Year of Extremes: Challenge 1

Year of Extremes: Challenge 1 The insanity didn’t originate on my drive home after another night shift, but it was likely supported by such a circumstance. It boiled down to this: I don’t know if I can. Could I walk to the next town over if my car stopped working? Could I… whatever… could I do it? I don’t know because I’ve never tried it! So I made a list of things I might consider extreme, highly unlikely and maybe even impossible. This year I am working on completing them. These challenges are completely for myself, developed by myself and for no other reason than to know I can! Challenge 1 was undertaken on February 6. GOAL: walk for 12 hours. This was accomplished, totaled 27.84 miles and 59,800 steps at the end of the day. I stopped for lunch, dinner a few times to use the facilities, get some Tylenol and shoe inserts from a friend (thank you, Ceri!), to look at some ducks and change my shoes. Otherwise, I walked. I thought the toughest part of the experience might be the pre 7am wake time on a Saturday, but it was probably the pain. HA! The walk started at 0718 and 28 degrees F. I tend to walk fast, especially at work, so I had to remind myself that I was going for time not distance or speed. I took notes throughout the day, jotting down ideas and inspirations. They basically all boiled down to a few main ideas. I truly appreciate the fact that I had support from family and friends. This support ranged from the Tylenol to friends checking in on my progress throughout the day and cheering me along. I especially enjoyed the celebratory attitudes after I walked a marathon. Let’s not forget my husband picking me up at the end of 12 hours when I was still an hour from home. I’m old. There’s no getting around it. My feet started hurting 2 hours in, legs 3 hours in, back and thighs after that. But NSAIDs and determination can accomplish much. I have nothing to prove to anyone, not even myself really. I just wanted to see if I could do this. And I did it!

Poem Night Before Halloween

 Twas the night before Halloween when all through my halls the children were bouncing off of the walls. 

The costumes were tossed on the floor with no care in faith they could find them tomorrow to wear. 

Dinner in the oven, husband in a nap, I’d just settled down to take a breather when SPLAT!

I sprang from the couch to see what was the matter saw pumpkin guts spread through the house with a splatter.

The children were huddled with fear and in shock. Who could have known bowling with pumpkins would be bring such poor luck?

Soap, water, bubbles. Cloths and team huddles. soon restored peace and we gathered to cuddle.

Away to their beds the children were led while visions of candy danced in their heads. 

I snuggled down in, reviewed all the facts, and smiled as I thought of the extra parent tax.

poem How Do You Dare Hope

How Do You Dare Hope

I hope in the way that the sea constantly washes upon bloody beaches.

I hope in the way that fire burns through the mother forest of seedlings that emerge from the ash.

I hope because day always follows night.

I hope because bones mend and scar tissue forms.

I hope in the way that the old die and the young are born.

I hope in how laughter follows tears and tears follow a tragedy.

I hope because I've cast aside depression, making way for the genuine light to shine.

I hope because rain always follows drought and sunshine always follows rain.

I hope becaue it is from the ashes that the phoenix rises.

I hope because tragedy gives birth to heros.

I hope because desperation gives birth to kindness.

The Parable of the Butt-Rubbed Tic Tac

Most of my bright ideas come to me in the shower. I read something once about how the thousands of drops of water hitting a person's back is thought to stimulate, well, thought. Who can say. This bright idea came to me while I couldn't sleep. That doesn't happen too often – me not being able to sleep. I pondered over how to convey the concept of what lying does to parents (and others). And a light bulb went off.

I purchased a container of white tic tacs (any color would do). I took them home. I debated on whether I had to do the deed or if I could get by with lying (oh the irony). I debated on how to commit the grossification. They sat on the counter for a couple weeks. One Monday evening I decided to go for it. I donned a glove, removed 1 tic tac, rubbed it on a butt and carefully replaced it into the plastic container. Immediately following glove disposal, I placed a piece of duct tape over the tic tac opening – cause, gross and ewww. I didn't tell Aaron about my evil plan.

We started Family Home Evening (a weekly family meeting with a song and focused topic for discussion). I held up the tic tac container and it this is basically what followed:

Me: Who would like one of these tic tacs

All Kids: Me! Me!

Me: What if I told you that one of these was rubbed on a butt? Would you still want one?

Joel solo: yeah!!!

Me: [hands thrown up in frustration] Well there goes my whole point... Joel, I'm not joking, one of these got rubbed on a butt. And not the soft part, but the gross inside part.

Joel: [after a pause] No!!!

Katie: Did you really do that?

Me: Yes, because I knew you guys would ask. Now, back to the lesson.... There is only ONE butt-rubbed tic tac in here, the rest of them should be fine.

Katie: Not the ones it touched!

Me. Okay, but I put it back in at the top, the bottom ones are probably fine. Does anyone want to risk it? Look how many there are, you are likely to pick a not-gross one.

All: [thought] No.

Me: These tic tacs are like the things you say. Most of what comes out of your mouth is good and the truth but every once and a while you say a lie, which is like a butt-rubbed tic tac. See, the thing is, we don't know which one is the butt-rubbed tic tac and which isn't. Do you see that? We can't tell. It only takes ONE lie to ruin a whole lot of what you say. Do you see why trusting you after a lie is so hard?

Kids: Yeah.

Me: Cause we don't know which is the butt-rubbed tic tac, or lie, and which isn't.

Aaron and I then helped each child (even the 2 year old) to summarize the lesson. Aaron was impressed with the object lesson but upset that I “wasted” a whole container of tic tacs. I think it was a good investment. We saw the lightbulbs going off as understanding crossed their faces and hearing Aurora say “butt-rubbed tic tac” is hilarious!

The time I ate anything and everything I (truly) wanted

Some people will read this and say “duh” but for me, this knowledge was like KaZaam!

I'm 34 (that is important for perspective's sake). I have an unhealthy relationship with food. I have theories as to how this developed but I won't go into them here. Just know that by the time I was 11, I began to engage in an eating disorder that would last for nearly 5 years. Knowing what I know now about electrolytes and remembering what my heart was doing at the time, I wonder how close I came to a heart attack. The eating disorder was simply the apex of a sick foundation. Even after the binge, purge, starve cycle behavior concluded I still maintained some crazy-@$$ relationship with food. 

