons I want to homeschool, and all the reasons I wouldn't want to. I came up with exactly ONE reason I didn't want to.

But.

All the reasons I do want to homeschool? Every. Single. One of them. About me. About what *I* want.

Not my kids. Me. I was being utterly selfish.

Additionally, almost all of the 'pros,' upon further scrutiny, are NOT exclusive to homeschooling. With some better planning and organization, I CAN do morning devotionals. I CAN spend more time with Little Prince if I have dinner ready before he gets home from school. I CAN take him on awesome field trips and hands-on learning experiences if I use his half-days, Saturdays, and holidays wisely.

I CAN. And I WILL.

I'm at peace with it now. Thank you.

Into the Woods

I know a lot of you liked it. But to be honest - I didn't. There was a bitter undertone that gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. (And I doubt peppermint oil could have helped.)

*spoiler alert! If you haven't seen it, but want to, don't read the following paragraphs*

We purposely didn't stay for the second half after my mom told us about it. The princes get sick of their wives? The baker's wife grows bored with her husband? Seduction and adultery and "real life"?

I object.

There were warning signs around the theater - and in the program - and announced before the show started - that Act II would not be appropriate for children. Because it told the "true story" of "what happens after happily ever after."

Well, Mr. Whoever-wrote-Into-the-Woods. I'm LIVING the true story of AFTER happily ever after. And it's better than ever.

I could rant about this for at least another hour, but I won't.

The songs were fun. (I especially liked the princes' "Agony" - and the witch's songs.) And I liked that they stuck (for the most part) to the original Brothers Grimm. The set was incredible, the actors talented, the costumes divine. But the plot? It made me feel very sorry for the playwright, if that's how he really views life.

*******************

Also, I'm thinking that it's a terrible time to start dieting right when two kids are sick.

Are you having any thoughts today?

In which we're total teenagers

2011-04-25T08:00:00.001-07:00

Okay, have you heard of Brian Regan? If not, you should. Hence why I'm talking about him. Basically he's the greatest stand-up comic ever, and we quote him all the time.

So he does this bit on greeting cards - including "Just Because" cards. I mean, you could send a hundred Just Because cards to someone in the phone book, and they can't even ask why you did it, right?!

So that's what we did.

We sent some to family, some to friends, some to random phone book people, and a couple celebrities.

And of course we had to send one to Brian Regan himself.

And Obama. I mean, why not? I bet he actually reads this one. It's hilarious. At any rate, his security team will get a good laugh.

All in all, we sent out twelve bits of sunshine into the abyss that is the United States Postal System.

And we laughed our heads off doing it.

In which I should totally get some free ties

2011-04-24T22:04:00.000-07:00

So Easter is a total GIRL thing, you know? Frilly, pink dresses everywhere I see. Lace. Hats. Flowers. It gets annoying.

There ain't much frilly stuff at our house. Or pink, for that matter.

But then I discovered the Matching Tie Guy. And I now know that boys CAN be fun to shop for.

Oh yeah. Ohhhhhhh yeah.

Matching Tie Guy, how I love thee.

My sweet sister took pictures of our matching-ness after church today. The NBC was quite upset that we were delaying his lunch for such a paltry reason as recording something like Easter.

The only time he halfway smiled toward the camera was the only time no one else was.Of course.

And then we started making bunny ears.

And it was all good fun from there.

Three cheers for my sister! She's the best.

Easter Countdown - Day 8

2011-04-24T08:00:00.001-07:00

He really does live. Again.

Easter Countdown - Day 7

2011-04-23T07:59:00.000-07:00

Easter Countdown - Day 6

2011-04-22T07:59:00.000-07:00

Easter Countdown - Day 5

2011-04-21T08:59:00.002-07:00

Easter Countdown - Day 4

2011-04-20T07:59:00.000-07:00

Easter Countdown - Day 3

2011-04-19T07:59:00.000-07:00

In which I stuff myself with an abnormally large hot dog. And enjoyed it very much.

2011-04-18T08:00:00.000-07:00

Date night this week: BASEBALL!!!!!!!

There's something about walking into a baseball stadium. You tingle. The smell of sweat and excitement is tangible. Kids running everywhere, fat and calories soaking into your skin. Bubbles of happiness coursing up from my toes.

I grew up in a total baseball family. We all played it (though I didn't play well). But my three brothers were good. Really good. Dad was on the committee. Mom headed the umpires. Devoted Tigers fans, here.

No jokes.

It's been a good ten years since I've been to a game. Too long.

Here's me asking if my highlights look too blonde. What do you think?

iPhones are fun.

Root for the HOME TEAM! Not the Diamondbacks, of course - us!

Easter Countdown - Day 2

2011-04-18T07:59:00.001-07:00

Easter Countdown - Day 1

2011-04-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday, a palm leaf - Mark 11: 7-10

Easter countdown

2011-04-17T20:47:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite things about blogging is how inspired I am by all of YOU. For some time now I've been pondering how to make Easter more meaningful. Inspired by Jocelyn and Janae, I'm joining them in an Easter countdown.

Janae had found these awesome hollow wooden eggs last year, and I basically fell in love. My mom and I painted all last week to turn them into true treasures. I'm sure they'll get beat up and nicked as the years go by, but I know they'll turn into priceless heirlooms just the same. I have visions of presenting hand painted Easter Countdown eggs to my sons when they get married.

We plan on having a little devotional every morning this week. First we'll sing the Primary Song, "He Sent His Son" and then open the egg. Read the enclosed scripture and talk about what it means to you. Personal application is the key.

I also got a couple Easter books to read throughout the week. I hope to add to my Easter library every year!

I started with these two:

May the Easter spirit be with each of you this week, as we celebrate the best news the earth has ever received -

He is risen!

it hurts to type

2011-04-14T13:51:00.002-07:00

carpal tunnel stinks

the end

In which I take "Deep Thoughts" to a whole new level

2011-04-11T12:06:00.000-07:00

I felt impressed to bring some cookies to a friend today. In the back of my mind I wondered if she were having a bad morning - or on her period - or didn't have ingredients for an FHE treat.

What I didn't realize is that I was the one needing the visit.

We got to talking about 5Pillars, books, writing, and self-improvement. Just your average nine-o-clock-in-the-morning-conversation.

She is struggling with improving her writing, seeking a way to better express herself. I confessed that I don't write what I truly feel, either - at least not in class. I hide behind humor and bad Irish accents. I confessed that I have a blog. And I confessed how much I struggle with being the only non-homeschooler in the group. I feel judged, and worse, I feel that people think I'm judging them. (Which is a judgment, but let's not go down that road ....)

And she saw me. She looked into my eyes and saw that the reason I struggle is because I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. Words can only hurt weaknesses. "No one can stab my testimony," she said. "Because I'm sure of it. I'm safe there. I'm at peace with the gospel."

I plunged. I felt myself dive deep down, breaking down walls and doors that I had kept locked inside. I exhumed each emotion, turning it over and over in my head, examining my frailties and questioning each motive. I struggled to maintain the conversation while my thoughts swirled a mile a minute.

A hug. A goodbye. A walk to the park.

My children buried themselves in sand while my vision tunneled.

How do I really feel about homeschooling? What do I fear? Why would I want to? I've always admired homeschoolers. I have defended them in many a forum. I admire. I applaud. I commend.

Yet I don't do it.

Why? Am I doing the right thing? What do I want for my children?

One by one, my desires for my children flooded me. Pros and cons marched into my mind, straight-backed and orderly. And then the big question: Can I accomplish my desires while they attend public schools?

It's a question I'm not done pondering. It's so much bigger than myself. I've already prayed about it - I've fasted - I've even gone to the temple. I've already made this decision.

But she's right. I'm not at peace with it yet.

I'll let you know when I am.

In which we get all cultured

2011-04-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

I love the theater.

Did you know that?

I was heavily involved in high school. (Or, at least, I was THE most dedicated chorus girl ... though I did play a witch in Macbeth once.)

I love the whole thing - the smell of the theater - the excitement back stage - the hours of rehearsals - the goofing off and getting yelled at by the director - the adrenaline rush of the applause. Stepping into a theater brings it all back. I am sixteen again, thrilled to sing my heart out, dance, act, and wear goofy costumes. Pretend to be someone else for a while. Virtual reality escapism for the virtually impaired.

In high school, my mom volunteered in the makeup department - to help out - to be close to me - because she loves the theater too. And then I graduated. And she stayed.

Seventeen years later, she's a full-blown professional.

Moving to Arizona was hard for her on so many levels, but she's finally found a creative outlet here, too.

Meet my momma's handiwork!

So for our date night this week we went to see the play she's working in - Into the Woods.

Best part about going to the theater?

His arm around me for two hours straight - and no kids in between.

In which I ACTUALLY DO THIS

2011-04-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

This is exactly the SECOND time I have done a meme. Ever. If you can find my first one, I will send you cookies.
Basically, it's late. I'm tired. My creativity is zilch. And this looked like fun.

Age: 29

Bed Size: Queen-size. We cuddle. (Yes I KNOW what you say about queen sizes, Kristina ...)

Chore You Hate: Laundry. LAUNDRY!!!!!! LAUNDRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dogs: None. But I want one. Reeeeeeeeeeeeally bad.

Essential Start of Your Day: Exercise. (Wow. Did I just say that?!)

Favorite Color: Green. But sometimes blue.

Gold or Silver: Silver, no contest.

Height: 5'7

Instruments You Play: Piano - that's it.

Job Title: Dona da Casa. Duh.

Kids: almost 7, almost 5, almost 3, and 1 (ONE! He's ONE!)

Live: Arizona. Best place ever.

Mom's Name: If I told you, you could steal my identity. Pretty sure there's like five people in the country with my mom's first name.

Nicknames: Becky J, Bex, Beckster, Beieckeye, Rebecca Anastasia, Re (pronounce Hey - Portuguese)

Overnight Hospital Stays: Just the four babes. And some ovarian cyst business in high school.

Pet Peeve: People who have lots of pet peeves

Quote From a Movie: "Okay, that will be fun!"

Right- or Left-Handed: Right

Siblings: 1 sister, 3 brothers

Time You Wake Up: 5:00AM on the nose

Underwear: Mormon-style; over the shoulder, down to the knees

Veggie You Dislike: Brussel Sprouts. No amount of ketchup could entice me. 'Specially since I don't really like ketchup.

