what is it all about?

It was raining all night and Charles left the windows open in the Prius since he had been to a bonfire and wanted to air it out.  Is moldy smell better or worse than campfire smell?  There is a guy working on the ceiling in the dining room since there is a big hole in it.  How nice that there are people in the world who can fix things.  His name is Ismael and he is from Turkey.   He is very nice and he has fixed lots of things in our house.  He even fixed the bathroom door that wouldn't close without locking!  I had asked tons of people to fix that.  He is also going to paint the dining room.  We peeled off all of the wallpaper and I want to have it painted pink!  Won't that be cheery?  Everyone gasps when I tell them.  It is a nice color.  What is their problem?  The kids are all home from school today for a reason I know not of.  They're all bopping around.  I can't wait for summer!!!  Soon.

My rant for today:  Matthew told me that in the bishop's office there is a wooden sign with vinyl lettering that says -- "Never make the same mistake ONCE (in big letters) - Boyd K. Packer"  Are you kidding me????  How traumatic for someone who is in  talking to the bishop, but just can't seem to get a handle on their problem! How heartbreaking for someone who is trying their best but keeps falling into temptation!!!  Did Jesus ever tell us to not ever make mistakes???? NO!  He knew that we would.  Geesh!!!  Matthew told me that I should retaliate with a cross-stitch that says, "Though your sins be as scarlet..."  Should I?  Should I?  Do people not know what the gospel is about???  No wonder people get discouraged.  Oh dear, I just had to interrupt my post to rant at the bishop.  What is happening to me?  Hahahahha.

I got a mandolin.  The guitar like instrument, not the vegetable cutter.  It is a really pretty one and I have been practicing my scales.  I am so excited!  I am going to be so amazing!  Or I'm going to lose interest and it will gather dust in the corners.  One of those.

I also started crocheting!  And I am making this amazing king size rainbow afghan!  No starting with potholders or scarves for me, no sir!

I'm starting a brand new series of Bradley classes tonight and I still need to vacuum and clean the bathrooms.  I made a big pot of black bean soup for dinner last night so at least I don't have to worry about dinner. 

Where is the love???

This seems to be a theme with me lately.  I hear lots of stories of people thinking they can constrain others to make different choices through meanness or punishment and it gets me all riled up!  I met up with a friend who told me about another friend who had "come out" to his family that he was gay.  He tried aversion therapy, but it didn't work, so guess what?  They completely disowned him and forbade him from ever coming to any family thing again.  Nice!  I am sure that is what Jesus would do.  Then two days later I read this article about a family in California whose son said that he was gay and since there were already rumors about him being spread they just decided to be upfront about everything with the people at church.  Well, those righteous people decided that they would refuse to take the sacrament from this scared young boy and felt that they should tell the mom that her kids should be taken away from her.  Where is the freaking love?  I started walking around the house, singing loudly (which Matthew loved):

I'm trying to be like Jesus (unless you're gay or doing something else I don't approve of)

I'm following in His ways (unless you've got tattoos or doing something else I don't approve of)

I'm trying to love as He did (unless you're a feminist or doing something else I don't approve of)

In all that I do and say (unless you're being immodest or doing something else I don't approve of )

Those are just some of the topics I've heard people going on about angrily.  I guess my song is kind of catchy, but I don't really think that is the point of church!  I don't think we're there just to fill up time, go to meetings, and learn all of the rules and regulations!  I am almost positive that the main message in the Bible is about LOVE!  So I was so happy to hear Pres. Monson's talk on Sunday in which he said, "Love is the very essence of the gospel, and Jesus Christ is our exemplar."  Yes.  That is what I'm talking about!

Affirmations

This week was busy, but not very exciting.  Lucy turned 14.  A lot of us are getting colds so we're all snotty and head-achy.  Archie is still learning how to go to the potty.  At first, he was having pee accidents, but making it for #2.  Now it is the opposite.  Gross.  But he's doing well.  Saturday, Lucy had a birthday party and there were about 15 of her friends here.  There was a nice mix of church and school friends and almost half of the guests were boys.  She has a really nice group of friends.  They played Charades and even started singing around the piano while Lucy played, since a lot of them are in choir and she has accompanied them.  I was upstairs kind of laughing because it seemed like such a blast from the past -- from the 50's or something.  It made me happy.  We got that all cleaned up and then went to the Clay's house for a Mardi Gras party.  There were tons of people there and we had Gumbo, Shrimp Etoufee, and King's cake.  Whoop!  It was fun chatting with different people.  I have a new friend, Laura Gough.  I met her at Twin Cities Dance on the night Ella was set apart for her mission.   She overheard me talking about Ella and introduced herself.  She lives in the Normal ward and served her mission in Anaheim.  She is really nice.  So we talked about Ella and her son just got his mission call to Louisville, KY.  He is going to school in UT so she wonders if they realize how close his mission is to where his parents live.  Yesterday we went to church in the morning, but it had been snowing all night so there was hardly anyone there.  I looked around and could only see a couple of my sunday school students there so I was plotting to watch a video and not waste my amazingly prepared lesson on such a small number.  It would be to their benefit if I saved it for next week, right?  But the bishop took away my worries by announcing that the rest of church was cancelled at the end of sacrament meeting.  It was a little strange since it wasn't snowing anymore and we had all already risked our lives to be there, but I think it was because half of the teachers were missing anyway, that it would've been too crazy to figure out classes.  So we came home and the McLaughlin's came over for dinner and to play Settlers.  It was really fun -- except for the time that Matthew and Charles argued about a certain rule for about 10 minutes.  Enough already!  Right now I'm watching Charlie Clark while Syndy is at a doctor's appointment.  Archie is singing and playing, but Charlie is just staring at him.