Here are a few examples: (some of you will relate)

I would make decisions to go or not go places based on what food would or would not be available.

I would still binge to satisfy emotional needs, while leaving out the purging portion. (Hello weight gain.)

At social gatherings I would literally hover around the food. Like a lifeboat.

I felt that I HAD to eat something if it was available.

I firmly believed that if I was thin, life would go well for me and I would be happy.

My ENTIRE day could be ruined by a single slice of pizza. Literally.

I held to an irrational fear that this unique edible opportunity (like a Snickers) would never present itself again and must be taken advantage of NOW or I would miss out on something amazing (like a Snickers).

I set crazy rules about what to eat, when to eat, how to eat. Feeling immense guilt for failing to follow the rules.

I kept a pair of size 4 cut off jeans for years...I had a goal of fitting into them. I would hold them up and feel sad that I wasn't quite there yet. Even at my lowest weight of 98 pounds, I didn't fit into them! (Differing body types.) It was a source of shame and failure until I finally threw them out.

If I try to diet I can go crazy. From obsessing about food to dreaming about it to allowing my moods to be determined by my “success” to starting to rehash the same thoughts that are precursors to the binge and purge cycle.

And most recently, whenever I was out driving by myself I had to get a “treat”. It began as an exciting rarity (wasn't out by myself too much over the past decade) but turned into this MUST-GET-A-TREAT – go-out-of-my-way-show-up-late-because-i-MUST-get-myself-a-treat monster.

Anyhow, you probably get the picture. Then something happened.

Several months ago (Fall 2016) I was making the kids lunch. A little frustrated, a lot of contemplative, I had the idea that maybe I need to go back to the beginning. Kind of like how a type of regression therapy is used for Reactive Attachment Disorders (it is controversial, I am not advocating for or against it).

What is the beginning of food? Milk. Well, drinking only milk wasn't going to happen. What's next? Being a toddler. What do toddlers do with food? They eat what they want, when they want and how much they want. I would become a toddler.

I pondered on this brainstorm for two days, looking for flaws, thinking it through. I set up one rule but only one because food rules is one of my unhealth-food-behavior triggers (see above). I decided to only eat what I wanted.

I don't know if people with health relationships with food can even possibly conceive of how phenomenal and monumental this idea was to me.

The magic of this experiment was that all food was given a level playing field. A taco held no more desirability than a carrot stick because I could have either whenever I wanted. A carrot stick held no more value than a taco because I was not making food decisions based on nutrition. Desire was my only criteria. Want my only yardstick. When I stripped food of its power over me, I saw it as it really is. Raw and naked and powerless in its original form.

I haven't learned so much about myself in a very long time.

I realized that a lot of the time I ate because I was “supposed to”.

I ate breakfast because it was good for me, even if I wasn't hungry. I ate when someone offered me something, to be courteous, even if I didn't want it. I learned that I really don't get hungry until about 10am. So shoot me.

I realized that I don't love sweets.

In our society sweets are a treat. We give them as rewards (toddlers going potty) and gifts (Teacher Appreciation Day), to show affection (Valentine's Day), bring comfort (ice cream for a sad friend). But when I made all the candy around me available, free for the taking and no longer bad or a guilty pleasure...I almost never wanted it.

I don't always know what I want.

Particularly for the first 10 days I often went hungry – I simply did not know what I wanted. I would recognize I was hungry, stand in my kitchen, ask myself “what do I want?” and not know. Here's a funny story about learning to assess want. Around day 3 I thought I wanted a candy. So I opened a KitKat bar. I ate the first, really trying to taste it and ask myself if it was hitting the spot. It wasn't. But somewhere in my head I couldn't believe that. So I ate the second bar. Nope. Didn't taste right. How could a KitKat NOT be the treat solution?! It was unheard of. I was in denial and ate the third. The flavor was all wrong! I couldn't believe it but it was true. So I put the 4^th bar away. An hour later I thought, “Hm, I think a KitKat is what I want now,” I ate the last bar and it was like a symphony on my tongue. No kidding.

Bite 10 can be amazing and bite 11 nearly repulsive.

I was working on some pasta, enjoying my lunch when suddenly I no longer desired it. “But! But! It is a waste to leave the last few bites! I can just finish it off!” So I took another nibble and gained no pleasure from it. As I pondered over this I realized that my body was telling me “I AM FULL! STOP!” I have spent decades ignoring that voice. When I dedicated myself to only eating what I wanted, I learned that my body can and will tell me when I have had enough...and it isn't when my plate is empty.

Sometimes I wasn't hungry, I was thirsty.

I drink a lot of water so I didn't think this phenomenon would apply to me, but since we aren't camels the human body can become dehydrated pretty quickly.

I life fruit.

But good fruit. It must be ripe. Nothing beats a perfect peach.

I like good food.

Quality food. Rich food. Cream and butter are my friends. I can enjoy almost any food if it is well prepared. Boxed food is 'food-like product' to me and did not taste right in my mouth.

In an emotionally stressful state, food was almost never the answer.

I recall one distinct phone conversation that resulted in feelings of stress and distress. I started looking around the kitchen for a fix. I stopped and reviewed all the sugary carby fatty offerings. I imagined myself biting into each option. I processed how I would feel afterward (to determine which one I really wanted) and realized (with somewhat of a shock) that they were not the solution to my problem. Maybe just distractions? Food would not make my problems go away. In all my years I don't think I have ever before really walked myself through this reality. I just ate when stressed.

I see now that my body can live well on far fewer calories than I thought it needed.

And I'll tell you because I'm sure you're wondering...Though I gained much of value from this experiment, I did not gain a single pound over the 6 weeks. That's right. I literally ate anything and everything I wanted, but ONLY what I REALLY wanted, and I gained no weight.