What Makes You Run Late: Trying to do too many things before I need to be somewhere - if I could just switch the laundry before I go, it would be great! ...

X-Rays You Have Had: Just the teeth. Oh, and when I hit my head on a trampoline in college. I had a bunch of CAT scans. That's a story.

Yummy Food You Make: Homemade bread. And a whole bunch of stuff that's bad for you.

Zoo Animal You Like Best: Penguins! Or monkeys.

In which I am every marketer's dream

2011-04-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

I'm a highly suggestible person. If it's marked two-for-one, 10% off, or Last Day Only!, I need it.

I first realized this highly undesirable trait when I was sixteen years old. I was at the dollar store with a friend, looking at nail polish, when I saw it. A pearly pink bottle with a bright red sticker: "Last Chance for This Item! Discontinued This Month!"

I bought it immediately.

Upon arriving home, I understood exactly why they were choosing to discontinue this particular color: because it barely showed up on my nails, and gummed up if the wind brushed it the wrong way.

I still have that nail polish - to remind myself of my stupidity. Whenever I see a Fabulous Sale!, I think of that innocent pink bottle, and tell myself NO.

For the most part I succeed, but I still have these "frugal urges" every once in a while ...

Like the other day, when I passed the billboard for the hospital to see that the waiting time was only six minutes!, and had to fight the compulsion to check myself in.

I mean - what a deal, right?!

Let's help a girl out

2011-04-06T08:18:00.000-07:00

So my excellent friend Stepper asked me a question recently -

what do you do for lunch?

I recall asking the exact same question a while back. Back then, we did rice and beans for lunch. A whole lot.

Now, we have PB&J at least once a week - grilled cheese at least twice - mac and cheese - hot dogs - chicken nuggets - fish sticks - quesadillas - and sometimes I forcefeed them leftovers. I've kind of resolved myself to boring regularity when it comes to lunch. As for me, I eat a lot of wraps, stir-frys, and salads.

(I'm on a diet.)

But for the kids, maybe it's time for a revamp?

So - what do you do?

In which I type a word I never say

2011-04-05T08:23:00.001-07:00

So after said car accident, I went to the chiropractor for the first time.

Apparently, chiropractors are a big deal. I didn't know.

They can ease ear infections, alleviate menstrual cramps, remedy indigestion, and they're working on a cure for cancer.

They also make me fart a lot.

See, early in our marriage, My Man and I decided to enforce a strict "pooter whenever you darn well feel like it" policy. Unless it's particularly bad, in which case you'd better leave the room. Or at least warn each other. But for the most part, it's generally Free Toots around here.

And sometimes I forget that other people may not abide by said policy.

So back to my back.

I'm told that the accident whacked the curve right out of my neck. This is bad. You're not supposed to have a straight neck. So I've been going veryveryoften for alignments and physical therapy. Apparently I'm a sucker for pain.

Yesterday, I had my first dose of deep tissue massage (to work out all the soft tissue scars that won't let me bend my neck. Since I generally like bending my neck, I agreed.)

First there's the question of what to wear. Or not. They said to "undress to the level of your comfort." Well, lady, if it were that easy, I'd wear my sweats. Or perhaps a Snuggie. But then they might write "prude" under my patient notes, and I'd feel dumb.

So yesterday, with Scentsy burning and some nice Chopin in the background, she instructed me to "go ahead and get between the sheets." And then she leaves the room.

Pressure!

I had to make a quick decision, and decided to strip to my underwear.

(I can't wait to see what google searches will come up with for this post ...)

Feeling slightly kinky, I told her she could come back in. Hopefully it was too dark to see my blush.

Then there's the trouble of what to talk about - or not. I mean, we'd just met, and she's rubbing me all over with oils. I might as well know her favorite color.

Finally I just shut up and let myself enjoy it. And then ... I felt it.

A little bubble descending. That would totally ruin the Scentsy.

So then I'm alternately clenching and trying to "relax" without stinking up the place. I was practically sweating with effort. Not only will I be labeled a prude, but a gaseous one at that. I might have to switch chiropractors.

But success was had, and no flatulence was expelled. Forty-five minutes of victory.

Feeling awfully proud of myself, I got dressed and waited for the doctor for my adjustment. And -

POP!

I might have to switch after all.

In which memories were relived

2011-04-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

Date night last week was a home movie night.

(And dude. I know our dates lately haven't been very creative. It's the jar's fault, man. I'm sure we have a buncha funky ones coming up all in a row.)

Anyway. So I was in charge, and wanted to either buy or rent a new movie, because I'm tired of watching Ocean's Eleven. Wal-mart's five dollar bin was not inspiring me, Redbox is somewhat of an enigma, and I had pretty much resigned myself to a night of watching Brad Pitt eat nachos in shiny suits when I saw it.

STAR WARS.

And I remembered.

I remembered that My Man and I had been officially dating for two weeks - one week of which I spent in Idaho for Thanksgiving. We missed each other terribly. One week was a very long time to be apart. We burned.

The night of our reunion, my apartment was packed. We settled in on the couch in his apartment instead, when ... Jeff came in and started a Star Wars marathon.

(Do you read this blog Jeff? Jeff? Are you there?)

We were thoroughly annoyed. I mean, really, Jeff. It had been a WEEK.

So we promptly made out during the whole movie. Maybe all three. I can't remember.

No worries, Jeff. Your back was turned.

(Bytheway. Watching Star Wars after a ten year lapse? Brilliant. Leia is watching her planet get blown up, and barely manages to look perturbed. Still. I LOVE IT.)

In which I want to know what you think

2011-04-01T05:28:00.000-07:00

Essential oils?

Do you think they're a crock? Are you a convert? Do you even know what I'm talking about?

I'm wondering.

In which my rhyming skills are not showcased

2011-03-30T08:00:00.002-07:00

Heading to the library

Feeling rather fine

The sports class there is lots o fun

With three young boys of mine!

Slowing down to turn

I see

The car behind me whizzing.

"He's going much too fast,"

I say,

And sure enough -

KaPLIZZING!

But really the sound is more like

Ka-BOOM

Alas, Babylon, did you happen?

That sound is not 'jarring,' not 'crashing,' not 'bashing,'

It's like my own brain is a-wackin.'

First thought: the kids. Are they okay?

Then - not again!

Ka-BOOM!

That darn whizzing car done pushed me on

Smack into a pissed off SUV.

So mini-van momma takes out

One. Two. Three

And the other drivers, they start wiggin.'

And everyone's wailin' and weeping and woanin'

(Whatever that is - we were doin'.)

But the cop, he was nice,

And passed out Beanie Babies,

And the great 'venture came to an end.

The kids have a great story to tell

And the insurance has a bill for ten grand.

In which I will be shocked if anyone actually reads this whole thing, but I'm writing it anyway because it's cathartic

2011-03-29T08:00:00.000-07:00

Instead of writing a presentation for my 5Pillars class last Tuesday like I'd planned, I organized my closet.

Really down 'n deep cleaning, too. I went through my pajama drawer and threw away a bunch of ratty t-shirts and found some extra sports bras that I forgot I bought. They're pink.

The top of my dresser was next. It was one big jumble of Legos. Safety pins. T-pins. Coins. Love letters. Pictures, pictures, and more pictures. A map of the Phoenix zoo. Clothes tags. Several pens. Receipts. Puzzle pieces. And quite a few old grocery lists.

Basically my life in a 1x2 foot nutshell.

I moved on to the shelving. Pulled out all the winter clothes and folded them neatly into their bins. Made piles for Goodwill and several friends. Organized my shoes, and even threw out a couple pairs - one of them was broken beyond repair anyway. (I miss them already.)

On to the hanging clothes! I ordered everything. Lingerie, dresses, skirts, shorts, pants, tops. I found at least twenty empty hangers. There were several winter and maternity items still lurking between clothes - they got put away accordingly.

When I was done, I sat on the floor and beamed up at the beauty surrounding me for at least ten minutes.

Order.

D&C 88: 119 is well known: Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God.

Order has never been easy for me. I've always been a "throw it in that pile for a later day" kind of girl, and Later Day never arrived. My slovenly habits only worsened in college.

Of course, I've always been quite good at the whole facade thing. The front room - now that I can keep presentable. But open a drawer - a cupboard - a door? Chaos.

And one day, I just got sick of it.

I'd say it started about a year ago, right before the NBC was born. I assumed it was the normal (and short-lived!) "nesting instinct." I organized the junk drawer, catalogued the pantry, scrubbed out the bathroom cupboards and lined up the shampoo bottles by height.

But then - I didn't stop.

My organizational urge kicked up a notch a couple months ago. Papers are filed right away - instead of left in a pile by the phone. Magazines, once read, went straight to recycling - instead of junking up the space next to the computer. And - wonders! - the Band-Aid wrappers were thrown away as soon as the Band-Aid was put on.

I know!

For some of you, this "put it away, right away" response may be reflex already. For me, it has had to be learned. Very, very s l o w l y.

I do not pretend to be an organizational expert. (I totally got stuck on orgjunkie.com the other day. It sucks you in, man. So many pretty baskets .....) But I have learned some things.

First step: decide what's important to you. Do baseboards drive you crazy? Do you like your clothes crisp and well-ironed? Or are you perhaps someone who needs their windows crystal clear at all times?

(I am none of these things, bytheway.)

Divide your "important" list into three priorities - daily, weekly, or monthly. You can even have a bimonthly or semiannual list - whatever floats your yacht.

Next, WRITE IT DOWN. I have all my cleaning chores written on 3x5 cards. They are organized and divided in a little tupperware container that used to hold deli ham. I just pull them out on the corresponding day and do what it says.

For me, this is what my mornings look like:

5:00AM The alarm. I wake up. I head to Maria's and we sweat it out and laugh it up.
6:15. Home. Scripture study. Prayer. Spiritual rejuvenation.
6:45. Shower. Get dressed - to the shoes and earrings! Feel awesome.
7:15 Kids usually up - start breakfast, get 'em dressed, make beds and brush teeth.
7:30 Empty dishwasher. I am a firm believer that happiness is directly related to a clean sink.
7:30 - 8:30. Alternately be with kids and:

Clean up breakfast. (Which includes sweeping.)
Make lunch.
Wipe down kitchen counters, stove, microwave, fridge, as needed.
Wipe down bathroom counters and toilet. Teeth brushing is amazingly messy.

