Mommy Musings: Notes from the Trenches

Definitions

2012-02-14T08:39:00.002-07:00

This past Sunday my back was out of whack, so the whole family stayed home from church. Not a problem--we held our own Primary meeting on my bed.

Grace was the Primary teacher. She had Eric and Mercie draw pictures of their families and then she asked them questions.

"Mercie, what is a family?"

"Um, it's a mom and a dad and brothers and sisters."

"Very good. Eric, what is a family?"

"Love."

"MOM!!!! Eric doesn't even know what a family is!!!!"

I don't know--from where I sit, I think Eric pretty much nailed it.

These Are A Few of My Favorite Things. Again.

2012-01-17T16:03:00.002-07:00

Yes, it is time once again for the list of things that make my life happier.

Havarti Cheese. Where, oh where, have you been my entire life? However did I exist without you?
Smoked Jack Cheese. I had forgotten about this, but thankfully Dad reminded me by giving me a huge, HUGE block of it at Christmas time. The kids decided they don't like it, which just means more for me. I am slowly savoring a little each day, doling it a bit at a time. My hope is that it will last until October.
Kind words. Self-explanatory.
New slippers! Thanks to Holly, and Christmas.
A luxuriously warm & comfy robe, thanks to Mom & Christmas. Also, it is bright red, which is just awesome.
Lay's Garden Tomato and Basil potato chips
Maggie's Organics all-cotton socks. Oh yum!!! Comfort food for your feet. I am so in love I don't think my toes will ever accept anything else.
Gardein Mandarin Orange Chick'n frozen entrees. Seriously yummy meatless food.
Family home evening lessons taught by one of my kids. They are A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. It's sometimes challenging being the mother of such brilliant and talented children. Tough to keep up. But oh, how I love being amazed by them!

That is all for now.

Welcome to Nerdtown

2011-12-30T22:59:00.002-07:00

This was my day today:

Woke up for some ridiculous reason at 6am. Decided that I'm done thinking about repainting my bedroom--it's time to just do it. By 6:15am the paint was stirred, brushes were rounded up, and moulding was taped off. Given that it required several coats I didn't actually finish until 3pm, but for a paint job accomplished alternately in my underwear and my pajamas (I decided that I didn't want to risk getting paint on my jammies so I took advantage of being home alone to strip down), it turned out dang good. My only concern is why on earth I waited so long.

Event no. 2--I got a new dishwasher. I was too cheap to pay for installation, so until I can either figure it out from youtube videos or con someone into helping me, my days of handwashing are not quite at an end--but they are close. The new one is black. It's pretty.

I went to a dance. A real, grown-up one. There were a surprisingly high number of men there. Many of them were the same age as my grandpa, but still.

Also, I took a small break from my vegetarian lifestyle to have In-and-Out, and it was very good. Of course.

The day's highlight: finding a beyond-fabulous collection of essays by every major existentialist philosopher, all in one beautiful volume, tucked away on a bottom shelf at Barnes & Noble. It made my whole week.

Conclusion: I am a nerd.

But I am a nerd with exquisite taste and a lovely bedroom.

Merry Christmas from Grace

2011-12-16T15:04:00.002-07:00

Grace came home from school today with a holiday card for her beloved Mama.

Dear Mom,

I love you when am I going to your work? I love you so so so so so so so much Love Grace To Mom One thing I left on the crismas list is a repunzel barbie to mom from grace. PS pleze rite me back

I especially like how she didn't exploit holiday sentiments to ask for anything in return, or use this buttering-up opportunity to sneak in a last wishlist request.

Second Best

2011-12-06T20:12:00.002-07:00

When I was a little girl I proudly announced to my teacher, when asked what I planned to be when I grew up, that I was going to be a mommy and have 12 kids.

When I was 14, a boy at church tried to insult me by predicting my future: "You're such a molly you're going to have 12 kids, live on a cattle ranch, be married to the bishop, and write mormon cookbooks." To his dismay, I didn't see it as the insult he intended. I thought it sounded perfect.

In college wards--three in a row--the end of the year found me voted Most Likely to Have 12 Kids, and again, I took it as the ultimate compliment.

If I had ever stopped to sketch out my dream life it would have looked very much like this: Stay-at-home mom to 12 or so kids, all delivered naturally & possibly via home birth, probably home schooling, writing books (though not necessarily cookbooks) on the side, married to an awesome guy who totally supported all of those endeavors, living off the land and possibly off the grid...you get the idea. It's a completely different life from the one I have.

Thank God it's completely different from the wonderful, amazing, totally perfect life I have. Oh, how I thank God that I ended up with this wonderful, amazing, totally perfect-for-me life.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because I wasn't able to have children "of my own." I look at my beautiful, beautiful children, who look nothing like me and never will, and I am grateful all the way down to my toes that I was blessed to have THEM; not the genetic clones I envisioned. I feel the love of their birthfamilies, surrounding the kids and sustaining me. I look at all the ways adoption has expanded my soul and opened my heart and enriched my world, and I'm humbled to the ground that God's plan for me included this "second-best" path.

Sometimes I get pitying looks from people because my path to wedded bliss took a painful detour through divorce. Ironically, some of those pitying looks come from people whose own marital experience could best be described as the next road over from hell, so I take the self-righteous pity for what it's worth--a thinly veiled attempt to feel better about their own circumstances. This one is harder to write about because I don't have a happy ending to tack on as the moral of the story. I do, however, kinda agree with the handcart pioneers, that my divorce and subsequent experiences have been a small price to pay for knowing God. The kind of close-up, intimate knowing that only comes when you are down in the mud...yeah, I'd do it all again if it meant coming through with the knowledge, deep down to the core of me, that God is always there for me.

And you know, as much as I adore my kids, I'm really glad that I'm not living the stay-at-home mommy life that I imagined. I love that my kids have benefited from many loving people besides me. I'm glad that they've been able to learn, from early ages, that the world is full of kind people, that they can trust the world and be safe in the world, because they've been blessed with wonderful caregivers. I'm glad that God's plan for my life has involved an endless parade of college students who share their enthusiasm and energy and fun, not just with me, but with my kids. My kids think I have a coolest job on the planet, and I would have to agree. Thank goodness God knew that giving me lots of grownup kids to mother, in addition to my four little ones, would keep me happy.

There are more. I love my scrappy little house, for many reasons, one of which is that it's given me the opportunity to learn new repair skills I didn't think I had. It's also given me the chance, many times over, to appreciate good neighbors and awesome home teachers and all-around nice people who help me out when I'm over my head. I love my beat up old minivan, mostly because my kids love it and because it's name is Madame Blueberry, and how can you not love a car that comes with a name like that? If I had the dream house, the dream car, I'd miss the affection for shabby things that has grown on me.

It's cliche; true, but I'm so glad that God hasn't answered all of my prayers the way that I wanted.

This beautiful, messy, glorious second-best life is the happiest thing I could know. Who knew?

Things I Like

2011-11-23T15:34:00.002-07:00

Lady Antebellum
dark chocolate almonds
people who feed me
3 Nephi Chapter 17
substitute teaching in youth Sunday School classes
Christmas tree lights
cooking with my kids
my sisters
long, hot baths
movies with friends
flirting
walking around temple grounds
new jammies
functioning household appliances
brushing & flossing (I know, weird)
Barbra Streisand
meeting cool people
reading new Junie B. Jones books with my kids
snuggling

Children: the Benefits, Part Two

2011-11-09T19:23:00.003-07:00

Here's a scenario that repeats itself whenever I attend a conference out of town:

Several of us will be sitting around, enjoying dinner or sharing a shuttle, or scoping out hotel gifts shops together, and the question of children will come up.

Those who have them will pull out cell phones and show off pictures while everyone oohs and aahs appreciatively. The norm seems to be one child; a few adventurous souls will own up to having two, which is warmly commended with nods of acknowledgement for the bravery of taking on two.

Then it's my turn. I smile super big, pull out my phone with pictures and trump them all with FOUR.

There is stunned silence, until inevitably, some shocked soul will whisper "but, WHY?"

The shock intensifies when they discover that all four are adopted and therefore pretty clearly wanted, chosen, and planned for. No accidents among the bunch.

This isn't about answering that asinine question of why. I can't think of anything better to do with my life than raise a family. In my mind, justifying it is akin to justifying why anyone would want to ever fall in love or eat chocolate or go to heaven. It's such no-brainer that it doesn't even deserve much of a response.

The thing is, I can't wrap my mind around the other side. It blows me away that so very many people are deciding that children simply aren't worth it. It blows me away that they are so focused on the work and messiness and inconvenience of children that they've completely lost sight of the incomparable joy that comes with family life. I have a hard time wrapping my mind around the short-sightedness that opts for less hassle now with no thought to everything that is lost by that choice.

It's especially ironic considering that most of them are one of several children who enjoy all the benefits of sibling relationships. I'm tempted to point out at times that someone willingly tackled the task of giving them life and rearing them to be moderately productive citizens, and doesn't it seem just a wee bit self-centered to refuse that role for another someone?

But, in spite of the judgmental tone of this post, I don't really spend much time worrying about the choices that other people make regarding procreation. We all choose our own path, and I respect that.

It just makes me sad that for so many people, it's a one-sided choice.

I know when I get home I'm gonna be tackled to the floor by four little people who have missed me more than anything. It's gonna be loud; they're all going to shout at once, all the exciting news I've missed. It's gonna involve crying and hurt feelings and poked elbows and trampled toes. It's gonna be messy--I'm trying not to think about what the house will look like when I get back.

It's going to be heaven on earth.

Maybe that's what I'll say, the next time someone asks why.

Loving

2011-10-30T09:55:00.003-07:00

I recently re-read "The Four Loves" by C.S. Lewis. Thought-provoking, to be sure, and for the most part I agree completely with his superb mind.

One place I always get a little lost with Lewis, though, is his characterization of God as a Stern Being who is easier known as the Ruler of the Universe than as a deeply personal Father.

The characterization doesn't mesh with my personal experience. While I agree with Lewis that God doesn't NEED our love and isn't necessarily any more grand or glorious because of it, instinct tells me that there is more to the story, and it DOES matter to God whether we love Him back.

Last night I read Gracie a book that I used to read to her when she was a baby. In the book Big Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare discuss how much they love each other. Little Nutbrown Hare loves Big Nutbrown Hare as wide as his arms, as high as he can jump, and as far as he can see. Yet regardless of what measure he uses, Big Nutbrown Hare can always reach wider, jump higher, and see farther.

As Big Nutbrown Hare tucks Little Nutbrown Hare into bed, the reader is reminded that parental love knows no bounds.

For some reason as I read it this time, I was thinking of Little Nutbrown Hare, and how his efforts to express love must have meant the world to Big Nutbrown Hare. Of course his efforts were smaller, less grandiose, more childlike. They were also the very best he had to offer. It was exactly what Big Nutbrown Hare wanted.

I loved the first smiles and giggles and reaching out to grab my finger with my babies. I loved hearing them say, "Mama," and chubby hands around my neck and "I wuf you." I loved the first sprawling scribbled love letters and the crayon drawings of mom & me. I love it now when they bring me breakfast in bed or "sneak" to surprise me with a clean kitchen or save their allowance to buy me presents.

It's the very best they have to offer, and it's exactly, perfectly what I want.

I think I love God all the more because, when I bring Him my immature, shabby, impatient, and totally messed-up heart, He lets me know that it's exactly, perfectly what He wants.

Children: The Benefits

2011-10-17T18:40:00.002-07:00

Anyone who is a parent knows how completely humbling the task can be. However, I've noticed that they can also be quite good for the ego. Mine aren't teenagers yet. Enough said. Here are some reasons I keep them around:

they think I sing better than anyone on the radio
they are pretty sure people would pay $100 for one serving of my teriyaki glazed salmon
they are certain that no one can do harder math than Mommy (oh, how I'm enjoying that one while it lasts--which will probably be another month, or fourth grade, at which point they'll surpass me in ability).
they think I'm just as pretty as Sandra Bullock and waaaaaay prettier than Miley Cyrus
they are convinced that anyone who doesn't want to marry their mom is a complete imbecile and totally beyond all hope
in a discussion about how faith can move mountains, they wanted to know which ones I've moved recently

Definitely keepers, these kids of mine.

On Happy Endings, mid-page

2011-09-22T13:02:00.003-07:00

Along with a gaggle of giggly girls who firmly believe in fairytales, princesses, and dreams coming true, I have a sweet little son (who is often a punk, but is just as often a sweetie-poo); who is perhaps the most romantic soul in our family.

Which is why it wasn't a complete surprise when, a few nights ago, he snuggled up against me and asked, after a few minutes of quiet, "Mommy, why couldn't you and Daddy just live happily ever after?"

Now that's a loaded question. One with even more loaded answers.

I blurted out the best answer that popped into my head: "Well, the story's not done yet. Daddy's not in my happily ever after, and I'm not in his, but the good parts of the stories are still coming. And YOU are definitely part of my happily ever after."

It seemed to satisfy him. For now. I'm not naive enough to think that my kids will forever be satisfied with my non-answers about the dissolution of their parents' marriage; however, by the time they are old enough to be relentless they will also be old enough to believe me when I tell them that divorce is about grown-up problems.

Eric's innocent question has stuck with me, though. For him, and for anyone who glances wistfully into the past and wishes that things had stayed the same and hard, sad times hadn't come, here's what else I would have added:

"We're living the middle of the story right now. Before the happily ever after there are lots of grand adventures, heart-thumping terrors, overwhelming obstacles, and side stories that temporarily distract us. In the thick of the action the hero and heroine don't know how it will play out. No one knows the happy ending until, well, the end.

"Sometimes the middle of the story totally sucks. Sometimes the danger is unbelievable, the pain seems never-ending, and any hope for a happy ending is seemingly dashed.

"But that doesn't make the happy ending any less certain. The Author knows the entire story, beginning to end, and there is always, ALWAYS a very happy ending."

One of my favorite quotes is from C.S. Lewis (you knew it would be). He said, "There are far better things ahead than any we leave behind." True, that.

Chalk that up as one true thing that I know: it always gets better.

Here's to more page-turning adventures on the way to our happily-ever-afters!

Adding to the List

2011-09-08T14:41:00.006-07:00

Earlier this month I had to travel to Logan for a few days. It was the perfect opportunity to add another temple to the list.

And perfect opportunity to snap a picture of myself in bedhead, getting ready in the morning. 'Cuz I know you all wanted to see that.
On the way to Logan is Brigham City, where they will soon have their very own temple. Isn't it gorgeous? I love this design. I can't wait to bring the kids to the open house.

And finally the Logan temple. Logan itself is a beautiful town. I can't believe I've never been! It has all the charm of a rural small town with all the energy of a vibrant, exciting college town. The temple was perfect. I think one of my favorite things about temples is how nice everyone is inside them. Logan did not disappoint.

I realized as I drove home that I passed ten temples--Logan, Brigham City, Ogden, Bountiful, Salt Lake City, Jordan River, Oquirrh Mountain, Draper, Mt. Timpanogos, and Provo--all within a two-and-a-half hour drive. Is that an amazing blessing or what???

I'm a lucky girl.

Why It is Impossible to Have a Conversation With a 6-Year Old

2011-08-06T07:43:00.000-07:00

Child: Can I have a lemonade when we get home?

Mom: No.

Two minutes pass.

Child: So, remember how you said I could probably have a lemonade when we get home?

Mom: No.

Child: Well, you definitely said I could have one, I'm sure.