I've told you I'm doing the Artist's Way, right?  Well, I had a little tantrum this past week because she is talking about how God wants to bless us with tons of things, but we're holding ourselves back.  I have a soft bed, loving people around me, a closet full of clothes, a pantry and refrigerator bursting with delicious and healthy foods... but there are people on this planet, now and throughout history, who from dawn to dusk, from birth until death, live in abject poverty and misery. So I "need" to go take tango lessons or go skydiving while some woman who was sold into prostitution as a child is simply not sending out the right affirmations? My whole life has been haunted by the "why." Why am I a Caucasian born into a wonderful family, free to get an education and do whatever I want with my life? Why do I have six healthy children and a loving husband? Why are there people who are hungry, hurt, scared, and lonely? Why should I be dissatisfied and want more?  But I've thought about it some more and realize that by not accepting God's abundance, I'm not able to share the love.  I need to be more open.  I was reading Mosiah 4 this morning -- I just love that chapter!  It has so much in there!  I like how it points out that we don't really know anything and that we're just supposed to love other people.  Love is the answer.  Always.

I got a new Book of Mormon for Valentines, haha!  It is pretty cool.  It is written in paragraph form, no verses, and it doesn't have footnotes.   Also, it is put in a different order -- the order in which it was abridged by Mormon, so it starts at the end.  Anyway, it is shaking things up a little bit for me and is easier to read for now.

murmur, murmur

So much for my goal of blogging more often -- but I have an excuse!  We have had a run of bad luck -- not just coming in threes, but going on and on, day after day, for more than two weeks!  Nothing catastrophic, mind you, I am thankful and aware of how nice our lives are, however it was starting to feel like we were slightly cursed:

• old van breaks down
• kitchen cupboard falls off and can't be reattached because everything is stripped
• vacuum stops sucking
• other kitchen cupboard falls off because the #$? kids are always leaning on them no matter how many times I say not to -- blast them!
• have to return ipad to ISU (my precious)
• Phin climbs up on top of dresser and pulls down hanging shelf, breaking everything on it!
• my back goes out -- can't sit, walk, hold baby, stuff like that
• our new van gets rear ended
• the computer won't turn on at all -- officially disconnected from the world
• Phin gets stomach flu (Sunday)
• Lucy gets stomach flu (Monday)
• Mom and Archie get stomach flu (Tuesday) -- I was down and out without netflix or anything -- I know, it was like a nightmare!  And Archie lost some of his cheek bulk, so, so, sad.  It was, however, heavenly to just lay in bed with my baby all day napping and cooing to each other...

But now it's Thursday and I have confidence in sunshine, that spring will come again, and that we'll all feel right as rain!  Things are coming together: we traded in the van, although it's sad to see the two van era come to an end; the computer was an easy fix and is back on the desk (it looked so sad and empty); the vacuum is still under warranty and will be back in two weeks (!); no one has vomited in almost 24 hours; (update: I think Ella is down...); I completely removed the cupboard doors and put up pillow cases -- anything is better than seeing inside the cupboards; I read a book -- amazing how much time that ipad was sucking up; the new van should be able to be mended pretty easily; and I went to the chiropractor yesterday morning for the second time this week. 


Speaking of curses, Ibby informed us that she made a deal with Rumplestiltskin and since all magic comes with a price we were paying for it!  That explains everything.


::Archie month 5

eight days a week

I know I must look quite like a woman of leisure sitting in a chair all day long doing sudoku puzzles, reading magazines -- oh, and nursing!  I had forgotten that it is a 24 hour endeavor keeping a newborn alive.  He is just so busy all the time and everything he does is completely breathtaking -- working so hard at expelling waste with a serious expression complete with furrowed brow, taking lots of naps (mostly on mommy), and looking around in a panic the minute his eyes open as if to say, "I'm awake, why aren't I eating???" and then his little jaw pumping so efficiently.  From the sound of things that may be where we are right at moment.  I may have to take a little break here.


Okay.  We're back.  It is very ironic because although I am exhausted from my new sleeping schedule, I have much more energy than I did when pregnant.  Now I can actually think of doing something and then go do it instead of staring into space!   Except when I am stuck in a chair with a baby who won't let me put him down, which is pretty much always, thus leaving me frustrated and gritting my teeth whilst I stare into space.  Alas, the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Last week I decided to take a shower (I know!  Lofty goals around here!)  I told Ibby to poke her head in and let me know if the baby started crying.  I needed to soak something in the sink so I did that and then jumped in.  I figured as long as I was in there I should just clean the bathtub since the baby was sleeping anyway, but then when I turned off the water I could hear two disturbing things:  1.  Very frantic screaming, like it had been going on for some time and 2. Water still running.  I had left the sink on and it had overflowed all through the bathroom and even out into the hall!  And when I questioned why no one had told me the baby was crying -- "Oh, I forgot," was the casual reply.  He was so loud and in the very next room!  Why does that sound only bother me?  I quickly tried to put something on and take care of baby first and worry about the flood later. That is pretty much how well the household is running.  