8:30 Kid scriptures and prayer. Morning bike ride as we take Little Prince to school. Shut the door behind me knowing the house is clean.

Mondays are laundry, grocery shopping, and "recover from Sunday" days. No play dates, no visits, no responsibilities. Just me and the kids. And laundry.

Wednesdays I do a "quick dusting" with my feather duster. I always feel like I need red lipstick and heels when I use that thing.

Fridays are the bathrooms. I can clean all of them in an hour, if I do it during nap time. I also wash sheets and towels.

Saturdays are vacuuming, furniture polishing, and "extra chores."

Extra chores are as follows:

First Saturday - Spot the family room/kitchen walls. Dust fans. Clean inside of fridge.

Second Saturday - Windowsills. Spot living room walls. Dust plants.

Third Saturday - all the wainscoting woodwork in the living room.

Fourth Saturday - Spot hallway/bathroom walls. Behind and under living room couch. On top of fridge. Inside stove.

Fifth Saturday and/or combined with Fourth - clean pantry and/or laundry room as needed.

The kids alternate between scrubbing tubs, windexing the windows and back door, watering plants, and vacuuming the stairs. They are also responsible for keeping their rooms and the basement clean. They pride themselves on their work. If you ever visit my house, please compliment the stairs.

Second tip - find a place for everything.

I have found that most of my junky places (the counter next to the phone, the computer desk, and the top of the dresser) are filled with items I don't know what to do with. Decide NOW where everything goes. Then stick to it.

Third tip - Proactivity.

Our family cleanliness motto is "put it away, right away!" If you see a wrapper, put it in the trash. If there's a spot on the floor, clean it. If the lightbulb needs changing, change it. Soon doing it "right away" becomes second nature. (It took me about four months.) The more you put it off, the more you agonize over it, the more difficult it will be come!

Fourth tip - Maintenance is the easiest path.

After every meal, we wipe down the table, chairs, and all kitchen surfaces. This includes the microwave, stove, and fridge. These are excellent areas for kids to be in charge of. Spot mopping the kitchen floor is also a daily chore. Daily maintenance is a thousand times easier than less frequent germ annihilations.

The final tip - patience.

I've learned that organization and cleanliness is a process. We strive for a "manner" of organization - not a "state." At this very moment, the inside of my kitchen appliance cupboard is covered with toaster crumbs and a mysterious black sticky goo that I think used to be hot chocolate. My sewing supplies are all in a jumble, and opening the closet on the back patio may be hazardous to your health.

That's okay.

The point is, you will never be done organizing. You will never have a home that is perfectly clean. Because you live in that house. You're creating life in that house. That house is a living, breathing friend of yours, dynamic, cultivating personalities and enriching relationships.

Now.

As I put my house in order - my physical surroundings - it is inevitable that my thoughts turn inward. Cleanliness is a habit. And it doesn't just apply to our address.

In the process of expunging my home, I can feel myself mentally sweep up the piles of information in my head. Put that piece of juicy gossip back on the shelf where I found it. Dump that unkind thought in the trash. Vacuum up frustration. Dust away anger. Get down on my knees and scrub out the impatience.

First tip - Plan. Prioritize what it important to you, spiritually. What virtues are most dear to you? What are you doing to work on them? Decide on a plan to develop those characteristics and write it down.

6:45AM Personal scriptures
8:30AM Kid scriptures
12:00PM Read Ensign over lunch
5:00PM Listen to general conference as I make dinner
6:30PM Family scriptures and prayer
10:00PM Couple prayer

Go to the temple. Weekly date night. Read the Relief Society lesson. Take the sacrament. Serve. Love. Repeat.

These daily - weekly - monthly rituals keep us focused and fresh. Within them peace can be found.

Second tip - find a place for everything. This is something I'm still working on.

Designate a "temple spot" in your house. Keep this area sacred to you. This is where you go for personal ponder and prayer. You may want to keep a picture of the Savior and/or temple there. Tell your children that this is your temple spot - please whisper when passing by. Even when everyone else has the flu and the entire house is a wreck, make sure your temple spot stays clean.

Third tip - proactivity.

Decide - now! - to just plain do what we're supposed to do. Don't participate in that gossip circle. Flee from tempting internet time suckers. Put down the book that introduces unclean thoughts. Be proactive about your mind and spirit.

Fourth tip - Maintenance is the easiest path.

Scriptures, prayer, Family Home evening, temple attendance. They're so easy a Sunbeam knows that those four things are the answer to virtually every question. But that's because it's RIGHT. We feel good when we do the right thing. So why not keep doing it?

And finally - patience.

We're going to mess up. The best of intentions are ruined by the most human of happenings. Just like your daily cleaning ritual may be interrupted by a particularly clingy two-year-old, your attempts at Christlike patience may be disturbed by the same source. That's okay. Loosen up. Be flexible. Don't get down on yourself for not being the perfect wife or perfect mother or perfect woman. Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he entrusted us with a bunch of little kids. The Atonement is for them, too - to fix all the wrong things we do to them! It's okay. Loosen up. Have patience with yourself and trust to the Lord to sanctify your efforts.

'Domestic goddess' has become a catch-phrase of today's society, but isn't that truly what we are? Goddesses-in-training? And what better way to learn to be divine than in our own little kingdoms here on earth.

And right now, in my closet? It feels absolutely celestial.

In which I WIN SOMETHING AND MUST SHOUT MY EXCITEMENT FROM SOMEPLACE VERY HIGH

2011-03-28T08:01:00.000-07:00

Another Cars' quote. Didja catch it?

So, I done won something. Lyramare was doing a giveaway on The Barrel, and (if you haven't caught on already), I WON IT.

I. Won. I.

My prize arrived in a beauteous box wrapped in a slinky black ribbon. It made me think of French things.

The earrings are gorgeous -a perfect blend of distinctiveness and everyday casual. They match everything.

I wore them yesterday with a different necklace - I don't like to go too matchy-matchy with my accessories - and got lots of compliments. Sunshine said they looked like berries, and tried to eat them.

Silly Sunshine.

So - when I take pictures of myself, at least the first twenty are throwaways. Does this happen to you?

I always have this weird "look natural, look natural, look natural, look natural" look on my face - usually involving lip curling and squinty eyes - that doesn't look natural at all.

It's not until I start cracking up at myself that I find any good ones.

Thank you Lyramare, for not only providing me with pretty things, but helping me not take myself seriously for at least ten minutes.

In which we haven't done this since we were newlyweds

2011-03-28T08:00:00.002-07:00

Get your mind out of the gutter.

No, for date night this week we played NINTENDO.

We busted out our SuperNintendo system. I had a hankering to play some Super Mario. But My Man was skeptical about the working-ness of our system.

Turns out he was right.

So we busted out the PlayStation instead. And rocked some CARS.And Weight Watchers' fudge bars.

So how do you feel about cheat codes?

I personally do not cheat to skip levels. That's just plain unfair. But to get fancy colors, racetracks, and the like?

WE TOTALLY CHEAT.

I'll even make it easy for you. To get PlayStation Lightening McQueen cheat codes, go here. You're welcome.

Also, I fully encourage you to razz each other. Favorite quote of the night:

"You've got more talent in one lugnut than a lot of cars has got in their whole body. *beat* But you're stupid."

Doh!

I'm back. And some advice for the world at large.

2011-03-21T08:58:00.000-07:00

I DID IT.

I am awesome.

I drove from Dallas to Phoenix - seventeen hours - by myself. With four kids. And we didn't just survive - we had fun doing it.

Boo-yah.

Also - it seemed to be a reflex reaction to everyone we encountered to say -

"Wow, you have your hands full!"

Three things.

1) That implies that I am stressed. Overwhelmed. Beyond my capabalities. I am none of these things.
2) Even if I were stressed, overwhelmed, or beyond my capabilities, I do not want to be reminded of that fact. By you.
3) Shut up.

So here's some advice, world. Never, ever, say the aforementioned phrase. Because one day, I am going to snap, and you will get punched in the face.

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you ....

2011-03-14T08:00:00.001-07:00

I'm not home.

So congratulations, you have one less blog to read today. Use your extra time wisely.

See you next week!

I never cry over spilled milk

2011-03-09T14:05:00.000-07:00

Oh, no.

i roar.

Children scatter as milk rivulets leap joyfully about my clean tile, the Big Bad Milk Monster rearing inside of me.

(She's quite fearsome.)

How is it that a cup of spilled milk produces a gallon's worth of splatters all over my kitchen?

And walls?
And chairs?
And underside of my table?

I sop up. Then mop. Then mop again. And yet -

little, sticky, glistening dried ovals all over my floor. They laugh at me every time I walk in my kitchen.

I'm thinking that we're going to turn into a water-only family. I will pay their osteoporosis bills gladly.

Just don't make me clean up a n o t h e r spill.

In which I cross over

2011-03-08T08:00:00.000-07:00

So, I've crossed it. The line. I officially have more posts on Pensievity than I do on The Misplaced Americans.

I've been watching the number creep up for some time. Thinking, "gee, when Pensievity passes The Misplaced Americans, I'll have to do some big superubercool post."

And ... I got nothin'.

Which really beautifully defines how I feel about the whole thing.

I've been brooding about doing a list of my 'best posts' for some time. But every time I look through my history, all my favorite ones are from Brazil.

Reading through my other blog, I laugh out loud quite frequently. I marvel at my cleverness. And I think - what happened to me? I think I left most of my wit and humor - and all of my cleverness - back home in Cabreuva.

(I was definitely skinnier too.)

I loved Brazil. It defined who I am. I still think about it all the time - and talk about it way more than is probably healthy. And - let's be frank - I still link to it on my sidebar. Is it time to take it down?

We spent five years down there. The majority of our marriage. (It'll be nine years this May.) The majority of our parenting was spent down there too. (It'll be seven years in June.) We met people and had experiences there that changed us forever.

So - when do you cross the line from wist - to whine?

I have absolutely no contrition over moving here. I love Arizona. I have no regrets. It was the right thing to do. We are where we're supposed to be.

But - it's still shocking to me that we've been here almost two years, and we are now, according to blogland,

moving on.

In which we are FLEXIBLE

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

So we were supposed to go to a Japanese restaurant for our date. But our baby-sitter couldn't do it.