So maybe, maybe. If we listen. Really really listen. Our bodies can tell us what we need, what we desire, what will make us feel good, what it needs to keep functioning. If we really listen. Before you take your next bite give it a try. Stop and ask yourself, “Do I really want this?”

Of bullies and prophets

I am classifying Katherine's experience at school today as her first with bullies. A former best friend communicated to my daughter that they are no longer friends (we knew this was coming, I was kind of hoping Katherine would be the one to make it official) and she does not want Katherine to speak to her any longer. Katherine loves this girl, but anyway... The bullying part comes next. Said girl and girl's new gal pal then proceed to run up and touch my daughter. Repeatedly. Against her wishes. Now they are bullying. (I could just %^#* and %*+£ the *+€^%, but anyway.)

Picture bedtime mania in the bathroom when she shares this information. First, just the two of us. Now add a nosey and procrastinating Joel to the mix. Next comes a fiercely defensive daddy and two happily distracted younger sisters and we have a real party going. The concerned parents gather more details. The party moves to the living room. Discussion ensues. Practical tactics, not being a victim, loving yourself, why bullies bully, and so on. This was some really good stuff! I was rapidly checking off items from my "things-to-teach-your-kids-at-some-point" list. I felt proud of us as parents with our cute little family and then we paused again to check in with the kids. 

Katherine (8 yrs old) got it. She reflected back what we said in her own words. (Don't know that she's ready to implement anything yet, but we're getting there!) and then Aaron addressed Joel (5yrs old). Joel. Joel Joel Joel. He busted out with something like, "If the bad guys come I will just punch dem in the face..." Oh Joel. Forever living for the next battle. The kind-hearted warrior I felt he would be. The spacey, absent-minded child I did not know he would be. I rolled my eyes and shook my head. But oddly enough I then thought of Enos.

The Mormons have a book of scripture they (we, I) believe tells portions of the history from the Americas from about 600BC to about 400AD. One prophet in there is Enos (the son of another prophet). His contribution isn't long but his story goes something like this: one day he is hunting in the forest when "...the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart.[The Book of Mormon, Enos 1:3]. Enos then spends the rest of the day and into the night in prayer. He hears the voice of The Lord and converses with Him. 

I'll bet Enos was like Joel and Joel could be like Enos. I think that maybe Enos was a typical boy who grew up running around and being loud. He probably beat up a lot of imaginary bad guys too. Sure he heard the teaching of his prophet-dad but he never really gave them much thought. He grew up into a young man just sort of swaying through life until he was out hunting one day and it hit him like a ton of bricks. He walked out of those woods a changed man. But "changed" is inadequate. Maybe...he came out of the woods an enhanced, stronger, deeper, man. He was still a fighter, possessing a wild heart, but he had an eternal purpose woven into his soul now to direct that fight. He understood love for others. He felt love for others. He knew love for others. He couldn't just sway through life anymore. He had to do something and be something. He has to spread God's love.

Well, of course it is all speculation. But it makes me smile.

The Introverted Mommy

I have been a mother (in the biological since-I actually believe all women are mothers) for nearly 8 years now. My amazing oldest reaches her 8th birthday in November. But it wasn't until THIS WEEK that I finally pieced together a puzzle that reveals why being a mom has some of its challenges for me.

Let's say for arguments sake that you can lump all of humanity into one of two categories: introvert or extrovert. If that were possible, I would join the introverted group (shut up in my own room away from everyone else, reading a good book). I have heard many descriptions over the years of what makes one an introvert or extrovert and what qualities can be ascribed exclusively to each label, but one explanation left all others behind for me. Ready?

An extrovert is someone who is energized by being around people. An introvert is someone recharges away from others. 

This. This hits home for me. In large groups of people for extended periods of time I have to actually remove myself from the buzz and regroup alone. I have been known to use the bathroom just to have some breathing time. I have wandered the halls at youth social functions just to "get out of there!". I have left family functions to take a breather outside. Anyhow, people suck me dry. Or, perhaps, being around people sucks me dry. In general, I have good emotional boundaries but can't seem to keep my energy for moi! 

Anyhow, so then there is this tiny adorable human being who needs me. Like, needs me all the time. Never thought a person could be touched to death until after I got married and had kids. Space people! Personal space! I like my bubble! 

And not only does she need me for basic things like sustenance and cleaning, but I have to socially stimulate her as well. (Let me pause here. I say "have to" but smiling at my babies and snuggling them does come to me natural and I do enjoy it, but it need me some breaks.) And as she ages, this stimulation becomes more demanding and even more [gulp!] engaging!! I must BE present and BE a mom and BE nurturing and BE available. And it is EXHAUSTING! Sucks the life force right out of me. True story. I use phrases like that all the time.

And then! AND THEN she not only needs ME but others as well! And now I have to associate with other people! Gives me anxiety just thinking about it. And the crazy thing is, I love my friends, I depend on them, they are a true blessing to me. But I still find social gatherings tiring and after I get home I just want to take a nap or be alone for a minute. But it's 5 hours until 8pm (bedtime) so my switch must stay in the "on" position.

No wonder I cherish my nights and no matter how tired I am I like to stay up and just be. Just be me. Just read. Just regroup. Just recharge. 

And there it is. I am a mom but I was an introvert first. I live with all these cute energy leeches who suck the pizzazz from my being. And I need my space and my recharge time. Otherwise, watch out world; this drained mommy is not a cheerful one.

The Day I Let My Son Play With His Poo

On October 25, 2012 our family of 5 moved into the home of my open-armed in laws. I remember the date because I forced myself to choose a deadline knowing my powers of procrastination would have otherwise won.  We were in a tough position in life and made a calculated move. Aaron (my husband) was going on a year of unsuccessful job hunting, we were running out of time, out of money, and figured that when he found work it would likely require a move anyway! Might as well put the house on the market without the pressure to accept the first bid. It. Was. Stressful. I cried. A lot. I am not a crier. 

But I was more concerned about my children and their adjustment.