I had to take the baby to his two week appointment so I called the day before and said:


"Hello, my baby will be two weeks old tomorrow and I would like to set a time to bring him in."
"Has he been in before?"
"No.  What time will be good tomorrow?"
"You didn't bring him in when he was four days old?"
"No, I had just had a baby and stayed home."
"How old did you say he was?"
"He'll be two weeks old tomorrow.  So when can I bring him in?"
"Didn't the doctor tell you to bring him in the first week?"
"He did! And I didn't!  Can I make an appointment for tomorrow or not!?"


Golly jeepers!  It's not like it is a crime to not bring your baby in on the exact day that doctor told you to.  Or is it...?  She seemed like it was, but after my abruptness she was much nicer.  Don't mess with a sleep-deprived, hormone ridden new mother!  So I took him in and they told me to sit in the newborn waiting room, I imagine to avoid the germs in the waiting room, and I get to share the room with a new mother and her friend, enveloped in cigarette fumes, and the friend hacking and sniffling (is there a better word for full on mucus inhalation than sniffling, because I need one) away.  I would've felt much more comfortable with the feverish toddlers in the other room thank you very much.  Then the doctor is alarmed that the baby hasn't returned to his birth weight (which is very normal, or has he really not been confronted with that before?) and forcefully suggests that I obviously am not making enough milk, no one really can for such a big baby, and should supplement with formula.  Inside I was yelling, "Are you kidding me?  Do you really think that I will ever make enough milk if I am ignorant enough to take your advice?  And are you going around telling all new mothers this?  And we wonder why people don't breastfeed longer.  Get me out of here!"  But he just saw my calm exterior as I smiled and nodded.  I am the picture of self-control.


So that is the scoop.  Things are going swimmingly.

not my idea

So I was officially released from my calling as RS president yesterday and one would think that I would be as pleased as punch, but I am really so sad about it.  I guess that proves that I am certifiably insane!  I've been crying all day.  It just feels so premature, so unfinished, so half-baked...  I didn't get my chance to shine and magnify!  I just figured out I have an inbox in the clerk's office for pete's sake!  We've been joking that I should have been referred to as the interim president the whole time, "I'm just filling in until they find the right person," or as simply the pregnant president since it spanned from the first day I knew until the week he was born.  I had so many plans!  So many great ideas!  And I wasn't going to be pregnant anymore!  The bishop claims that I am not being fired, and that it has more to do with Matthew's new calling as early morning seminary teacher + new baby + already having too many kids and he just didn't want to overburden our family when there are plenty of other people in our ward.  Fine.  Whatever.


The new president is coming over today to get the all the fun "stuff" that is required.  All last night I kept dreaming that she was coming to take the baby and I had to pack up all of his clothes and diapers, etc.  Matthew said it represents that my true calling is as a mother.  Ooh, deep. 


Now I have to worry about what is next, but not say the callings I don't want out loud, if you know what I mean.

that's what I love about sundays

Sundays have gotten to be very long days in so many ways.  I had to be at church two hours early for ward council in which we were talking about activities to encourage unity.  The elders quorum president then told about how right after the boundaries changed there was a game night and he realized that Matthew and I weren't  that weird after all and that since then we have gotten together a few times even though there is a generation gap.  I gasped and exclaimed, "You just called me weird and old in one single sentence!"  Generation gap?  He is like eight years younger than me!  Oh my.  I guess I am getting old.  When I told Matthew about it he said it probably just seems that way to him since we have kids that are a lot older.  Okay, fine.


The comments kept coming, but the pregnancy remarks I am much more used to than the age ones.  Here are some things that were said to me just yesterday, in order of appearance:


"Hi there, skinny!"  (from an 80 year old man)
"Are you having a baby or did you just swallow a watermelon seed?"  (yes, Syndy, the same guy)
"Are you in labor?  You look really close."
"Are you having triplets?"
"Do you need someone to bring you dinner?  You look SO uncomfortable!  I mean, really, I have NEVER seen anyone look as uncomfortable as you do right now."


Listen people, I still have seven weeks to go until my due date, and probably closer to nine weeks to go until the baby decides to make its appearance.  Things hadn't gotten this bad with my last pregnancy until I actually had the gall to attend church for the two weeks after my due date.  I try to still look cute and be friendly and didn't realize I was emanating pure and unadulterated misery, but I really am not going to be able to handle attending church if people can't just shut their trap!  Matthew suggests that I just take Sunday bed rest for the duration.  Not a bad idea at all.


One other funny thing that happened at church was that someone came up to me and asked if I had signed the paper she had put in my box.  "What box?"  I asked innocently.  Apparently I have a cubby in the clerk's office and have had no idea for over six months.  She showed me where it was and there were all sorts of goodies -- some quite out of date.  I am truly lame.