So we decided to watch a movie. And they were sold out.

So THEN we went to the bookstore. And meandered. I LOVE meandering in a bookstore.

me·an·der–verb (used without object)

1.to proceed by or take a winding or indirect course.

2. to wander aimlessly; ramble:

Our meandering landed us in the humor section. I settled down with a Calvin and Hobbes collection, and My Man selected a book on useless information. (No. Really. That was the title.) We read comfortably - separately - in silence.

(I love companionship reading. It bespeaks familiarity and pleasant company. There aren't many people with whom I can companionship-read.)

(By the by, we have totally different taste in books. Though we both loved Percy Jackson.)

(I'm done with the parentheses.)

Then we went to the travel section and planned a future-trip to Europe. We decided we want to see EVERYTHING.

Then we got some froyo.

Then we made out in the car.

On a side note, when we were dating in college, TWICE a police officer came and tapped on the window while we were parking in the wee hours of the morning. (And no, we weren't doing ANYTHING, I swear.) Both times the cop asked me if I was there against my free will. It was pretty dang funny.

So on our date this week, we were planning on what we'd say to a hypothetical cop if one hypothetically tapped on our window.

My Man liked this one: "Officer, I have four kids at home. I just wanted to kiss my wife!"

Any contenders?

In which I bombed my homework

2011-03-04T09:36:00.000-07:00

For my class this week, I was supposed to write a persuasion paper.

I didn't.

***********

Further In and Higher Up

Experience. Check. Think. Check. Speak. Double check. Read - narrate - create - journal. Check check check check.

Writing is easy, right? Gene Fowler says, "all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead."

Sarah suggests we work on persuading this time around. Okay. Let's do it. Don't forget the logos - throw in pathos for fun. Include reason, personal experience, revelation, historical evidence, and a kidney just to be sure. If you want to be really cool, add some research - then you're at the top of the pile. Achievement. Success. Confidence.

Bull.

Somewhere in my 5Pillars journey, I decided that I disagree with the Writing Cycle. I'd rather rechristen it the Writing Fork. I don't have a problem until step six - Creation. From there, we're told to progress to journals/stories, then idea or opinion papers, moving on to persuasive essays, then climax with research.

That is one path, sure. It's a great path - a fabulous path. But my goal in life is not to research - it's to change my very nature. The 5Pillar course, after all, is so much more than a simple 'book club.' The mere expression is somehow patronizing. It should be termed the Soul Searching Course or Self-Discovery Club or Introspective Wives United - except those sound a little deep for casual conversation.

Research papers may stretch us mentally - but I would rather stretch myself emotionally. Spiritually. Because that's why I'm taking this course. To research-paper myself.

My favorite book in the Narnia series is the last one - The Last Battle. "Further in and higher up!" cries Roonwit, urging the crowd to plunge deeper into Narnia's beauties. That phrase has been repeating itself in my mind for some time. Further in. Who am I really? Higher up. What motivates me? Further in. What do I want out of life? Higher up. How am I going to work to get it?

It's as if I'm in the center of a great ruminative cyclone. Ponderings - goals - convictions - quotes - swirl around me like so many pages in a book. I am in the middle of it all, trying to inhale the gusts deeply without gasping. It's hard. Further in and higher up.

I feel as if everything is coming together for me. The Great Pangea of Me, slowly puzzling itself together, trying a piece there, seeing if it fits there. I am on the edge of a vast plain, inching my toes over the edge, daring myself to jump. The cavern is wide. It is deep. It is good. And I'm almost there. On the brink of some massive discovery - my arms groping for some surety before I take the first step over. Further in and higher up.

This I know. I want to change. I feel that I have so much healing to do, habits to change. Habits - I'm sure - that are several millenia in the making. But I seem to have finally breached the stubborn obstinacy that kept my "I wish I were ..." list, just a wish. Some crucial, inherent wall has crumbled, allowing me to cross the bridge from wanting to being.

I don't want to wait to become the person I want to be.

I'm ready to be that person. Now.

Further in and higher up.

I want to allow the spirit to guide my life in such a way that His whispers become reflexes. I want to build a celestial marriage. I want to thrive on my children's laughter. I want to be 'more fit for the kingdom.' I want to be healthy. I want to keep my house in order. And I want my very being to shy away from anything that would cause my children pain - like losing my patience (did I know where it was in the first place?), yelling, scolding, and all those other -ings that paint the dark side of motherhood.

And as I reach inward - I can't help but strive upward.

Because I am divine. And the further in I explore my inherited celestial princess-ness, the closer I will become to the King.

Further in. Higher up I go.

In which my blog makes me better

2011-03-03T09:41:00.001-07:00

This morning as I rounded the corner into the kitchen, smack in front of me there was a quarter-sized brown rock. I reflexively bent to pick it up - I do have a crawler who loooooves to eat rocks - and realized it was soft.

And warm.

And stinky.

Yes. Oh yes. Poop.

It was then the trail of feces became apparent - all the way down the hall and into the NBC's room.

And there perched Mr. Squishy, so proud of himself for climbing up into the crib to play with his just-woke-up little brother. Consequently smearing everything with excrement.

And as I'm exclaiming in a loud voice - "Poop! Poop everywhere! Ew! Ew! Grooooooooss!" my husband very wisely observed,

"This would make a great blog."

My gross factor immediately dwindled to zero, to be replaced by utter amusement and anticipation.

And THAT, ladies (do I have any gentlemen?) is why I blog.

So I finally figured out why I'm not famous

2011-03-02T08:00:00.000-07:00

It's because I don't take amazing photos of, like, doorknobs. And food. And my homemade throw pillow, or vintage frame that I had to strip, restain and modpodge.

Also, because I don't really know what modpodge is.

Also, I don't wear superamazingmagazine outfits. (That I usually think look ridiculous in realeveryday life, to be honest.)

The truth:

I take pictures of my kids. And sometimes trees. They are merely marginally-better-than-average photos.

I cook. But pictures of the food do not look delicious.

I occasionally craft. But pictures of said crafts look really dumb.

I wear marginally-better-than-average clothes. I never take pictures of them.

So - it all comes down to photos, basically.

Now please understand - I am not even remotely bitter about my non-famous status. I am one of the thousands of people who Follow these photographic (and photogenic) ladies who make dented salt shakers look amazing on film.

It is merely amusing to me that every time I see a link to a blogger whose "follower" gadget is in the thousands, it's never because of how well they write. It's because of the pictures. (I can think of two exceptions - one is super snarky and one is super sweet AND snarky.)

Yes - a lot of these picture-taking-wonders CAN write as well. But would they be well-known based on words alone? I read so many blogs that I feel SHOULD be famous - and they're not. Probably because there aren't any pictures of dented salt shakers or 18th century doorknobs.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure the fact that I don't have a three column layout is working against me, too.

Another Disney anti-recap

2011-03-01T14:16:00.001-07:00

So -

I was sick for two days out of three, and practically had a DayQuil IV tapped into my arm.
My shoe broke on the first day.
It rained the whole second day - especially during the (outdoor) "World of Color" extravaganza.
It was freezing. 'Specially by Arizona standards. And we were SO not prepared.
There was at least one poopypantsepisode.
There were several almost-poopypantsepisodes. (Why don't they make bathrooms easier to find? ....)
There was lotsandlots of sibling poking.
There was lotsandlots of fighting over who-sits-next-to-mom-or-dad-or-whoever-your-brother-wants-to-sit-next-to-at-the-moment.
There might have been a few meltdowns - some sugar related, some sleep-deprivation related, some for no apparent reason other than what-the-heck-everyone-is-staring-might-as-well-give-them-a-good-show.

But I stand by what I said yesterday -

It was still the perfect family vacation.

Because everyone was so giddy the whole entire time. Because we never stopped laughing. Because My Man and I got to playlaughhaveaball for three days straight with our kids.

Because we expected it to be perfect.

So it was - p e r f e c t.

The recap

2011-02-28T08:00:00.000-07:00

Actually, no.

No recap.

It was perfect.

PERFECT.

There are no words.

Public Service Announcement

2011-02-23T08:50:00.000-07:00

We interrupt your daily lurking to inform you that That Girl and her Family are currently on vacation.

Here:

See ya Monday!

In which we are pretty lame

2011-02-21T09:26:00.000-07:00

So this week, rather than have a date night, we took turns being deathly ill and giving each other head rubs. Actually, I'm pretty much the only one who got the head rubs. I lucked out. Although the "deathly ill" part wasn't very lucky.

We're better now.

Oh, we also spent a lot of time playing Angry Birds on My Man's new iPhone.

'ts fun.

Better luck next week?

In which I am happy

2011-02-16T07:08:00.000-07:00

Little Prince is growing up.

He'll have you know that he's SIX-AND-A-HALF (don't forget the half) and almost SEVEN. And SEVEN is almost EIGHT and that's HUGE.

I like watching him grow up. I like watching his personality develop and become his own person - even if we clash over it sometimes. I like that he knows what he likes (science) and doesn't like (chores.)

I like HIM. (And isn't that somehow different that loving him?)

I'm especially enjoying introducing him to things that have made me who I am.

Reading the Narnia series with him was an emotional experience for me - how he clapped his hands and exploded in laughter when Aslan came back to life - how solemn he became when Edmund asked forgiveness - whooping and punching the air when the White Witch died. Now he's into Harry Potter, and is fascinated with the intricacies of magic and how Tonks can give herself a pig nose. (So am I.)

I find myself crying over this sharing-of-souls. Although tears aren't a normal reaction to telling stories about Snape. But it's knowing that I'm giving him something he will enjoy the rest of his life. Something that I enjoy. Something that makes both of our hearts soar - frees us from the earth and lets our imaginations reach up toward the sky.

Books.

There are so many books that have become woven into the very fabric that is me. And to weave them into my son?

...

There are no words.

Yesterday we sat at the kitchen counter for an hour as I told him the fabulous story that is Les Miserables. (I just finished all 1500 pages.) As I unfolded the tale of Jean Val Jean, we listened to that inspired music together - and the tears rained down.

We had deep discussions about the countless moral dilemmas presented in the novel.The bishop lied about the candlesticks - Fantine and the Thenardies' choices - Javert and "all the evil of good." We covered the French revolution, which led to the Egyptian revolution, which led to the Book of Mormon and discussions on kings and absolute power.