It's the Little Things

2011-08-03T07:36:00.003-07:00

You know what I love? I love it when someone waits to hold a door open for me. Not sure why that totally makes my day, but it does.

I like it when people open doors for me in general, but there is something about a person actually standing there, waiting for you to catch up from twenty feet away, holding the door open for no other reason than the fact that you'll eventually get to it and need it open, that just makes me all warm and fuzzy. It's like the kindness of opening a door, times ten. I love the implicit kindness of setting aside a few seconds of their own rushed schedule to do a small nice thing for someone else (in this case, me).

And yes, it's on my mind because it just happened a few moments ago. Mr. Anonymous Stranger Who Took The Time To Make My Day, a thousand blessings and good karma on your head.

Being Saints

2011-07-24T19:06:00.003-07:00

In my ward, two older-ish gentlemen were recently baptized and became members of the church. In our faith worthy men are ordained to the priesthood, but they must be ordained in sequential order through various offices of priesthood, beginning at age 12. Young men are ordained to be deacons at 12 and continue on: deacons, teachers, priests. At adulthood they are ordained as elders, and sometime later, as high priests.

When a man joins the church after his teens, rather than automatically being ordained an elder, he must go through the other offices first. As you might imagine, this can be humbling. It plays out in very public ways, as deacons are assigned the task of passing the Sacrament bread and water to the entire congregation, teachers act as ushers of a sort, and priests bless the Sacrament in a public meeting.

Not being a man myself, I don't have firsthand experience with this, but I've been told by men who converted later in life that it's rather humbling to be out there with the 12-year old boys. From my perspective on the outside looking in, it seems like a bit of an act of faith as well. Submitting to the proscribed order of things, in such a public way, is an overt way of staking a claim, of saying, "yes, I believe that this is all true."

I admit, I've been curious how these two new brothers in my ward would cope.

Today they took their place in front of the Sacrament table before the meeting started. From the organ I had a birds-eye view as one by one, other men in the congregation glanced over, noticed, and came to join them. The younger men were excused. Today the Sacrament was passed to us by an army of men who looked quite different from the usual prepubescent boys. Graying hair and no hair replaced the rumpled or slicked back teen version; it was wrinkles instead of acne. Gently and almost imperceptibly the older brothers motioned the new ones in the proper movements and ritual, mentored them in their new responsibilities.

My fears that they wouldn't fit in, would feel awkward or conspicuous were unfounded.

And this, my friends, is why I not only believe the doctrines, but love and believe in the church. We mortals need a place and a company to practice what we believe, and the comfort of each other is the best way to do it.

Practicing our religion often takes us out of our comfort zone. It requires us to do things that are downright humbling. It calls upon us to make both private and public acts of faith. Those things can be scary, unnerving, potentially embarrassing, and uncomfortable.

Being surrounded by friends--by brothers and sisters, even--makes it much more possible.

To my brothers and sisters, who have surrounded me and held me up when I needed it most, for little things that barely mattered and for big things that mattered more than I'll ever know, thank you. Thank you for the practical support offered.

More than that, thank you for teaching me how to be one of the saints.

Early Writings

2011-07-16T13:03:00.002-07:00

The kiddles are figuring out that the written word is a powerful thing. A sticky note was found on my computer with the following message:

"I hate my danss class they don't have trets I want to go to the othr danss klss wir i yous to go."

I'm proud of them for using words and exploring putting their feelings in writing; somewhat less enthused about the passive-aggressive nature of putting it in a note instead of telling me. But we can work on that.

Homemade Brownies, My Way

2011-06-29T19:11:00.002-07:00

4 ounces unsweetened chocolate

3/4 cup butter

2 cups sugar

3 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

1 cup flour

1 cup chopped nuts (optional)

Break the chocolate into smaller chunks by hitting each square with a hammer. If you are planning to sneakily make brownies after the kids are in bed, it would be best to do this part before bedtime. When the kids ask what you are doing, the appropriate response is "nothing." Word to the wise--do not put the chocolate on a china plate for this step.

Put the chocolate and butter together in a glass bowl. Microwave for 2 minutes, depending on your microwave and how cautious or risk-taking you are. Stir gently until all the chocolate chunks have melted and the mixture is smooth.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and lightly grease a 9 x 13 pan.

Stir sugar into the chocolate-butter mixture. Scoop out a generous spoonful and eat it, because you still have 40+ minutes to go before the brownies are ready, and that is simply too long to wait for gooey chocolate yumminess. Resist the urge to scoop up such a large spoonful so fast that it hits the front of your shirt. Chocolate, butter, and sugar stain.

Add eggs, one at time, mixing after each addition. Stir in the vanilla and the flour, in that order.

Hold an internal debate over whether it's better to save the last cup of chopped pecans for healthy salad toppings or sacrifice them to the delicious decadence of brownies. Decide that salads win. This time.

Pour the batter into the greased pan. Leave enough on the insides of the bowl for finger licking. Spread the batter over the bottom of the pan. Keep generous amounts on the spoon so that you can clean the spoon off with your tongue.

Bake for 30-35 minutes, or until the top is set and firm, but the brownies are not yet noticeably browner around the edges.

Remove from oven, exercise all of your self-restraint, and wait 5-10 minutes. Let the brownies cool, firm up, and set.

Forgo cutting even squares in favor of digging into the warm, melty chocolate heaven with a spoon. If you get more than a third of the way into the pan, stop immediately, pray for forgiveness, and quickly wrap the rest for freezing. In the back of the freezer.

Friday Friends: The Divine Ms. B

2011-06-23T20:39:00.004-07:00

Name: The Divine Ms. B, also known as Betsy

Why We Are Friends: the picture speaks for itself. Also, because when I admitted that I'd never set off soda bombs in church parking lots, she was scandalized enough to insist that we make that our next girls-date. And because she has great taste in kids. Hers are yummy.

What We Like To Do: Contrary to her husband, Brain-Drain, who has been known to see us out the door with such gems as "Oh, you're going out with Wendy? I've got the number of four bail bondsmen right near the phone," we are not Thelma & Louise. Our primary shared activity is sitting up talking until very late in the car/yard/driveway/street. Close second--late night texting.

What Brings Us Together: Costco & pedicures & shared love of Erynn

Why I Want to Be Her: Um, see picture above. Also, she has great hair & teeth.

What Makes Her Smart: She knows everything there is to know about every animal & plant known to mankind. She knows everything there is to know about every obscure disease known to mankind. If she doesn't, just tell her that you might have it, and the next day she'll present you with documented monographs. Not only smart; she's also a world-class researcher. To top it off, as Brain-Drain says, she's more than just a pretty face. To quote him, "it's nice to be with someone who reads and stays current on world events, and has something interesting to say." While I prefer Ms. B's company for somewhat different reasons than he does, I do have to agree with his assessment. It is NEVER dull to be around Betsy.

Best Thing About Our Friendship: it makes me feel 13 again, except way older & cooler than I was at 13.

Her Special, Incomparable Talent: chocolate truffles. They are world-famous.

Times I Don't Like Her As Much (j/k!): When my kids tell me--repeatedly--how they wish she was their mom instead of me. Shoot, I'd pick her too, but ouch!

What She Teaches Me: Not to take myself, or the rest of the world, too seriously. To trust my instincts. That life is always good, even when it sucks. Everything always works out for the best. That EVERYTHING is better when you laugh really hard.

My Future Relationship Plans: Our mansions in heaven are going to be right down the street, back to 97 steps apart, 'cause I miss that.

Planning Ahead

2011-06-12T20:30:00.001-07:00

Mia: "I can't wait till I'm a mommy and I can be rude to my kids."

Me: "WHAT??? Is that what you think I do??? Am I rude to you???"

Mia: "No, but when I'm a mommy, I'm TOTALLY going to be rude to my kids. You're way too nice."

Things That Make Me Happy

2011-06-11T20:39:00.003-07:00

I don't what kind of self-absorption leads me to believe that an online audience is interested, but since I persist in my narcissism anyway, here's the latest.

Things That Make Me Happy:

Sitting on the couch in the dark, eyes closed, listening to "A Groovy Kind of Love."
Belting out Broadway tunes at the top of my lungs.
Spectacular sunsets
Snuggle time with a child in my bed, listening to that baby's deepest wishes and fears and thoughts about life.
Freshly laundered sheets
Kind words
Being "found" by former students
Girls' Night Out!
Wondering which nice neighbor just mowed my lawn/edged my lawn/took my garbage can out to the street...or any number of other acts of service that they do All.The.Time.
Lunch dates
New blog posts from Brain Drain or Mutterdrei :)
Pozole. Which I now know how to make myself, at least, in theory, thanks to Abe & Maurina.
Finding the absolute most perfect, beautiful home accessory or piece of furniture, that I've been needing for forever, and finding it dirt cheap.
Dresses that make me feel like a princess. At my age, that's something.
Getting lost in a book.
Arrested Development. I know, I know, I'm years behind the rest of the country, but that brilliantly whacked-out little gem of television just makes me laugh until I cry.
Nurturing the fledgling writers who just happen to also be my children.
Extraordinarily productive meetings.
KOSY's Show Tunes Saturday Night
C. S. Lewis
Spending time with my brothers and sisters
Functioning bathrooms!
My very quiet, energy-efficient new washer & dryer. Not cool that the old ones broke one time too many, but at least I have nice new ones.
Texts from my mom. Ditto Dad.
Watching my kids make good choices. Oh, this might be my happiest thing of all. It just doesn't get much better.
Hugs

Black Bean Burgers

2011-05-24T15:32:00.003-07:00

Back around Christmas time I had a fantasy-slash-New-Year's-Resolution that I would try a new recipe at least once a month & blog about it. Yes, the Julie & Julia thing has been done to death, I know, but I figured it would give me motivation to enjoy kitchen time more often.

Then my house started falling apart, and, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted a single recipe.

I am atoning now.

These are the incredibly yummy, super delicious black bean burgers I made Sunday, adapted very loosely from allrecipes.com.

3 cans black beans, drained and rinsed

3 eggs

3-4 cloves roasted garlic, chopped -OR- 1 tsp garlic powder

2-3 tsp chili powder (to taste)

1-2 tsp onion salt, or 1 cup chopped, sauteed onions

1 tsp smoked paprika

1 tbsp worcestershire sauce

1 tbsp tamari sauce

1-2 tsp chili sauce, Thai or Mexican

2 cups bread crumbs (I used 4 large herb & parmasen breadsticks, crumbled)

generous dash of salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Coarsely mash the black beans. I found a fork insufficient; a potato masher did a great job. Mix in eggs & seasonings. Add bread crumbs until the mixture is moderately stiff, though still soft. Grease a large cookie sheet. Using oiled hands, form patties with the meat mixture and place them on the cookie sheet. They can be very close together--they won't rise or grow in the oven.

Bake at 375 degrees for about 20 minutes. You can flip them halfway through the cooking, but I found that unnecessary. You can also cook them on a greased skillet, flipping about 3 minutes into cooking. I tried one that way, and it was DELISH, but definitely greasier than the baked version. Grease makes everything taste better, doesn't it?

These are so yummy, I was moaning in delight. Repeatedly. Grace & Mia got a little tired of it. "Ugh! Mom, you already told us how yummy they are! I think you can quit talking about it, now." They are also very filling. I ate one sans bun before dinner (a test product, if you will) and another with bun and veggies, and I was seriously stuffed. High in protein & fiber, I could so be vegetarian if I ate like this all the time.

Enjoy!

A Plea

2011-05-17T22:01:00.004-07:00

I try not to cross reference, assuming that if you are interested in my other blog you'll check it on your own.

But I have something important to say, so I'm using this site to encourage you to head over there.

www.janeaustenexperiment.blogspot.com, or link directly to the right.

Read today's post. Please.

Favorite Things

2011-05-02T07:26:00.003-07:00

That's right, it's time for another post of Wendy's Current Favorite Things. Ready?

So Delicious Coconut Almond Mini Bars (check the frozen section of your local health food store). SOOOO yummy. Like the brand name says, SO Delicious! Super decadent "ice cream" treat for those of us who try to avoid dairy. Mmmm....
Bath & BodyWorks Aromatherapy Body & Shine Energy Orange-Ginger Shampoo. Whew! That's a mouthful. Of words, not soap. Don't eat the shampoo. No matter how good it smells. And it does. Smell good. My apologies if I've shared this one before. It's been one of my favorite things for awhile.
Big, fluffy pillows and comforters. After the kids swiped every single pillow I owned (what--just because Mommy has multiple pillows on her bed they have to, also?) I finally replenished my stock, right around the time that my darling Smolly sent me a huge load of new blankets, comforters, shams, and who knows what else, that she purchased and immediately decided she didn't want after all. Now I have about 18 inches of fluff on my bed, plus a half dozen bulging, comfy pillows, and hanging out in bed is so luxurious I never want to get out.
My green Chinese silk bathrobe that Santa so graciously brought a few months ago. Have I already blogged this one? Well, it's worth repeating. La-la-la-love it! Robe + bed = I may never leave my bedroom again.
Avocados. When I was a little girl I could not fathom what my parents saw in these slimy, gaggy green things. Now I could eat one every day, and thanks to Sunflowers, most days I do.
Having three bathrooms. With two of them in varying stages of construction/remodeling, I'm feeling particularly grateful that we have three. Please, please do not let me be jinxing myself and have something go massively wrong with bathroom no. 3!
Sandra Bullock movies. Because sometimes you just need a movie break, and who doesn't like "While You Were Sleeping" the forty-fifth time?

You Never Forget

2011-04-11T19:57:00.005-07:00

Given that my four children are transracially adopted, and come from varying racial backgrounds, it seems a given that they are adopted. And when people find out that I'm divorced it is usually assumed--to the extent that it comes up--that infertility was a factor in the adoptions.

It's a correct assumption.

Not that I spend a lot of time dwelling on it in this phase of my life. I couldn't love my children more if they'd spent nine months in my womb. While infertility derailed my plans for twelve children, divorce blew up the train. Given all the reasons for being where I am + the general insanity of keeping up with four little tornados, I rarely think about the infertility diagnoses that were such a huge part of my life for so long, to the point that sometimes I forget--or maybe just tell myself--that infertility isn't a part of my life & my identity anymore.

When I say that to myself I'm totally lying.

Over the past little while several of my employees have made pregnancy announcements. Some pregnancies were expected and hoped for; some were not. Some are married; some are not. Some pregnancies have been hard and come with lots of complications--emotional and physical. Some have been clear-cut rejoicing. Each mother-to-be has filed into my office to share the news with emotions all over the map, and depending on where her heart is at and the circumstances of her news, I've been excited, sympathetic, concerned, supportive, or whatever else she needs right then, and over the coming weeks and months. My only thoughts have been for my friends and what I can do to help, even if the "help" is simply sharing the tears and the excitement.

So it was hard for me to put my finger on the source of a growing sadness that seemed to deepen after each expecting-momma announcement. Hard for me to even acknowledge it to myself. I'm over this, right? My life is full and rewarding and totally busy and waaaaaay past my struggles with infertility.

I'm such a liar to myself sometimes.

The truth is, I wish it were me. Not in a jealous way. I'm genuinely happy for everyone who gets the joy of parenthood, whatever way they reach it. I don't want to trade places. I just wish the plan for my life included the opportunity to experience pregnancy and childbirth. I wish it included more children. I love adoption. I want to do it again. Not that I'm not grateful for my four; I just love them so much and have such a blast with them that I don't want to be done.