Oh, and I would just like to say "You're welcome," to everyone for being the cause of the temperature dipping to a mild and lovely 75˚.  All it took was for us to invest quite a chunk of money in some air conditioners and the weather complied almost immediately.  Happy to do it.

my mind = steel trap sieve

It's been another red letter day so far!  It started with missing Charles' orthodontist appointment at 7:30 this morning (we miss approximately 3 out of 5 -- I wrote it down, they e-mailed me) and has proceeded to about an hour ago when I realized that I bought tickets to see Peter Pan in Chicago on the same day that my good friend's daughter is getting married.  I also recently scheduled a get together with an embarrassingly large number of people and then remembered I was busy that night and missed my visiting teachers a couple of days ago for the second month in a row.  It's not like they didn't call ahead.  What is my freaking problem?  I did manage to do my own visiting teaching this morning, but that is probably only because I made the appointment yesterday.  It is as if in my perfect world everything would be spontaneous:  a "walk-in's welcome" orthodontist office, oh your daughter is getting married this afternoon -- I'll be there, a stake leadership meeting in two hours -- surprise!!!  I suppose I can see some of the problems in that plan for most people, but it would be ideal for me.  And of course, I am always left with the horribly sinking feeling of what am I forgetting that I never do remember?  Alzheimer's is going to be hard for me.  I also just broke a glass and had to pick it up piece by eensy weensy piece since it had had water in it.


I'm not all bad -- I did end up vacuuming the entire house yesterday, made dinner, went to yoga and walking this morning...  I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me!

my mamba

My affirmation for the day is that I am really good at recycling.  I am so good, in fact, that I am pretty certain that I just recycled a check worth over $150.  And now it is gone forever.


At yoga class on Wednesday as we twisted our bodies into dancers pose, our instructor started to talk about how our lives are like a dance.  We move from one thing to the next, partnering up with someone briefly to have a conversation or arrange something, then away again to do some solo work.  She said that perhaps as we held the pose we could manifest the thought to make our dance a little more graceful.  Ooowhee -- that opened a can of worms in my head.  What a fantastic image, but my dance would be a lot more like Elaine's than Martha Graham-esque.  I picture something frenetic, choppy, inefficient, repetitive, full of almost everything but Grace.  And am I really responsible for the choreography?  Could I be more purposeful?  Could I add more finesse?  Yes.  And I love the whole mental picture of it -- how expressive we can make our own individual masterpiece as we convey each part of our emotions -- sorrow, happiness, peace, lethargy.


What is your dance like?  Comical, like mine?  Or simply life-like.

irritants

Okay, I'm all annoyed.  As usual.  This time it isn't about anything important.  It is just that on the baby/pregnancy website I joined, they keep mentioning that an expectant mother should go on a babymoon defined as:
A babymoon is a trip which is taken by parents who are expecting a baby; the term is closely related to “honeymoon,” the term used to refer to the trip taken to celebrate a new marriage. Typically such trips are undertaken early enough in the pregnancy that traveling is safe and enjoyable for the mother, and they are designed as a sort of “last hurrah” before the birth of the child. While parenting is obviously very exciting, it also marks a very major life change, and a babymoon is one way to mark this shift while celebrating the relationship between the parents.

Typically, a babymoon is meant to be romantic and luxurious. New parents typically find travel difficult, thanks to the demands of the child, and being romantic can be even more challenging, when both parents are focused on the needs of their dependent. Going on a babymoon can be a way for parents to reconnect before a birth, celebrating their love for each other and strengthening their bond.

Um, no.  It is falling in love with your baby people!  It is the smell of Tucks pads and baby necks, the feel of spit up seeping through your clothes and a small cluster of fingers curling around your thumb, it is the sound of that unique newborn cry and the quick inhalation as a hiccup rocks their whole body.  Aaah.  


I had the funniest dream the other night so if you don't like hearing other dreams (I don't) you can stop reading now.  I dreamt that I was in labor so I went with Phin to the hospital.  They didn't have childcare so I had to admit him, but within a few minutes they told me I wasn't in labor so I needed to leave.  However, I could not take my son since he had a cold and would have to stay a few days.  I knew I should've just gotten a babysitter!  So I came back later and they said I wasn't even pregnant.  I talked to my midwife who claimed that I had never been pregnant so I asked to see my chart which said that I had seen another doctor named Laura Bathandbody who had written on the last two visits respectively: Patient is as big as a house.  Patient complains about everything.  "See?"  I said to the midwife, "I obviously WAS pregnant when she saw me as you can tell so clearly by her notes.  "Well,"  she replied, "your body must have reabsorbed the fetus."  Which I thought was strange for being full term.  But when I woke up... I was still pregnant.  A common theme.


Now you can start reading again.  Some things said to me this week:


Lucy - Mom?  I don't mean to be critical or anything, I'm just asking a question because I really want to know, so don't get mad, but is looking at things on Ebay on Sunday the same as shopping on Sunday?
Me - (looking up from the computer screen) Yes, I probably shouldn't be looking at Ebay on Sunday morning, but (rationalizing) I was looking at these things earlier in the week and I can't help that she decided to end her auctions on Sunday, can I?  CAN I? 


On Friday as my husband and I got ready to go out to a concert.


Me - How do I look?
Loving husband - Um, you look pregnant.
Me - I know that!  That wasn't really the answer I was looking for.  Can't you say something nice?  So how do I look?
LH - Well... now you look really perturbed.


It's so wonderful to have full-time, live in reality checkers, right?  RIGHT?


Today my dad is having surgery so I've been thinking about him.  And it's my sweet boy's birthday (if he heard me say that aloud he'd scream, "Your sweet GIRL!" -- some slight confusion there).  We celebrated last night since Mondays are so extremely crazy around here so now he is upstairs playing happily with some new trains.  


Still searching for the perfect boy name...

no use crying over spilled milk -- but I really want to!