Basically, it was awesome.

Because when it comes down to it, I know exactly what I want to give my son.

The world.

In which we talk. and talk. and talk. and talk.

2011-02-14T08:00:00.002-07:00

Date night this week was supposed to be a barbecue by the lake. 'Cept we were running late, and there really wasn't time. So we partook of Ye Olde Firepit On The Back Porch.

(I realize that most of you can't have a fire on your back porch when your back porch is covered in snow. It is February, after all. Can ye partake of Ye Olde Fireplace instead, perhaps? Or if ye don't have a fireplace, maybe you can cuddle around the stove?)

I had a truly fabulous box of conversation topics from The Game of Things, (an inspired Christmas present from my dad) but we didn't even open it.

Isn't it amazing how sitting around the flames gets you to really open up? How the spiritual seems much more present? How you can feel you can talk about anything in the world? And you do?

We are totally playing footsie in this picture.

We talked until the coals were just glowing embers.

Then we finished the cold dregs of our hot cocoa -

Kissed, and went to bed.

Happy Valentine's Day -

In which I risk being called mean things

2011-02-11T08:00:00.002-07:00

So for most of my life, I've walked around in jeans and T-shirts. Except - not CUTE jeans and T-shirts. Loose, too-short jeans and loose, too-long T-shirts. My hair was mid-back and I just let it air-dry naturally. (Translation: scraggly.) No jewelery. Minimal makeup. (Just enough to cover the zits.)

Brazil did not change me. Even when all my friends were blinged out on a daily basis and wearing high heels, I prided myself on being a slouch.
(Because really, the definition of cool is not caring - right?)

So let's back up to about a year ago.

I was getting ready for the day, and deciding between two particularly shapeless pieces of cotton. And Little Prince pulled out a blouse. A pretty, colorful blouse that I usually wore on Sundays.

"No, LP - that's for Sundays. I don't need to look that nice today."

"But, Mom, I like it when you look nice."

*****

And that's when I had a revelation. And epiphany, if you will.

Why shouldn't I dress up every day? Why do I feel I can't look nice "only" for my family? Aren't my kids and husband the most important and best people in my life? Shouldn't I want to look my best FOR the best?

Answer: Y.E.S.

Thus began a journey to The New Me.

I buy nicer clothes now - not just the clearance racks. I wear earrings - and sometimes even a necklace - on a daily basis. I do my hair. I put on makeup. Every day. Even if the farthest I go from home that day is the backyard.

It's amazing how much nicer you feel when you look nice.

Disclaimer: My one rule is that I have to be able to PLAY in my clothes. No dry cleaning allowed. If I can't jump on a trampoline or get down in a sandbox, I won't wear it. And yes, I've broken a few necklace chains (thanks, NBC), and yes, my hair is usually pulled back in a pony by 3:00. 'S alright.

Second disclaimer: If you wear your pajamas all day - good on ya! I see nothing wrong with this. If you feel good in those pajamas, then go for it. I am not judging you. Really.

But what I didn't anticipate is that sometimes - just sometimes - I make people uncomfortable. Like when someone stops by early morning and sees that I'm dressed and ready - it's, "Oh my gosh, that's DISGUSTING! You look so good!"

Hmmm.

I think they think that I'm judging them? But I really couldn't care less ....

I don't know. I feel good in my new skin. It fits well.

The end.

The dark side of humility

2011-02-10T08:00:00.000-07:00

So I'm really into service. I'm also really into self-deprecating. And sometimes my two hobbies don't mix.

The other day I was delivering a meal to a sick friend. She immediately commences my least favorite part: the thank you.

I never know just what to do with The Thank You. It's embarrassing. It's awkward. I have nowhere to look. So generally I just do what I do best: run myself down.

"Oh, it was nothing! Nothing at all! I was cooking this for my family anyway! I just doubled it! It was just a crockpot meal! In fact, I just ripped open a package from Costco and heated it up! Really, truly, madly, deeply NO BIG DEAL!"

Translation: You're really not worth the effort, and I'm really not worth The Thank You.

Bad Becky. Bad bad bad.

Why can't I say, "You're welcome! I wish I could do more."

Or

"I love you - of course I'll bring you dinner."

Or

"You're my friend - serving you is a pleasure."

Or better yet - maybe I should just stick to anonymous stuff?

I annoy myself sometimes.

And the winner is .....

2011-02-09T20:38:00.000-07:00

Not you.

Nope. You either.

It's PETRA! She's an England-er who married an American-er and lives in Utah. Er. She's also a fantastic cook and hilarious to boot. Although she needs to post more pictures of herself on her blog, so that I can blatantly steal them and put them on mine.

Congrats, ma'am!

In which I'm reminded which one is the "better half"

2011-02-08T07:01:00.000-07:00

Date night this week - I was really crabby.

My man had a meeting, and my mom and sister were gone, so I put the four crazies to bed by myself. Horrible. Terrible. No-good-very-bad-bedtime. I pretty much had all four crying at the same time and professing their undying hatred for me. I'm talented like that.

So by the time I had Da Boyz all down (or at least in their rooms), I was in no mood for a date. Basically I just wanted a container of chocolate ice cream and a book.

(Except I'm having weight issues lately, too, which didn't help my mood at all. Anybody else gain a ton of weight with an IUD?! Even though you're denying yourself all kinds of goodness and exercise at ridiculous hours every. single. day?)

So when My Man was done with his meeting and ready for our Home Date extravaganza, I was pretty much

L
A
M
E.

Until he told me to put on my pajamas, let me complain for a few minutes, made me laugh, and reminded me that date nights are the sure-fire cure for the blahs.

(I'd temporarily forgotten.)

So fifteen minutes later, I was ready to rock our date night. In pajamas and pearls.

It was Art Night -

We busted out our supplies and painted our versions of our favorite Monets.

There's something so relaxing about painting, don't you think?

We also got all complicated and sketched each other's eyes, too.

So it was a success - there ain't nothin' like paint and laughter to chase away a bad bedtime ....

In which I say something really funny and get you to read this post

2011-02-07T08:00:00.000-07:00

My husband told me to "say something funny and get you to read this post." I did. I'm so compliant.

SO!

My Man is doing his MBA and is currently preparing for his Marketing final. He is researching diapers. Yup. Diapers. And he needs experts!

(This is where you come in.)

So -

what brand do you buy? why?
what brand DON'T you buy? why?
where do you buy diapers?
do you care what they look like? (cartoon characters, denim look, etc.)
do you buy in bulk?

Please respond! And quickly! His final is this weekend. ;o)

In which I finally join civilization

2011-02-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

I have a cell phone.

I could totally get used to this texting thang.

In which I feel magnanimous

2011-02-02T08:00:00.004-07:00

I've always wanted to use that word in a sentence.

(Though technically my titles are never sentences...)

So! My lovely mother has just opened up her own Etsy shop, Design by Demi.

*insert trumpets, big bass drums and the piccolo! the piccolo!*

In celebration of the occasion, she will be giving away an 11x14" canvas to one of my readers. Simply pick one of the following designs and specify what colors you want it in. (It doesn't have to be the colors shown.)

Fall Leaves

Tropical Profile

Leaves & Things

Rainflowers

Pick. Comment. That's it! I will be selecting a number at random on Wednesday the 9th. Good luck!

In which I hope my kids remember days like this

2011-02-01T08:00:00.003-07:00

It rained yesterday.

Clearly, this meant yesterday was an Occasion.

(It's Arizona. It doesn't rain much here.)

(Plus, I was doing laundry anyway.)

So I pulled out our boots, hats and coats, and we went

puddle jumping.

Too soon the puddles ran dry, so it was necessary to bring out the hose and refill them. And display an exhibition on Being Two.

And then we jumped. and jumped. and jumped some more.

It was a wonderful, perfect, puddle-jumping kind of day.

...

So why don't my kids remember days like this, and instead have to remind me constantly of the time (three years ago) when I screamed at them for jabbing my wood table with forks?!

In which we wear nifty green visors

2011-01-31T08:00:00.001-07:00

So date night last week was

POKER NIGHT.

'Cept we don't really play poker.

So instead it was

HAND AND FOOT NIGHT.

Because we love that game. Have you played? If not, go here to learn how. You're welcome.

(You're not really supposed to play with two people. We rolled with it.)

We decided to make it more interesting and poker-like by gambling a bit. It makes for much better trash talk.

First round: winner picks dinner (My Man won: I'm making ribs this week)
Second round: winner picks dessert (I won: I'm getting hot fudge brownie sundaes)
Third round: winner picks massage (My Man won: he's getting a shoulder massage)
Fourth round: winner picks chore (I won: My Man will be washing the floor. Soon, I hope.)

Feel free to let the overall winner pick - um - other rewards....

My Man won by a measly 115 points.

Good thing we both win.

*grins*

Clear Vision

2011-01-28T15:36:00.003-07:00

There's an epidemic in my family - and yours, too, probably.

Everyone's going blind.

Everywhere I go there is evidence that no one can see.

They are blind to
that backpack by the front door
the shoes and socks strewn on the lawn next to the trampoline
the pile of unfolded washcloths and dishtowels in the laundry room
the burnt out light bulbs in the kitchen
the basket of odds and ends that need to go downstairs
the pile of DVDs next to the television
the empty refrigerator
and toys, toys, toys everywhere.

I am instantly notified if there is the slightest need in our household -
if we're out of toilet paper
if the basement needs vacuuming
if the pictures are crooked
if someone is crying
- it's a constant Twitter-feed of needs around here.

And I seem to be the only subscriber.

I've played games with the members of my family. It's called "Let's See Who Else Will Take Care of This." The answer is always "Nobody," and then I get mad. So basically, we both lose.

Because I suffer from blindness, too.

I'm not seeing when my husband takes out the trash - or empties the dishwasher - or gets the mail - or mows the lawn - or cleans the bathroom.
I'm not seeing when my mom cooks dinner - or organizes the papers - or watches the kids - or cleans up a spill - or helps with bath time.
I'm not seeing when my sister does the dishes - or takes the kids to the park - or feeds the NBC - or sweeps the floor.

I'm in need of some LOVE LASIK - stat.

Because the thing about this particular kind of blindness is -

you can choose what not to see.

And I need to choose to see love.

It's only 9 o'clock? Really?

