Slightly Disturbing Traditions

I just gave my two boys the wishbone from Thanksgiving to make a wish.

It gave me pause.

I handed my children a dried bone from a bird killed and eaten to celebrate gratitude.

Hmmm....just a little odd.

Of course, I don't know if it rates higher on the odd scale than searching for hidden eggs and treasure to celebrate the birth of spring.

Are other cultures just as odd?

Channeling Pollyanna

The shop has no bathroom.  Let me just put that out there first.

I know - I'm obsessed.  I'm sorry.  I don't mean to be.  It just is what it is, I guess.


Anyway, not having a bathroom necessitates a daily, if not more frequent, walk from the shop to our house (which is why we are so determined to live close by).  Happily, most of the time, the house is only a block away.  There are days, though, when that block feels like miles.  And miles.

When I'm at work, our black lab, Carbon, believes firmly that anytime I stand and put on my coat, I am taking her for a walk.  Period.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  So she walks with me and I use one of those "chuck-it sticks" (because I totally throw like a girl - a toddler sized one at that) and she chases the ball all the way home.

Yesterday, I threw the ball and heard her feet thunder past.  The first throw is the best as she runs the fastest for that very first ball.

I love that sound.

And it got me thinking. 

I've been here for more than a year and while I've spent a great deal of time bemoaning the move and missing my home of 9 years in Oregon, I haven't really praised my current home.

Well, in Oregon, we only had a small yard and we lived in a fairly busy part of town so it was not possible for me to let my dog off leash and let her chase balls.  In Alaska, I do it daily and I LOVE the sound of her running.

I love having water just out my front door.  I love the reflections on the water, the boats, the calm seas, the rough seas. . . . I just love having water right. there.

I love the wind.  We get these gnarly winds that roll off the ice fields and glaciers and blow so hard that I can't breathe.

I love that.

I love watching things blow by in the wind . . . leaves . . . sticks . . . grocery bags . . . small children . . .

Once, when we were kids, my older brother taped cardboard to his arms and the wind picked him up and carried him a foot or two.

I love all the mountains and seeing them slowly morph from summer green to fall gold to winter brown topped with snow.  Right now it's perfect; no snow on the ground and just enough on the mountains to make them look interesting and majestic.

I think that's all.

I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with my positivity and gratitude.

But I did want to let you know - it doesn't completely suck up here in the north.

Jinxed Bathrooms

I think I will stop using the restrooms at church; I think they are cursed for me.

In Oregon, many years ago, I went to use the restroom for "full-service" purposes and resulted in a clogged and then overflowing toilet.  Nothing like trying to track down a plunger in the middle of a busy Sunday with lots of people around to witness.  I tried to pretend like it wasn't really MY fault and I had just discovered the mess, but really?  They knew.  They. knew.

After that, I always drove home when the need struck.  (Thankfully we lived 1/2 mile from the meetinghouse.)

Yesterday, I just had to pee.  No. big. deal.  When I finished, I put soap on my hand and went to faucet.  Here they have the automatic kind where you wave your hand under the spout.  No dice.  I waved under both faucets, looking I'm sure like a silly ape to the unknowing, but ended up walking down the hall to another bathroom, carrying soap in my left hand the whole time.

Cursed, I tell you!  Church bathrooms are cursed!

Either that or cleanliness isn't really next to godliness and I should just skip the handwashing next time....

Oh - and for even more Sunday fun, the lesson in YW was on Optimism.

I know.  Very timely.

I swear that I get the message God; living it just isn't as easy as I would like!

Like Daughter, Like Mother

Sunday was the Primary Program.  This year marked my last opportunity to enjoy a sacrament meeting without any children by my side.  It was lovely.

It was also quite lovely watching all three of them sing and talk.  The downside is that I always cry. 

And cry.

And then cry a bit more.

It's just how it goes.  My children seem to have accepted this.  In fact, it seems to be coloring their world view.  The kids wrote most of the program (after adult prompting to be sure) and my daughter's piece went something like this:

"Knowing Jesus loves me makes me happy when I'm not crying, tears fall from my eyes."

Due Diligence

I'm really trying to post when I'm not depressed. 

At least you know this is day two of being fairly upbeat.

My oldest, Raph, is home sick today.  It's the oddest thing; Eliza got sick last month with strep throat but didn't have a fever as a symptom.  Now Raph is home with head and muscles aches and muscles weakness but no fevers.  Is this the flu?  Is this some random virus?

It feels quite different to mother a sick almost 12yo than a sick 6yo.  Raph just wants to be left alone and only occasionally waited on.  Eliza wanted to be snuggled and held.  *sniff* When did he get so old?

We have snow on our mountain tops already.  The first dusting appeared on October 1 and we've been playing the "here today, gone tomorrow" dance for the last few weeks.  It's exciting to watch the snow slowly descend and then disappear.  (Notice how I didn't add anything about my nerves regarding actually having to drive in that snow once it hits sea level - focusing on the positive!)

Q has to perform community service every month as part of his schooling.  He then has to write an essay about his experience.  (I really am loving his Montessori more and more.) He has selected (shockingly!) to volunteer at the local Humane Society.  He's so excited about the possibility of seeing Jenny.  I don't know whether to hope that she's adopted out or still present when he goes next Monday. 

I did find it fairly amusing that the person whom he spoke to at the Human Society, knowing that he was only 9, told him that volunteer hours were from 9:30am to 2pm on the weekdays.  Hmmmm....what about school?  At no point did she ask to speak with a parent, which I also found interesting.  Happily, we were able to switch him from Wednesday (a school day) to next Monday (teacher in-service day).

I made fried chicken thighs and macaroni and cheese with vegetables for dinner last night....

I actually made it to bed, lights out and all, by 10pm.....

I think the fact that I have so little to write may end up depressing me after all!

A Little Bit More

After my recent posts, I took a moment to look over all I have contributed to the blogosphere in the last while.  It was depressing.

I swear, there is more to me and my life than just sad days and crying (although even I admit that there are times when it doesn't seem so).  I thought to myself that I really need to start posting more frequently, to write down the good days and funny moments as well as the moments when I'm stressed out and depressed.

This morning has been good.  And yet as I think of what to write....

...Yup.  Nothing.

Do I have so little creativity that I cannot think of anything to write unless it is sad or a laundry list of complains?

Egads, I hope not.

Although the decrease in typing speed as I try to generate this post does seem to bear that thought out.

The lesson this past Sunday that I was supposed to teach to my Laurels (16-18yo girls) was on Physical Health and Preventing Disease.  While I had planned to prepare the lesson, every time I was supposed to, something else came up.  (Saturday night is was sheer exhaustion after hiking 6 miles and spending the day out in the rain at a Cub Scout Day Camp.)  I planned to work on the lesson during Sunday School so that I would be ready only to realize that I had failed to pack the lesson materials in my Sunday bag.  Seriously, it was as though I had prayed NOT to teach the lesson and God was helping me out.

Because the reality is, I really did NOT want to teach the lesson.  To be blunt, I'm 5'4" and over 240 lbs.  When I stand up there and discuss the ideals of physical health and preventing disease feels hypocritical in the extreme; I feel as though I'm standing there, actively smoking a cigarette whilst telling them not to smoke as it could be bad for their health.

The good news is that another teacher was happy to join her girls with mine and teach them all the lesson. 

I got to tend her 3 month old baby.

Win/win in my book.

Better Go Get Some Cheese

I feel as though I whine far, far too much but here I am again, struggling to breathe and to not cry and very much needing to pour out my heart.

The designated quarantine time has ended and I took Jenny into the Humane Society this morning.  This was very difficult for me.  Jenny really does like people and while she was in quarantine she would run to my side and beg for loves and petting every time I would visit.  Her fur is so soft.  She purrs so loudly.  Everything about her was asking me to keep her and give her one more try; this is so why I did not want to quarantine the cat and wanted to give her away while the memory of my 6yo daughter hurt and crying was fresh in my ears.

But I did it.

I asked the handler if she was adjusting okay.  The handler said that she was.  I nodded and spoke my thanks and then sat in my van and cried.  I cried all the way home.

I still have to clean out her litter box and give away the rest of her food and such.  I'm putting those chores off as long as I can.