Complete and utter disaster just struck my house, I must have looked too bored or something.  Someone had left some milk on the table so kitty cat tipped it over to get a little drink.  Ooh, how maddening (said with sarcastic foreshadowing).  So Ella wiped that up for me.  Not two minutes later I opened the refrigerator and saw that there was some juice that didn't need refrigerating on the milk shelf so I decided to put it in the pantry.  It was packed in there with two unopened bottles of milk that was just delivered this morning and as I hefted it out the entire shelf decided to disengage itself from the door.  I was left holding the plastic bottle of juice as two half gallon glass bottles of milk shattered into bajillions of pieces onto the kitchen floor.  That really is a lot of milk -- more than I ever realized.  I looked over at Ella and said (screamed), "I don't even know where to start to clean this up!"  She calmly replied, "Why don't you start with the big pieces of glass."  Okay.  I grabbed a plastic bag and tried to slosh through the milk to find all of the glass, but then I heard a lot of dripping.  I turned with dismay as I realized that the milk was streaming under the bottom of the refrigerator and down the back stair onto all of our shoes!!!  It seemed impossible that the situation could get worse, but it was looking that way.  Our fridge is in a nook that used to be stairs and behind it sits three steps on which I put almost every single pair of shoes in our house.  It seemed like a safe place once upon a time.  The other girls got home from school right about then and wondered why there was milk going down the basement stairs.  I didn't know it was.  I grabbed some sponges and the three girls and I began to sop, sop, sop.  I only got one little gash from glass, and no one else did.  We got all the milk up first and then worked on wiping down all the shoes.  Most of it got in Charles' basketball and running shoes.  Nice!  Everyone disappeared as I worked on the final touches down by the washing machine and under all the food storage, but then I felt something hitting my head.  I looked up and saw that there was milk dripping through the drop ceiling above the laundry room.  I don't even know how it got there, but it must be because there is so much milk under the refrigerator.  But I can't move it and Matthew is teaching a class tonight.  I just gave up to gain some solace from my imac.  I love it.  I should name it.  I can't wait to see what my house smells like next summer.  It already has a nice 90 year old house aroma so this should just enhance it all the more.

The big storm has already started and I hear tales of all the stores being out of milk.  I realize that this was my punishment for feeling so smug and prepared.  Humility always strikes me swift and sure so I should have known.

ho ho hmmm

As I am wont to say, people are so funny.  Twice yesterday I heard people telling children, who were not their own I might add, that they better stop being so naughty or else they were going to call Santa and tell on them.  In both cases, the children were about three years old, maybe four, so the awareness was there, but not the emotional maturity to deal with someone threatening them like that.  One woman at the Dollar Tree, and yes I should remember where I was and take that into account before I get too critical, just went on and on to this one little boy and I can't believe his mother didn't just tell her to shut it.  The boy kept saying, "I'm not naughty!  I'm not!"  But the woman kept telling him he better stop being so bad or Santa wasn't bringing him anything.  I just thought it was so mean!  People!

I keep getting asked if I'm ready for Christmas.  Yes and no.  We try not to go overboard around here and that seems normal to me, but then I see what some people do and I am conflicted.  On the one hand I get a twinge of guilt that my kids Christmas isn't ever over the top and they might hear what Santa did other places, but usually I am just my typical self-righteous self and think that my way is much better because my kids really are always so happy and have never once been disappointed, bratty, or ungrateful.  Christmas morning is always a sweet peaceful event at our house.  So yes, I am ready with all of that.  I usually pick things up throughout the year -- my kids don't watch t.v. so they never know to ask for the latest thing -- and have adopted my friends' idea to get them four things: something to wear, something to read, something they want, and something they need.  I get to give them underwear and they receive something exciting (it's usually not the underwear that fits in that category) -- win, win!  The area in which I am not ready is Christmas cards, but I am going to do that today.  Yes I am.

It is hard to get too into things because Phin is sick this week.  He was vomiting on Monday and then now has croup and a severe viral sore throat.  When I asked if any of them were related, the doctor just laughed, implying that no, Phin is just very unlucky to have caught three separate illnesses at the same time.  That gives all of us a lottery, as it were, of what we might catch.  Yay! 

I hope that you are all enjoying the Holidays!!!

subconscious phobias

There are moments when I am confronted by my psychoses, but usually they are just part of the random thoughts coursing through my brain -- mostly too swift to capture and really consider, so generally ignored.  I feel that I am a confident, well-adjusted person, but I do have my fair share of irrational fears that I don't recognize until the danger has passed.

For example, while we lived in Japan I was sure that there would be an earthquake to end all earthquakes during our sojourn -- because that would be my luck, and I guess it is better to expect it than to be surprised, right?  So every night, without thinking too much about it, I would be very careful about where I put my glasses -- yes, the thing I worried the absolute most about was not being able to see anything, not my children, although they did come in a very close second.  The reason for this is because my glasses would be shattered and I am basically blind and then how could I take care of anything?  I wouldn't be able to and everyone would suffer.  It is reasonable.  And every morning as I got ready I would think, "Will today be the day?"  On average, I think we felt about five earthquakes a month so I would always wonder as one started how bad it was going to get, even though I had been told that the big ones start big with a jolt, and these were mostly softer and rolling.  After we had been there a while it wasn't something I thought about purposefully, just more of something that was part of my rhythm, part of the daily jostle of thoughts.  When we were back in the U.S. living in New Hampshire was when the fear really became apparent because I would often be so overcome with relief that there was very little chance for a life changing earthquake each day.  A little bit loopy, I know.