2011-01-25T09:08:00.000-07:00

The NBC is teething. Four teeth. At once. Oh, and he has a cold.
Mr. Squishy hasn't slept in two days. Neither have we.
Sunshine is not sunny. He's sensitive, crabby, and prone to throwing any and all fragile and/or sentimental objects within reach.
My floor is a hazard to my children's health. No. Really.
I haven't even started sorting what I estimate to be about ten loads of laundry. There is no clean underwear in the house. Minor detail.
We have no milk. And we're down to two bananas. This is bad.
I'm hosting a party tomorrow, and I haven't a clue what I'm serving. Then there's the fact that my house looks like it threw up on itself.
(I'd post a picture, but I just ... don't think ... I can ....)

SO.

I am so totally going to break our "weekends only" movie rule, pop in Finding Nemo, and START.

Maybe.

Ai ai ai ai ai ai ai!

2011-01-24T08:00:00.003-07:00

Is that politically correct? Probably not. Moving on.

So Date Night this week = Mexican night.

(Actually - NO. We didn't draw "Mexican Night" from the jar. We drew something else. But in researching that "sumthin else," I found this really cool way to do "sumthin' else" that isn't available til April. So you - and My Man - will have to wait til then. I feel bad for you both.)

So we had a SECOND draw. And it was MEXICAN NIGHT.

This led to some extensive googling. "Best restaurant in My Town, Arizona." And three sites said to go to here:

So we did.

(I tried to get My Man to talk in a Mexican accent the whole night, but he thought that might be rude.)

Nando's is apparently famous for their margaritas. Well. As you know, we're MORMON and all that - so we asked for virgin margaritas. The waitress pretty much thought we were crazy. It was awesome.

But the non-margarita margarita was DELISH. Although I was severely disappointed that it wasn't served in those funky glasses. I wanted a funky glass and pretend to get drunk. Because I'm mature like that.

So the food was amazing, of course. Three sites can't be wrong. Although the rice and beans? Sad. Just sad. Because let me tell you - I know rice and beans. And them rice and beans just did not make the cut. Good thing the Pollo Rico was out-of-this-world good.

(I took half of it home, intending to eat it on Sunday after church. But we got home late and I had to run to a meeting without lunch. Then my little sister calls after me - "Hey, That Girl! That thing you ordered yesterday was super delicious! Thanks!" *facepalm*)

We ate our delicious, calorific dinner, and then My Man attempted to take a picture of me with my fancy dancy camera. I wanted a record of my attempts at dressing "Mexican-y." It was pretty amusing.

And then he was silly.

And then we went home.

In which I need some sequiny red shoes

2011-01-21T08:00:00.001-07:00

We've moved a lot.

You know?

We spent the first year of our married life in Michigan. Then another year in Ohio. Then Brazil - wherein we moved four times.

So we've done the pack-unpack-make friends-leave friends - pack-unpack-make friends-leave friends thing. It's really no fun at all.

And while we always made spectacular friends wherever we were -

none of the places ever felt like h o m e.

When we went on long trips - like, long, ten-hour-plane-trip-trips - when we finally pulled up in the driveway ... nothin'.

Home was wherever My Man and the kids were. The house itself ... they were always just houses. We came "house" - never home.

But now? I think I've finally found it.

Have I told you how much I love Arizona?

I love Arizona.

I actually love the blistering hot summers. I love letting my children run naked all day in the sprinklers. I love swimming practically every day in the neighborhood pool - and the fact that my hair is dry before we get home. I love eating so many Otter Pops our lips never return to normal color. I love the sweltering evenings - the heavy air hanging - the crickets chirp chirping under an immense desert night sky.

I love the beauty of this place. It's a different kind of aesthetic than the leafy green wonder that is Michigan - where I grew up. They both set my heart a-glow. But Arizona - it's different. The strong-lined mountains cutting into the sky - a sky that is always, always blue. And the intense color of summer flowers in full bloom - the deepest of pinks and purples and oranges and reds send me into raptures.

I love the people. People are nice here. They give you directions and help you with groceries and stop to talk to you on the street. Arizonians are colorful - cheerful - they're into health food and citrus and farmer's markets and can be found everywhere running, biking, walking, swimming, moving. Arizonians are outside.

I love that there are so many people of my faith here. I love that on my street of thirteen houses, ten of them are Mormon. And yet - I'm glad we're not overrunning the city. (Though we are overrunning my subdivision.) I love that 85% of people you meet are not members. I love the diversity - the opportunities to meet different kinds of people - the chance to be an example and teach.

I love the community. I love that I can find any class or sport imaginable - available during your choice of times. I love that there are always at least four parks within walking distance, wherever you are - and usually a few pools, too. I love that there are fun, funky shopping areas where we can stroll and absorb the eclecticity of humans. I love that the parking spaces are van-wide, the grocery stores have free child care, and every fast-food restaurant has a playplace.

I love the endless museums within 30 minutes of my house. I love the art - the culture - the theater - the symphony. I love that there is so much to do here.

And I love the winters. I love that the winters here are like autumn everywhere else. I love that I get months of colorful, crunchy leaves - and still get to keep my blueblue sky and lush green grass.

I. Love. Arizona.

Welcome home.

Return and Report

2011-01-19T09:35:00.001-07:00

Subject: Mr. Squishy

Objective: Using the potty to go "wet" and "stinkers"

Preparation: For two months the subject has informed his superiors that his diaper needs to be changed. Sometimes subject advises of the imminent arrival of wet and stinkers. Has expressed interest in What Big Brothers Are Doing. Very excited about being a "big boy."

Previous Experience: Little Prince went through several "trial runs" until he was three years and eight months. Then his superiors had trouble finding diapers in his size (explanation: in Brazil, they potty train at one years old. Diapers size three and up are impossible to find.) When his superiors buckled down and said We Are Growing Up Today, there were accusations of child abuse. Two months later, Sunshine trained himself. He was not quite two.

DAY ONE

5:00AM - Wake up. Feeling very cheerful and ready to take on The Big Bad Toilet. Exercise. Scriptures. Shower. Make bed. Conquer the world.

7:00AM - Mr. Squishy wakes up. We are so excited. We talk about not using diapers anymore. He chooses a pair of Finding Nemo underwear, and marches proudly to breakfast.

7:30 AM - Breakfast over. We sit on the potty and read Dr. Seuss. He thinks this is the coolest thing ever. But nothing happens other than he sits on the potty and reads Dr. Seuss. This is okay. We're good.

7:40 AM - He wets his pants. Feelings: still cheerful.

7:45 AM - Big glass of milk

8:00 AM - More milk

8:30 AM - Big glass of water

8:40 AM - Sit on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. That's about it.

8:45 AM - He wets his pants. We're still cheerful.

9:00 - 10:00 AM - We play with play dough. Big glass of water. Feelin' good. Sunshine thinks Operation Train Little Brother is the greatest idea in the world - we get to stay home and play all day.

10:00 AM - Sits on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. Nothin'.

10:05 AM - Go for a walk. We stay within a five-house radius to the toilet.

10:45 AM - Sits on toilet and read Dr. Seuss. I am not discouraged.

11:00 AM - He wets his pants. It's okay.

11:20 AM - Lunch. He scores a big glass of chocolate milk. This is the best day ever.

12:00 PM - Sits on toilet and reads Dr. Seuss. He is starting to get tired of sitting on the toilet. There are tears.

12:30 PM - He wets his pants. We put on a pull-up in preparation for bed. He really loves his pull-up.

1:00 - 4:00 PM - Naptime. I do not worry about potty training in the slightest.

4:00 PM - He wakes up. He is not happy about putting on underwear. I insist. There are LOTS of tears. He sits on the toilet and we sing Popcorn Popping very loudly. More tears.

4:30 PM - He runs to me saying, "Mommy! Stink! Mommy! Stink!" I am thrilled. We run to the toilet. It is occupied. Mr. Squishy poops his pants. Not happy about more underwear.

5:30 PM - Dinner. More chocolate milk.

6:00 PM - He sits on the toilet. Very, very sad boy.

6:15 PM - He wets his pants. I am starting to wonder if he is, in fact, NOT READY.

7:30 PM - Bedtime. He actually hugs his diaper.

In which Mr. Squishy grows up

2011-01-18T10:52:00.000-07:00

Today starts

THIS:

plus

THIS

Wish me luck!

In which our children would be totally embarrassed if they knew

2011-01-17T08:00:00.003-07:00

Just to get a little FAQ action out of the way -

Yes, we came up with all 52 dates by ourselves. Just us, a pad of paper, and a pen. And some really good hot fudge brownie sundaes. They are my muse, so to speak.
We had to get really creative once we hit 30 dates or so ....
None repeat. And we're only going to the movies ONCE.
Some are free, some are not. The free ones tend to be cheesier.
We put all 52 dates in a jar, and we will choose one a week. They are color-coded.

White = stay at home
Green = out
Yellow = out, but after the kids are in bed

There is actually a picture of said jar over there --------> Feel free to grab it. I plan to post every Monday.

Mmmmkay? We set? Suh-WEET.

This week's date was an "out, but after the kids go to bed" date. And it was free.

Therefore, cheese to the max.

Are you ready for this?

We went on a GREETING CARD HUNT.

That's right. A greeting card hunt. We went to Wal-Mart at 9 o'clock at night and had ourselves a little competition. The categories:
a) the funniest
b) the most romantic
c) the tackiest
d) the most blush-worthy

I'm sorry to say that My Man won all four.

I liked this one a lot.

Though this one made me happy too.

And of course who wouldn't love a giant pickle card.

We even learned some profound lessons!

We also made up our own "blush worthy" cards. And we kissed a lot. And laughed our heads off. And took random pictures of each other.

This was the only one that didn't show my double chin.

Exactly.

And then we had a philosophical discussion on the proprieties of getting groceries while on a date.

The groceries won.

After all, we really needed milk and bananas - and most especially one of those plumber-snake thingamajigs, because Sunshine flushed a pair of underwear down the toilet yesterday.

Happy Date Night!

In which science stinks

2011-01-14T12:04:00.000-07:00

Kay, so have you heard about the hulabaloo over the NEW astrological signs?Apparently the moon's gravitational pull, blah blah blah, things have moved, yadda yadda, and they've decided to change everything around. Read your (possibly) new sign here.