The funny thing about children is their combination of resiliency and an inability to articulate emotion. I was most concerned with the almost 6year old who would have to switch schools. She seemed to ease into the change. It was the 3-year-old's sudden behavior changes that caught us by surprise. I am sure the screaming, waking, poo playing, pee accidents were just an outward expression of his inner turmoil and inability to adjust. I mean, he had a lot on his plate! At one point his main caretaker (me) was working 40+ hours a week outside the home (from 0) and while most of those were at night, my napping, his shift in caretakers, my depression, his daddy's stress and the million of other factors must have been weighing on his poor little heart. 

So it was with this platform that Joel started to play with his poop. I know kids do this sometimes but if he had prior to the move, it was maybe once. Poo play is gross of course and completely socially unacceptable. I felt pressure from inward and outward to nip the behavior in the butt. (Hahahaha) 

Now, if you know Joel, you will know that the boy does what he wants. He has this amazing ability to not be affected by most consequences I can conjure up. He is his own person and will determine his own outcome. (We should begin saving now for my mental health hospitalizations to come when he hits puberty.) If he wanted to play his poo, he was going to.

And that is when I got the idea. I would let him. It went something like this: 

"Joel, you can play with your poo whenever you want to."

Disbelief.

"You just need to tell me you want to and I will go get you one of these gloves to wear so the germs don't get on your hands."

Now I know most of you are still cringing or gagging but People, it worked. The boy asked a total of 3 times during the next few weeks. He put on the glove, did whatever he did to gather his poo (I did to stay to watch), played with it and called me to help him dispose of the latex miracle afterward. That was it. He was done. 

Allowing him to play with the poo seemed to suck the power from the behavior and he moved on. It was wonderful. I think this is called removing the power struggle or maybe working with the resistance. Whatever it is, it was brilliant and for the life of me I can't seem to recreate the situation again in other applications! Ahhhhhhhh

Pin

Pizza box holds cupcakes.

I need links for Pinterest

Katie's loft bed

Think of Life Like a Novel

How is yours narrated? 

I prefer to view life from both a first and third person perspective. I find it useful in dealing with perceptions, realities (yes, plural) and mostly in self checks and balances. 

First person is the mode I spend most of my life in. It is life through my eyes and when thoughts form words, it kind of sounds like a teenage girl whining. Hahaha. Just kidding!

I imagine third person to be my wiser self or a neutral third (coincidence?) party floating above me looking down. Or perhaps watching a movie of my life. What does this person see? This person takes in a much bigger picture than MY perception allows. This is why I find consulting with her to be helpful in all sorts of situations.

For example, yesterday ended with a full hour (exaggeration?) of my grumping at my son and ultimately taking off part of his cardboard house's window ("tearing apart our creation" sounds so much more emotionally abusive). Go ahead and judge, it wasn't my finest hour (but know I did warn him first and it wasn't done in front of him or in a fit of rage or the like). I was feeling pretty miserable myself... ate some candy to confirm that. I love that boy dearly and in my quest to get through to him!!!!! I went too far. That sick feeling in your chest? Knowing you hurt a cherished child? Yuck. First person.

Third person. Well, that was pretty crappy. The extreme action did not produce a positive change in observable behavior (thus far) and that poor little boy has his heart broken. But she is a good mom and he knows she loves  him. They have enough positive deposits in the bank to cover this withdrawal. Tomorrow is a new day, I hope they both forgive and move on to better things.

Wow. Third person is a lot more tolerable than first person!

Let's look at family dysfunction as an example. 

It seems that no matter how old one becomes, returning home rewinds time and suddenly you are that 5, 7 or 12-year-old again. Take a deep breath, this is normal. Take a deeper one, it is uber difficult to overcome. The roles we are assigned in Family of Origin are ingrained, and hard to break. It can leave each puppet feeling trapped. But step back/up/aside into  third person. Third person sees the dysfunction for what it is. She (my third person is female, what about yours?) recognizes that EACH person plays a role in keeping each other person trapped in their assignment. Third person sees the triangulation, defense mechanisms, unfair fighting techniques, addictive behavior traits, victimization, and on and on. And third person sees how they all intertwine to create the liveliest Thanksgiving Dinner you swear you will never attend again (until you do). 

Perhaps most important to long-term progression, third person points her finger at me too. She can see how maybe I do toss out the Victim Card a little too quickly when I suspect I was wrong. And how I tend to talk first to the people I know will agree with me. She takes note of the individuals teaming against another that I allow when it is in my favor and... well, that is about it, that is all the dysfunction my subconscious is allowing awareness of tonight. But third person doesn't judge. There is no positive purpose or progression in judging. Third person just notates. She also flys next door and notes the exact same stuff happening over there as well.

I think we all need third person! She is a welcomed guest to place things into proper perspective or help with self reflection! Maybe she can't write the whole novel of your life, but perhaps she could get a paragraph or two at the conclusion of each chapter. Huh? How about it? Give her a try. How does third person see the events in your life today?

[Don't do Third Person well? That is okay, there are these great people I know called therapists. They can help you out. :-)]

Shopping with children = ice cream. Life of Pi style

Shopping with children = ice cream. Life of Pi style

Today's post is about how shopping with children will get you ice cream. Let's examine how this strange phenomenon happens. You decide which one really happened. 

Scenario 1

2/3 of the children you have dragged through the store coordinate a plan of attack - displaying their sharpe intelligence - that results in half a display displayed on the floor. This is the end of your rope and in a fit of desperation you grab a box of ice cream sandwiches and promise a reward if they will just hold onto the cart! You swear off grocery shopping with kids ever again. Oh, and later you realize the baby took bites of an apple while she sat quietly in the cart. But hey, at least she was quiet.

Scenario 2

At the start of your trip your only son announces he (Batman) "will help the ladies" and he opens the door for another shopper. Your oldest and youngest play together in the cart and their laughs of joy bring smile after smile to your face. It is one of those chunks of hours where everything is beautiful and you feel so blessed to be a parent. The trip home involves ice cream and song.