This same thing happens to me every winter when it gets really cold outside.  Every time I get in the car I think, "Whew, there probably isn't a deranged killer hiding in my backseat waiting for the perfect time to slash me into pieces."  And as I rush to my back door late at night I tell myself how nice it is that there certainly couldn't possibly be an axe murderer waiting patiently in the bushes for my return -- because it is too bone chillingly glacial outside for even the crazies to be out.  But normally I don't even realize that I have those fears, that I am terrified to be out at night, that I hate to get into empty cars, that I am sure that will be the way that I die.  

Maybe I don't know quite how to explain it, but my phobias seem to be flighty little things that I hardly notice while their absence is more tangible and weighty and thus more noticeable to me.  I guess it is an okay way to be.  I still go on with my life, but am so happy and relieved when the threat is no longer present.  And the second item is one thing to like about winter.  I'm making a list, but it is slow going.  What are you afraid of?

jinxed

I ordered this slipcover from Target to go on this free and somewhat tattered love seat and received it last week.  It feels so much fresher and matches better with the chair that I already had jerry-rigged (I just looked up that word and it was originally jury-rigged, but so many people said it wrong that jerry-rigged is now in the dictionary, isn't that fascinating?) an Ikea cover for, except that -- it seems to be jinxed.  I put it on last week and on Sunday Phin spilled red punch on it, then exactly 15 seconds after I put it back on after cleaning it on Monday he bled on it.  That is its own story in which Charles dropped one of my favorite plates, failed to sweep up all of the tiny pieces with one such piece wriggling its way into Phin's little foot.  Well, he had neglected to cry about it so I didn't know he was gushing blood when I set him on the couch so instead of being suitably sympathetic toward his injury I was kind of just rolling my eyes and laughing at the timing of it all.  Back it goes in the wash, but on the way to the laundry room I decided to grab my water bottle and accidentally knocked a glass of water off the counter in the process.  Since there was blood on the cover and cold water on the floor I did what any efficiency minded housewife would do and decided to wipe up the spilt water with the bloody cloth and kill two birds with one stone, as it were.  What I didn't realize was that there was dried up green food coloring on the floor, from when Ella made cookies last week, which had now been reconstituted to its former glory and proceeded to fulfill the measure of its creation by coloring my brand spanking new gleaming white slipcover green.  Deep breath.  I scrubbed out the blood and the food coloring on Tuesday and decided to wait a few hours to replace the cover again.  I teach my class tonight and we watch videos in the library (the fancy term we use for our "office" and where the lovely love seat resides) so I put the cover back on this morning, left the room and came back to hear, "I'm wet," from the wee one.  What???  He really has not been wetting his pants (he has been doing the other and yesterday the "other" involved smearing "that" and peppermint foot lotion all over my room, down the back stairs, a stop in the kitchen to try to clean it up himself with a hand towel, more smearing through the dining room and up the front stairs before I noticed what was happening -- never in all of my days...!  This occurrence was due, I am sure, in large part to the fact that I blogged about him being potty trained - jinx!) and it was really so, so, so ironic that when he did decide to ignore his body's promptings that it would be on the freshly cleaned, and only moments before replaced, slipcover.   Some of you may be thinking that I deserve it for trying to have a white slipcover in my house, but I have had the one on the chair for about a year and have only had to throw it in the wash about three times.  It is now hanging on the line outside, but I am a little hesitant to tempt the fates further with this.  I suppose I will persevere.  Personally I think the last fiasco was bound to happen because he was wearing his own item that is jinxed: the Thomas the Tank underwear.  It never lasts more than a couple of hours for one reason or another.  You can never beat a double jinx.


Do you own anything that is just bad news?

the customer is never right

Last night I stopped at Panera to pick up some bagels for seminary this morning.  My daughter expressly requested the cinnamon chip kind so when I saw that there were four left I said, "I will definitely take all of those!"  And then apathetically filled in the other nine with second choices.  The girl helping me was friendly and talkative so a few minutes had passed since I told her what I wanted when another cashier walked over and took three of the cinnamon bagels.  
"Oh," says the gabby clerk,"she just took your bagels."  
"Well, get them back," says I, the disgruntled customer.  
"She's already cutting them, sorry."  
"Didn't I say I wanted them long before that guy even came in?"  
"I know, but sorry.  What else would you like?"  
"Nothing else.  That was what I wanted."
"We open at six.  Do you want to come tomorrow?"
"No.  I am here now and I have to have them at a place by 5:50."
"Well, sorry," she listlessly repeats.  "Pick three more now."
I wanted to growl at her.  The only ones left were the ones that cost less, because they are so boring and horrible and no one wants them, and yet I still had to pay the same price because I was getting the package deal.  Come on -- help me out.  Offer me some free bagels or something to make me feel better!  No?  Nothing.  Sorry with a smile seems to be adequate around here.