On top of this heartache, I am really struggling with loneliness.  I pick up the phone to talk to friends and they are rarely available.  That, or they're tired of hearing me whine.

I was supposed to go to a book club on Friday night but part of my loneliness is feeling so disconnected from the women around me and not really having a desire to put forth the effort required to connect.

On top of this (am I to the cherry yet?), I feel as though God is leading me to read better books (read: non-escapist literature) and to watch better TV/movies, which leaves me feeling as though I have no escape from this life that has become difficult.  No cat to pet, no wonderland to run off to but plenty of sorrow, loneliness and despair.  I do feel that I need to get through these feelings.  I think that part of my difficulty is that I have always, back and back to being a young adolescent, run from these feelings and either buried them with food or escaped them with sleep or brain candy books and movies.  Feeling all these feelings is hard and more real than I want.

So today I'm sad.

And I am a little nervous and despairing that I am not up to the task of moving forward and through this.

Ecstasy of Life

I was once told in college by my shroom-tripping roommate that I was probably the only person she'd ever met who seemed to be high on life.

Today I feel like I'm on ecstasy - not that I've ever experimented, but the purported feeling of heightened senses seems to fit today.  Everything seems more today: the things of beauty are so beautiful and sentimental that they make me cry and the knife cuts like a surgeon's scalpel; one song makes me dance and laugh and the very next track on my playlist has me sobbing like a baby.

I don't know if it's stress or hormones or what but everything seems to be too, too much.

My children are growing to fast: Will I have enough time to hold them and love them, so that even when I'm gone they will know that they are loved beyond measure?  Am I caught up enough in the wonder of how they grow?  Am I teaching them to wrap their arms tightly around Jesus?  Am I teaching them how to live authentically and kindly?  Will they be good with money?

The snow is creeping down the mountain: Am I ready for long, dark, cold days?  At what point do I have to ease open the purse strings and allow the thermostats to be turned up a bit higher?

The business is slowing down: Will Dad allow DH the head to make changes in policy and procedure?  Can we run a business and continue to all live together? Will we be able to continue to meet our high overhead?  Can we carve out some expenses?  Will we ever be out of debt?

I'm lonely: I miss my mother.  I have no spiritual advisor/mentor. I never see friends or talk to them.  My children are lonely too.  I'm homesick for Oregon.

On the upside (because I'm feeling that too): pictures of beautiful babies are making me cry, glorious sunrises and sunsets (which I see regularly now because the days are growing shorter) make me wax poetic, notes from loved ones fill my heart to overbrimming and I'm loving a cat free house (a bit more than I thought I would).

This too shall pass I suppose.

I just get tired of crying all the time.

Did I tell you I started crying at Q's parent/teacher conference?  Brilliant, no?

And no.  I'm not pregnant.

Broken Hearts

Do you remember our little one pound ball of orange fluff?

October 2007

She's quite grown up now.  She's a gorgeous long hair orange tabby who loves people and is quite vocal, which is lovely when that means purring and a bit like riding the crazy train when it means mewing.

Unfortunately, she has also developed the opinion that she is alpha to my daughter and has taken to attacking Eliza for no reason at all.  A few months ago it was in the middle of the night while Eliza was sleeping.  So we made new rules and attempted to create an environment in which both cat and daughter could peacefully coexist.  I really wanted to keep this cat.  Not only do I love her but my middle child, Q, who struggles with life so much has said, "On a bad day, she makes me feel better."  I knew to get rid of her would break Q's heart, something I studiously try to avoid.

Yesterday, however, Jenny attacked Eliza again.  We were sitting on the couch for family scripture study, Jenny was next to Eliza and Eliza was petting her fur.  Jenny went all Tazmanian Devil on Eliza and her little face had 4 new scratches, 3 of which broke skin.

I was going to euthanize the cat but my SIL introduced to the wonderful wide world of Human Society shelters.  I called and they were willing to take the cat.  However, after all the paper work was filled out, it turns out that I had to talk to animal control due to the scratching and biting.  After talking to "Officer George," because her rabies shots are not current (due to her having two abcesses this year) I learned that we are required to either quarantine her ourselves or pay $50/day for 10 days to have the shelter quarantine her.

I left in tears.  I wanted to take care of this today, to rip that band-aid off, so my children could say good-bye and work on letting go rather than a drawn out good-bye process.  DH offered to take her and euthanize her himself but I just can't accept doing that simply because it's easier.  So my cat, Jenny Butterscotch, is currently sheltered at the home we are remodeling and for the next 10 days I will have to sneak around to visit her and tend to her.

None of this has turned out the way I had hoped.  DH and I grew up with animals and have always had animals.  Once we adopted them, they were in our lives until they died.  This is the first time I've ever had to relinquish care but I have to place my daughter first.  And even that hasn't turned out the way I would have hoped.  I've had a ball of anxiety in my stomach since Jenny's attack on Eliza yesterday morning and now I know it will be there until October 11.

Most of all, though, I'm saddened to say good-bye to this pet.  My children really do love her.  I adore her and had such hopes for her and what she would bring to our family.  It is hard to say good-bye to something around which we have wrapped our hearts for the last three years.

The End Is Near

There is a rural legend here in Southeast Alaska that when the fireweed blossoms reach the top of the stalk, fall is here.

This is how they look today.

 

Notice the lack of blossoms.  Notice the positions of those few blossoms that are left.

I think it's safe to say that this past week of sun and 70's was our Indian Summer.  *sigh*  I guess it's good thing that fall is one of my favorite season.

ARGH!!

Sassin' frassin!!  AYE!!!

Blech.  Girg.  Flurg.  Flick.

BAHHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Yeah, that's about it.

Crab Cakes

In a combination of a crazy amount of crab in our house (my husband just bought a huge crab pot and has been dropping it regularly) and my spending too much time reading about Amy's good eats, I give you the following:

It took 4 pounds of crab meat, but they were delicious with very little filler.  Chalk one up for living in Alaska.  (I need something to counteract the lack of sunshine!)

Update

Well, I am still in limbo with regards to end of the year finances. I did manage to get everything to the accountant but apparently he's on vacation this week (not that anyone bothered to tell me that when I dropped the information off last week).  I'm still feeling very up in the air and wishing that the numbers gave me more certainty about the future of this business....

Happier thoughts...

The FIRST Lego League experience was much more positive.  I made my little NXT robot follow a line and drive around and park in a garage. . . . it was awesome!  I forgot how wonderful it was to be surrounded by fellow nerds.  Even better, fellow nerds who are raising nerd children.  Today, I got an email from FLL telling me that our kit is being shipped.  I'm very excited!

My FIL is flying back in next month (perhaps even on my birthday - hint, hint.  nudge, nudge.) to do some more work on our house.  We passed (mostly) the framing inspection.  We need to fix a couple of items but the interior walls are cleared for plumbing and electrical.  Woo hoo!  We should be able to live in a real house in another year.  Or so.

My two youngers (Q and Eliza) are at VBS this week.  They are having a ball.  It's so fun to see them singing and dancing and praising God with big smiles on their face.  Little makes me happier as a mother.

My computer is a big fat mess.  But hopefully it's almost fixed.  I finished the restore and the problem still occurred so I shipped it back to the manufacturer.  I just got it back today and am spending this afternoon, and tomorrow no doubt, updating, upgrading and installing.  I'm hoping it will all work.  I don't know WHAT I'm going to do if this doesn't work.  I already lost it with my case manager.  (Honestly, I'm surprised that he even continues to take my calls.)

This is one of the least scintillating posts I've ever done.

747s

I have a ball of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.  I'm talking 747's taking of and landing, not just puny ol' butterflies.

I'm not wholly certain as to why, but I posit two possibilities.

I'm in the middle of year end tax preparation for the business and according to Quickbooks (which I have never fully trusted) the business did very well.  According to our actual bank account, the business barely broke even.  And I'm not sure how that's going to come out tax wise.  I'm trying to just be patient while I sort out the rest of the numbers but at this middle point, it's making me very nervous.