Scenario 3

The older off spring spend much of their time working up a sweaty running up and down the aisles. Sure, you "yell" once or twice or five times when they go out of sight but it is pretty funny to see them playing so well together. The baby turns herself around in the cart and seems thrilled by being able to see where all are going. At check out an elderly man stops you and says, "Maybe you can help me." He goes on to explain that he is traveling and can't possibly eat all 12 of these ice cream sandwiches. He opens the box, removes 4 and you accept the rest. On the way home, you figure the man saw how awesome you and the kids were and wanted to reward you guys.

So what do you think? :-)

Flowers for Rebecca

I don't know why this experience came to mind recently so I don't know where 
this blog post is headed, but I want to write about it. Care to go on this 
adventure with me? Some of it is painful.

I was 19, away from home at college and not feeling too great about myself. 
Truth was, prior to leaving FL to finish my bachelor's in UT, I was pretty 
popular with the boys. Cute, sassy, hard-to-get, blond, just needy enough and 
intelligent. Well, within my first semester at BYU things changed and I suddenly 
felt out of place, out of sorts, uncomfortable in my own skin and grumpy.

The event in speculation was a social gathering at a ward member's apartment. It 
was packed. Like, nearly uncomfortably so. Mingling, drinking (need I say "of 
punch"?), laughing, the works. At some point I sat down next to a gal in the 
middle of the love seat leaving enough space for another warm body. And I 
waited. I waited a while. I waited so long that my cynical self turned the 
situation into a negative self-affirming social experiment.

Turning to the girl next to me, I pointed out that in this very crowded room, no 
one was sitting next to me. I said, "I bet that if you switch seats with me, 
someone will sit down next to you." She and her friends gave immediate, "Na-uh"s 
and "No way"s but she obliged, placing herself in the middle between me and an 
empty spot. And in a scene fit for the screen, in less than 15 seconds, some 
tall blond kid plopped himself right down next to her! You could see the jaws 
drop of her and her girlfriends. You could sense the tension. He could too. I 
got up and left.

I am sure most of you know exactly what I did. I went back to my apartment 
feeling horrible and sorry for myself. I cried a ugly cry and spilled the story 
to my roommates (bless their hearts, I had such wonderful roommates). Because 
what had I done? I set myself up to feel awful. I chose to take a neutral 
situation and apply horrendous meaning to it.

Fast forward to the next day. I get home from school to find that I have been 
sent flowers. First flowers ever (as an adult that didn't come from a family 
member). They were colorful and full. Attached was a card. If I have saved it, I 
don't know where it is. I wish I could recall what was written and what the poor 
kid's name was. It was an apology note. The tall blond worded it in such a way 
as to bring some peace to my mind but not make me think he was madly in love 
with me. Who knows, maybe a girl helped him. :-) 

But it was healing.

I toss this experience around in my mind from a dozen different angles. I think 
about the miserable girl who no one wanted to sit next to because she probably 
looked like a miserable person to speak to! I think of all the people who had no 
responsibility to me and my pain. I think of how much of a victim I let myself 
be. I think of those other girls and their jaws dropping open. I think about how 
even in this situation, I still savored being right. :-) I think about what I 
can give my own daughters to guard against being in that state of mind to start 
with and what I would like to see them do if no one sits next to them on a 
couch. And I think of that boy, just as much a innocent bystander as anyone 
else. He owed me no apology or flowers yet he chose to take a risk (for all he 
knew I was psycho crazy, not just sad) and extend part of himself to me. I don't 
think the kid had any real responsibility to me in this scenario, but he had 
been placed there and sought to make it right. I respect that. I think of my son 
and how I would be proud to have him respond in such a manner when it would be 
so easy to simply feel awkward and ignore the other person from there on out. I 
think about what I can do now to instill a caring and love of others so that he 
would feel the desire to help heal another's wounds, but not take on their pain. 
And I lack a magic answer but I am sure it has something to do with Christ.

make it an adventure

Yesterday we spent the holiday at my sister's in-laws (because our families are cool like that). Going there is a treat for my kids because the house is big, it has its own special play room, a sprinkler was involved, an uncle plays with them, cousins are around and different toys abound! In the morning I decided to have a little fun with them and ask if we should go on an adventure. Well if that didn't perk their little heads right up! It was cute to hear their ideas of an adventure - the park, the library - but mine won for sure and excitement ensued. We had a good time. Fast forward 24 hours and I needed to take a small road trip by way of highway 6 for 75-90 minutes each way... with all three angels. My biggest concern is keeping my sleep-deprived self awake while driving through the mountains, but coming in second is keeping those whiny little beasts happy. So I pulled "adventure" out of my magic hat and geared them up to be excited.  We piled into the car and the ever predictable "I'm hungry" rang out. But I was prepared with an uncommon treat at our place: graham crackers, which could be consumed after the apple slices. They were cool with that, I mean, it was graham crackers. Next on our adventure we counted the trains, both stationary and mobile, passed on our journey. This is probably Joel's favorite part. Halfway there I broke out the portable DVD player (thanks mom!) and Dr. Seuss entertained the older two the rest of the way.  Our adventure to the McDonald's playground (because my children get excited about McDonald's playgrounds) was a success and because they were pretty well behaved they got some ice cream on the way out. Talk about sticky happy (quiet) children! But the real fun happened on the way home. So, for whatever random reason, there is a replica of a train at a random stop on highway 6. I found it on accident last month. Boy was that fun. :-)  What really happened? I think I gave them a positive label to place on the experience. I think I gave them a positive way to look at the bulk of their day. I think I put out some positive energy to feed off of.  I hope I taught them something about perception and attitude. It could have been a boring 3 hour drive. But we made it into an adventure instead! It was a good reminder for me. Oh, I should mention that while at the train rest stop a real train passed by and Joel shot both hands high into the air and shouted, "Two trains! Two trains!" Cutest thing all day.