Perhaps I was more bothered than usual because it was 7:30 and no one had eaten dinner yet because of volleyball and dance.  Or it could be because something equally exasperating had already happened earlier in the day.  I had been to the children's consignment store to pick up a few more things for fall and if you use your credit from selling things everything will be essentially 10% more discounted.  I told the cashier my consignee number, she repeated it, I said it again, she checked the computer and said, "No.  You are at zero."  This surprised me a little since I had taken so many things in at the end of summer, but fine, I'll just go ahead and buy what I had chosen.  Some background on the cashier: when I first met her about a year ago I asked where she was from and she replied, "Why do you ask?"
"Because of your accent."
"I don't have an accent," she assured me, "I am from Poland, but I have lived here for a long time."
That is fine, whatever, I have lived in other countries and have always been so grateful when people were kind and patient with me, but she is a little difficult to understand.  So I pay for the items with my credit card then think to try the boots on Phin and realize that they don't fit him.  So one minute after my purchase I tell her that I don't want them after all.  She says that they can't do returns to a credit card, but she can credit the cost to my account.  I tell her my number again, 57.  She then says the name on that account and it isn't mine.  She then asks to check under my name.  "Oh my goodness!  There are a lot of Smiths!  And there are so many Mary Smiths!"  Yes, yes, yes, I know!  That is why I didn't have you look it up under my name and besides, I know my number thank you very much. She gets a worried look on her face and tells me that the computer messed something up, she is having trouble fixing it, and do I mind if she helps the people in line behind me because I don't have anything else to do, right?  Fine.  I am nice.  Phin goes to the bathroom a couple of times, I wander around the store for awhile, she calls me back and says that it is all fine now and I actually have $60 in my account.  She had put in the number 507 because that is 50 and 7, right?  I tell her that I want it all off of my credit, but no, that is not possible because they don't do returns.  But this is totally your mistake!  There was nothing wrong with the computer, I said the right number, I have waited for over 15 minutes -- I want some token to acknowledge my trouble.  Sorry.  Sorry.  All I get is sorry, with a side of sheepish grin.  


Of course, neither of these episodes are earth shattering or important in any way -- simply  aggravating and I seem to have taken the bait.  I also think it says something about the larger question of customer service and do you even want my business?  I do not have to come back and I can tell all of my friends about you, so watch it!

what do I really want?

Sometimes it is difficult for me to translate my inner cues.  I start longing for things, but am unable to interpret what those things exactly are.  A hunger for doing something creative or "useful" is read as plain old hunger: a desire to write something brilliant translates into a hankering for pad thai; the aspiration to paint something beautiful is seen as a craving for that amazing burrito from the great Mexican place down the street...  Of course, it isn't always food (although the music on my yoga dvds always leaves me with an appetite for some naan and saag paneer -- why don't I have that dancers body I wonder), I often have to run to Goodwill or Target when I'm feeling particularly restless and a good weekend of garage sa(i)ling sometimes keeps the monsters at bay.  Do people who know what they want and are actually doing it content?  Or is contentment stagnation?  If we are growing, learning, wanting, searching, are we actually getting more satisfaction without realizing it?  I understand that not everyone thinks the way I do, but I am baffled by people who say they are completely fine with where they are and what they're doing (and perhaps a little envious, too).

These feelings all come to a head at transformative times like the New Year, springtime, school ending -- like now!  I always have lists and lists of things I put off and think I will have much more time to do them during the lazy days of summer -- finally painting the back door, deep cleaning the corners, reupholstering the dining room chairs, learning a new language, practicing the piano, putting down on paper the abstract ideas in my head.  However, every year when summer arrives I realize that realistically I probably won't get a single thing done until the kids are all back at school again in the fall.  Everyone being home is more chaos and romping, the yardwork and housework boil over, and we have to get our money's worth out of that pool pass!

I am happy.  I am thankful for my blessings, love my family, glad I have work and ability -- just pining for something and thought I would have figured out what it was by now...

this?

or this?

the intersnare

I may have mentioned this before, but I really waste a lot of time on the computer.  And I get so distracted by everything!  Oftentimes, I will come to the computer specifically to look something up, immediately check my e-mail, see an alert from Facebook, say goodbye to whatever I was thinking about, only to be reminded later when I finally tear myself away and make my way back to wherever I was when I thought of the thing to look up.  Very nice sentence I know.  I have decided that I need to schedule a specific time of day with a limited amount of minutes to spend on the computer.  Also, I need to keep a pad of paper with notes of what I am going to accomplish on the computer so that I won't simply stare at it in stupefication and drown in there somewhere.


Speaking of the stupefying effects of Facebook!  Yesterday I was walking on the trial near my house and ran into an old friend.  I haven't talked to her in a long time since we don't really socialize in the same circles, as it were, but she does live at the other end of my street and I think she's wonderful.  When I came home I predictably logged onto Facebook and there on my home page was a suggestion that I befriend her.  Now how did Facebook know that I even know her?  My address isn't on there.  We don't have any of the same friends.  We aren't associated with the same employer, school, activities, etc.  The only thing we have in common on our profiles is our city, but I am pretty sure that there are quite a few people that live here that I don't know and they aren't all being suggested to me.  And why did her name come up yesterday and not any other day?  Did Facebook know that I had just seen her?  There must be a more reasonable explanation than my first conclusion -- which is that I am being spied on!  If anyone has any ideas...