The second potential killer is that in the spring, I agreed to coach a FIRST Lego League team.  It was one of those moments when before I've done a single thing and before I HAVE to do something, I think I can do AN.Y.THING.  You know, like at 9pm when I'm thinking that I need to get exercise and that tomorrow morning at 5am would be a perfect time.  (Of course, it never actually happens.) But now I actually have to start working (I have coach training today through Thursday from 5:30pm - 8:30pm) and I'm freaking out.  Just a bit.

I believe that confession is good for the soul, but this is doing nothing to help those planes, darnit.  I was really hoping to shoot some of them out of the sky or have the FAA forcibly ground them all.

I'll let you know how it all goes later.

Some Days I'm the Bug

First of all, have I told any of you of my pains with my new computer?

No?

Yes?

All I hear is, "No, oh great M, tell us more."

So, I will.

Our business's main computer was old five years ago when my mom passed away.  I'd been working by remote access for five years on an antique.  Honestly it was a bit like this:

En-ter. The. Ven-dor.  Fill. In. The. Am-ount.  Press enter.

.

.

.

Check saved.

La-ther. Rinse.  And. Re-peat.

Happily, our business is small and my work limited.

However, when it was to be my full-time, part-time job, I wanted a better rig.  So we bought this shiny new computer with bells and whistles and a lightning fast processor.  Seriously, the checks were saved before I could enter them.

That is, when it worked right.

Right outta the box, I had problems.  So I called the help line.

I got someone in India.

Now normally I've had no problems talking with someone from another country but this saga has taught me that actually understanding words is only one part of the problem.  India has a wholly different culture and perspective on life; the lenses of the people I spoke with were quite different then mine and there was a vast, VAST difference in understanding when I spoke with someone from India versus someone from a Western country.  (Far be it from me to presume that they were in the United States. . . .)

One frustration was that every time I called and spoke someone in India, he would start off at the beginning of his flow chart, asking me the exact same questions as the person before him and giving me the exact same answers, despite the knowledge that I had been through all of this before.

I had to do a system recovery (back to factory specs) on my computer 3 times.

3. times.

The actual recovery is relatively quick (thanks to that lightning fast processor) but then you have to download and install a bunch of updates, not to mention all the software that we need to run the sucker.  A full day, easily, was spent on the process each time.

Another frustration was that I didn't get passed along to someone with higher authority who could do more than tell me to do a system recovery until I got upset.  I used to work in customer service and as such, I try to be patient any reps I talk to and it frustrates me that my courtesy is often rewarded with dead ends.

It took me 3 system recoveries, countless phone calls and scheduled call backs which were not kept (by the computer company) before I got fed up.  The real moment was when I was about ready to perform my 4th recovery (having resigned myself to no other options) and I asked, "What do I do when I complete the recovery and then call back so I don't have to go to the back of the queue?"

"Well," says the kindly representative, "You ask for a case manager."

Pause.

"Well," says me, "How about we skip the recovery and I get a case manager now?"

Remarkably, not even 10 sentences after telling me I couldn't be transferred to a case manager, I was transferred to a case manager.

With the wrong number.

More phone calls.

Finally, I was able to speak with a case manager, the end all, be all of customer support, who tells me that he can do nothing to help me because I don't have any recorded error codes, despite the fact that my computer was freezing, daily, for no reason at all and that a local tech, certified by the manufacturer, said that my motherboard was shot.

A few months passed because I was so frustrated and felt impotent.

Finally, I picked up the phone and called the credit card company to see if we could return it and dispute the charge.

Evidently, you only have 60 days, regardless of all the problems I'd had and my efforts to work it out with the manufacturer.

I called my case manager and said that I was sending it back.  He said that we were not eligible for a full refund, again, despite my problems and my efforts to work it out.  Even though we had purchased the computer directly from the manufacturer, their website actually counts as a separate entity.  And the 21 days in which I COULD have returned my computer, had passed.  21 DAYS!!  That's all they give you, even when you've been working with them.  A.R.G.H!!!

But, glory be, after my attempts to return the computer, expressing my great frustration, and becoming less than pilot. . . . perhaps even less than rude, he was suddenly willing to work on my machine.

Long story short (too late!), I had to mail my computer to them, they replaced the motherboard and sent it back to me.  Via ground.  (Did I mention this was our work computer?) A month after mailing it, I had my computer back.

And again, glory be, it works!!

Until I tried to install the Windows 7 upgrade that came with the computer, and it wouldn't accept my authorization key, and I had to talk to my @^#&!@ case manager again, and, wouldn't you know it, had to do ANOTHER system recovery.

So - THE POINT OF THIS WHOLE SORDID TALE - I was at work today - on my day off - to complete the recovery and set my computer up.  While I waited for files to update/download/install/upgrade/whatever, I went outside to get some water from the hose.  (We have no indoor plumbing - yes, I have to run one block to our home whenever I have to use the bathroom.)  In the process, I stepped wrong, slipped and whoosh! I was on the ground.  I didn't even have time to lie there in an infantile response to the pain zinging through my body as the ground was soaked and my pants were proving quite absorbent. (It's been pouring all day.)

When I went in to check my knee, I had a nice 1.5" cut that was oozing blood.

Then, having quit for the day, one head knock against a brick wall short of a concussion, I went home to make salmon chowder.  (It's been pouring all day.)  (And it's bloody cold.)  (I CANNOT believe today is July 3rd!)  And I managed to bump a counter, knock over a 20oz (at least) cup of water and a heavy frying pan which fell, handle end down, onto my right foot.

To recap: bloody right knee (literally - no swearing here) and  a scraped and bruised right foot.  Not to mention my sore right butt cheek from my earlier fall.

Yup.

Sometimes I'm the bug.

And yes, that whole long tale about my computer?  Purely to get more sympathy for my war wounds and bruises.

I know.  I'm pathetic.

I learned it from my kids.

Steel Sieve, People, Steel Sieve

Last night, Raph had karate and Q was at cub camp.  After I dropped Raph off, I went shopping for a few necessities: cheese, chicken and bread.  (I tried to think of a "ch" word for bread, but no dice.  Unfortunately, it wasn't chia bread. *sigh* My literary aspirations are constantly thwarted by reality. . . . but I digress.)

After the store, I picked up Raph, dropped some stuff at a friend's house and waited for Q to get back from camp.  We finally got home at about 9:30pm.

This morning, at 5:45am, as I stood in my happy bubble of a shower, I suddenly realized, "THE CHICKEN!"

My 10# bag of frozen chicken breasts had been sitting in the back of my van.

10. pounds.

So at 6am, making lunches and breakfast for my chitlins, I'm boiling water to quickly cook the chicken so I can freeze it.

Seriously?!

I used to have a brain. . . . I wonder where it's gone?

Mysteries Solved

After living here for almost a year, the mystery regarding the piles of dirt, cement blocks with holes and large logs has been revealed; apparently we host a mining/logging celebration.

May I say, it was fab.u.lous?

Our town usually hosts a large 4th of July celebration.  This celebration is one of the only opportunities the residents here are able to enjoy the sweet delights of cotton candy, the vast entertainment of pony rides and fishing ponds.  Needless to say, the lines are loong.  We may not have very many residents, but ALL of them show up and ALL of them want the good stuff.

Fortunately, not so many of them want to participate in a mining/logging celebration.  Which means: SHORT LINES.

Seriously.  Lulu's pony ride?  There was no waiting involved.  We paid our money, didn't even need a ticket because there was hardly anyone there, put on a helmet and by the time she looked up, the horse she wanted was ready to ride.

Cotton candy?  You just walk up, plunk down the cash and walk away with sweet, sticky fluff. Mmmmm....


The only long wait involved the opportunity to operate a front-end loader (you know - Scoop).  Quinn was the only one who signed up.  $5 bought an awesome hat and the opportunity to use Scoop to knock down colored balls, with the matching colored tine on the scoop, and pick up a ring and move it to the other side of the area. 1 hour wait, but so. much. fun.

Also, for the mercenary side of parenting, part of the deal in the celebration is that the companies themselves trying to establish goodwill in the communities (read that as plenty of free options).  Gold panning: FREE!  Children's Carnival (fishing pond, ring toss, helium balloons, bean bag toss, all with prizes): FREE!  Mining hat key rings with a built-in light: FREE!  Candy at every booth: FREE!

My kids had a blast.  They even deigned to watch a competitor or too but watching grown men shovel dirt, no matter how quickly it's done, really isn't that entertaining.