I am now a Gemini. And up til now I've been a Cancer.

I mean, really folks, this changes everything. Now I have " the ability to communicate effectively and think clearly" where before I was marked by "the tenacity with which I protect my loved ones." I'm confused. I used to be a crab. Now I'm a twin. I used to be water. Now I'm air. Is pearl still my birthstone, ya think? Cuz I really have a thing for pearls.

Although I used to not be compatible with Leo, which is what My Man is, and now I am (since he's still a Leo.) So OBVIOUSLY they've finally gotten the whole astrology thing straightened out.

It just kills me how often SCIENCE changes its mind. Pluto's a planet. Then it isn't. Caffeine is good for you. Then it isn't. Your lucky number is 13. No, it's 8, sorry.

Isn't it nice to know that God never changes? That He really is truth and light? That science - even if they've PROVED we're descended from apes - just can't catch up with the Lord Almighty?

He is infinite. He is eternal. And I am so compatible with My Man.

Oober Legit Post

2011-01-13T09:08:00.000-07:00

I just wanted to say that.

Anywho!

So after taking a bloggy sabbatical for, well, a really long time, I'm catching up on the cyber world. Lemme tell ya - high, concentrated doses of bloggy reading does things to you.

I've come to the following conclusions:

Apparently I need an "about me" and "best of" page
Apparently I need to renovate something in my house
Apparently I need to take more pictures of my outfits
Apparently I need to take more pictures of everything I eat
Apparently I need to take more pictures
Apparently I need to put more buttons on my blog
Apparently I need to join Twitter

Apparently.

But more than anything, I was struck with the "oh, gosh, I love my sweetperfectcutestbabyonearth because he's just AMAZING" trend. Because he slept through the night from the minute he left the uterus, because she was perfect on the plane from LA to New York, because he smiles and coos at appropriate times, because she could do compound math before her first tooth arrived.

The skeptic in me laughs until unattractive noises spew out of me.

Do these parents really think that you can possibly love your baby BECAUSE OF anything? What if your baby had the ability to shoot yellow poo up to distances of three feet every time you changed his diaper? What if the mere sight of a car seat left your baby struggling and kicking and wailing until your heart wanted to break? What if your baby screamed at bat frequencies every time you set him down? What if you had a baby that only napped in twenty minute intervals?

Not that MY children fit any of those qualifications ....

I promise you that you would still love your baby - of course you would. I do.

So I want to say to these moms - I'm so glad you have such a sweetperfectcutestbabyonearth. You are lucky. You are blessed. But you do not love your child because of their perfection.

You love your child because you are their mother.

My flock

2011-01-12T08:00:00.002-07:00

My Man grew up on a sheep farm in central Utah.

Did you know that?

Every time we go to my in-laws, I fall in love with him again. I like seeing him in his natural environment. He may act like a big-whig city guy in the business world, but he's quite comfortable moving sprinkler pipes and hauling hay in coveralls.

I want my kids to be comfortable, too.

Pretty much every time we visit, I want to move there.

My Man doesn't understand why farm life seems so idyllic to me.

I know what it's like - the long hours, the pay, the every-single-day-no-benefits-no-vacation-up-to-your-knees-in-dung part. I've even helped mark sheep. (Of course, I interpret "help" in the loosest manner possible ....)

I really don't know how to explain it. It's the back to basic-ness of it. The simplicity. The connectedness. The grass-roots-spirituality. The living by the sweat of your brow. A farm is the best way to learn about the world and compassion and responsibility and gratitude and work and life - and death. (My kids were appalled one night when they were told the "mutton" they ate for dinner used to live in the backyard.)

I know the chances of us packing up and shipping out to Sanpete are slim to nil. Still - I know that farm life made My Man the person he is.

And I want very much for my kids to follow in his footsteps.

Eleven days late

2011-01-11T08:00:00.000-07:00

This year is just gonna rock.

For the record.

It's going to rock because we've decided it is the YEAR OF THE DATE.

The Caps are important.

We made a list of 52 dates. And we are going to pull one out of the jar every week. Without fail.

ROCK, I tell you.

A third are "home" dates - a third are out - and a third are out, but can be done after the kids are in bed. (That way we abuse my mom only once every three weeks, see?)

Some are cheesy, some are romantic, some are downright hilarious. I think our first one fit all three.

FIRST WEEK:

Home date.

Have a cooking night, and choose recipes that you've always wanted to try, but never had the guts.

My pick: Creme brulee. His pick: Lobster.

Turns out Creme Brulee is a picky little stinker. Cooks for 1 1/2 hours at 250 in a water bath with a TOWEL UNDERNEATH. Do not under ANY circumstances let the custard cups touch each other, or you will be responsible for the end of the world. Then cool to room temperature, cover, and refrigerate overnight.

Dude.

We are now the proud owners of custard cups, bytheway.

So we did the creme brulee prep on Friday, and Saturday was - LOBSTERS!

We looked for fiesty ones. Apparently fiesty = delicious. We're all about delicious.

The NBC got to come with us. Then he went straight to bed when we got home. It was date night, after all.

The seafood worker dude put them in boxes that made me think of KFC takeout.

'Cept the contents didn't smell like KFC takeout.

We're going to EAT YOU.

When My Man took them out (because I refused to touch them, of course) they started flopping all over and I pretty much thought I was going to die. Squealing might have been involved.

Then the lobsters didn't want to go in the pot. Not that I blame them. One of them even hooked his tail over the edge and refused to be boiled alive. I only felt a teensy bit bad.

My Man showed no mercy, however. He's a cold hearted murderer. And a great chef.

I sang lobstah killahhhhhhhh as motivational support.

Turns out they really do turn bright red the minute they hit the water. No kiddin'.

So once they were cooked, we put them on a plate and stared at each other. What now?

Now, my friends, we google "how in the world do you eat a lobster?"

Google knows all.

So after we completely ripped apart a pair of lobsters with pinking shears (I don't have a mallet. Or kitchen scissors.), we ate them.

(I washed the pinking shears, Mom, don't worry.)

Okay, truth be told, I should say MY MAN ripped apart a pair of lobsters, because those feeler thingies creeped me out. I couldn't do it. Although I did do the claws. Aren't you proud? I could totally survive on a desert island. Or a Hunger Games.

They were delicious, bytheway. Must've been fiesty.

As a sidenote, upon dismembering my lobster, I found out she was female. There was the telltale red "coral" in her abdomen. Apparently it's a delicacy, but I didn't eat it. I draw the line at eating female reproductive organs. Call it solidarity, if you will.

Then we torched our creme brulees.

The cookbook said you could use the broiler, but that was way too slow. In lieu of a propane torch, we used a lighter. Worked beautifully.

Date #1 was a clear success! Memories were made and palates were satisfied.

Plus also we arranged the lobster heads in the garbage can to totally scare the crap out of my little sister.

*grins*

I done did something

2011-01-10T21:40:00.002-07:00

No more swoop. My bangs are now SOLID.

Maybe I should change my header now ....

(For the record, I did it about a month ago. I figured it was time I officially announced it.)

There is something profoundly wrong with this picture

2011-01-09T22:22:00.000-07:00

We spent a couple weeks in Utah.

We're back now.

Sun, I have missed thee.

In which I am a woman

2010-12-18T14:38:00.002-07:00

Six and a half years ago, I moved to a foreign country.

For the first eight months, we lived in a city of 26 million people - yet I'd never felt more alone. I spent hour after hour trapped in a tiny apartment on a busy Sao Paulon street. My husband was working 12 to 14 hour days, and I didn't have a car. I didn't even have the internet.

I'm pretty sure my mind has blocked out most of those first few months.

Because of my severely limited Portuguese, I was often afraid to go out. But little by little, as I grew accustomed to the blatant stares I got, I started to plop my then-ten-month-old son into the stroller and "passear" ....

Our favorite destination was a little park, about two miles away. It was a bit of jungle surrounded by skyscrapers, and I loved it.

On one particular day, we headed toward the swings. There were two other moms there, with their toddlers in tow. One was slim, with stunning coffee-colored skin and shiny, jet-black hair. She was Japanese. The other was shorter, with equally dark hair and big, lash-framed eyes. She was Brazilian.

We were all trying to check each other out without letting the others know. Instead we concentrated on our children, smiling and goo-gooing at our posterity, sneaking side-long glances when we thought the others weren't looking. Every once in a while we'd sneak peeks at the same time - and then we'd have to smile awkwardly and blush to our roots.

And then our children began to play together.

Three almost-one year olds patted each other on the face and inspected each other's toes. Giggling. Their immediate friendship broke our lingual barriers.

I grinned at the Japanese lady, my eyes crinkling in acceptance and scrunching up my shoulders to show I was amused. She looked heavenward, smiling in response, then question-marked her eyebrows and pointed at my Little Prince. I held up ten fingers, then looked at the Brazilian, mirroring the Japanese's question. She held up one finger and grinned to her ears - he was one.

We spent the next hour laughing and talking about our children - their messes and their triumphs, our struggles and our pride.

And we didn't utter a word.

I realized then that while none of us had the same vernacular, all of us spoke Woman.

Womanhood is a language. We speak with our hands, our shoulders - we know that eyebrows can be a much more powerful tool than a tongue. We have whole conversations without opening our mouths. A wrinkle of the nose, a glowing of the eyes, the twist of the mouth - the Woman Tongue is powerful and universal.

Womanhood is the language of charity. Regardless of where we live, women the world over speak it. They speak it every time they bring food to a funeral, diapers for a new baby, flowers for the sick. They speak it in listening, in laughing, in hugs and over cheesecake, chatting in the true Mother Tongue of Love.

They say that the Adamic Language was communication in its purest form. Yet I move that Eve's Tongue is the one we should be striving toward. Through love, let the whole world be filled with utterance. I'm sure we'll never run out of things to say.

An explanation

2010-12-05T22:39:00.000-07:00

Christmas has a deadline this year. Everything has to be in readiness by this Wednesday.

You see, the NBC and I are going on a date.

To Brazil.

For this beautiful young lady's wedding:

I was her Young Women leader. And I made a promise to her (and three other Laurels - who I was particularly close to) that I would do everything possible to make it to their weddings.

I'm keeping my promise.

Even though it makes me very busy and Bloggy-neglectful of late.

I will be back soon. And hopefully tan. And full of Brazilian cake. Toodles!