brush with celebrity

I have a tiny tendency to worry about things.  I worry about what to have for dinner and how much time I waste on the computer.  I worry about my kids and how I don't parent them well enough.  I worry about the horrible things happening in the world and my inability to do much about it.  I worry about why my hydrangeas are only six inches tall even though I planted them three years ago.  I worry about paint chipping off my house, water flooding the basement, what ward I'll be in next week (sorry I can't help but stew about it -- it could significantly alter my life!), and whether to reupholster the little chairs in the garage or just let them go.  I also worry about completely inane topics like whether to leave comments on people's blogs.  In February I mentioned that a very lovely artist was asking for people to submit stories about motherhood and she would paint little paintings about them.  I was instantly intrigued and although I was a little hesitant to open myself up, I sent in a little story.  She never responded, but I didn't think too much about it.  I follow her blog and have seen her progress with these paintings and have eagerly awaited the end result.  Yesterday she said that she was going to e-mail the people who sent in stories with their image and they had the chance to buy the original if they wanted.  But she didn't e-mail me.  I realized that in the back of my mind I have been worried that she didn't do mine because my story wasn't compelling or I'm just not cool enough.  I worry about things I don't even know I'm worried about -- I will discover in July why my stomach hurts now!  So I said something to Matthew about it.  We carried on with getting people in bed.  About an hour later I brought it up again, showed him her blog and wondered aloud whether I would get an e-mail from her.

 Matthew: "Set a ten-minute limit in the day for worrying about any topic."

 Me: (guffaw) What would I possibly find to do with all that freed up time?  Should I comment on her blog?  I'm not exactly sure what to say.  I want to subtly figure out if she even got my submission without appearing too desperate.

 Matthew: "tends to overplan and overprepare"

 Me: I knew I should have just followed up with her just to make sure...

 Matthew: "accepts guilt feelings too easily and readily"

 Me: What are you reading?

 Matthew: The color code book.  You are SO blue.

 Me: She seems so nice on her blog.  Like we could be friends if I lived near her.  I know she doesn't like me.

 Matthew: Why wouldn't she like you?  She doesn't even know you.

 Me: She knows my name.  It makes me sound like I am a boring, mousy, Amish farmer's wife with nine children and the only subject on which I am conversant is how to milk a cow.  And I am sure that when I e-mailed her I was too chatty and friendly which probably put her off.

 Matthew: "highly insecure about others' acceptance and approval; feels rejected easily; craves connection."

 Me:  Why are you reading me that book?

 Matthew: I've been reading it all evening.

 Me:  Well, put it down!

 Matthew: "controlling - others don't feel free to express themselves"

So I went ahead and commented, but she probably won't approve it.  And I was going to go see Shannon Hale this evening because I just love her and think she is so talented and funny as all get out, but she will probably not like me, too and I am afraid that I would feel guilty for missing my girls' book night.

At least I am being true to who I really am deep down inside.  I can't help myself.

tragic flaw

I suppose that everyone is aware of their own weaknesses, but there really is nothing like having teenagers to truly bring one's deficiencies front and center.  Sometimes while we were traveling I could feel myself getting snippy, which I know is just immature, but then I would look over to see my two oldest smiling at each other with knowing looks, there goes mom again.  And it would just make me even more cantankerous.  I know already and I don't need you two pointing it out, okay?  Grr.

Since we've been back I've decided that I should finally pull my weight and do seminary duty.  After all, it has been almost two years and I have not one, single, solitary time taken the absurdly early journey to the church with eldest girl.  I had a baby after all.  As with all of my endeavors, I first  had to acquire supplies.  In this case a dvd player so that I can do yoga in a classroom while I wait.  Those extra 15 pastry pounds aren't going to simply walk away without some prodding, I am afraid.  I have been very diligent for the past four days and have enjoyed the solitude as well as the fact that I can't really just roll over in bed and not do it.  I have to go.  So yesterday I was happily following the routine and there comes a part where I am supposed to hold my breath, close my eyes, and start punching the air in front of me.  The guy said, "Become incensed!  Turn your anger into inspiration."  Okay, I am enraged, punching as hard as I can and I start thinking about who I would like to hit that hard.  My husband?  No.  My kids?  No.  Rush Limbaugh...?  And suddenly the only person I could picture was myself.  I had an intense revelatory moment wherein I discovered that there is really no one in the world that irritates me as much as I do myself.  Ooh.  It was sad.  And overwhelming.  I cried alone in that room and hoped that no one would come in.  I have been thinking about it since then.  Why was it such a surprise?  I suppose because I consider myself fairly self-confident.   Also, I have been considering that it is better than it being someone else I wanted to smack because I can't change other people, much as I might like to, but I can certainly introspect and work on refining some of those flaws that bring me grief time and time again.

Right after the punching there was a segment in which I hugged myself while doing twists.  There, there now.  It will be okay.

ne pas etre d'accord

My friend Gloria wrote in her blog that... (dot, dot, dot) is her favorite punctuation mark.  Hey!  Mine, too!  However, she says, and I will quote her loveliness now: "it's the perfect punctuation for irritation, impatience or bad attitude."  I must say that I completely disagree.  For me, it is much more useful as a pause, a chance to ponder or to give weight to what was just said.  Also, it is a wonderful tool to end a sentence, paragraph, or even an entire blog post, story, novel, what have you, by simply drifting away, leaving the reader with the opportunity to add more, as it were, to the story one didn't quite finish...

What is your favorite punctuation mark? 

The midnight bells have long since tolled, baby is pattering down the hall, I should go to bed... (oh, what does she mean by that?  only you can fill in the details...)