The logging events are tomorrow and I'm debating about dropping by, just on a casual Sabbath day stroll, so I can see some poor schmuck end up in the drink during the log rolling competition. 

My Failure as a Mother

My favorite 11yo in the entire world (also known as my oldest son Raph) lost his very last baby tooth.

A month ago.

No tooth fairy in sight.

Poor Raph.

He knows the truth so I know he just keeps blowing it off.  "Mom forgot. Again."

Really, I am just waiting for him to walk up to me some afternoon and say, "Look, the tooth's MIA - probably lost under the bed somewhere.  Can I just have my $1?"

POSITIVE

So much to tell.

However, I am trying something new.

I have been, if you haven't been able to tell already, completely overwhelmed by life.

I still am. 

It seems every time I begin to adjust and feel ready to handle the new challenges, something else pops up.  I feel like Gideon, watching as my army is whittled down by God from a mighty 70,000 (I think - don't quote me on it) to a whimpy one of 300.

But, afraid that the courts may just show up and mandate that my name be legally changed to Debbie Downer, I am determined to come up with something positive.

I am POSITIVE that there is more rain falling from our skies today than anywhere else in the world.

I am POSITIVE that, barring any angels or miraculous visions, after this Friday there will be no further additions to my family and that my baby is an ever aging 6 year old.  (And yes, I'm POSITIVE my husband will be THRILLED by the fact that I'm announcing this to all the world.)

I am POSITIVE, though I welcome being proved wrong, that we will be living with my father for another year as we wait for our home remodel to be finished.  ("Wait...what?!" you say, "What are you building? A home?!"  More details will follow, I'm POSITIVE, but they must wait as this computer is slower than honey being poured in Antarctica.)

I am POSITIVE that I will continue to remain married despite all of Robert's and my efforts in the contrary.

Hmmmm.....I am POSITIVE that my oldest son will make it to 12 but all bets are off after that.

Whew.

I'm exhausted.

So. much. positivity.

I think I need to lie down now.

Religion, Family and Sunshine

We have had so much sunshine.  And warmth.  I was even able to plunge into the ocean.  (Of course, that's not saying much.)  I've been wearing shorts.  And fanning myself.  And turning on the ac in our car.

I. love. it!!  I feel like summer and spring and all good things warm have finally descended on our little island, just when I despaired of ever seeing them again.

****

I'm still working on the anger/marriage thing.  I find that I have a lot of anger revolving around my faith and my family.  Robert hasn't really come to church with us since his father arrived to help us build our house, opting instead to help his dad.  His dad has no faith and doesn't like relaxing at home so he's been working seven days a week. I understand that Robert is wanting our house built and wanting to help his dad while he can.  I also understand that he feels guilty sitting and relaxing while his dad is working so hard to build our house.

But....

As I sit alone with my children in church, I feel resentful.  And alone.

Robert is the only member in his family; his parents raised him Catholic although neither his mother nor his father seem to have any religious life anymore.  When we married in the temple, no one in his family could come.  12 years later, that's still a sore point.  When his whole family wants to go out to eat or go out as a family on Sunday, we have been the abstainers.  And that has been a sore point.

My frustration, though, is that I feel that all that resentment comes down on me.  After all, they did not raise their son to have those beliefs and they feel that he does NOT currently hold those beliefs and only makes such choices to please me, but I am the evil Mormon girl who has torn their family apart.

I have lived with this for the last 12 years and now, when we have an opportunity to stand together and for Robert to show his beliefs, his choice is to work with his father and NOT to accompany me to church.

And that bothers me.

It also bothers me to sit there during the sacrament and have my children pester me about what we're doing tonight, not being able to find clothes, are they going to get candy, what do I think. . . .sometimes I feel like standing up and yelling, "SIT DOWN!  BE QUIET!  AND FEEL THE LOVE OF JESUS!!!"

Clearly, that would be contrary to the Spirit.

So I sit. And I stew.  And I pray for the resentment to be gone.

But every week it seems to rear its head.

How do I let go of all this anger and expectation and resentment and just worship God and seek to SHOW my children by my own choices how to worship and be reverent?

****

Previous statement aside, after posting all my baggage on my blog, I am feeling remarkably light and much happier.  Maybe it's just all that aforementioned sunshine. . . .

My Carry-On

Alternatively titled: I just really want to cry.

This last year has been difficult.  More difficult than I ever expected.  Should I take it as a measure of God's confidence in me that life seems to get more and more difficult?  Or should I just take it as a measure of my own self-defeating behaviors?  I'm never certain.

DH and I have been married for almost 13 years.

13 years of hard work.

When I first got married, I thought our marriage would be like my parents. They made it look ever so easy and fun.

I'm having a hard time finding the fun anymore.

We are arguing over ev.ery.thing.  Seriously.

The smallest comments seem to start a fight, even comments about how we don't want to start a fight.

For the first time, we both simultaneously want out.

Yet divorce is not really an option.  Religion aside, we both view marriage as a lifetime commitment.  We still love each other deeply.  And then there are the children.  When I was a teenager, I never understood why adults would want to stay together just for the children's sake.  Now that I'm a mom and wife, I totally get it.

I just don't know what to do.

I've been thinking lately about counseling but I have no idea how to find a counselor whom we both could work with.

It's funny, though.  I've been thinking of this post for the last several months.  This post was one of the reasons my blog moved and now that I'm typing it, I'm at a loss for words.

There have been so many times when I could have typed a long diatribe against my husband, listing his many faults and his many transgressions against me.

But right now, all I want to do is cry and wave a magic wand and make everything better.

Happily ever after better.

Can't Sleep

It's 10:35pm and I'm so tired my eyes have that dry burn to them.

I tried to sleep but every time I force my body to be still, my brain begins to whir and a knot of anxiety settles into my stomach.

Why so much anxiety?

Rafe hasn't finished his Million Dollar Project (MDP), which is due tomorrow.  He's only in 5th grade but he was up until 10pm tonight working on it and will have to turn it in a day late.  The assignment is to use $1,000,000 to create something of benefit to our local community.  Rafe has decided on doing a hands-on science museum with experiments, a classroom for more in-depth study and information about different scientists, who they were and their contributions to science.  Believe it or not, he has managed to spend only about $200,000.  So now, the night before it's all due, he's trying to figure out what to do with the other 800k. 

And I realize that this is NOT my assignment and that it is NOT my responsibility, but the knot of anxiety is still there.

Further, I just got a call from our local school district; Q and Eliza have been accepted into the Montessori program and while there is not an official position available for Rafe, the woman I spoke with was fairly certain that he could get a spot there since both of his siblings were attending.  So my musings have now turned into a "definite decision needed" and I find myself so undecided.

I want a crystal ball.

I want to look into the future and know, without question, that I am making the best decision for all of my children.  I am so uncertain and there are so many variables and I HATE that.  I like things to be clear, concise and easy to understand.  I like to be right.  Not just right, but unquestionably right.  And there is just no "right" answer to this quandary.

Further, Q has been having problems at school.  He has ADHD, which is most noticeable in his lack of impulse control and his abundance of energy.  His teacher and I have met and discussed the matter at length and we have even tried different methods to help him (a wiggle seat, a special pencil holder, writing in pen so he has to move more slowly and avoid mistakes) but he is still struggling with his tendency to fidget and drum on any available surface (including his chest if no other surface is available).

I've seen what mainstream school offers him and it is so little, despite his intelligence, because of his behavior problems.  It is my hope that the Montessori school, with smaller classroom sizes and a more flexible schedule, would be a better fit.  Then again, there is quite a bit of time with no overt schedule.

See?

What to do?  What to do?

Every time I talk myself into one decision, I find a million reason why I should make the other decision.

And when I pray, I find momentary peace but then the knot quickly returns, which is making it difficult for me to hear any still small voice beyond my own anxiety.

My Personal Item

I realized that when I said that I would be unpacking baggage, I only posted once and really, I've got so much more to unload.  I know - such whining and self pity!  But it's my blog and I'll whine if I want to.

Today was Mother's Day, a day filled with conflict for me.

I missed my mom.  That thought rung so strong and true this year as I have been living in turmoil and uncertainty and needing, so desperately, a mother's hug and to hear her tell me that it will all be okay.