Maybe part of the lingering pain is a need to be validated by others. When I was in the thick of infertility issues people moved warily around the subject around me. They were careful of my feelings when making pregnancy announcements. Sometimes it was mildly annoying--I mean, I really, truly am happy for others' happiness, and don't keep a scorecard of what blessings other people have that I want. I appreciated the kindness, though. I appreciated that they cared enough to tell me gently.

Now I'm suddenly the old grownup who somehow grew past that and I doubt anyone thinks of those things anymore. Some of my young employees even forget enough that they ask me about my labor and delivery experiences and look embarrassed when they realize that I don't have stories to share.

It's all good, it's all okay. This isn't a sad post.

It's just, I've been wondering when I really will be "over it." When will I reach a point where infertility is a distant memory that doesn't matter anymore and no longer has the ability to hurt me at all? When will I stop wishing for just one more baby or longing for missed experiences? Even if it's just in fleeting moments here and there...will I ever forget?

I don't think so. I don't think I want to forget. I don't think I want to reach a point where I don't feel that ache of longing. It's part of who I am.

I'm a mom. I was born a mom. Ask my poor brothers and sisters, who had to suffer under my early fumbled attempts. Or my early student wards, three in succession, who voted me "most likely to have 12 kids." They were onto something. Or the foster kiddos who spent time being mothered in my home. Or the college students I mother day after day now. I don't know any other way to be. I don't know any other way I'd WANT to be.

The painful part of being a mother is realizing that you can't mother the world, no matter how much you'd like to. Moms cry when we see starving children in Africa and sobbing toddlers in the aftermath of earthquakes and we dig out our wallets for kids at bake sales and write out checks to buy shoes for homeless kids because we can't NOT do those things. When you are a born mother you can't NOT mother.

Even when you really, truly can't. Biology or busy-ness, or everyday reality--I know I'm good with what I have. And I'm okay with that.

But it doesn't change the wanting.

I'm okay with that, too.

A Likely Story

2011-04-04T19:09:00.003-07:00

Mom: "Augh! Eric, why is your bed all wet???" (said after Mommy's butt just got soaked). Eric: "I don't know. It's not because I got my stuffed bunny all wet in the bathtub and carried it in here and laid it on my bed while I was getting dressed and dried it off with my blanket. 'Cause I didn't." Uh-huh.

Why I Keep Him

2011-03-02T23:22:00.002-07:00

Me: "What was the best thing about your day?"

Eric: "You."

Me: "That's a nice thing to say, sweetie."

Eric: "You are my favorite thing always. I just love you and that's all."

Priorities

2011-01-17T19:38:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I had a conversation in my head that went something like this:

Me: Hey! You should save all these great gift boxes and plastic food containers and pretty glass plates that people used to give you treats at Christmas! You could totally reuse them next Christmas!

Self: Yeah! Great idea!

Me: Except, crap--we just put all the Christmas stuff away yesterday. You'd have to go unpack the boxes in the garage and cram this stuff in. Or put them in a new box, which you'd probably forget about and rediscover next time you move.

Self: Good point. But think how much money I'd save next Christmas by already having this stuff!

Me: Um, when was the last time you actually gave little neighbor gifts or treats to people at Christmas?

Self: Three, four years ago? Wow. Has it really been that long?

Me: Very likely. What are the odds that you are actually going to make treats for all the neighbors next Christmas?

Self: Well, I WANT to.

Me: But what are the odds that you'll actually do it?

Self: I know, I know. Okay, so we take the box to DI?

Me: Good plan. Let's put it by the front door and see how many months it takes before we remember to put it in the car. And how many months after that before it goes from the car to DI. Maybe we'll make it before Christmas next year.

Which brings me to the actual point of my post:

There are far more things I'd like to do than enough of me to do them. To put it much more poetically and beautifully, in the words of Anne Morrow Lindbergh, "My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds."

In this I am not alone, especially among my sister friends. For some reason an urge to do and be it all seems to be more the province of the female gender, and we have the accompanying anxiety, depression, and insomnia meds to show for it.

The week before Thanksgiving a perfectly nice woman from my church called me one evening to ask if I would, along with one other woman, sew all the costumes for a church Christmas party less than two weeks away. She assured me that the costumes were very simple, and at most, we were only looking at 10-20 hours, total. I told her I'd think about it.

What I should have said was, "In what bizarre universe do you ask a single mom of four very young children, who works full time and teaches part time and insanely insists on being a part time student as well, who already has three other callings at church, and who just bought a house that seems to require a new repair every other day---in what whacked out place in your brain did you think I would be the logical person to ask for this project????"

I sincerely, sincerely regret that I did not offer the above response, and I promise that if (when) something like this comes up again, I most certainly will.

Much as I knew that I must decline, there was still some residual guilt, which I don't even want to begin psychoanalyzing here. I like being able to help people, and anything church-related brings an extra dose of both responsibility to help and guilt if I can't. Thankfully, church is made up of lots of regular folks like me, and the core of my spiritual life--my relationship with God--is founded on His Perfect Understanding, so I have somewhere to go when these conflicts arise.

It bothered me. I prayed about it. I told God that if He really needed me to make those costumes, I'd do it. Even if I had to do them between midnight and four am, which is about what it would be.

God said it wasn't necessary.

He reminded me that there's only one person on this earth who is my kids' mother, and it's me. Nobody else can do that job. I wouldn't want anyone else to do that job. The teaching, squabble-settling, feeding, clothing, cleaning, bathing, tucking, rocking, listening, singing, holding--those are one of the very most important things I can ever do with my time. Ever. And it does take TIME.

I've only got two parents (and two step-parents, but you get the point). I like them. A lot. Our relationships are important to me. I enjoy them. I need them. I want to spend the time required to maintain those relationships.

Ditto my brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and many good friends close enough to consider family. It takes energy and work and time to nourish our relationships, and I WANT to do it. I CHOOSE to do it. I believe God approves.

Participation in church is important to me. I attend church each Sunday. I partake of the Sacrament there, believing that the observance is a source of actual power in my life. I play the piano and play the organ and teach classes and sing hymns and freely, actively serve and worship with my fellow saints.

I gladly, willingly accept the assignment to be a visiting teacher, to be a friend to other assigned sisters in my neighborhood. I love visiting teaching. And it does take time. I believe it's important. I believe it matters to God. I believe He wants me to love these women and look after them and care for them.

Temple service is hugely important to me. I think anyone who knows me knows this. I love to attend the temple, serve in the temple, worship in the temple. This also takes time.

Then there are all those things I mentioned earlier--the full time job, the part time job, the studies, the house, the dishes, the yard, the laundry. The list never ends. Somehow, mixed in all of those, are moments of connection, even of service. I tell God that while I don't have much in the way of time, what I have is His, and if He just points me where to go, or what to say, or what to do, I'll do it. I'm frighteningly obtuse, but He breaks through, and the two of us do some good things from time to time. I'm constantly re-learning how frequently one of the greatest acts of service we can do for each other is simply acknowledge each other, fully, completely, to truly SEE each other. Those seemingly trite things--a smile, hug, sincere listening, belief in someone's potential and innate goodness--aren't really so trite at all. Those things don't come naturally to me, but they do to God, and I'm taking baby steps. I don't always see the world through His eyes, but I'm learning.

That's all He expects. It's perfectly enough.

There's never quite enough of me to go around. Just ask my four kids, as they each vie for a spot on my lap. Me & God; that's a different story.

I may not be able to do everything, but thanks to Him, I can do enough.

Sunday Dress Code

2011-01-16T22:02:00.002-07:00

When my babies were, respectively, 2, 1, and newborn, I used to fantasize about what it would be like to wear "real" clothes to church on Sundays once again. Clothes that weren't chosen based on their ability to disguise spit up stains, mashed fruit snacks, and crushed cheerios. Clothes that could double as facial tissue or napkins (gross, I know, but if you've had kids, you know what I mean. I drew the line at subbing for toilet paper. Though a good diaper blowout was close enough).

Naively, I thought I was a year or two away from Real-Clothes Sundays.

HAH!

The darlings are now, respectively, 7, 6, 5, and 5, and I'm pretty sure I'll be back in "real" Sunday clothes POSSIBLY in twenty years or so, though by that time I'll probably be meeting grandkids, so my years of Real Sunday Clothes have likely already passed for good.

As a favor to those of you who were/are like me, and innocently thought that only the first couple years of childhood need impact parental costuming, I present my list of fashion choices to avoid if you have young children (and by young I mean anything under legal drinking age. After legal drinking age you'll have a whole new set of issues).

Things Not to Wear to Church:

Pantyhose. I began today with a brand new pair. Temporary insanity. The first snag, so to speak, occurred 15 minutes later, in the church parking lot, when child no. 4 slammed the car door into my leg. Five minutes later, child no. 2 stepped on my foot as she tried to climb over child no. 3 to get the most desirable spot on the pew. Halfway through the meeting child no. 4 tried to push child no. 2 off my lap, rubbing his foot up my leg in the process, specifically, the part of the shoe with the velcro closures. The stockings were past gone, but child no. 3 decided to make sure by using her finger to show me how she could poke a hole through the nylon toward the end of the meeting.
Anything white. Or light. Or dark. Unless you want to see what they look like with permanent marker, crayon, FD&C Red 40, bubble gum, or cherry lip gloss across the front. I wore my new wool coat to church today. Why do I have a new coat, you ask? Children who shall remain nameless melted crayon into my old coat, and crayon just doesn't come out of wool fibers. After a year of wearing bright blue wax on my sleeves, I finally bought a new coat. Today in church I looked down to see child no. 3 intently running a yellow crayon up and down my new black coat. She is still alive, and forget anything else you've heard--that right there is evidence of my eternal love for that child and the reason I'm going to heaven when I die.
Anything with a neckline lower than the collar bone. Ditto for buttons up the front of the bodice. Unless you like flashing the bishopric sitting up front. I generally consider myself a modest dresser who doesn't push the envelope on what is revealing. Yet in the years since I've had kids the people in pews near me have been entertained by these comments: "Oh Mommy, what big breasts you have!" Or "But I LIKE grabbing your boobs when I climb on your lap!" Or "Hey, if I open all these buttons like this I can see your underwear!"
In that same vein, avoid hem lines any higher than the ankle. Since I prefer long skirts this usually isn't an issue. However, today I forgot. I wore a fun little dress that went just below my knees. Problem one, it gave me kids far greater access to pantyhose than usual. Problem two, by the time all four had jockeyed for position on my lap, I looked down to see my skirt up around my hips. I'm not joking.
Loose waistbands. With four kids literally hanging on my skirts, this one is a no-brainer.
High heels. In reality, this really shouldn't matter much. In real life, however, child no. 4 will remove said shoe and use it as a weapon against child no. 1, who will spend half of Sacrament Meeting whining about how she IS old enough for 3-inch heels, and while we're at it, everybody who is anybody wears eyeshadow in second grade, and it's not fair that Mommy gets to wear both the heels and the eyeshadow and she is relegated to cherry lip gloss and ribbed tights.
Makeup. By the time four kids have spent 1.25 hours fighting over your lap, you won't have any left, anyway.
Styled hair. Save yourself the effort & pull it back in a ponytail to begin with. After going through all of the above sweat will have destroyed those careful curls or straightened tresses you spent a half hour creating.

You may be wondering, after this huge list of Don'ts, what is left to wear.

I'll simply point out that there may be a reason long, heavy, indestructibly denim jumpers are the preferred outfit of choice for many a Mormon mom. Hold your judgement--it may be less of a choice than you realize.

My Oh-So Funny Child

2011-01-13T18:40:00.004-07:00

Mommy: "Look! Check out my new coat! Isn't it beautiful?"

Grace: "Why did you get a new coat? You already have one."

Mommy: "SOMEBODY left blue crayons in the car on top of my coat and the sun melted the wax into the wool fibers and I can't get it and I've been wearing it like that since last year, and now I finally have a new coat."

Grace: "First, it looks just like your old coat. Second, are you saying it's time for us to put crayons in the car on the new coat?"

If I'm Dreaming, Don't Wake Me Up

2011-01-02T20:53:00.002-07:00

While not super huge on the list, one hobby I kind of like is cooking. I didn't realize until I had kids, that I specifically like cooking for appreciative audiences. As in, I get a huge thrill out of planning, organizing, and creating something special for people to eat, and I especially like going to all that effort when they clearly enjoy the end results.

It should surprise no one that having children has been one long and ongoing test of my patience in this regard.

A few years ago I pretty much stopped cooking, not because I was too busy, or because homemade meals didn't fit our lifestyle anymore, but simply because my ego couldn't take the hits.

I'd spend several days planning a perfect meal, shopping for perfect ingredients, block out the time to go through each step, and proudly serve it, exquisitely arranged and impeccably timed---and my darlings would scrunch up their noses and began to wail how much they hated whatever-it-was, and why, oh why, couldn't we just have chicken nuggets or mac & cheese instead?

Time is a marvelous thing, and lately I've detected a shift of sorts.

Grace's new favorite food is salmon, and she doesn't really care how it's prepared. Lightly glazed, pan-seared salmon fillets make her eyes light up bigger than Christmas. Mia has a newfound addiction to hummus and recently polished off three slices of ham quiche--a dish previously pronounced "completely disgusting" by all four kiddos. Mercie asked for seconds and thirds on homemade wild rice & shrimp chowder, and didn't pick the shrimp out. And I nearly passed out last night when Eric skipped the navajo tacos in order to create a custom dinner salad, full of healthy things like lettuce, avocados, beans, and cheese.

Even better, pretty much every day now I hear things like, "Thank you for that yummy dinner, Mom," or "Mom, this (insert whatever it is) is SOOOOO good! You are, like, the best cooker in the whole world!" Or, patting a very full tummy, "Mommy, when I grow up I want to cook as good food as you."

We've had the past two weeks off for the holidays. We've spent lots and lots of hours together in the kitchen, also far more enjoyably than I would have expected. Instead of monster messes, the kids are actually getting old enough to be truly helpful. And things actually soak into their little brains, and I don't have to repeat myself fifty times!

Last night I sat on the couch in the front room and the kids, honest to goodness, worked together to clean up after we made dinner together. I swear I'm not making this up. Every now and again one of them would detour through the front room to hug me or pat me and tell me thanks again for dinner.

My babies are growing up. I could so get used to this.

Wishful Thinking, cont.

2010-12-30T15:07:00.002-07:00

Mia: "For my magic wish I wished that you would get married on April 3.

Me: "Ooooookaaaaaay. Um, why?"

Mia: "Because it's three days before my birthday. And I thought I'd get the wish better if I said a certain day, and I knew you'd say no to tomorrow."

Blessings

2010-12-24T22:01:00.002-07:00

It's Christmas time, right on the heels of Thanksgiving, and for whatever reason, it's been a particularly pensive, reflective season. Life is never easy or "perfect" (whatever THAT is), but I'm feeling especially thankful for some of the things that I often take for granted.