american gypsy

American Gypsy Lately, my "cardio" session distractions have included TLC and My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding.  Okay, at first it was like watching a train wreck (meeting your future spouse at a party designed for such a purpose) You don't want others seeing you gawk at the mess (getting married at 16 as a norm) but it is just too much devastation to look away from (girls and boys with very different rules). Then I moved onto aghast (throwing a wedding together in a week). After that it became judgment (as of that isn't obvious by now) and from there mental mocking (wedding dressing with more bling than a corner jewley store) with disbelief scattered throughout. And then it hit me today like a wet towel in the face[SNAP!]: these people are just like me! And what's more, I admire them. Let me explain. The scene was of three teen girls at the mall, looking very teen girlish indeed. Enter two teen Romanichal gypsy boys who the girls know they are not allowed to even speak to. (In fact, there were three females because one was serving as an escort as Romanichal gypsy girls are not allowed out without one.) And they obeyed their rules! These kids were living in "the world" but not being "of the world" (as they define it). I had a hearty internal laugh at myself.  In the LDS religion we have a saying about living in the world but not becoming part of the world. So we go to,work and school,and parties, yada yada... But we do,not get caught up in worldly things or ambitions. We keep our eye on the eternal prize so to speak. Well, this is the task anyway. I suddenly found myself very impressed with these teens. They are able to go to high school, dress like their peers, be all teenager goofy but still maintain their cultural practices and standards! Yeah, I am impressed for sure.   And to top it all off, they are a minority group and experience all the persecutions and ostrasizarion that comes with the territory. Again, I could relate. And these teens, this whole group of people in fact, gained my respect. It is not easy to live in a world that does not accept your world. A world that treats you as a freak and looks down upon some of your most basis practices as wrong. That takes a strong soul. And it helps to have a strong family. In fact, I found myself wanting desperately to know what the parents are doing that produce children willing to be like and obey the previous generation! I mean, maybe it's just me, but I want my kids to take on my beliefs and values. If I didnt believe  and value them, I would have passed them up long ago. These things mean so much to me and I want them to mean something to my off spring. So these gypsy moms and dads... They have something figured out.

and on that uplifting note...

My hubby was unable to find the reference for me but according to him, a newspaper article made a big deal over Mitt Romney using the word "sacrifice". Not because of what he thought needed to be sacrificed,  but because he wanted people to sacrifice. Now this got the little clock work devises in my head turning away. What are you willing to sacrifice?

Our country is in a rough, precarious spot at the moment, right? The national debt is over 15 trillion as of this month and for whatever crazy reason, it keeps getting worse! I am beginning to think that WE think it will just magically go away. Like there is a wand or a perfect presidential canidate that we can all hold on to hope for. This magical fairy president will wave his/her sparkling wand and the budget will be balanced again! Now of course I am being ridiculous, but if you have been sitting around realizing that things are going to have to change in YOUR life to get this nation out of this giant pile of dog poo, your neighbor hasn't. So share this with him and her.

Which brings me to my main question of the evening, what are YOU willing to sacrifice to shave some pennies off a number so large I can not fathom? Now wait! Stop right there!!! I know what you are doing, you brain went right to those "unnecessary" federal programs you've never had use of. But I didn't ask you what you think your neighbor should sacrifice, I asked you what YOU are willing to give up.

Are you willing too pay more for most of your processed foods so government subsidies to farmers can be cut off? Are you willing to allow your child to go uninsured so the Utah CHIP program funds can be used to pay back China? Are you willing to have your ailing father-in-law move in with you (even though your spouse's sister has a larger home and fewer kids) because there simply is not enough Medicare money to cover the cost of caring for our dear seniors? Are you willing to have a cure for cancer 10 further years away? Are you willing to sacrifice your or your child's opportunity for a public education because there is no longer a chance for student loans? And the list goes on.

"No!" right? Even as I write this I am mentally screaming it! Katie not go to college? My accident prone boy not have health coverage? "NO!" I shout. "Cut something else! We can't possibly live without those things!" But that's just it. At the point of negative 15 trillion, good things have to go. And we have to expect that every individual will be expected to sacrifice something.

I expect it to be unpleasant. I expect my heart to fight the inevitable. But what's the alternative? Pass a much larger problem onto my children and grand children? Come on now, ignoring this type of problem does not make it disappear. As Americans, we have to face up to this hard reality at some point. It is like dieting, there is no magic pill. You will cry about it and fight against it but when it comes down to it, you will have to bypass the cake and hit the treadmill if you want to lose that belly. No magic wand available. 

You are not alone. I am sad about it too. But I figure that history shows us the capacity of people to sacrifice, struggle, survive, and overcome. It is an unpleasant reality, but possible.

this is not for you, it is for someone who can't help herself

This morning I said a special prayer for the forgotten children of the world with my own children at my side. I know God has not forgotten them, but the world has. I haven’t, BUT [enter all the reasons we use for not doing something]. Immediately following that prayer I had a thought, an inspiration, an idea.

WHO:

Here is who I thought it could benefit. There is an adorable little girl named Livvy Mae. She has Down syndrome and will likely live a life of nothingness if not adopted. There is a family looking to make her their own but short on funds. [Of course they are short on funds!! These adoptions cost anywhere from $25,000-$55,000. Insane, right? It is. But until that changes, this is how it goes.] So the Herrington Family needs you and Livvy Mae needs you and these 4 girls running http://4girls4christ.blogspot.com/ need you.

These are four teenagers who are trying to raise money for someone they don’t know. I’ve been keeping an eye on their blog and I’m a little annoyed that their progress has been so slow. I mean, for $10 you can get entered into a drawing for one of the prizes they bothered to solicit, you can help save a life and bless a family AND support TEENAGERS who are actually DOING something outside of their own little sphere. I mean, come on, when was the last time you went through that much trouble for a stranger?

 They have a goal of $2000 by the end of March (it used to be the end of February, btw). They are at $320. A blessing yes, but come on people. When was the last time you blew $10 on a new shirt or a few lattes. I’m not saying you shouldn’t buy the new shirt or the fancy coffee, but as you’re passing by, could you drop $10 into the Livvy Mae bucket as well? Or bake something?

WHAT:

Let us have a bake sale. No, not just me. I said “us”. So, um, that means you.

HOW:

Here is how I thought it might work.