There will come a day

2010-11-19T08:00:00.000-07:00

when no one will be sick or hurt.

when no one will even be sniffly.

and that will be the best. day. ever.

the end.

(four weeks and counting ....)

Mr. Squishy vs. The Trampoline

2010-11-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

The trampoline won.

First broken bone in the family.

We are somewhat despressed.

In which I break my vow with much relish

2010-11-17T20:49:00.000-07:00

So you remember the CBC? And you remember how I swore before the Bloggy Gods that I would never attend a conference?

I sinned. And I LOVED it.

I felt much pricked after reading a talk by Elder Bednar. He really didn't say much at all about meeting online friends, but that's what I got out of it. That I needed to see people as they really are - which is somewhat challenging if we never meet.

Well, I met some fabulous ladies. And I'm pretty sure I got to see them as they really are (I even saw Annie 's girdle.) They even got to see me - without mascara. Pretty sure the number of people who can claim this privilege has now doubled.

So. I was wrong. Meeting bloggy friends ROCKS.

And I am so at the next CBC.

Taming of the Self-Esteem

2010-11-09T21:47:00.000-07:00

So for my 5Pillars class, we recently read Taming of the Shrew. Good play. Excellent play. Easily one of my favorites. (I once saw it at the Stratford, Canada's Shakespeare festival - Gilbert Blythe played Petruchio! His hair was exactly the same....)

We got in a discussion that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

So Taming of the Shrew is actually a play within a play. It begins with a rich lord playing a trick on a drunkard, Christopher Sly. While Sly is passed out, the nobleman instructs his servants to treat Sly as the lord. Upon waking, he finds himself doted upon by stewards, who insist he has been severely ill. The more he rants for ale and insists he's a no-count-goodfernuthin, the more they fawn over him.

It doesn't take long to convince him that he is what they say he is.

Thus, they arrange to put on a play for his aristocratic enjoyment.

Enter Kate and Petruchio.

And - lo! - Petruchio wins Katherine over by treating her as the sweetest, most docile woman alive. Even as she swears like J. Golden Kimball, beats her sister like Laman, and breaks lutes over her tutor's head like ... Hercules. (Couldn't think of a better reference. Then again, how many people break lutes over someone's head?)

But he adores her. Praises her. Lauds her gentleness and virtue. And she eventually becomes as she is treated.

In my class, we scorned the idea that someone could be convinced of a false identity so quickly. It does seem rather far-fetched. A fine idea for the theater - but silly in real life.

If I found myself waking in a mansion, surrounded by strangers who insist I'm really a Trump, would I believe them? It's laughable. My memories and experiences are too concrete, too intense for me to doubt myself.

Right?

But then again ....

if someone calls me fat, I believe them.
if someone criticizes my parenting, I doubt myself.
if someone even raises their eyebrows at my house decor, I'm ready to redo the whole thing.

I would love to get to a point where I am so sure of who I am, that no one - no one - can convince me otherwise.

You can't win 'em all

2010-11-08T09:16:00.001-07:00

This is the NBC:

Likes:

me
Dad
his brothers
my sister
Grandma
swings
outside
walks in the stroller
rides in the bike trailer
baths
tickles
singing
dancing
crawling
cuddling
making faces
bananas, pears, kiwi, cantalope
squash, green beans, peas, sweet potatoes, carrots
cereal

Dislikes:

peaches

Oh well.

In which I roll my eyes

2010-11-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

What I have done:

What I have not done:

Why does my house get messier the deeper I clean it?!

And I say unto you

2010-11-03T08:04:00.000-07:00

It came to pass that a pestilence spread across the land.

Mr. Squishy was struck thereof, and behold, his fall was great.

Sunshine was soon to follow, and Little Prince did not escape the scourge.

The NBC also followed in his brethren's path, and his lamenting could be heard throughout the land.

Wherefore it must needs be that we must partake of much medicine. And their voices are as thunder.

And I was much grieved because of my afflictions, insomuch my frame had no strength.

And it came to pass that the Lord stretched forth his hand and my posterity was much healed for the space of two days.

But I know of a surety that patience hath not been learned, for behold, He saw fit to let the pestilence return, yea, even return with much awfulness. And there was weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And behold, my brain hath melted. Even so. Amen.

I'll be banged

2010-11-01T08:00:00.000-07:00

So I've had bangs for a couple months now, and I think we finally understand each other. We've had some miscommunications - we've had our fights and disagreements. There's been sacrifices on both sides.

The fact is, hair spray saved our relationship.

O hairspray, where hast thou been all my life?

Seriously - how have I survived this long without it? Millions of women are hairspray devotees, and I'm just a little late to jump on the bandwagon. It's like the people who refused to read Harry Potter and are just now getting into it. Why did you wait so long?

But I've repented. I'm a total convert now.

Just wanted you to know.

Sheepie says it's November

2010-11-01T07:59:00.002-07:00

Autumn Haiku

November is fall

Cider and jumping in leaves

Even in AZ

I can't believe I'm going to do this

2010-10-29T08:01:00.001-07:00

So for my 5Pillar homework this week, we had to write a narrative on either Jane Eyre or The Chosen. I decided to summarize Jane Eyre, since it's one of my favorite books of all time. And somehow, the writing came out ... Irish. Or pirate. You be the judge of my accent.

(It helps if you've read the book already ...)

In which I feel good about myself for at least five minutes.

2010-10-26T08:00:00.003-07:00

So I've always been envious of Those Moms. You know. The ones with cute decorations to match every holiday. Coordinated sugar cookies. Service projects and Christ-centered themes on everything from Columbus Day to National Seafood Month. (No really. It's October. Did you not know? Go to the grocery store and hug a lobster!)

I was lamenting to My Man how I want to be like Those Moms, and with his infuriatingly simple logic asked, "Well, why can't you be?"

Indeed.

So it's been Halloween Central around here. I'm an actual Those Mom! I want a badge.

We have paper plate/plastic bag ghosts (also hanging in the windows) and styrofoam ball/pipe cleaner spiders (which are on every stationary surface.)

We have bats on every wall.

We got a li'l devilish with a dry erase marker.

And of course dressed our Sheepie up for October.

And when we were all done decorating, we had a water balloon fight. Don't you do that in October?

Well, well, well

2010-10-25T22:18:00.001-07:00

I usually start letters and emails with "well." I often use the word as a subject line.

Every. single. one. of My Man's mission letters starts with "well."(So funny.)

I like the word "well." It allows time to think. It interrupts awkward pauses. It signals it's time to go. Beginning a letter that way makes you feel like you're already in the middle of a conversation. It is the universal ice breaker.

Then there's the other type of well. The deep chasm where water is drawn - the basis of all life. When I say "well" in a conversation, I like to think I'm digging deeper, reaching down to draw up something life-sustaining and precious.

(Or maybe I think too much? Entirely possible.)

Well, I've been excavating my well lately. Digging deeper. Trying to increase my capacity, my potential, myself.

I've been taking some classes. A weekly scripture course. An 8-week photography class. A weekly book club on steroids.

This latter well-digger-outer is called Five Pillars. (Wiki does a merely okay job of explaining.) I prefer calling it a "personal enrichment course," or maybe "leadership training," but that sounds kinda cheesy for every day conversation.

The idea is to improve ourselves by reading classics (on the list this year: Les Mes, tons of Shakespeare, Jane Eyre, etc.), writing essays, lots of discussion, and public speaking.

Homework. Lots of homework.

And I love it.

As I feel my well getting deeper, inch by inch, I'm staring to see others in a new light. Myself in a new light. I am asking questions I don't know the answers to, and eagerly searching to quiet my curiosity. I read books differently now.

I dog-ear pages, I take notes. I ask questions about the character, the motivations, the implications for my life. Then I write about it.

It's exhausting, all this well-digging.

But necessary in a drought.

I've been thirsty.

Letters to My Man

2010-10-11T23:12:00.000-07:00

Dear Hun,

My eyeballs feel like they have cotton in them, and I've erased and re-written this sentence way too many times cuz I keep misspelling the words. (Why does misspelling have so many letters? Thoroughly unfair. English is rigged.)

My head feels fuzzy.

My leg hurts.

My neck doesn't seem to be able to hold up my head.

I could cuddle down in this couch and not move til tomorrow.

Basically, I'm about ten degrees past exhausted.

But I somehow lose all sense of rationality and reason when I'm not with you, so I think I'll go eat some marshmallows and cruise yahoo news for a while before I go to bed. Once I get there, I'll read until the drool makes it too hard to turn the pages.

Also, you're right. Personal emails are way better than public ones. Go check your inbox. You're welcome.

I love you.

Me

Letters to My Man

2010-10-10T22:53:00.000-07:00

Dear Hun,

So we made it. Two days in the car with four kids and I didn't even kill anyone. Our children were so good. There was a slight altercation about the sharing of paper yesterday, and the NBC did scream for nineteen minutes and I thought I was going to die, and then of course the last two hours I wish I had a roll of duct tape handy, but besides that they were angels.

My nails are chewed down to the nubs.

Also, the portable DVD players are apparently broken. Can I buy new ones this week? Say yes. Thankyewverrymuch.

Yesterday we went to Sizzler. I feel like it's kind of white trash to like Sizzler, but I love it. The steak was delicious. Although next time I'm passing on the chocolate lava cake. I could totally tell it came from a box.

I met our new nephew today. He's so freakin' cute. Big cheeks. Dimples. Smells like sweet new milk. Can I be baby hungry if I already have a baby?

I have a zit coming up on my chin. It hurts.

So it's a whole different experience traveling with my mom and sister. It's not the same as having you. I realize now that we have living down to a science. We're partners. Companions. We know what we need and what our children need. We've practiced it and lived it and developed it together. To go through the routine with Grandma and Aunt instead of Husband is like trying to use someone else's right arm to get everything done.

I miss you.

I've decided you're right about the whole "getting me a cell phone" thing. Especially the part about me not losing it. It's highly inconvenient to not have one. I think I would have talked to you for at least four hours today if I could have.

Don't stay up too late. (Even though I am.) Eat healthy. (Even though I'm not.) Sleep in. (No high school carpool this week!)

I love you.

Me

P.S. So sorry, but I forgot to return the Diego video to the library. Do you mind doing that for me? Say yes and thankyewverrymuch.

P.S. Love