Life. It's a fragile thing, and not everyone gets a full, long one. I'm blessed to be alive to mother my children, torment my friends, harass my siblings, and enjoy the daily trials and wonders this world offers.
Health. Few of us have the fully perfect health we'd like, all of the time, but I certainly don't have room to complain. I can move and see and hear and sing and play, and I couldn't ask for anything more than that.
Family. Definitely one of my most extraordinary blessings. In fact, let's break this one up:
Parents. I have great parents. They each bless my life in a million little ways, on a pretty much daily basis. And I consider myself doubly blessed to also have a very kind stepdad and a generous, caring stepmom.
Siblings. All bajillion of them. My mom always told me that my brothers and sisters would be my best friends. I didn't believe her. I tell my kids the same thing. They look at me like I'm smoking dope (or would, if they knew what dope was. Which they don't). Apparently moms are right about this. I have amazing brothers and sisters. I'm proud of them, love them to pieces, wish for good things in their lives, pray for them & sometimes worry for them, and owe them more than I could ever repay for the endless love they give me.
Children. Often the source of most of my annoyances and petty frustrations, they are also the source of 90% of my gut-busting laughter and 99.9% of my daily hugs. Quick to forgive my numerous flaws, they are each delightful, bright, interesting people who I enjoy having in my life. So glad we have eternity!
Friends-who-become-family. This list could probably go on for miles and miles, as I am surrounded by incredible friends, soaked & saturated in good friendship from loving people. Girlfriends to giggle and party with, old friends & new friends, guy friends to hang with, work friends to make the days more interesting, church friends to serve and worship with, neighbors to chat with...I count my friends as some of the best evidence of how much God must love me.
Home. It's been a mixed blessing, being a homeowner again (can we say, endless and ongoing repair work?), but I adore my house. It's a good one. It's pretty much perfect for us right now.
Work. Everyone needs a way to pay the bills and indulge in some of life's little luxuries. I am richly blessed in having employment that is intellectually stimulating, emotionally satisfying, socially rewarding, and worth getting up in the morning.
Books. One of life's chief pleasures since I was five years old. I can't imagine my life without books. Thanks to Alicia, I had two stay-up-until-4am nights this past week, but it was worth it. I polished off my second-to-last Jane Austen and am now working my way through David's contribution to my literary development, before tackling the most recent bequests from Holly. Life is good.
Art. I don't make nearly enough time in my life to indulge this gift. However, I did recently take the kids to an exhibit at a nearby museum, and while I can't speak for their experience, I was reminded once again how powerful beautiful art can be.
Music. If anything, this has been part of my life even longer than books--just ask my parents. I used to get in trouble because I wouldn't ever stop singing. 30+ years later I still haven't stopped. I finally have a piano again, after going the longest stretch of my life EVER without one (two whole years!!!), and Santa brought me a guitar (with some help from Luc, who restrung and tuned it the night before, only to have the kids do their own "restringing" and "tuning" the next day....sigh). Beethoven, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Johnny Cash, Mozart, Andrea Bocelli, Frank Sinatra, Mary Chapin Carpenter, Natalie Cole--oh, oh, oh, that's another thing to celebrate--thanks (also) to Luc, I have new Natalie Cole!!!
Hot showers. I don't think that one needs any explanation.
Good food. It's a blessing to live during a time when we have the ability to preserve and store food in a range of ways, when an overwhelming variety of food is available at the grocery store, when all kinds of time and labor-saving devices allow us to enjoy good food without any real investment of time. I'm claiming even more specific blessings than that--I'm grateful for neighbors who bring boxes of fresh apples over, for lunch dates at Guru's (the-very-best-food-EVER) and La Jolla Groves (my new favorite thing), for affordable family dinners from Little Caesar's Pizza, for the fun of teaching my kids how to cook (hey, jello and cheese sandwiches still count as food!), and for Krispy Kreme just down the street.
Warm socks. I must be getting old, because this never would have made the grateful-list in my younger days.
Church. This could refer to many different things, and I'm grateful for each meaning of the word, but I'm feeling especially thankful for church as a community of believers, for the opportunity of communal worship, for the fellowship of the saints. It's a very good thing.
Pretty clothes. I may not have the greatest fashion sense, but I do like pretty clothes. And shoes. Proof that I am indeed a girl, there's just nothing quite like feeling fabulous.
IKEA. Enough said.
Testimony. Somewhat related to church, but focused much more on my personal relationship with God, I am blessed to have that relationship, to claim that personal and intimate knowledge that He is real, that I'm His child, that He has a plan for me and for every other person. There are many things I don't know, and many more that I don't really understand, but I do know God loves us. Know it deep down to my toes and woven tightly into my soul. This is the core that binds everything else together. My testimony carries me through the rough spots and makes the good parts even brighter and happier.

Happy Christmas!

Something Like That...

2010-12-16T20:00:00.002-07:00

The kids got squeaky chickens packed with candy eggs from their Aunt Carole for Christmas. They spent an hour or so figuring out how to work the fowl gifts.

Eric finally nailed his.

"Look! I got it! Now it can puke it's babies out it's butt!"

Um, yeah.

Just Another Quick Little TMI Session

2010-12-14T21:08:00.000-07:00

I was just reviewing my 2010 goals and I realized that I'd better hurry if I'm going to claim success on the TMI front.

So, without further ado, here is the possibly-last-of-2010-random-dose-of-Wendy-trivia:

I adore stinky-breath foods like garlicky hummus and onion-glazed salmon. Mmm...
I took a weightlifting class this past semester. Shut up--I can hear your shocked gasps all the way through the computer screen. So maybe I audited it--I still went sometimes. And I'm a little bit more trimmed and toned than I was before...really.
Recently I tried a new hairstylist. When I explained to her what type of style I was going for she said, "Oh, I get it! You want Victoria's Secret hair! That's what we call it in this business, anyway." Um, yeah. You can call it that, and in my head I'll call it something else.
I'm trying to get up my nerve to try waxing my armpits. Not brave enough yet, though.
One of the more boring--albeit safe and predictable--aspects of single parenthood is always knowing exactly what Santa is bringing me for Christmas. I can't exactly complain--I always get what I want, or at least, what I wanted the family to get.
A luxury that I don't indulge in nearly as often as I'd like is wandering around art museums. Not that I know anything about art; I just like looking.
A couple of months ago the Divine Ms. B and I had pedicures and decided to try glitter toes. Holy heck!!! I STILL cannot get that stuff off my big toes!!!! I've chipped and pried and chiseled, I've softened and cleansed, oiled and sanitized....nothing. Well, little bits have come off, leaving ugly splotchy glittery blue patches on my toes, but those patches have taken up permanent residence. It's like sparkly blue mold. Good thing it's December, not June.
When no one is around and I'm home alone I like putting my hair up in braids. It looks exactly how you'd think a 3-year old little girl hairstyle looks on a closer-to-40 year old woman. Why do you think I only do it when I'm home alone?
Sometimes I let my girls do my hair. Sadly, it often looks better than when I do.
One of my favorite possessions is a fabulous headboard that I found at a yard sale for $8. Yes, that's EIGHT whole dollars! I sanded it down and painted it black, and it makes me smile every time I see it.

Now you know a bit more than you wanted to know about my wonderful life. Feel better?

Wonder Woman

2010-12-11T18:06:00.002-07:00

When Jesus therefore saw her weeping, and the Jews also weeping which came with her, he groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,

And said, Where have ye laid him? They said unto him, Lord, come and see.

Jesus wept.

Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him!

John 11:33- 36

If you've ever meandered around my blog and clicked on any of the links to blogs I read, you probably stumbled across my friend Krista, a.k.a Wonder Woman. My name for her; she'd never claim it for herself. But I don't know a better way to describe Krista: Krista with a generous heart, infectious enthusiasm for life, passion for her family, rock-solid faith, and a brilliant, shining testimony shared freely with everyone remotely within her orbit.

Years of infertility and heartbreaking losses didn't dim Krista. A diagnosis of terminal brain cancer five years ago didn't dim Krista. She took hits that would knock most of us out of the game and came back grinning, raring to play again. I think I started to believe that she was invincible, that her huge smile really was as magical as it seemed in cultivating immortality.

Which made it all the harder to see this note from her husband Jared yesterday morning:

Krista was rushed to the ER late last night with breathing difficulties. Tests revealed she had blood clots in both lungs and her body couldn't get the oxygen it needed. Despite the doctors' best efforts Krista passed away early this morning. I will dearly miss her until we are together again. Please keep us in your prayers.

I started crying yesterday morning and haven't stopped. If anyone is worth the tears, she is. I'm not crying so much for Krista--as much as she hoped and prayed and wanted to stay here and raise her children, as much as she wanted to keep them from the pain of losing a mother--knowing Krista and her bright, amazing faith, she's lighting up heaven with that smile and loving her babies in a more perfect, more "real" way than any of us know. I'm crying for her husband and crying for her kiddos, for the hundreds and thousands of people who she touched, and I'm selfishly crying for myself because I'd rather have her here than up in heaven.

Last night I played the organ at the temple. This morning I met some friends to do a session together at the temple. The temple is a good place to bring sadness.

During this poignant time of year as we celebrate the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ and say goodbye to our precious friend, I am grateful for the comforting knowledge that, as Elder Wirthlin expressed, "Sunday will come." Grateful to know that temporary partings are just that--temporary. Grateful for sacred ordinances that allow families to be together forever. Grateful that Christ didn't shrink from the bitter cup, but worked out the full, complete Atonement so that our suffering could be swallowed up in His love. I'm grateful for the blessing and privilege of friends like Wonder Woman, who bring me closer to Him.

I'm also grateful that, in spite of His perfect knowledge of all eternity and His perfect power over death, when I'm crying tears of loss for my friend, He understands. He cries, too.

The 2010 Wishlists

2010-11-30T20:44:00.002-07:00

Dear Santa,
30 nov 2010 Pleas can i hav a cids jeep and pleas can I have a barbees and a suffed anmol and socks and a doll and blankits and orbaments.
Love,
Grace
to Santa

Dear Santa,
I want 10 skateboards. And a Ipod. And I want a pretend gun. But I'm not going to shoot anybody; I'm just going to shoot the wall. And I want a bunny. And a candy.
Love,
Eric

I wot a camera. I wot a computer. I wot a Ipod. I wot a camera.
From Mercie

Please give me a brbie. Bells balloons. Santy Clus. I wont a glass of Jesis and Merey. And a Ipod.
Mia

Dear Santa,
Disregard all above Ipod requests. You know how my kids are with small electronics. Big ones, too, for that matter. My Christmas list? Well, I must say, last year you did pretty well. Two out of three ain't too shabby. However, I believe we both know what that leaves for this year's Christmas wish. I'll keep it simple and singleminded. I'll even give you all of 2011, just so we're clear on what I'd like by this time next year. If you need help with any of the details I'm sure you'll find lots of pointers here .
Thanks ever so much,
Wendy

Call It Like You See It

2010-11-26T13:48:00.003-07:00

Mercie: Eric is trying to get more jello, mom.

Grace: I think Mercie has a problem with worrying more about other people and not worrying about her own self.

Mom: Ahem. I don't think Mercie is the only one with that problem.

Grace: What? I don't have a problem worrying about other people's business. I just tattle. That's all.

Nice to have that clarified.

The Thanks List

2010-11-23T20:51:00.002-07:00

Mom: Before prayers I want each one of you to say something that you are thankful for.

Mia: I'm thankful for God and Jesus and holidays like Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Grace: I'm thankful for Christmas and holidays and everybody.... except bad guys.

Mia: She was going to say everyone except Mercie, but she didn't want to get in trouble.

Grace: I WAS NOT!!!! Mia's tattling on me for something I didn't even do!

Mom: OKAY, Eric's turn.

Eric: I'm thankful for all movies, except bad ones, like Toy Story 1, and Toy Story 2, and Toy Story 3, and Monster House.

Mercie: I'm thankful for everything. Except olives and Satan.

Of Fashion and Finance

2010-11-17T20:40:00.004-07:00

Defying all reason and logic, my children have an obsession with looking as much like Dickensonian waifs and third world beggar children as they possibly can. This generally means sneaking out of the house wearing clothes with more holes than actual fabric, refusing to comb their hair, and maintaining a 1/2 inch thick layer of grubbiness behind their ears.

From what I hear, most children, when given the choice, choose the sparkling, brand-spanking new clothes Mommy just bought them, but my children thrive on marching to the beat of their own insane drummer, and they bypass the new, attractive clothing in favor of things that would be a better fit for the rag heap than a child's dresser.

Case 1: At the beginning of the school year I spent one of the most frustrating afternoons of my life buying new shoes for every single child. In Mercie's case, she ended up with three brand new pairs of shoes and a couple of hand-me-downs from her older sisters that were still in good condition. School started and day after day Mercie insisted on heading out the door in dingy white sandals that were too small, too broken, and too cold for wear. Since I believe in choosing my battles, and I also believe in natural consequences (really, how warm or comfortable could those sandals be???), yes, I was a bad mother and I let her do it.

When stopping by Mercie's class to drop something off, her teacher took me to a private corner and informed me that the school had a special fund available to help families buy shoes for their children, and if providing Mercie with shoes was a problem it would really be so very easy for them to help me out.

Yes, I was totally and completely chagrined. She was nice as could be about it, which is more than I can say for myself when we got home that night and I had a little chat with Mercie about the importance of wearing the new shoes Mommy bought for her.

Case 2: fast forward a few days. In spite of the fact that it is November, all four of my kids insist on leaving their jackets home when they go to school. Apparently keeping track of a backpack is the absolute maximum effort their brains are capable of and a coat would short circuit neurons from which they'd never recover. Grace and Mia annnounced that they weren't bringing coats. Not to be outdone, Mercie followed suit. When we got to school Grace changed her mind. Her coat was home in her room, so she asked Mercie if she could borrow Mercie's coat that was lovingly tossed on the floor of the minivan. Mercie agreed.

In the afternoon I got an email from Mercie's teacher. She told me that she was worried about Mercie being too cold at recess, and when she asked Mercie where her coat was Mercie responded that she couldn't wear it today because "today is Grace's turn to wear the coat."

Yes. She really said that.

Mercie's very nice teacher immediately went on to tell me that the school has a special fund available to help families get warm coats for their children and it really would be so easy to get Mercie a coat of her very own so she doesn't have to share.

AUGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Recently I went shopping for pants, socks, tights, and some other winter clothing items the kids needed. $300+ later I was bemoaning the money I'd never get back and predicting how many days we'd go before each child had completely ruined his or her new clothes.

"That's the worst part," I whined to a friend. "It's like throwing my money in the garbage, or setting it on fire. We'll be lucky to get one good day out of $300 worth of new clothes. It drives me crazy to part with hard-earned cash for this!"

"Well, you don't HAVE to do it, " he responded. "You know, the school has a special fund to help people like you..."

The Salon is BACK!

2010-11-01T20:11:00.003-07:00

Next Saturday, Nov. 13, 8pm, my house. We're talking all things Greek (hmm...maybe I should do some Greek food in honor of the event...), especially literature.

As always, no need to RSVP; just come. Send a message if you need the address.

Togas are optional.

Now Why Didn't I Think of That?

2010-10-21T09:19:00.002-07:00

Last night I decided to point up the darlings' excessive waste & neglect of personal items in a way that would hit home.

I listed off all the hits my wallet had taken recently--repairing a dryer door because Eric sat on it, buying Mia new shoes because she took scissors to the old ones, new pants for Mercie when she proudly showed me how big of a hole she could make in them with her fingers, a new lunch bag to replace a lost one, an excessive amount of school lunches for Grace because she keeps "forgetting" her home-packed lunch...

Then I told the kiddos that it looked like we probably wouldn't have enough money for Christmas presents this year.

Stunned silence.

However, my efforts to turn this into a discussion about how we could better practice frugality were derailed when Grace took the floor.

"You should have said yes to that man, Mom."

???

"What man?"

"The man when you went to get your contacts. You should have told him yes."

" Not sure what you mean, Gracie."

"Well, he asked you if you wanted cash back. You should have said yes. Then we'd be rich."

(No) Thinking Aloud/Allowed

2010-10-18T20:05:00.002-07:00

Mia: "What does selfish jerk mean?"