I also felt disappointed by my husband and my ward.  Every Sunday I am the one who gets the family out the door looking half ready for church and get us settled in the pews.  I pack and lug the back with the children's notebooks, tissues and Friend magazine.  I remind everyone to go to the bathroom and get drinks, etc.  DH rolls out of bed 15 minutes before it's time to leave, throws on some clothes and away we roll.

Today, he didn't even do that much.

I think he joined us about half way through the meeting.  It was hard for me to let go of my resentment and anger.  Because if I was a fish, he would have been up at 4am.

Today, due to a series of unfortunate events, was fast Sunday.

The angel on my shoulder is telling me that this was a perfect day for a fast Sunday and that I could have used this opportunity to recognize the real strength in my mothering - God - and given up my pride and served Him whose day this truly it.

But I'm too much of a heathen.

I tried to be good.  I assured my children that since they couldn't make me breakfast in bed - which they actually really enjoy doing - they could fast for me instead.  Trust me - I could so, so use those blessings!  My 11 year old was the only one who managed to fast.  My 9 and 6 year old whined and whined about how hungry they were so I told them to just go eat.  I wasn't trying to be harsh but in my head all I could think about was that Eliza (6) had fasted for our neighbor when she was sick and that both of them had fasted when Q (9) requested that we have a family fast for people with breast cancer.  YET THEY COULDN'T FAST FOR THEIR OWN MOTHER!!!  ON MOTHER'S DAY!!!

Yeah, that didn't help my bitterness.

And then, because they are 11, 9 and 6, they started fighting over the whole matter and who loved me best and who had given me the best gift.

Please. stop. the. fighting!

Then there was the ward.  I was really frustrated with the whole idea of a fast on Mother's Day.

I hear time and time again from the prophets and apostles how important women are.  Mother's Day is, for me, when the church puts it's money where it's mouth is and spends a day actually showing us how important we are.  To give up this opportunity (and yes, I'm feeling like a swine as I type this) for a spiritual fast and actually focus solely on God, frustrated me.

There was no children's chorus about walking in meadows.

There were no primary cards with poems about the meaning of motherhood.

There were no talks on the sacredness of motherhood and how we are God's hands.

There were flowers - for which I was incredibly grateful as last year this ward didn't even do that.

But overall, I left feeling like it had been just another Sunday.

I know.

Get off my pity pot.

I know I'm wrong to feel so much resentment and anger over the progression of today but I'm unsure how to deal with it and let it go.

Do I just set down my bag and leave it unintended?

If I just stop talking about it, will it all go away?

How do I release anger without hurting others or myself?

How do I release resentment and not let it fester?

How do I feel cherished, important and love without the external trappings from other humans?  I know God should be enough but somehow He isn't.  Is it just that I'm not good enough yet?

I Dreamed A Dream

I find dreams to be very odd things.  I am genuinely impressed by people who get messages from God via dreams or those who are able to interpret their dreams for applicable life wisdom.

Myself - I think they're just odd.


Last night I dreamed that Robert and I were shopping in a store that I've never physically been in.  There were plates and other dishes at head level displayed like on a rack and then cups at arm level with nick-knacks and candles just below.  I wandered down the isles trying to find the perfect mug (the majority of the proffered mugs were my favorite shape, a rounded perfect hand fit, so the perfect mug was more a question of graphic design or color).


Some of the mugs were odd flower shaped things that didn't look like they would hold much at all.  There were plenty of floral and fairy nick-knacks.

And teapots.

Because I was thinking about getting a matching teapot and mug.  However, I didn't want to buy just any old mug, I wanted the perfect set with the end result being that I didn't buy anything because I couldn't find it.  Although I was still looking when the dream ended.

That's it.

Not the oddest dream I've had.  (I think that one was the dream where a bad guy was trying to kill me with a knife and that my mom and Aunt - after rescuing me - were driving me back into his clutches once they understood what I was running from.)

But still I wonder what is the point of dreams?  Episodes like this make me wonder what the heck is going on in my head.

Tulips. Finally.

It's true.

Daffodils.  Tulips.  Flowers.  Leaves.  Spring is finally, FINALLY here.

This makes me very happy.

Insecurities

I have a hard time making friends.

Don't get me wrong; I gather acquaintances quite rapidly.  But friends, true deep, can completely be myself and never worry about what they think of me?  Those are hard to find.  I often feel as though I'm the kind of person that everyone befriends only on a surface level, a "Hi.  How ya doin?" at church kind of level but then studiously avoids any deeper relationship because I'm just too high maintenance.

I also often wonder how much of that problem is my own perception of myself.

I've filled out those silly little questionnaire memes that ask you all your favorites.  One of the questions, "Would you be friends with yourself?" always stops me cold.  I. don't. know.  I'm dramatic and overly emotional and I cry so often even I get annoyed.  It's hard, on some days, to find anything redeeming in myself.

I also struggle more than I should with what others think of me.  I started taking "happy pills" over two years ago.  There were so helpful and gave me the boost I needed to deal with my mother's death and move along in the grieving process.  I weaned myself off (yes, under my physicians supervision) only to have the two most important people in my life suggest that perhaps I should go back on.  I found their statements devastating as I felt like the two people I entrusted myself with didn't like me the way I am; they like me better a bit more stable and medicated.

There are days when I ask God why He created me as He did and what the value is to be found in all these emotions and idiosyncrasies of mine.  Most days I can't find an answer.

John recently wrote a beautiful post wherein he stated the following:

It was a very clear revelation. The Spirit simply said: "Do not pass through those doors if there is any doubt in your mind that you are equal to every single other person who walks through those doors. You are not inferior in any way. You are as deserving and worthy of every blessing your Heavenly Father desires pour out on every single one of his children. Do not enter without knowing that."

 I know that his struggle is different from mine, but I have often felt the same way.  I see women and men all around me who seem so much more together than me.  It certainly doesn't help that after almost 20 years of work, a college education and lots of wishing and dreaming that I find myself basically back where I was at the age of 16.  I feel like I'm stuck in mud and spinning my wheels unable, perhaps unwilling, to actually go anywhere.  I self-sabotage.  I start healthy habits and follow them religiously only to abandon them completely after just a few days.

I wish I had a point or some conclusion.  I find that frequently with blogging there is no nice little bow to tie at the end of these posts.  I would like to say that by reading John's post I've been inspired that I am enough and that I can accept myself, warts and all, as a beloved daughter of God but while I believe all that to be true, I just don't BELIEVE all that to be true.

And so I struggle.

And cry.

And eat some chocolate.

*sigh*

Unpacking

The question on everyone's mind: Why the move Miss Mouse?

Well....it was a hard decision to make and I still wonder if I'm being overly dramatic.  This blog began in an effort to keep my dear friend in Colorado informed about my life.  Since then it has evolved to being my shoulder to cry on, my soapbox and my megaphone for bragging about my children.  Sometimes, it's even my therapist.  All of that was threatened awhile ago when my friends (real, live people with whom I physically interact on a regular basis) discovered that I have a blog.  I took their discovery as an opportunity to be more authentic and to merge all these many facets of myself into one whole. 

Everything went really well and I was happy feeling as though I was being honest with the world.

However, such honesty opens oneself up and when one is open, the reality is that pain often follows.

A family member, whom I used to count as a dear friend, knew of my blog and was probably one of my most faithful followers.  Since moving to Alaska, though, and spending a great deal of time with her, I am reevaluating our relationship.  The truth is that while this woman is genuinely a kind soul without a malicious bone in her body, her perspectives, humor and way of dealing with life often conflict with my own.  Looking back on moments of pain between her and I, I truly believe that she never meant to hurt me but hurt is what I felt.  And, like the child who touches a hot stove only to be burned, I am reluctant to make myself that open and vulnerable to her again.  I have to continue the relationship: our children adore each other; we are family living less than a mile away from each other; we attend the same ward; we carpool. . . .it goes on and on. 

And since I have to continue the relationship, I have decided to set a few boundaries.  I don't call very often and I limit how often I hang out with her.  And, I have moved my blog.  A bit cowardly, I know.  I should have had a conversation with her, but I'm afraid of hurting her or causing more drama.  So, I'm working on getting my family blog active (you know, the one with my real name and actual pictures of my real children) and inviting her to that.  And I moved my personal blog, changed the name and am now unpacking all of my baggage.