1)      Create a sign up sheet asking for people interested in purchasing a baked good from you. Include what you are tempting them with, the amount of slots you are willing to fill (like, I can bake 4 loaves of bread at a time, so I would probably do 4 slots) and the date you plan to deliver on your end of the bargain.

2)      Collect $5. Yes, $5 is a lot for a dozen cookies when they are $3 at the store, but, um, that’s okay, it is for charity.

3)      Then go ahead and bake away!

4)      Deliver yummy stuff.

5)      Donate the money to http://4girls4christ.blogspot.com/p/livy-mae-giveaway-donateprizes.html

THE OTHER HOW:

I know. I know. Believe me I KNOW!!! You work full-time, you’re a single parent, you have a new-born, you don’t get any time to yourself as it is, you go to school, you’re pregnant, you don’t bake, etc.

How about taking a sign up sheet into work and getting a few commitments? Have your kids help you make the bread/goods (mine do). Strap your sleeping baby to you while you add, stir and bake, bring a sheet to school with you to ask for commitments to this cause and yummy stuff. If you’re so pregnant that your belly gets in the way, stand on a stool while you knead dough or stir something up. If you don’t bake then there are these amazing things called no-bake cookies. Give them a shot.

Stuck on what to make? I have an muffin recipe I’m happy to share. I have a few really good cookie recipes I’ll type up. I make a yummy cinnamon bread if anyone’s interested in doing bread.

WHEN:

Well, when you can before the end of March, but let’s shoot for next week. Or the week after. Set a date for yourself and do it.

So, I can’t do this all on my own. Aaron and I have already donated to Livvy Mae through these girls. I need your help and you need to get in the kitchen and do something. I really am asking this of you and I really am expecting it. Sorry, but I am because it is so important. If you don’t step up to the plate this time, I’ll be hounding you next time, I promise. I promise I'll hound you and I promise there will be a next time.

*If you’re in need of some motivation and you’re interested in learning about the kind of life Livvy has to look forward to where she is, contact me.

** Their donate button does not show up on mobile devices (smartphone, iPad) for whatever reason.

*** I’d love to hear how your baking goes. Remember, it’s not for you. It’s for someone who can’t help herself.

check mate

Isn't there something about making things a reality by writing them down?

I recently shared with my sister-in-law that I have a list of things I like to accomplish daily. But even as I said that I knew I didn't do all of them daily, it was more of an ideal that occasionally broke through that silver cloud into reality. But that led to and idea. What if I wrote them down and kept track? Kind of like a chore chart for mommy. Only, we can't call it a "chore chart", I mean, who ever heard of knocking down Legos, saying "Peek-A-Boo!!!" and my-pony-is-hurt-in-the-woods-and-you-are-the-grandma-and-when-I-make-this-noise-lalalalala-you-come-to-rescue-us-because-fire-hurt-my-legs-and-I-can't-walk-either with your kids a chore??

And was born my Daily Goal chart:

Said piece of paper was made in a fit of "I must do it now or I'll never get it done" on what was beautiful writing paper until it became plastered to the side of my fridge...next to the dirty dishes.

Now, don't go laughing over "do dishes". If you've EVER lived with me for ANY amount of time, you KNOW what a chore that has been in my life. I used to loath it, then I hated it, last week I just accepted it and as of this chart I see it has a challenge to be overcome if nothing else gets checked off that day. Sadly, it is easier to do that play with my own kids on some days.

Most of my cleaning occurs when the mess has reached my threshold of tolerance, which is higher than most of my peers but low enough that if Social Services ever visited my house, the mess would probably not make it into the notes. There were days this week I thought sweeping was dumb because there was hardly anything on the floor! But I'm the classic good-student who strive for the A just to see the A, and wanting to see another check mark when I knew I might not get around to reading to Clare was enough motivation for me. On all but one of those occasions, I found more dirt than I thought I would and wa-la! My floors are lookin' good!

Months ago I set the goal to sweep and wash dishes daily but it didn't happen daily. I wonder if it happened as much as my mind thinks it happened. It is easy to get off track when there is nothing but what you seem to remember doing, keep you on track. That is why I added "work" to the list. I do mystery shopping and review paperwork for a mental health company. I realized, that if I don't make a point to do it, I wont. Instead I will THINK I "just barely" did some!... 4 days ago.

And "throw something away"? Yeah, both my husband and I have hording tendencies that we are aware of but still trying to balance. So, every day I have to throw something (not just paper or trash, but someTHING) away. Still working on that one, but it feels good when I do it. I recently felt the need to "get my house in order" by cleansing and living in a more pleasant, organized environment. I'm working toward that and I expect that in a year, we will see some big improvements!

Now if only I can work on my priorities. :-) The day will come with Reading gets more check marks than dishes. I will find a balance. I'm far from beating myself up over missing days here and there (well, except for maybe on one or two rows) because the fact is, if I read with Joel 5/7 days of the week, I'm pretty sure he'll still have fond memories of his mommy reading time. If I do the dishes 5/7 days of the week, we won't have any extra bugs or smells.

Plus, keeping myself accountable has helped this week! Knowing that I'd have to face IN INK if I skipped out on one of these goals added to my motivation to accomplish them. And I feel good about it! I feel like a better mom, a better house-keeper person, a better employee, a better me, all that jazz. Because these are MY goals and I'm watching myself work toward them. 

Plus, I'm flexible. Some days are crazy, some are laid back. Some days I'm motivated, some days I just can't seem to find the will to rescue the orphan with burned legs and her hurt pony. Hey, mommies have limits too.

Speaking of limits, Aaron says he should have a line under "Cuddle with" too.  :-) My goals are a work in progress...

two's company, four's a panic attack

Well, I did it, it is done and can I finally stop having nightmares about it already?!?! Really, I’ve had legitimate nightmares about flying on an airplane with a baby (9 mons), toddler (close to 2.5) and a child (5). This is how my adventure turned out…

My husband received and security pass that allowed him to walk us to the terminal where we sat. My, Aaron, the three kids, a diaper bag, a back pack, two kid backpacks and two pillow pets and two strollers. When it came time to board my husband bit us farewell (to a tearful Katie – HOW CUTE IS THAT!?) and I walked with the kids down the tunnel of terror. My instructions? To fold the stroller at the end. I get to the end and panic strikes: I need TWO hands to fold the stroller but I have only ONE if I hold the baby. I can’t keep the poor thing in the stroller while I fold it, I can’t lay her on the floor, “Joel, get back over here!”, maybe I can have Katie sit off to the side and hold her.