Mom: "Hmm...like, a mean person who only thinks about himself and doesn't care about other people."

Grace: "Is it a bad word?"

Mom: "Yeah, it's not really a nice thing to call someone a selfish jerk."

Mia: "What if it's true?"

Mom: "Well, you can think it in your head but you probably shouldn't say it out loud."

Grace: "Yeah, Mia, it's okay to think ANYTHING you want in your head. Even bad words like 'idiot' or 'stupid.'"

Mia: "Well, my head is thinking that I don't like Eric."

Mom: "You can think it in your head, Mia, but you can't say it with your mouth."

Eric: "Well, my head is thinking that Mia is a something that means a mean person who only cares about herself and doesn't care about other people."

Mia: "MOM!!!!!!!!!!!"

The Things I Don't Blog

2010-09-21T18:48:00.002-07:00

Today has been one of those days; you know--one of THOSE days. In homage to what is thankfully not a frequent occurrence, I'm going to have a momentary breakdown and blog The Things I Don't Blog.

I could say it started when we went out to the car this morning, rushing because I really, REALLY needed to get to my morning class on time, only to discover that, once again, the kids left a car door partially open and drained the battery overnight.

Getting to class at all, let alone on time, didn't happen, which sucked because I completely bombed the previous night's homework (and I mean, BOMBED), when I followed the idiotic train of thought that taking a timed quiz with small children in the home could actually work. HAH!

I could say that the icing on the cake was settling down to work late tonight, in a vain attempt to catch up from life in general and from being out sick yesterday, only to get a phone call that child number 2 was at the emergency room with children nos 1, 3, 4, prepping for stitches from a playground accident and none of them had eaten dinner yet.

But then I'd have to back up and explain that I'd caught some kind of bug and haven't eaten anything besides fruit juice and chicken broth since Saturday, and spent Sunday & Monday feeling a shade off from death itself, hence the need to work late and catch up.

And the reason I (probably) got sick is because I never, ever get enough sleep. Ever. Partly my own insanity of trying to go to school while working fulltime; partly my insanity of having four kids. Partly the kids' insanity because they have this wild belief that waking up all night is a normal and fun thing to do, and if it's so much fun, bringing Mommy into the action is even better.

I actually wouldn't mind if child no. X woke me up, if that meant we'd finally get past this bedtime potty training thing. As it is, she wears pullups, and even with those, her bed still reeks of pee. The entire room reeks of pee. I think you can smell it the minute you turn down the hall in that general direction, and I'm not sure, but I think sometimes you can even smell it from the front door. Since daily morning baths are not an option (see above about children getting up all freaking night long), she often just gets rinsed off and wiped down and sent off to school where other children tell her that she smells like pee. I'm pretty sure that I am A.) sealing my win for Worst Mother of the Year, and B.) ensuring that she'll spend hours in therapy as an adult. And now I just blogged this to the universe. The poor girl doesn't stand a chance.

However, the smell wafting down the hall from her bedroom has to compete with the many, many unpleasant odors filling my house. Kids' bathroom? Check. Overflowing garbage can with too many days worth of anonymous child's bedtime diapers. Downstairs bathroom? Check. Apparently if Mom never goes into that bathroom flushing is not only optional, it's undesirable. Laundry room? Check. You'd think a room dedicated to cleaning clothes would be safe from stink, but a 7-year old who thought it was funny to throw her wet swimsuit behind the dryer three months ago ensured that even that shrine of cleanliness smells like a locker room. The kitchen? Don't even go there. Really. Don't. I haven't cleared away dinner from two nights ago, the drain on one side of the sink isn't working, and the kids stuck something down the disposal that I can't get to and the smell coming from the sink is somewhere between retch and death.

In spite of numerous discussions and punishments, a massive chalkboard in the kitchen, and an obscene quantity of scratch paper & pens, the children persist in using the walls as canvas for their deepest thoughts. I'm not sure I'd mind if I saw Holy Writ scribbled next to the light switches, or loving sentiments inscribed next to the towel bar, but for some strange reason, seeing "I hat Mia," or "Mercieisbad," permanent-markered into the new paint job just sets me off.

So, we've established that the past couple of days have been a bit challenging.

All the more reason I had to shake my head in disbelief when a (deranged) student caught me today and said, "Hey! I know you! You're that smiley-lady who always makes people laugh over in the LA building! You're so cheerful!" Honey, lunatics are ALWAYS cheerful. It's a natural side effect of disconnecting from reality.

But it reminded me of a message that an old friend, recently reconnected with on facebook, sent a week or so ago, asking how I stay so upbeat and happy as a single mom. It wasn't the first, and I'm sure it won't be the last, time I've heard that question. For the record, here's my answer:

1.) I don't. You see the status updates on fb; you don't see me bawling on the closet floor after the kids go to bed. I don't post those on facebook.

2.) Life is hard. That's true for everyone, not just for single moms. I'd rather laugh about it. Laughing is waaaaaaay better than crying. Unless it's that therapeutic cry on the closet floor every few months.

3.) Sure, a divorced life isn't a cake walk, but if the choice is miserably married or happily divorced....well, I think it's pretty obvious which one I chose.

4.) So one little thing (or many, depending on the day) in my life didn't go as planned--it doesn't negate all the freaking awesome things in my life! If you line them up side by side, the good faaaaaaaaaaaar outweighs the bad. Even on crappy days.

Still, those conversations make me pause and wonder if I'm sometimes being a little bit too Pollyanna-ish and maybe giving the world a skewed perception of My Life With Ducks.

Nah.

I just don't like negativity. Life's too short. My kids drive me crazy, but that melts away and all their cuteness and smartness and incredibleness is still there. Life is rough sometimes but I'll take it any day over the alternative. It might set your teeth on edge, but I truly, genuinely, deep-down-in-my-boots believe that happiness is a choice, and I choose it.

So, enjoy this one and only look at the dark side, because it's already fading, due largely to the unfailing kindness of Brain-Pain & the Divine Ms. B, who certainly count as one of the best evidences that God hasn't given up on me yet by sending friends like them. Throw in kids who sang me to sleep because my throat hurt too much to sing for them, and neighbors who sent over food for the kids, and Erynn, who stayed Sunday night when I.thought.I.was.going.to.die, and a few billion friends and family who called, texted, emailed, or sent up smoke signals to make sure that all was (relatively) well, and you can see just how high the good stacks up against the temporarily-bad.

Life might be crazy in the trenches, but it's the good kinda crazy.

3am

2010-09-05T21:16:00.002-07:00

Last night I gave in and let a couple of kiddos sleep in my bed. As expected, it wasn't the greatest sleep. At one point I ended up on the floor for a couple of hours; the rest of the time I spent being kicked, shoved, and thrashed on the edge of the bed.

Around 3am the daughter who was wedged tightly against me woke up to use the restroom. When she came back to bed she didn't go to sleep right away, but just lay awake, snuggled up to me, staring at the ceiling, eyes closing periodically, then opening again.

I lay next to her and just looked at her. It was one of those perfect 3am moments when you are just filled with love for this perfect little person, reveling in all the joy that she has brought into your life. Those of you who are parents know exactly what I'm talking about.

I held her close and looked at her and smiled at her and loved her. She'd open her big brown eyes and look back at me, and then her glance would slide away. I don't think it was just fatigue or the wee hours. I've noticed that as children get older, their eyes tend to slide away from the unabashed force of parental love.

When they were babies my kids ate it up. Watch a mother and a baby interact. Notice all the eye-to-eye contact, the huge smiles, the wonder on both faces. Parent and child are both totally, completely in love. They look into each others' eyes and faces and drink it all in.

Somehow that gets lost as they get older.

Those thoughts were going through my head last night at 3am. I was thinking how, even if she looks away, I'll still be looking at my baby girl with all that love. I was thinking how much I loved her when she was a brand new tiny baby on my lap, and how much I love her now that she's a big second grader, and how much I'll love her a year from now and a few decades from now, and that, just like I tell her all the time, even when she's a big grown up lady with babies of her own, she'll always be my baby. And I'll always look at her with love pouring out my eyes.

Then I thought of Someone Else who always looks at us that way, even when we slide our eyes away, or turn our head, or run away as fast as we can. I thought of Someone who understands a lot more about parenting than I do, and a lot more about the constancy of love and power of forgiveness and joy of mercy. I thought of Someone whose entire being and purpose is wrapped up in His children--our welfare and happiness His "work and glory."

I hugged my girl and loved my girl and let the 'light of my countenance shine upon her,' and I understood a little better just how much God loves me.

The Lord bless thee, and keep thee:
The Lord make his face shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee:
The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace.

Disenchanted

2010-08-16T20:20:00.003-07:00

When I picked up the kids today Grace proudly announced that she was the new owner of a magic wishing rock.

Just in case I missed it she reminded me a few hundred times before dinner and bedtime, always ending with a stern, "but I CANNOT tell you what I wished for, or it won't come true."

Right before I went to tuck the twins into bed Grace whispered in my ear.

"Can me & Mia sleep in your bed with you tonight?"

She asks this almost every night, and as adorable as they are, I rarely say yes because, frankly, my bed is not exactly big enough for a slightly oversize mommy (me), a very close snuggler (Grace), and a thrashing-all-over-the-bed tornado (Mia). I told her I'd think about it.

When I came out of the twins' room Grace looked at me with a hopeful expression.

"Well?"

I sighed. "Sorry, sweetie. I really need a good sleep tonight, so we're all going to sleep in our own beds."

Grace's face fell. "Aw, dangit," she griped. "I guess I just wasted one whole wish from my magic wishing rock."

Feeling a wee bit of mommy guilt for denying her such a simple pleasure--and feeling oddly touched that, when given the option to wish for anything, what she wanted most of all was just to sleep in my bed for one night, I asked if that had been her wish.

"Not exactly," she muttered disgustedly. "I wished that you would always do what I want you to do. Forever. And I wished we could go to Disneyland. But since you're in charge of going to Disneyland I guess that wish is wasted, too."

The next few minutes were filled with Mommy trying to catch her breath between fits of laughter, and Grace's murmered complaints--"I KNEW that magic wouldn't work on you. Stupid wishing rock. Next time I am NOT wasting a wish on Mom."

When I finally caught my breath Grace said, "You can go ahead and put this on the internet. Because I know you're going to, anyway."

My smart, smart, magical little girl :).

Why I Love the Dentist

2010-08-03T08:58:00.002-07:00

Despite my previous post, this is not about my undying devotion to my dentist because he thinks I look like Susan Sarandon, though that is a perfectly rational reason to write him into my will.

Tomorrow I'm scheduled for a root canal and I realized for the umpteenth time that I really don't mind going to the dentist. Kind of look forward it, actually. Even for root canals.

My dentist claims that mothers of young children are the only patients who enjoy spending time in his office. I think he's on to something.

From the time I wake up to the time my head hits the pillow, I run the world. I keep four little beasties fed, clothed, bathed, behaved (sort of), alive, and relatively uninjured. I keep a house from falling apart or being condemned by the health department. I keep my car maintained and repaired and running. I keep myself maintained, repaired, and running. I go to work and keep my department running. I plan and strategize and oversee and delegate and follow up. At home, at work, at church; I cajole and entreat and sometimes nag. I keep track of all the details--what size shoe each child wears, what level of certification each employee is at, which child needs what shots before school starts, which keys are checked out to which employee, who is due for vision exams or training sessions or playdates or promotions.

There are very, very few places in my life where I can let the burdens slide off and let somebody else take over. The dentist's office is one of those places.

When I get in that chair I'm not in charge anymore. All I have to do is lay there with my mouth open and do nothing. I've been known to fall asleep while he's drilling. No happy gas; it's just the unadulterated bliss of surrendering control.

Zen at the dental office.

What We Believe

2010-07-28T19:17:00.000-07:00

In our church we have a monthly type of ecclesiastical open-mic session, where anyone who wishes can stand up and share a testimony with the congregation.

For the past couple of years we periodically practice this at home, with the idea of both ensuring that the kids are clear on what Mommy believes, spiritually speaking, and giving them the opportunity to practice for a future time when they might want to try a more public forum.

Monday for Family Home Evening we held another family testimony share.

Grace's went something like this:

"I want to bear my testimony. I know Jesus lives. I know God lives. What else do I say? Oh yeah--I love my mom. I love my family. The end. Um, wait, I mean...what do I say? Oh wait, I know--um, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

Mia polished hers up.

"I want to bear my testimony. I know that Heavenly Father answers my prayers and everyone's prayers in the whole world. I know that Jesus loves me. And everyone else in the whole world. I have a testimony that Jesus is the Savior. The Redeemer. What are other names we call Him? I don't remember. I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."

Mercie played the diplomat.

"I want to bear my testimony. I know that things are true. And other things are true, too. And things that other people believe are true, too. And the things that we all believe are true. And that's all."

Eric went straight from the heart.

"I wanna bear my testimony. Um, what's a testimony again? (It's things you know are true). Oh yeah. Um, I know Heavenly Father is true. I know Jesus is real. I know Santa is real. And Bob the Builder. And the reindeer. And Lady Gaga. The end."

I think Eric is overdue for a Mother-Son chat.

Who Needs An Ego Anyway?

2010-07-26T19:03:00.004-07:00

Mia: "What are you looking at? Who are all those pictures?"

Mommy: "This lady. The dentist said I look just like her" (this is why I love my dentist and plan to stick with him until he retires in fifty years). "What do you think, Mia?"

Mia looks at the 50+ images spread across my computer.

Mia: "You only look like this one."

Mommy: "You just got cut from the will, kid."

Mia: "It's okay--I'm pretty sure she's a nice witch, just like you."

Random Bits

2010-06-02T07:58:00.002-07:00

Mom: "After you are baptized, something special happens. You are....???"

Grace: "Wet!"

Mom: "Um, something besides that. It's when you receive the gift of...."

Grace: "A blessing! A priesthood blessing!"

Mom: "Well, it IS a blessing, but it's a special one that we call a c--"

Grace: "Conference!"

Mom: "Noooo.... it's called 'con--'"

Grace: "Conscience? Consider? Consonant?"

Mom: "No."

Grace: "Confused?"

Mom: "Apparently."

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

Mom: "Would you rather eat a bowl full of boogers or a pile of poop?"

Eric: "A bowl full of boogers, a bowl full of boogers!!"

Mom: "Eeeewwww! Are you sure about that?"

Eric: "Yeah. 'Cuz I already eat boogers all the time. Like this."
(I'll spare you the description of what followed).

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

Grace: "What if my new teacher at my new school doesn't speak English?"

Mom: "She speaks English."

Grace: "But what if she doesn't??? And what if I can't understand her, because she only speaks Spanish?"

Mom: "If she speaks Spanish, she'll be able to speak English, too, so you'll get to learn Spanish AND speak English." (this is sooooo a moot point, as her new teacher is a perky little blond born & bred in Happy Valley, but whatever...)

Grace: "But what if she speaks CALIFORNIA Spanish???"

Mom: "Eh...What the heck is California Spanish?"

Grace: "Mexican."

Favorite Things

2010-05-30T13:04:00.007-07:00

According to author Gary Chapman, there are 5 primary love languages we human beings use: physical touch, acts of service, gifts, quality time, and words of affirmation.

Each one is important for any healthy relationship, but most of us have a couple primary methods that are particularly meaningful to us.

It shouldn't surprise anyone that words are especially important to me.

One reason I'm so fond of words is that they continue on. When I'm having a rough day, kind words expressed in the past lift me out of the temporary mud. I can save cheery notes and reread them 80 or so times. I can scroll through uplifting texts on my phone and feel just as buoyed as I did when they first beeped through.