It's good to feel comfortable and truly have this be a nest where my hair can hang down but I'm a bit disappointed that I failed in my efforts to be authentic and true and the same person to all people. 

I guess I'm just not quite ready.

But Wait . . . That's Not All . . .

Ever have a day where the good stuff just keeps coming?  Where you're NOT looking forward to bedtime because the day will be over and who knows what tomorrow will bring?

That's my day today.

It started with a quiet breakfast, all by myself, basking in the warm sunshine coming in the window.  I walked to the St. James Cathedral for mass and then walked back to the hotel WITHOUT A COAT!  (I KNOW!!  IT'S ACTUALLY SPRING HERE IN WASHINGTON!!  AND YES, I REALLY AM THIS EXCITED! I mean exclamation marks, caps AND underlining!  Whew.)

Back at the hotel, I worked in quiet (DH was still sleeping) and solved some puzzles (without cheating.  Be impressed!  Be amazed!) and then, when DH woke, we got on a Washington State Ferry to Bainbridge Island.

It was fun.  It was a glorious day.  Mt. Rainier was visible the whole day.  (Shocking!)  And . . .

I now know why dogs stick their heads out the window when riding in a moving car; the wind your face is just hella fabulous!

We walked around the Island and dined al fresco at the local harbor: crab cakes, AMAZING Ahi Tuna Tacos (seriously - fried wantons for the shells, raw tuna, sweet pickled ginger, cabbage and this spicy aioli. . . mmmMMMmmm . . .  mouth. so. happy.), fried oysters and a Greek antipasto plate.  All the dogs that walked by were jealous.  J. E. A. L. O. U. S. (To say nothing of their owners. . . .)

We wandered a bit more and then rode the ferry back to Seattle.  I counted 13 seagulls flying above the observation deck, gliding in the updraft from the boat.

Now we're in the hotel and I get to lounge about in my underwear and eat dark chocolate covered almonds and blog.  Sublime.

It was an amazing day.  I wish I had brought a camera but perhaps mental pictures are the best kind.  (Because in those, on the ferry, I have a waist and my hair was flying oh so delicately about in a very alluring way.  And at the hotel, I look simply stunning in my uberly expensive lingerie.)

Today was a God blessing day in the biggest way.

The Third Sunday of Easter

Robert and I have been visiting Seattle since Thursday, a little getaway with just the two of us.  It has been lovely to spend so much time without any real cares or responsibilities beyond what time we want to get up and where are we going to eat.

As today is Sunday, I wanted to go to church.  I looked and couldn't find an LDS meetinghouse anywhere close (we've been walking every where).  So, since I had fallen in love with the building anyway, I attended mass at the St. James Cathedral.

It was an awesome, awesome service.

The liturgy had two main parts: one from the book of Acts regarding the disciples speaking with the risen Jesus when he told them to cast in their nets and the nets were filled with so many fish that they could not lift them onto the boat and another from the Gospel of John when Jesus asks Peter if Peter loves him.

Before the liturgy, a woman spoke (I love the number of women that are involved in the service) about listening to the scriptures and placing ourselves in the story and the importance of remembering that the scriptures are alive.  It struck my heart that I can't truly remember the last time I thanked God for the Bible and the Book of Mormon.  How often I take sacred texts for granted!  These scriptures are literally God's word to me.  What a wonderful gift!

As I looked around, listening to the liturgy and the homily, singing the songs and answering the priests, I was touched by the devotion of those in attendance.  One woman in particular had swollen eyes and a tear stained face.

So much is said on the differences of religion, on my God versus your god.  Even within Christianity, we are often more divided than unified and often stress harsh judgments due to differing beliefs even going so far as to prevent others from heaven or to cast them to hell.  In this moment at mass, I was struck with the truth that we are all God's children and insomuch as we have faith and love for Him in our hearts and seek to serve Him, how could He ever cast those offerings away?  Such condemnation seems out of place for the God I know and serve.

I am grateful that I was able to attend mass this morning.  Grateful that as I reveled in the sunshine and the beauty of spring, that I arrived at the Cathedral to hear that we were celebrating the Third Sunday of Easter and to smell all those beautiful lilies.

Such a gift.

Praise be to God.

Developmentally Advanced

I have a child who has strong mathematical skills.  I have another child who has cornered the market on energy and work - perhaps a future phycisist? My point is that all of my children have areas where they are talented and advanced and areas that are a bit harder for them.

I have no idea why or what convinced God that it was a good idea, but it appears that my daughter is, ahem, gifted in a more physical arena.

I remember being a bit amused when at the age 2, she was very curious about the body part known as nipple.  She wanted the word and then she commented on them anytime my husband had his shirt off.

Since then, she has shown marked curious about the human body, particularly hers and mine.  "Okay," I thought, "I just need to have the 'this is how your body develops' speech soon."

Apparently I should have had it yesterday (as in yesterday several months ago) because she is currently all about the "china" and has had more than one conversation with her young female cousin on how the china feels good when it is rubbed.

What to do, what to do.

I don't know.

For me, I didn't really think about my china until I was a teenager.  Okay, maybe a fleeting thought.  But I remember being in my 20's and listening to friends talking about discoveries similar to my daughter's when they were in grade school and that is so not my recollection.

Any thoughts?

I'm big on the whole, "It's normal" and fully believe that girls should get to explore their bodies every bit as much as little boys do but I really would like her to have two hands or, perhaps more aptly, not to be quite so good at the hula.

O Mother, Where Art Thou?

I have noticed that when I get fits of depression, they often gravitate toward the existential kind.  Of late, I have been quite. . . uncertain about life and the next life as well.  Part of my discontent has been my marriage - this year has been a bittersweet year.  It's been remarkably blessed with some very sweet moments and also in the fact that our disagreements, after 12 years of marriage, have been distilled to the root of the matter instead of all those blasted leaves.  It's been difficult in trying to work together (something we've NEVER done well) and in discovering that the roots of our matters are very, VERY different.  Irreconcilably different.  And yet we still desire to be together and to keep our marriage strong.

My point, though, is that this bittersweet year has got me thinking about who I am as a woman and what marriage means and what is my place in it.  Believing my marriage to be an eternal bond, what does this say about my situation/life in the eternities?  I appreciate that in the eternities I will be a better person, a complete and holy person, and so will my husband.  Perhaps that will make all the difference.  But I am still uncertain as to what that means.

I feel as though when I contemplate the next life, I can glean some information from my Heavenly Father and from Jesus.  But at the end of the day, they are men.  They hold the priesthood.  They are the kings of a patriarchal setup.

So where does that leave me since I definitely don't have a penis and have no desires to acquire one?

I have been wondering about my Heavenly Mother and wondering about what she does.  It seems so counter to the spirit and to who I believe Heavenly Father to be that Mother would just be a spirit child making shadow, flitting about in the background but never doing anything of substance for Her children.  My heart despairs of that being my eternal lot.

And yet I find it hard to combat the fact that, from my belief's standpoint, the heavens are so silent as to who She is and what She does.  All the prophets have said is that She exists, which in and of itself is a great comfort to me.

And I sorrow at the fact that She seems to have no investment in my mortal pains.  My Savior is here and so is my Father, but where is my Mother?

Am I doomed to be as silent as She?

Montessori Musings

What can I say? I'm enjoying alliteration these days.

My oldest, Rafe, is finishing elementary school this year and should be enrolling in the local middle school come fall.  However, I have been feeling unenthused about the middle school (it probably hasn't helped that I'm still not certain where the building is actually located) and was wanting something different for Rafe.  We'd been tossing around the idea of homeschooling him since we moved; Alaska has some great homeschool programs that assist with the planning and help fund homeschooling so that the first $1800 of supplies and programs I used would be paid for.  I think Rafe would enjoy homeschooling but there's a slight hitch: I work.  And since we've moved north, I'm working more hours than ever (for the same pay - ah, the glory of owning your own business).  I'm usually home by the time they get home from school but, clearly, I wouldn't be able to work, spend hours homeschooling, be there to help my other kids when they got home from school or homeschool all three children, and then accomplish the other zillion things I like to do in a day.  I know, I know.  You thought I was Wonder Woman and now you are crushed.  I am so sorry.  I guess I'll have to return the Lasso of Truth.  Damn.