“Excuse me. Do you need some help?” Oh! Yes! A gentleman held my baby while I folded the stroller and we all boarded the airplane.

Now, let me just say to my fellow passengers. I am not happy to see your unhappy faces anymore than you’re happy to see me walk in with my entourage of mini-mes. But I considered driving, trains, buses, and other creative means only to realize that flying was it. Promise, I’m not looking forward to this either, can you please make this a tad less pleasant for me? I’m sure trying to make it bearable for you. Thanks. Moving on…

The first 3-seater available was located in the middle of the plane. We took it and I panicked once more. See, I read far too much than might be good for me and in one a flight attendant suggested to worry more about the seats/tray tables than the air when it comes to germs. Yes, the air gets recycled, but it gets filtered. Those seats, buckles, tray tables, arm rests, light buttons, air vents, window shades, head rests, walls… they don’t get cleaned in between each flight. So after some finagling I managed to clean the area by placing a less-than-happy Baby Clare on one of the seats. And we’re off!

A 5.5 hour flight with one stop where we did not exit the plane. The kids switched aisle/window seat during the stop. For the first hour they were fine. Then the stop where I was passively reprimanded by a thoroughly grumpy flight attendant for “moving about the cabin” before they completed their count. Sorry, mister man, the fact that I was distracted while you made the announcement and that other passengers were doing it also led me to move my people forward before you wanted. I apologized anyway. But not to be nice, just to point out that I was preoccupied while he spoke. No Heaven points for that one!

Basically, things went well until the last 1.5 hours. Joel. My son missed his nap to get the airport and basically doesn’t sleep anywhere but his bed. Now, it’s noisy enough on the airplane that I’m pretty sure only the people directly behind and in front of us could even hear his I-have-too-much-over-tired-energy outbursts of loudness, but I was super self-conscious anyway. I’m sure his jumping up and down in his seat annoyed someone other than myself, but it could have been worse.

One lady offered to hold the baby so I could catch a break and change Joel’s diaper. ( I had already gone through the spare outfit I brought, didn’t need a naked boy getting off the plane). After that, the babe feel asleep, I wrapped her up and laid her on the floor. YUP. And it worked out great too.

Our behind neighbor was sweet enough to help as we exited the plane and had to hike to get to the luggage area. It was hard enough WITH her help. I’m so grateful she offered.

The way back when a tad smoother even though it was (scheduled) an hour longer.

I awoke that morning and hit the snooze. Not because I didn’t want to get up at 5:45am, but because I didn’t want my reality to be myself on a plane with 3 little people. Still, I was consistently accompanied by a feeling of peace.

The routine getting on  was basically the same only this time there was a woman in the exact place at the right time to offer her assistance holding Clare while I boarded. And while the flow of people-traffic boarding after us sat as far away as open seats allowed, everyone was kind and tossed us fewer “oh no” looks.

The first 1.5 was taken up with legos. After that it was a mix between the iPad a friend let me borrow, snacks and random (new) surprise toys. The hour before our first landing some elderly gentlemen allowed themselves to be entertained by Joel and then Katie. They were a life-saver. They kept Joel’s attention and spoke to him softly. They were a God-send. I thank them for their patience, kindness and the little Bible they asked to leave us with.

During the flight’s down time I basically forced my kids to move around. Burn off that energy.

The next hour + flight time was nothing short of a miracle. Feeling tired and holding a drowsy baby, I decided to doze off, figuring the kids would wake me long before an emergency. I headed to dreamland with Joel wide awake lying on his pillow pet and Katie looking around. I awoke to everyone else asleep. I could not believe it. But I smiled, said a little prayer of gratitude and dozed back off again. When Katherine awoke she played with some of her legos. When Joel awoke, we were on the ground. Amazing.

And so, in conclusion, it really wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But I think the only thing worse than flying alone with 3 young children might be flying with sever OCD. Seriously! All those germs, the confined space, the touching of items hundreds of others have touched! And that’s just the BATHROOM on the plane!

Tips:

1)      If you’re gonna try to drug your kids, test them out before hand and know your kids. Melatonin and kid benadryl make my kids sleepy, but my children don’t sleep well unless in their beds. Don’t need two tired-but-unable-to-sleep AND bored children on a plane!

2)      My oldest loves crafts, but not so much on the plane. Go figure.

3)      Legos!!! My toddler boy needed something to manipulate with this hands. On the trip there, I didn’t really have anything like that for him and I paid for it. It didn’t matter that we lost pieces. What mattered was that he was able to build his own car and it kept his attention.

4)      Forget workbooks. They just don’t seem as exciting when you’re a kid on a plane! Well, bring one just in case.

5)      Toddlers aren’t into coloring.

6)      Movies on portable DVD players are great. But if your kid only watches 10 minutes of tv at home before jumping up to play with trains, he’s only going to watch 10 on the plane.

7)      Fun snacks. New snacks. When they are behaving, offer them a snack and praise their behavior – behavior management doesn’t all have to be about punishment.

8)      PROTIEN. Ever get done after a trip and feel like you’re not hungry yet you need a meal? Yeah, protein. We froze lunch meat on the way there and Lunchables on the way back. By the time we were ready to eat, they were thawed. Empty carbs, fruit, nuts, cookies, PB+J… even in large quantities don’t hold up for all-day fuel.

9)      iPad. I think Katherine (5) could have played that for hours straight and been fine. Not that she was my main concern anyway.

10)  Something for the ears to pop. “Everything is loud!” Katie exclaimed after I directed her to yawn.

11)  A pillow pet, jacket, blanket, anything to encourage sleep and comfort if you can spare the space.

Bon Voyage!