One of my new favorite things about motherhood is that my kids are old enough now to write me love notes.

Grace passed me the one above a few weeks ago as she scooted past me after Sacrament Meeting. It made me smile.

Grace--and the other kids--are with their dad this weekend, and I kinda miss them. Today in church I pulled out my music book and her note fell out. It made me smile. Again.

I tucked it back in so I can see how many days--and how many smiles--I'll get from that torn scrap of paper filled with first-grader handwriting.

Ten bucks says if it's still around twenty years from now it will still make me smile & feel the love from my baby girl.

Doing Something Right

2010-05-21T19:37:00.002-07:00

From the first nights with my first little baby Gracie, my favorite part of the day is rocking & singing my babies. When they grew too big--and too many of them--for rocking, I reluctantly switched to snuggling in their beds with them for lullaby time.

I keep holding my breath, waiting for the night that they announce they are too old for nighttime singing.

Lately I've wondered if Grace and Mia were reaching that point. They seemed to prefer sister-giggle time to Mommy-singing time, which frustrated all of us. Lullabies are somewhat moot when the object of the singing is carrying on a private laughfest under the covers.

One night I became especially exasperated, after repeated reminders of the "be still and quiet if you want Mommy singing" rule. Playing the cheap trick of 'maybe-they-don't-value-it-because-they've-always-had-it' I said, "Girls, when I was a little girl, I never had lullabies at night. My mom didn't sing to us. Ever. So, if you've decided that you are too old for singing, just tell me and we'll stop doing this." I rather intentionally neglected to mention that, though my mom wasn't one for the lullaby thing, either she or my dad read to us every night, working our way through every volume of Little House on the Prarie, the Great Brain, and several retellings of Cheaper By the Dozen, so I truly don't feel deprived.

My kids saw it a bit differently, however. There was a moment of stunned silence. Grace asked, "You mean, your mom NEVER sang to you, not once, not even EVER???" Mia chimed in, "Didn't she even LOVE you?" I assured them that yes, Grandma definitely loved us, and did other nice things for us. She just wasn't a lullaby mom. Some are; some aren't.

Grace looked like she was about to cry. "But how did you do that, Mommy? How were you not SOOOOO scared at night?" Mia said, "Yeah, Mommy, you must have been SO brave, like, even braver than a kid is. You didn't even have singing at night." I told them that I had lots of sisters to sleep with at night, just like they do, so I wasn't scared. They weren't convinced.

"Poor, poor Mommy," Mia sighed. "You should have told us," Grace said. "We would sing to you." Mia whispered to herself, "I didn't even know there were kids whose mommies didn't sing to them every night."

I know this moment is fleeting. I know they are growing up faster than I can hold them here. I know that lullabies at night don't cover all of my parenting mistakes, or keep the world from intruding in all the ways that it does, and all the ways it will as time marches on. I know nighttime lullabies aren't the cure-all for every ill--societal, familial, or otherwise. I know that there are hundreds of ways to love your kids, and my favorite way won't work for everyone.

I'm just glad for one small moment each day of doing something right.

The Mother's Day Recap

2010-05-15T20:12:00.002-07:00

This might be my favorite age for Mother's Day, as the kids are old enough to write their own sentiments, and not old enough to censor them for coolness.

Grace's first grade teacher helped the kids write coupons for their moms. The theme seemed to be jobs you could do for your mom. Grace chose the two things that she is only allowed to do under supervision--unloading the dishwasher and washing dishes--and for good measure she generously offered to "bake some cookies" for me.

Mia filled out a pre-written sheet about her mom. Bold is Mia.

My mommy is so CUTE. Her name is WINDY and she is only 44 years old (yeah, in another decade or so...). I am pretty sure she weighs 10 pounds and is 9 feet tall. They grow up so fast! Her eyes are GREN and her hair is BROWN. Some people say she looks like me (if they're drunk or blind, maybe). There are a few things you need to know about my mom. Her favorite thing to do is GET CANDEE FOR ME (Hah!). She is really good at RIDNG BOOKS (aww, nice to know that somebody has that much faith in me). Her favorite color is GREN. Her favorite song to sing is MARE HAD A LITTL LAM ("Mia, when have you ever heard me sing that song?" "Never. I was just kidding.") Her favorite TV show is MAMAMIA (ahem). If I could get my mom something special just from me it would be DIAMONDS. I love her so much because SHE IS SO NIS. She loves me so much because SHE GITS ME PIZZA. Happy Mother's Day, Love, MIA. I LOVE YOU MOMMY.

Mercie drew a beautiful picture for me.

Eric's teacher was on the same page as Mia's. He brought home the following:
My special person. My special person's name is MOM. Her favorite color is GREEN. She likes to wear SKIRTS. She likes to go TO BY STUFF. I like it when she BE'S NICE. I would like to buy her LIPSTICK (since Mommy never, ever wears lipstick, what Eric really means is that he would buy me more Lightning McQueen cherry-flavored lip gloss, because I would share it with him, just like I do the other Disney chapsticks in my makeup bag that are "mommy's" because that's the only way to keep them from being smeared into the carpet).

All in all, a perfect Mother's Day.

Trivia Time Again

2010-04-28T19:42:00.002-07:00

I don't know why I feel compelled to do this, but I do. It's time for the periodic dose of random Wendy trivia.

1.)A major pet peeve of mine is when I can't tell if someone is male or female. I'm not talking about those who intentionally try to dress like the opposite gender. I'm not talking about someone who is clearly male or female, but happens to have one physical trait that is rather more like the other. I'm talking about rather ordinary folks who don't appear to make any effort to look like their own gender. I know it's hopelessly petty and politically incorrect, but it just BUGS ME! Not a fan of androgyny.

2.) I love frozen grapes.

3.) Watermelon is my favorite fruit. And blackberries. And strawberries. And fresh peaches. Mmmmm...

4.) I adore carrying my almost-7-year old into daycare like a baby. In her words,"You like this because it reminds you that I will always be your baby. I like it because it gives me more mommy snuggle time with you." Love that girl, I do.

5.) Homophobia really gets on my nerves. Yes, I realize the irony, given no. 1, but still. It just seems so completely irrelevant. And yes, I generally can't resist the urge to use the "methinks the man protesteth too much...do you have a 'closet' reason for being so insecure w/your own sexuality...??" card when confronted with idiots.

6.) Idiots in general annoy me.

7.) Idiocy is different from absent-mindedness, or being scatterbrained (which I frequently am), both of which can result in temporary stupidity (myself being the prime example). Idiots are usually recognizable by their rabid narrow-mindedness.

8.) I'm a mediocre cook, but I can do a mean pulled pork, divine chocolate brownies, and seafood chowder to die for.

9.) I really should NOT be left in charge of college students on April first. Talk about leaving the monkey in charge of the zoo...

10.) I got a D in Biology 101. I think I went to class exactly twice, but I managed to pass every test and maxed out extra credit. Next week I'm running workshops on how to help students succeed in freshman-level Biology. Ah, the irony.

11.) I frequently end up in texting or email conversations that are so long and convoluted, we could have saved ourselves hours of time just by dialing the phone. The record was a couple of weeks ago when I racked up 51 emails back and forth in less than 30 minutes. I think I spent more time hitting "send" than I did writing the emails themselves. Ah, technopidity.

12.) I loathe public swimming pools.

13.) I'm running a 5K in June. Hating most every minute, but doing it.

14.) I really, really like tulips. This time of year makes me very happy.

15.) We currently don't own a DVD player because my kids broke three of them in less than six months and I took it as a sign.

Birthday Time, En Masse

2010-04-09T21:14:00.007-07:00

In case you can't tell, everyone got new scooters for their birthdays this year. Kinda like Christmas morning, but warmer.

Reasons We Love Our New House: #5

2010-04-09T21:12:00.003-07:00

Musical doorbells!

Thoughts on Good Friday

2010-04-02T20:20:00.002-07:00

"Oh how I love my Savior, oh how I love my Savior, oh how I love my Savior, because He first loves me. We'll shout & give Him glory, we'll shout & give Him glory, we'll shout & give Him glory, for glory is His own" (early American folk hymn).

I spent Good Friday evening worshipping through music in the temple. Sometimes music expresses thoughts & feelings that can't be shared any other way.

There's so much I want to say about how much I love this Man I call Savior, Redeemer, and Lord, so much to praise Him for every good thing in my life that He makes possible, so much to honor His Life, His Atonement, and His Perfect Love.

My words aren't big enough or anything close to beautiful enough to do Him justice.

So, turning to music again, here is one my favorite songs--the one my kids call "Mommy's Song"--to say what I can't phrase (another early American hymn, attributed to Robert Wadsworth Lowry.

My life goes on,
In endless song
Above earth's lamentation.

I hear a real,
tho' far-off hymn,
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult
And the strife
I hear the music ringing--

It sounds an echo
In my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

What if my joys
And comforts die?
The Lord, my Savior liveth.

What tho' the darkness
Gathers round,
Songs in the night He giveth.

No storm can shake
My inmost calm,
While to that refuge clinging--

If Christ is Lord
Of Heav'n & earth,
How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes,
The clouds grow dim;
I see the blue above it.

And day by day
This pathway smoothes,
Since first I learned to love it.

The peace of Christ
Makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing

All things are mine
Since I am His--
How can I keep from singing?

All things are mine, since I am His--how can I keep from singing?

Reasons We Love Our New House: #6

2010-03-30T20:51:00.000-07:00

Wonderful Neighbors Who Bring Us Treats!

This is SUCH a friendly street! Like Pavlov's dog, my kids are now conditioned. Each time the doorbell rings--"Quick! Mia, get the door! It's probably someone bringing us cookies again!" And more often than not, they've been right.

Not only are the neighbors nice, they are also fun. A sense of humor is very important in coping with our family, mostly because I have four insane children, and also because I have insane friends. Like Michelle. One of the first cookie-bringers was my delightful neighbor-across-the-street Heidi. Michelle came running to the door, gushing, "Oh, are you the new neighbor? I'm Wendy's life-partner, and these are our children. We used a surrogate, in case you were wondering. Is this neighborhood very open to alternative lifestyles?" Heidi didn't even bat an eyelash. This bodes well for her endurance as my neighbor.

The house itself is delightful, but I gotta say, having great neighbors is a dealbreaker. I may never move...

We Interrupt Our Regularly Scheduled Program

2010-03-29T18:46:00.003-07:00

of reasons that we heart our new house, to bring you an Adorable Moment, compliments of Eric.

At bedtime last night I got in some good snuggle time, and threw in a '3 Things I Love About Eric' for good measure. He immediately responded with 5 things he loves about Mommy.

“I love you because you are so happy and smiling and you laugh, and I love you because you are so reverent at prayer time, and I love you because you get me stuff and I like you because I am your boy and, and, and—how many is this? Oh yeah, um, four. And I love you that you made me this pillowcase even though it’s ripped on this one edge but it’s still working and you don’t have to throw it away because it’s just a little hole.”

Did you get that, Mom? Apparently I have finally learned to be reverent at prayer time--and it actually garnered me some mommy brownie points in Ericland.

Reasons We Love Our New House: #7

2010-03-28T20:16:00.002-07:00

Comfy slumber party space!

The kids love family slumber parties. Doesn't this family room just look made for family movie nights and late-night snugglefests?

Reasons We Love Our New House: #8

2010-03-27T15:43:00.003-07:00

A garage, a garage, a garage! Already nicely filling up with junk, as you can see. But hey--that's an option when you have A GARAGE!!!

Another lifetime ago, I forever gave up all hope of having a garage when I married a car guy. The garage was packed floor to rafters with Very Important Stuff that did not include actual cars, and I was fine with that. Who needs a garage when you've got love?

Post-divorce, the day finally came when the MFKAMH finally had all that stuff out of the garage and I inherited a very big, very empty garage. The first time I saw my empty garage I sat down on the cement steps and cried.

But only for a minute or two. Then I smiled, wiped my eyes, and even sort of laughed a little bit. And I grabbed my car keys and put the car in the garage.

Do you have any idea how much easier it is to load four wiggly little bodies in and out of the car early in the morning during a snowstorm when you HAVE A GARAGE??? Do you know how nice it is to have a clear work area for refinishing furniture or hiding large Christmas presents or
stacking empty boxes? Yep, it's awesome.

I sold that house last year & wasn't sure what the next step was, so we rented a place down the street. The only real drawback was that instead of a garage it had a carport. A very skinny carport that didn't leave room on either side to exit the car without stepping in the mud or slipping on the ice.

We survived.

And now... We have a garage. It's a beautiful thing :).

Reasons We Love Our New House: #9

2010-03-26T22:35:00.000-07:00

We are so, SO close to a bazillion-jillion parks and walking/jogging trails!

The one right around the corner from our house has a large play area right smack in the middle, so Mommy can run while the kids play.

When the kids are gone, there's an outdoor track at the jr. high two blocks away.

When it's cold outside the indoor track is 8 blocks away, and right next door to the gym are TWO outdoor tracks, nicely measured out so I can mark my huffing, puffing progress.

Rumor has it there are two other little city parks tucked within a four-block radius of our new house, but we haven't explored that far yet.

I took this proximity as a sign & registered for my first 5k in, oh, probably 20 years. Dreading it, hating every minute of dragging my out-of-shape body around these abundant tracks...but also glad through the gritted teeth.

Reasons We Love Our New House: #10

2010-03-25T10:27:00.003-07:00

Mommy has her own bathroom.

Enough said.

Grace & Mia tried to claim the bigger bedroom with attached private bathroom, but I played the Mommy card & won.

Yay for post-shower nudity!

(Is that TMI?)

Baldy Brainy Boy & His Priorities

2010-03-21T20:32:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago I was bored so I asked Eric if I could cut his hair. "Okay," he said. "Can I shave it all off," asked Mother of the Year. "No way! Then I would be bald!" Smart boy. "Can I shave it all off if I give you a candy binky?" Eric didn't even have to think about it. "Sure!"

So I shaved Eric's hair off, a process that our whole family enjoyed immensely. (I did feel a TEENY bit guilty post-haircut, when I couldn't decide if he looked more like a miniature Holocaust survivor or a junior cancer patient).

Eric's love of sweets is legendary, and a couple of days later I decided to test it.

"Eric, if I give you a sucker can I cut your arm off?"

"No way! Then I would have no arm!"

Smart boy.

A few minutes later he ran back and climbed up on my lap.

"Well, how big is the sucker?"

That's my boy.

The Future Iron Chef, or Iron Stomach, At Least

2010-03-19T20:26:00.000-07:00

This is my son. This is my son eating. He is eating his very own concoction. He is enjoying it very much.

You cannot see my daughters. They are on the other side of the table, gagging.

You cannot see me. I am holding the camera, and I am laughing uncontrollably.

This is Eric's award-winning recipe:

Rice cake
Cream cheese
Apple slices
Breaded tilapia fillet
Pickles
Dipped in Apple Juice

Arrange artfully. Serve. Enjoy.

Bon appetit!

My Boy

2010-03-17T19:46:00.003-07:00

So, for several months now I've been mentally planning a blogpost about my darling son, tentatively titled something like "Why My Straight Guy Friends Are Worried," detailing many conversations with Eric that have a common theme:

Mom: Eric, what are you going to be when you grow up?
Eric: A princess!!!

Mom: Who are you going to marry when you grow up?
Eric: A handsome prince!

Mom: What's your favorite color?
Eric: Rainbows!

(yes, Eric always speaks in exclamation marks. The quotes are punctually correct).