While engaged in contemplating my navel the future, I stumbled upon a flier for an upcoming open house at an alternative district school. I dragged encouraged my homeschooling SIL to go with me and I was impressed with the presentation.  I even attended last Tuesday to observe the three different classrooms (a 1-3, 4-6 and 7-8).

The school is a Montessori program (I'm sure you gathered that from the title because you are so brilliant) and I loved the setup of the classrooms and the flexibility of the curriculum.  The class sizes are much smaller (at least half of what the regular school would be) and the kids actually get 1/2 an hour for lunch.  It's the little things that matter.  I think there will be a lot of benefits to my children attending this school.

So what's the problem?

I. hate. change.

I know.  It's shocking after my ready acceptance of moving my family over a thousand miles to the north, but it's true.  Moreover, I get nervous whenever I step outside of the mainstream unless I am certain of my path.  DH's sister once said that I like to get all my information in black and white and then say, "Hmmm...thanks.  I'll think about it."  So choosing a such a different educational style, even though I'm unsatisfied with the mainstream option, has been given me waves of anxiety.

A dear friend asked me why I was struggling with the idea so much as I, quite enthusiastically, attended St. John's College and enjoyed their great books program.  To which I replied, "If I make a mistake in my life, it's one thing, but if I make a mistake with my children's lives, that's another."

To sum: I hate change and I hate the idea of being wrong and I hate the idea of being different unless I'm sure that I'm right and mother guilt.  Ugh.

Again with the sticking my neck out.  Again with the brave helmeted mouse trying to steal the cheese from the trap.  At least that's how I'm feeling.

But I did it.  In a fit of rightness and passion, I signed the applications and mailed them off.  Now I just have to wait a month to see if my children were accepted in the first lottery. . . .

PS - I know this was a rough post.  All I can say is that my skills for making my mundane insanity amusing have waned a bit during the break.  Here's hoping they'll return....and rapidly!

Lenten Learnings

The drought has ended and I can now begin to write all the random thoughts that pop into my head on an hourly basis.

Easter was fabulous; General Conference was amazing and it was a lovely way to start Easter - lounging in our pj's, kids blitzed out on chocolate and prophets and apostles speaking in the living room; I love cable.

My Lent experience was different than I expected.  I learned something about myself and about Lent.  First, I love facebook.  I have missed hearing about my friends and connecting, even in just short little blurps.  I also missed all these darn blogs.  I miss my computer friends.  In all, I don't think I'm going to give up all my internet passtimes again, but I think it was a good thing to give up once.

Secondly, I have learned that Lent is a lot like fasting; it's less about what you're giving up and more about what you are replacing it with.  While I found that I had more time in general and my husband complained less on my being plugged into a computer, I didn't feel more overtly spiritual than I do on any other given day of the year.  I found that I need to be better about adding the spiritual components to my life - in particular, regular prayer and scripture study. 

Thirdly, I discovered that the pangs of Lent are similar to the pangs of fasting in that they remind me, "Hey - shouldn't you be thinking about God?"  And I loved that.  I find myself having more conversations with God throughout the day and I have found myself - while not quite perfectly regular in regards to the prayer and scripture study - more attentive to that part of my life.

So, moving forward, I am back on Facebook and back here and even back robbing people on Mafia Wars - although I must admit that some of the appeal of that game has waned.  And I am still having convoluted and dramatically crushing thoughts that I would love to share....but not this morning.  I'm finding myself a bit to drained and I'm sure that whatever I typed would come out being overly maudalin, even for me.

Complete Radio Silence

There is so much to say - like the fact that I got a helluva speeding ticket today while taking my kids to the dentist and the fact that Q just turned 9 - BUT....

Today is Ash Wednesday.  I'm not Catholic.  Robert's family is, but we, are not.

However, I love Lent.  I love the whole idea of sacrificing something to increase the level of penitence and to draw nearer to Jesus during this time.

So, what do I give up?  Sadly, for all of you who hang on my every word, I am giving up the internet; no games, no Facebook, NO MAFIA WARS (I feel the withdrawal pains already) and no blog and no reading blogs (lest you wonder where all my scintillating comments have gone).

I'm hoping that I can not only give up these time suckers but that I will then use that time to work on my ecclesiastical studies and prayers.

Who knows.

At any rate, hugs, smooches and the occasional grope - I'll be back in April.

An Asstastic Update

Because I know that you all have been on the edges on your seat....not only did I lose THE VERY FIRST WEEK, but I came it dead last, butt last, if you will.

I thought I got 5% of the vote, but no.  I got a whopping 5 votes (thank you my peeps) for a total of 2% of the vote.

Yeah.  Thank goodness my husband adores my ass.

Happily, my humiliation of publicly posting my bum has now ended.....and I can get on to debating the weightier matters of life.

5 Minutes a Day

That's what we're adding: five minutes each day  That's over a half-an-hour by the end of the week  *bliss*

This morning, the sky was light by 7am and at 5 this afternoon, there was still light in the sky.  Will wonders never cease?

I am so looking forward to the equinox and the wonderful unbalanced share of light we will be getting in the far north.

BTB, I've also finally realized, after 34+ years of staring down the channel at the same view, that the sun here rises more in the S, maybe SSSW.  Which explains why even when there is sunshine, none of it falls on my face; the sun never rises behind the mountain at my back.  Now, however, it is rising somewhere in the SW and I swear I have actually seen a beam of light on my side of the mountain.  Yea.

Deja Vu

Driving down the highway, the following conversation ensued.

Q: So I was the biggest baby?

Me: Yep, you were the tallest.  21".

Q: And Rafe was the fattest baby?

Me: Yep.

Q: Was I as big as Rafe was when he was 2 when I was born?

Me: Uh....no.

Q: When do babies start to talk?

Me: About 18 - 24 months.

Q: No, I mean real words.

Me: Yeah, about 18-14 months.

Q: And what was my first word?

Me: I don't know.

Q (increasingly whining pitch to voice):  Why didn't you write this stuff down?  Why do you remember Rafe's word but not mine or Eliza's?

Me (totally not seeing ANYTHING in this season of post-Christmas lights and an overcast night):  WOW!!  LOOK AT THAT STAR!!


It. totally. worked.

The boy got suckered.  He found a star or something twinkly somewhere and I was so relieved.

And yes, I plan on using this tactic in the future until he figures it out and I can't get away with it anymore.

Or until the sun starts staying up past their bedtimes and we really can't see any stars because the sky isn't black.

Which ever comes first.

Paranoia

Yeah, it's finally gotten to me.

But not so much about my kids - I know, I'm a bad mom.  No, I'm paranoid about certain, ahem, people finding this blog and reading and perhaps future employers (I know - dare to dream) and while my parents get an A+ for originality in the name department (my Facebook app said it was so, so it must be so), that A+ makes it really easy for anything related to me to pop up when one googles my name.

On that note, I'm now Windy (a punny name that my father so enjoys using with me) and my children are all renamed.  It is what it is.

Who knows?  Someday I'll get another wild hair and change it all back.

Stay tuned.....

Reader Discretion is Advised

When a certain time of month occurs, I feel as if someone has slowly peeled all the skin from my body and I stand before everyone bloody, naked, nerves exposed.  A soft breath, a sound, a smell, the world is too hard, too abrasive, too prevalent.  I want to shrink back, wrap myself in the softest of eider down that somehow only floats around me without touching me.  I want food, drink and babysitting to magically appear without ever having to interact with anyone else.

And I don't know how to change this.

And I don't know how to deal with life in these moments.

Today Is A Weepy, Weepy Day

That's it.

Nothing more to post.

Except that I loved this post of Sue's and I concur.

Except that instead of service postings, I will probably just be sporadic (sort of like 2009, now that I think about it).

Except that I tend to do the opposite of what I say I'll do and now that I've announced all of this, I'll end up pulling out of my sorrow and have the best year ever.

Yeah.

I should quit while I'm ahead.

Today is just a weepy day.