However, recently I'm detecting a shift of sorts.

Last weekend was Hair Time at our house. It's a rather unpleasant time of combing out three little afros, washing, re-combing, and "styling" (I use the term loosely) those same curly heads. The children come through it alive and I come through it semi-sane thanks to a stack of movies. Last week I broke down and let them watch Spongebob (I am SO not a Spongebob fan).

Apparently the musical artist Pink did a guest appearance on Spongebob.
As I was trying not to retch I heard a sound coming from the little boy curled up next to me on the couch. Looking down, I saw the glazed-over look of a man in love. With his tongue practically hanging out in a pant, Eric said, "I like her A LOT."

Silly mommy had to ask.

"Because she's so CUTE!"

A short silence followed.

Then, in a tone of reverential awe previously reserved for the large Megatron left in his Christmas stocking, or the time he got to choose three whole pieces of candy from the prize box, he added:

"AND....she's got BOOBS!"

I think he has set the record 'straight.'

Oops....Salon Date

2010-03-16T20:35:00.001-07:00

This Saturday, March 20, starting around 7:30. Email me for the address or directions. This will be fun--can't wait to see you!

Eh, What?

2010-03-04T10:11:00.004-07:00

Mercie: "Eric, would you please get me some flowers because I really like them and I asked Mommy and she keeps forgetting? And if I forget that I want flowers will you please remind me? And if you forget, don't worry about it because I will just remind myself to not forget that I want flowers."

Salon, Anyone?

2010-03-02T09:12:00.000-07:00

I have really missed our salons :(. Let's do another one. How's March 20 or 27?

Thinking Aloud

2010-02-28T21:03:00.002-07:00

Mercie gave a talk in Primary today. Wanting her to do this on her own, I refrained from interjecting or editing her speech. The assigned topic was "Jesus is my savior." This is her talk, verbatim:

I think I love Jesus. I think I'm going to follow His commandments. I think I'm going to listen to Him. I think I'm done.

There you have it.

A Quiet Time of Reflection & Meditation (yeah, right!)

2010-02-15T21:40:00.002-07:00

Scripture time at our house gets a little rambunctious some days...

Why Eric Probably Needs Brothers

2010-02-07T21:43:00.001-07:00

Eric: "Mom! MOM! Where's my panties?"

Mom: "You mean, your underwear?"

Eric: "NO! I mean, my PANTIES!"

Drunk on Santa-Power

2010-02-03T19:46:00.001-07:00

Sometime over Christmas Mia proudly pranced into my room to show off her Santa costume (note the carefully arranged paper towel fragments artfully masking-taped to her chin).

When Grace realized that Mia's creativity had garnered both maternal attention AND the camera, she hurried to take things up a notch, competitive soul that she is.

Mia-Santa trumped her by promptly pulling out the 'naughty' list & adding Grace's name.

Ah, the holiday season, when a spirit of peace and goodwill envelops every household.

Photographic Evidence

2010-02-01T19:41:00.004-07:00

that once upon a time, Grace & Mia thought unloading the dishwasher was such a glamorous, highly-desirable activity that they would resort to begging on their knees for the privilege. Really.

Think I'll get any mileage out of this in a year or two?

Doppelgangers: What Do You Think?

2010-01-29T20:37:00.018-07:00

The weekly facebook craze is to substitute your celebrity lookalike as your profile picture. I couldn't decide--it was kind of limited to mostly "in my dreams" kinda stuff. However, judge for yourself. In no particular order, here are pictures of celebrities I've been told I resemble. Why yes, I do wonder what some people were smoking in order to see a resemblence with some of these. But since the comparison is inevitably flattering to me either way, I'll take it. What do you think?

Is it Amy Grant?

Hey! Mia just walked in, saw the pictures, and asked if that was me. Wahoo! Two out of four--Eric just asked where those pictures of Mommy came from. Guess we know who Mommy's current favorite children are...

Elizabeth Edwards?
I think she's beautiful, mind-blowingly smart, and unbelievably strong, but you couldn't pay me to trade lives with her.

Patricia Richardson?
I briefly dated a guy who swore I was a deadringer for Home Improvement's savvy momma. Personally, I think he was more in love with her than me.

Rachel Dratch of SNL fame?
Last week a student informed me that he always thinks of RD when he sees me. Um, thanks? Maybe he meant snarky sense of humor... yeah, that was it.

Reba McEntire? Yep, you know I'd have to include her. And not just because I had her hair--BIG, red, BIG, fluffy, and RED through high school.

Sandra Bullock?

Hold the disbelief--I can hear your snorts through the computer screen.

A dear friend who shall most definitely remain nameless once told me that I reminded him of Sandra Bullock. Speechlessly flattered, I stammered out a thank you. He gave me a sideways glance and said, "Yeah, you're so klutzy and scatterbrained, just like the characters she plays." A bit flummoxed, I said, "Hey, if you're going to give me Sandra Bullock, you've got to give me a least of smidgen of physical resemblence, or at a least a 'sexy, just like her.'" "If it makes you feel better you can think that," he replied, "but I was really only thinking klutzy."

Just Another Calm & Peaceful Morning At Our House

2010-01-25T12:28:00.002-07:00

Overheard in the early a.m. rush--

"Marry me or I'll bite you!"

"Augh! I already married you two times today!"

"Augh, augh, augh. Why can't I do 'augh' as good as Mommy?"

Years of experience with frustration, my dear.

A Bit More TMI

2010-01-24T22:10:00.002-07:00

It's been awhile since I shared random bits of Wendy-trivia. In the spirit of confession:

Since it's just me & the kids at home, sometimes I drink straight out of the jug. My babysitters probably didn't want to know that.
I love to bake bread. I usually eat a half loaf when the first batch comes out of the oven.
I like cooking for people. My kids are an especially under-appreciative audience ("Eww--this has green stuff in it! Why can't we have chicken nuggets? I HATE brown bread!") It starts to grind on me, wearing my self-esteem to tatters. So I occasionally beg people to let me make food for them so that I can feel appreciated. I know--it's SO pathetic.
I stay up too late at night, even when I'm trying really hard to do better. That's the curse of having too many awesome girlfriends & sisters to chat, text, email, and talk with.
My sisters--and Betsy--are my only friends who I talk to via phone even when I'm in the bathroom. Just gotta put the phone down to flush. Aren't you so glad I shared that?
Once, last week, I was so tired that I wanted to skip the gym at 6:00am, but I didn't want to admit it, so I got dressed, and when the babysitter came, I drove to the gym, went inside for 10 minutes, then went out to the car and napped for the next 40.
I'm totally okay with scaring the bejeebies out of my kids if it's for a greater good.
One of my secret (not anymore) dreams is to have my own preschool. Another is to own a health food store with my sister.
I worked for six months to take the GRE, did well on it, then pulled all my applications and decided to bag the grad school idea for now. No regrets.
I whine about it sometimes, but I secretly kind of like shoveling snow.

There you go. More than you ever wanted to know.

Secrets

2010-01-17T16:24:00.002-07:00

For Christmas Grace's friends Hallie & Timmy gave her a locked diary. Her eyes lit up when I told her about my first diary, and how I used it to write my secrets--like, who I had a secret crush on, and which boys I liked the best.

Grace ran in her room and returned a minute later to proudly show me the first page in her diary, where she had written, "I lik jonivin."

Apparently she has been putting this diary to good use. With her proud permission, here is a transcript of Grace's "secrets."

page 1: "I lik jonivin."
page 2: "I hat eric."
page 3: "I lik mom."
page 4: "I lik mercie."

page 5: "I lik eric win hees nis. I hat eric win hees bad."
page 6: "I luv mom betar thin eric."
page 7: "I doo not lik eric."
page 8: "I hat you eric to."

page 9: "I hat you eric."
page 10: "I luv you mercie."
page 11: "mercie is funee."
page 12: "mia is mi bes fren."

page 13: "mia is wird."
page 14: "I dont lik eric."
page 15: "it is so fun win we play."
page 16: "isnt mia funee"

page 17: "i love you mom."

The Mouths of Babes...

2010-01-10T14:36:00.002-07:00

...should sometimes stay shut.

Today in Primary I was teaching a sweet little lesson--with help from puppets named Ella & Bessie--about the importance of using good words. Giving the children different real-life scenarios, I asked what they should do.

"What if I drop something heavy & it falls on my foot & it hurts really bad? Is it okay to say a bad word, like such a bad word that I don't even want to say it in church?"

Big-eyed Primary children around the room solemnly shook their heads 'no.'

My darling Mia pipes up from the back row.

" I know what bad word you would say! It's ---"

Red-faced Mommy rushed to shoosh her while every other grown-up in the room lost it.

Life becomes so much more transparent when you become a parent.

Bring On 2010!

2010-01-02T21:40:00.000-07:00

Resolutions:

1.) Keep Little Caesar's (for the kids) and Rumbi Island Grill (for me) financially solvent by patronizing both frequently enough to make up 1/4 of their annual sales.

2.) Stay single.

3.) Flirt with failing no. 2 by having at least one (more would be fine by me) good makeout session in 2010. Since I don't believe in NCMO sessions, this implies some level of commitment and involvement. Scary!!!

4.) Remain the Queen of Denial by setting a never-ending series of fitness goals and failing to reach them.

5.) Enshrine my status as the Queen of TMI by blabbing even more intimate details of my life to total strangers and posting things you never wanted to know on my blog--like details of resolution #3, when it happens.

Resolutions: The Follow-Up

2009-12-31T18:40:00.002-07:00

Because I know y'all have been dying to hear, I thought I'd post an update to how I did with my 2009 New Year's Resolutions:

1.) Stay single.

It was unbelievably difficult, and I had to fight off a torrent of outrageously handsome men who all had their own hair, no paunch, incredible emotional maturity, and extreme masculine sensitivity...but I'm proud to report that yes, indeedy, I made it to 2010 still very much single.

2.) Expand my reportoire of "breakfasts" that can be eaten out of a ziploc bag in the car on the way to daycare.

Hmm...I didn't do so well on this one, giving up the "expanding" part in favor of "just be grateful you get something--anything--to eat," which means grab a juice box, a slice of toast, and if you're lucky, some apple slices. This applies only to the kids, as I have yet to establish a breakfast habit--any breakfast habit--for myself.

3.) At least once a month, skip the gym and the treadmill in favor of curling up with a book and polishing off a half pan of brownies.

Gosh, I made a valiant effort, but there were months that I just plain forgot about the brownies. You'd think I'd have more weight loss to show for that omission...

4.) Fine tune the art of hypocrisy and take my self-righteousness to a new level by setting aside a two-minute meditation period in church each Sunday to reflect on all the ways I'm doing better than at least half the people there.

I'm really embarrassed by how extremely well I carried out this goal. In fact, I've surpassed my original expectation. I'm pretty sure that most Sundays the two minutes was more like twenty, at least. Sigh.

5.) Use my blog to regularly insult/poke fun/otherwise torture Brain Drain.

I thought this was going to be the one goal I'd have to concede defeat on. Other than hijacking his blog for the Man-icure--enjoyable as that was--I just haven't been at the top of my game in harassing Brain-Pain like I intended. As the end of 2009 drew closer and closer, I was facing the reality that my super-perfectionistic and over-achiever nature just might have to taste bitter failure.

Then, like a special little gift from heaven just for me, several things happened.

One, Brain-Stain started a new blog, chronicling his torture sessions with a personal trainer. Thanks to Google, I get regular updates on all the shame, strain, and pain. Thanks to Brain-Drain's wife, I get text messages with updates on all the new curse words Brain-Pain uses in those sessions.

Two, in a happy accident of fate, I happened to be attending a different ward the day that Brain-Pain was the assigned HC speaker, and I got to hear the Parable of the Old, Fat Man Getting In Shape firsthand. There was some slight attempt to disguise it as being a friend of a friend, or some archetypal, mythical Old Man, but those who knew the truth couldn't stop shaking with laughter. And like the gift that doesn't stop giving, I've already retold the epic tale to several friends, guaranteeing the tale's immortality, and allowing me to relive the pleasure all over again.

Third, a few days before Christmas, the kids ran down to Brain-Drain's house to collect their favorite babysitter, BP's youngest (beautiful--she gets it from her mother--, smart, talented, and amazingly patient with my rugrats) daughter who was staying with them while I went to the gym. Eric came running back and threw a heavy, wrapped gift onto my unprotected lap (I may or may not have been still in bed, under the covers). "It's for you, from Erynn's dad," he announced. I sat up groggily, muttering, "I'm scared, very, very scared." Eric ran from the room hollering, "Yeah, Erynn's dad is SCARY, SCARY, SCARY!" Maybe I meant it in a different way than he did. On Christmas morning I discovered that Brain-Drain was trying to help me in the Jane Austen Experiment, by providing a special, thrift store copy of one of the thousands of Pride & Prejudice sequels written by JA-wannabes. It just happened that the particular bodice-ripper version he chose is, um...let's be kind and call it "racy," although Barnes and Noble's website categorizes it as "erotica," and I would probably use a word that starts with P and ends with ORN.

And then I started thinking, do I really need to use my blog to mock Brain-Pain, entertaining myself at his expense? 'Cause I'm thinking he's doing a fine job of providing that entertainment even without any commentary from me.

There you have it, the 2009 update. Stay tuned for the 2010 blog-worthy goals...

Why I Keep Them Around, Part II

2009-12-27T12:38:00.002-07:00

For my birthday, Grace gave me a beautiful shirt, in my favorite color (green), probably a size or two smaller than it should be to comfortably fit NOW--but hey, I'm optimistically still moving down in size, so that's okay.

Today I wore said shirt to church, wincing a little at just how snugly it fit, wondering if it crossed the line into "too-tight-for-modesty."

When Grace saw it her eyes lit up, which was, after all, my primary reason for wearing it.

"Hey, you're wearing the shirt I gave you!"

She began rubbing my tummy through the shirt. I sighed. "Does it show off my fat tummy, sweetie?"

Big-eyed, she looked up at me. "No! Your tummy looks smaller in this!"

Eric joined in. "And soft. You look softer. I like a soft Mommy. You're a pretty mommy."

They may be loud, obnoxious, and crazy, but they're keepers, those kids of mine.

Letters to Santa

2009-12-24T20:53:00.002-07:00

Dear Santa,
I want a kitty. I want a dog. I want an Ipod. I want magic. I love Santa.
love,
Mercie

Dear Santa,
2 Transformers. And Spiderman and Heroes. I like every Hero and every Transformer. The end.
Love,
Eric

Dear Santa,
I want an Ipod and magic. And um, uh, a monster truck that has a controller thing so we could do it.
Love,
Mia

Dear Santa,
I want a Barbie house and a stuffed animal.
Love,
Grace

Dear Santa,
I would like a new house, a piano, and a husband.
Love,
Wendy
PS--I'll settle for two out of three.

If My Kids Ran the World

2009-12-22T21:58:00.003-07:00

Mankind would survive on mac & cheese with hot dogs, juice boxes, and candy.
Putting away laundry, picking up toys, taking out the trash, and setting the table would earn valuable prizes and be accompanied by personal cheerleading squads EACH and EVERY time.
Mothers would have a silencer button.
The daily routine of every child would be equal parts playing outside/art projects/ watching Harry Potter movies.
Mommy would wear the hairstyles created for her by her insanely creative and gifted children out in public, preferably to church or to work.
Baths would happen once a year and consist of running through sprinklers.
Six would be the legal age to drive.
Hannah Montana would be our next-door neighbor.
Mommy would be married to Santa Claus or Uncle Dan, in that order of preference.