Perhaps the Blur Makes It Look Better?

I know.  A week isn't long and I'm not optimistic about my chances, but what do you think?

Amazing amount of poundage and inches lost, right?

Rethinking Food Storage

It occurred to me this weekend, as some sort of stomach virus is running through the family, that Gatorade needs to be added to our food storage.

I really don't want to be stuck with vomiting children, or myself, and have no way to re-hydrate them thus encouraging more vomiting.

Perhaps the church should consider adding something similar to their list of "basic needs."

On the upside, perhaps my diet of Gatorade and saltines will help with with the Fantasstic challenge....mmmm, we'll see.

Lazy Mom

Wednesday afternoon Q called me from school and said that he wasn't feeling well.  I picked him up and brought him home; he was so pale he made chalk look tan.  He vomited that night.

So, I'm sad that my child doesn't feel well but I have to say that I've become a very lazy caretaker.

I mean, sure, I snuggled Q extensively on Wednesday and through the night, but it was mainly because I didn't have to make dinner and got to go bed early instead of getting the other kids ready for bed.

Sure, I spent the day at home with Q on Thursday and didn't go to work, but it was mainly so I could play on the computer without having to really accomplish anything.  (On the other hand, my blogs never had so many new posts!)

Now Rafe is sick and I've relegated him to his bedroom so the other kids can play the Wii and so I have room on the couch.

*sigh*  After watching Supernanny yesterday, I'm pretty sure Jo would yell at me for my choices.

Oh well.  I guess I'll just have to go spend the day by myself, being left alone with no questions and requests, in the naughty spot.

Darn it.

See.  I told you I was becoming a lazy, lazy mom.

Grrrrr....

So I'm wondering this morning, "What makes a feminist?"

Because I tend to think of myself as a feminist but apparently, I'm not radical enough.

It's all quite, quite silly and I'm trying to let it go but apparently I have nothing better to do today and apparently I am a petty girl. (I'm calling myself the names because I'm annoyed with myself that I'm letting this bother me so much.)

On Facebook, there's this whole thing about posting your bra color to raise awareness for breast cancer and self-exams.

OK. I realize that this is really not going to do a whole lot for breast cancer but I think it's a fair reminder for self-exams and I think it's just F.U.N.  It amazes me how many of us "old" ladies are wearing white.

But apparently, I'm giving into the patriarchy.

This radical feminist loathes the patriarchy and is going to wait for this color nonsense to pass.

 I'm annoyed for a couple reasons. If someone wants to do a silly sheep meme about bra colour, fine, cool, have fun - but telling me it's somehow connected to breast cancer 'awareness' is ridiculous - especially since part of the meme is 'keeping it a secret from the men'. Huh? And then there's the 'awareness' part. Awareness is useless unless it inspires action. Does knowing your bra colour inspire me to act in a way that can further research, prevention, a cure? No, it does not. And then finally, and this is just a personal thing, I'm annoyed at the trivialization of cancer. It's not trivial, it's taken the lives of people I love. Using it to spread a meme offends me. Especially since meme's don't really need an incentive....people are sheepy enough without extra encouragement. /rant

So, I'm gathering that to be a feminist I can't be improper, silly or admit to wearing a bra (after all, didn't we burn those babies back in the 70's?).

To be a feminist, I have to be uptight and find fault in everything in the current world.  I have to call all those who disagree with me sheep who just don't know their own mind and aren't aware of how the world is really against us and we need to fight the power.

Bah.  Bah.  Bah.

I told you that it was silly and stupid and petty and I need to just let it go.  But it's stuck in my craw for some reason; perhaps you can tell me the real reason this is rubbing me the wrong way?

PS - what ever would they say about my butt photo?

PPS - I think I'm just tired to being called a sheep and an anti-feminist.  I also think I don't like being told that I'm wrong.  Shocking, I know.

PPPS - Is a devout Mormon woman automatically excluded from the feminist club just because she's a devout Mormon?  Is that one of the requirements too?

Emerald Green

Sheer black.

Red.

Crimson.

Blush.

Chartreuse.

Puce.

Purple.

Magenta.

Navy.

Baby blue.

Nude.

Beige.

White.

Daffodil.

Marigold.

Rust.

Sundial gold.

Silver with rhinestones.

Orange.

Purple.

Evergreen.

Cornflower.

Antique brass.

Aquamarine,

Tangerine.

Cerise.

Cotton Candy.

Fuzzy wuzzy.

Granny Smith Apple.

Lavender.

Purple mountain's majesty.

Sunset orange.

Thistle.

Burnt sienna.

Brown.

Dark chocolate.

Wisteria.

*sigh*

I think I've gotten all my snarkiness out.

I Can't Believe I'm Doing This

For me, this is harder than any Polar Bear Swim.  It's one of those things that I making myself do because, hey, I'm only going around once but it's also one of those things that I think will seem dream like when I recall the moment, like the time I ran for class president (long story, let's not discuss).

Anyhoo, I am joining in Miss Amy's Fantastic Asstastic Challenge 2010.  Vote for my pink non-fuzzy butt and I'll send you imaginary, non-fuzzy, chocolate chip cookies.  Because seriously, this ass needs work!

Also, please note that the above photos were made as small as possible to minimize any permanent retinal damage.  If you're daring, feel free to click on them and see my hiney in all it's technicolor glory.

PPS - I need crazy stories to tell the grandkids.  Yeah, that's my rationalization and I'm sticking to it.

PPPS - The contestants are up and may I say that I think I will be voted off by next Wednesday.

My Daughter Cracks Me Up

Eliza [while playing baseball against the computer on our new Wii (thank you Grandma)]:  Show us what your momma gave you!

(she swung and missed)

Eliza: Your momma sure gave you somthin'!

******

A few days ago I stumbled upon Eliza playing with her Barbies.  She hasn't had a male doll and she got some paper dolls for Christmas including some princes.  So, I find her with two female Barbies making out.

Me: Eliza, why are those girls kissing?

Eliza: They love each other.

Me: Are they married?

(For Eliza, our discussions about marriage have been the right to kiss on the lips; we explained Grandma and Grandpa's divorce by saying they couldn't kiss each other anymore.)

Eliza: Yeah, to him.

Me:  They're both married to him?

Eliza: No, all three of them.

Me: He has three wives.

Eliza:  Yep.

Apparently, for some children, polygamy is just intuitive.  And the sexual relationships within that marriage are, oh, flexible.

Happy New Year!

My aunt, my mother's sister, was dared to join a Polar Bear Dip in exchange for $200 donated to a charity of her choice.  My aunt, kindly, and oh so thoughtfully, invited me to join her.  My aunt is 65 and since I always like a friend to go with me I said, "Sure.  Why not?"

Of course, I figured that I would need financial incentive as well so I invited all my facebook friends (feel free to join in) to donate to the Children's Miracle Network in memory of my nephew Rayden League.

New Year's came and I braced myself:

• swimsuit - check.
  
• towel -  check.
• five layers of clothes -  check, check, check, check, check!
• two sets of little hotties hand warmers (one for hands, one for toes)- check and check.
  
• hot chocolate - damn forgot that.
• armload of wood for the fire - double damn.

But take the plunge I did.

 There's something wonderfully wild and crazy about lining up with like-minded insane people to plunge into the ocean when the ambient temperature is a balmy 23 degrees Fahrenheit.  My aunt was the first one in the water and I followed her lead; when she dove, I dove.

The wonderful thing about plunging into such cold water is that 23 degrees suddenly feels like a warm summer day.  Then every thing becomes tingly and I could literally feel every pore on my skin.  I felt energetic. I COULD CONQUER THE WORLD!!!

Then the adrenaline stopped, my body decided that I was NOT in an emergent situation and that it didn't need to worry and should leave me to my own stupidity.

I got cold.

I must say, though, that the hand warmers on my toes, inside my wool socks, were the most perfect thing and the best idea I had the whole day.  That and the grande hot chocolate from a local coffee shack.

When I got home, I slept the afternoon away.

Shocking, I know.

But in the end, for only about 2 minutes of work and a few hours of cold, I managed to raise $76+.  (You could make it more....)

I'm thinking this could be a new tradition.

**PS - do you see how big my chest looks?  Holy big bosoms batman!