And...You....Are....Not....It...

2009-12-18T21:06:00.000-07:00

Tonight at the gym I was using the track when I noticed two adorable little boys, probably around ages 8 and 10, doing their darndest to work out on the adult-size equipment, and doing an admirable job.

I also noticed a nicely-fit and relatively attractive, slightly older-than-me man running laps around me. Truly--I didn't notice in a lusting way, just in a "wow-he's-in-pretty-good-shape-for-an-older-dude" kind of way. Sometimes I notice people who are further along the fitness track than I am, and I kind of use them for motivation, and that's what I was doing with Mr. Silver-Haired Buff Guy.

Then I realized he was the Cute Boys' dad. I deduced this when I overheard the following LOUD tirade from his mouth:

"Hey! What is this??? Why aren't you exercising anymore? Come on, get going, boys. You're a couple of wimps. We came to the gym to exercise--I want to see some exercise happening. You want to be a flab-o like your mom? What are you whining about? You want me to leave right now, this minute, and go get you a hamburger because your poor stomach is so hungry you can't wait 10 more minutes? You need to get to work. It's my job as your dad to push you and teach you to stay in shape. You boys are pathetic."

no. 1: I couldn't decided whether to go out to the car and cry for those poor boys or take my fingernails to Mr. Dad-of-the-Year's face. The latter was most tempting.

no. 2: I was hoping he sure as heck wasn't married, because anyone who would say something like that about his wife, to his own sons, doesn't deserve even a lousy marriage.

Number two concern was addressed a few minutes later when Jerk Daddy fell into step alongside me and did the "so, do you come here often/hey, I haven't seen you here before" routine that happens from time to time at the gym.

I don't think I've ever shot someone down so fast.

Being in good shape is nice; being nice is better.

Then & Now

2009-12-17T21:03:00.002-07:00

Two weeks ago--

Mia: "For Christmas I want a Hannah Montana Barbie--another one--and a camera. That's all."

Yesterday--

Mia: "For Christmas I want Santa to bring me a Wii and an Ipod Touch and a Kindle and a camera phone and an mp3 player. And a regular camera. And a scooter that goes by itself. That's all."

My little girl is growing up.

Sigh.

Why I Keep Them Around

2009-12-14T21:44:00.002-07:00

Mia: "Why did that guy say 'hot'? What does 'hot' mean, anyway?"

Mom: "It means really, really pretty, like if someone is really beautiful, we say she is 'hot.' "

Mia: "Oh! Like Mama!"

Mom: "Eh?"

Mia: "So you are hot, right?"

I love my little schmoozers.

Just Another Scatalogical Saturday

2009-12-05T22:35:00.003-07:00

Eric: Mom! MOM! Come quick!

Mom: Uh, I'm kinda busy--what do you need?

Eric: I'm pooping, and it's SOOOO big! It's a HUGE poop! Come see!

Gee, tempting, but I think I'll pass...

Mom: I'm making breakfast--sorry, bud.

Several minutes pass.

Eric: MOM! I need some help here!

Mom: With what?

Eric: I need help wiping my butt!

Mom: You're a big boy; you know how to wipe your own butt.

Eric: But this is a BIG poop, and it's ALL OVER!

Sigh.

Mommy stands in the bathroom door. To observe. And guide from afar. My mantra is to teach self-sufficiency. Especially if it involves poop.

Mom: You're doing fine, Eric.

Eric: Yeah, but I really hate wiping butts. Wiping butts is so disgusting. It's so gross.

Tell me about it. Try wiping someone ELSE'S butt. Welcome to parenthood, son.

Mom: Well, it's better than NOT wiping your butt.

Silence. Eric digests this thought.

In a tone of awe suggesting that maybe, just maybe, Mommy is NOT dumber than a pile of rocks...

Eric: Yeeeaaaaaaah. That's true!

Nice to know someone out there is still awed by my brilliance.

Family Home Evening, Eric-style

2009-11-16T20:56:00.002-07:00

Mommy: So, before you came to earth, we all lived with Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother--

Eric: Hey, who's Heavenly Mother?

Mommy: She's your Heavenly Mother, the mother of your spirit, just like Heavenly Father is your Heavenly Father.

Eric: Oh! Like Mary, right?

Mommy: No, Mary was Jesus' earthly mom, but she's not your Heavenly Mother.

Eric: Then what's her name?

Mommy: Um, we don't know exactly. We just know she's our Heavenly Mother.

Eric: Oh, because she and Heavenly Father are divorced, right?

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

Eric: Dear Heavenly Father, we grateful for playing pick-up-sticks and for surprises and for chicken nuggets and thankful that Mia could eat peanut butter and thankful for Madame Blueberry and Mommy and, and, and....

(eyes tightly closed and arms folded, Eric stands up and begins madly jigging in place)

thankful that we can dance really fast like this.

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

Eric: Mercie! You cannot sing "I Hope They Call Me On a Mission" with me because you are a girl!

Mercie: MOM! Eric told me that when I grow up I can't be a missionary because I'm a girl.

Mommy: That's not true. Girls can be missionaries if they want to.

Eric: Well, she's only going on a pink mission, then. Boys go on blue missions and girls go on pink missions. The end.

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

Mom: CHILDREN!!! It's not reverent or respectful to booty-shake during a prayer! If you want to dance, wait 'till we're done with family prayer!

(children wait out the prayer, as reverently as a 6, 5, and 4-times-2 year old can).

Mom: ....Amen.

Children: Oh yeah, oh yeah, WE LOVE JESUS!!! WE LOVE TO DANCE FOR JESUS! JESUS LOVES US SHAKING OUR BOOTY FOR HIM!! OH YEAH! OH YEAH! DANCING, DANCING, DANCING, WAVE YOUR ARMS, SHAKE YOUR LEGS, MOVE YOUR BOOTY 'CAUSE WE LOVE JESUS!!!

Call me sacrilegeous, but I think Jesus grins every time my kiddos start workin' it in His praise.

Why He's My Favorite Boy

2009-11-10T21:27:00.003-07:00

Eric: "Hey, it's a magic wand! Poof! I turned you into a beautiful princess! Wait--you already WERE a beautiful princess-mommy! I didn't even need a wand!"

I think he's preparing now for his high school harem.

Advice:

2009-11-08T11:28:00.001-07:00

Never skip church to stay home alone and sneak the last quarter of the lemon meringue pie before the kids get home. Karma will bite you in the butt.

Thanksgiving Traditions

2009-11-02T10:11:00.002-07:00

Somewhat unexpectedly the kids are going to be with me on Thanksgiving. Since I a.) don't have it in me to do the big dinner thing this year, and b.) want to make the most of a whole, entire day at home with my kids, I told the kids that this year for Thanksgiving we'd start a new tradition called "You-can-each-choose-one-thing-to-make-for-Thanksgiving-dinner-and-Mommy-will-help-you-make-it-all-by-yourself."

Mommy didn't think this one out very well. Here is our Thanksgiving Day Menu:

Mac & Cheese (Grace)
Ramen Noodles (Mia)
Hot Chocolate (Mercie)
Doughnuts (Eric)

I tried to steer them toward more traditional choices, but I was reminded that I'd said they could choose. Okay-dokey.

If anyone needs more starchy carbs to round out Thanksgiving Day feasting, apparently you can just stop by our house.

Creativity, Or Something Like That

2009-10-17T22:23:00.005-07:00

My talented friend Shanna manages three high-energy children, runs a busy house, works as a NICU nurse, writes a hilariously funny blog, and manages to make time to create darling Christmas mini-quilts for her friends--such as the sweet little Santa I discovered yesterday in my mailbox. She's a source of never-ending inspiration.

Me, I make spherical cows to keep my hands busy during General Conference. That there Bessie's a cute 'un, if I do say so myself.

A Different Kind of Top Ten

2009-10-15T18:53:00.002-07:00

Here's the deal--I LOVE my kids.

I mean, I adore them, I treasure them, I went through h-e-double-hockey-sticks and back to get them, I schedule and prioritize nearly everything else in my life around them, and in every single, conceivable way, they are the center of my universe.

And I've noticed, over years of connecting and bonding with other parents-via-adoption, or women who have struggled with infertility, that we perhaps value our parenting experience a tad more at times, because 1.) it didn't come easily (or quickly), and 2.) we're sensitive to those who are still in the waiting-longing-praying-hoping-waiting-endlessly-waiting stage, and we remember all too well how it felt to hear parents complain about small & stupid little child things as you sit there and think how you would cut off your right arm to have that irritating moment with a child of your very own.

So I have held back as long as I could, but folks--I just can't keep it in any longer.

Yes, I love my kids. In spite of the following.

TOP TEN PET PEEVES ABOUT CHILDREN:

1.) Whining
2.) Poopy nighttime diapers that spread far beyond the confines of the diaper and cover the jammies, sheets, blankets, pillow (what the heck?!! Were you sleeping with the pillow over the opposite end from your head?), and then get tracked across the bedroom floor, up the stairs, into the bathroom and across the front room before a sibling announces the reason our whole house now reeks of smeared poop.
3.) High-pitched screeching
4.) Tattling
5.) When you finish cleaning up the child in no. 2, along with the floor, the bedding, and scrubbing your hands raw from all the disgusting germ exposure they've just received, hearing a different child announce that he also has a 'messy poopy' and needs Mommy to clean it up.
6.) Whining
7.) Whiny children who whine, beg, and plead for a treat, and when Mommy finally parts with cold, hard cash to obtain said treat, take one bite and decide they don't like it anymore.
8.) Ignoring Mom's command to stay out of the mud, adding to the mud by using the forbidden garden hose, soaking yourself and your brother head to toe which makes you a magnet for grass clippings, leaves, sucker sticks, and assorted other debris--not to mention dirt, which creates even more MUD--and then climbing into Mommy's clean bed when the above-cited activities make you so 'coldy.'
9.) Foregoing all the cute, well-coordinated, and moderately stylish clothes that Mommy buys for you in favor of outfits that little orphan Annie would shun, leading to such a vagabond look that a total stranger in a restaurant would say, "Are all these kids yours? Do you do foster care? Gosh, you'd think the government would at least pay for decent clothes for the poor kids." Just for the record, no--none of my kids were adopted through foster care, and yes, the state does pay for decent clothing for foster kids, and yes, all four little beastie-children are mine. Ratty clothes and all.
10.) Whining.

On days when this particular top ten list is at the forefront and becomes a little overwhelming, there is another little teeny list that saves my children more than they know.

1.) They are SOOOO stinkin' cute.
2.) They are SOOOO stinkin' smart.
3.) They are SOOOO stinkin' mine. For always. For good. And even in their most poopy, whiny, messy glory, I'll always be theirs, too. That's why I did the h-e-double-hockey-sticks stuff to get them here, and why I do the poop-cleaning and headache-surviving now, and why I'll somehow make it through teenage years and driving lessons and dating and college expenses and missions and weddings times four. At the end of the day, it's nice to have four little people who matter to me, and it's nice to matter to those four little people, too. Family = belonging. Forever.

That's even stronger than the smell wafting from the downstairs carpet.

Language Barriers

2009-10-04T15:51:00.002-07:00

Grace: "Here, Mom. I wrote your name for you."

Me: "Um, that has some of the letters, but it's not actually my name."

Grace: "I know. I wrote your name in Spanish, like W-E-N-D-E-C-I-T-A."

The Course of True Love Never Did Run Smooth

2009-09-22T07:38:00.003-07:00

My kids routinely shuffle through a varied list of potential marriage partners--a list which, if we took out each of them (since they mostly just want to marry each other, and yes, that does mean three sisters fighting over who gets Eric), would be reduced to a few neighbor kids, a couple friends from preschool, and one 'lucky' colleague of mine who is the latest object of Mia's five-year old affection (much to his chagrin & my ongoing entertainment, but that's another story).

Anyway, backseat discussions that involve wedding planning are semi-standard fare around here. This morning on the way to preschool Eric & Mercie were discussing how many potential mates they could have--could Eric marry two princesses or three, could Mercie marry both Jaxon and Aiden, and if so, could she still marry Eric, and how exactly would that work if they married each other and a few other people, too?

Somewhere in the conversation Eric remembered the first real love of his life, his beautiful, blond, blue-eyed babysitter Erynn, who he's had a flaming crush on pretty much since he got off the plane from China. Perking up when I heard her name, I asked Eric if he would marry Erynn when he grew up.

"No way," he asserted.

"But I thought you liked Erynn the best."

"I DO like her the best, but I can't MARRY her."

"Why not?"

As if I'm the dumbest, most dense mommy on the planet--which from his perspective I probably am--he slowly explained, "Because I cannot marry her, because I cannot kiss her."

"Um, why can't you kiss her?"

"Because I can't REACH HER!"

2009-09-21T20:14:00.002-07:00

This morning I had a small audience while applying makeup.

Mercie: "Wow--you look pretty, Mommy. Like a pretty witch instead of just a regular one."

Um, thanks...?

Sibling Issues: How It Begins

2009-09-16T21:40:00.000-07:00

Mercie: "ERIC! Why do you keep trying to sit by me??!!!"

Eric: "Because I jes' love you."

Long pause. Mommy is in the other room feeling all warm & fuzzy over this rare moment of sibling affection.

Mercie: "Well, I actually don't like you much, but I guess you can sit by me."

Ah, well. I'm pretty sure I disliked a couple of my sisters rather intensely until we were in our twenties or so.

Nudity, Equine-style

2009-09-14T08:18:00.003-07:00

Mia: "Can I take off all of my clothes to play horsey?"

Mom: "Uh, why do you need to take off your clothes to play horsey?"

Mia: "Because I'm going to be a BROWN horsey."

Mom: "What are you going to wear to be a brown horsey?"

Mia: "My SKIN!"

Mom: "Well, you probably should at least wear underwear."

Mia: "Why? Horses don't."

They Don't Miss a Thing...

2009-09-08T07:35:00.003-07:00

Grace: Mommy, you're not going to believe this! Drake's mom shaves her LEGS!!!

Mom: Actually, most ladies shave their legs. They they like their legs to feel smooth and soft, so they shave all the hair off. That's a pretty normal thing.

Grace looks skeptical. She runs an experimental hand over my bare leg.

Grace: Oh! And you are one of the ladies who likes to have whisker-y legs, right?

A Few of My Favorite Things...

2009-09-04T13:16:00.003-07:00

The chronically late list--

Burt's Bees Chapstick. Especially honey, which is so yummy, and peppermint, which makes my lips so tingly!
Aveda Hand Relief Cream, which I like so well I use it everywhere, not just hands.
Odwalla Choco-walla Energy Bars. Tastes just like chocolate no-bake cookies, with a fraction of the sugar and far more protein & fiber.
Talking Rain West Indies Lime Twist. Together with the above, it's breakfast.
my new Keen hiking boots. They're lime green, even.
Erynn!

Other things I love right now:

chances to connect with my inner nerdling
kids who love school & like doing homework with Mommy :)
reasons to remember why I like C.S. Lewis so much
the funnest visiting teaching companion for almost two years running!
entertaining my friends with my endless capacity for humiliating myself. You're welcome.
having a son who is finally potty-trained. I didn't think this day would ever arrive.
another General Conference is coming up...

The World According to Mia

2009-08-28T09:33:00.002-07:00

"Wow, Satan is like the worstest kid ever."

"When I die I'm going to be creamed, not like putting myself in a box, but that other thing, like creamed except we're not supposed to talk about it because it makes me scared. WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT THIS??? AUGH!!!!" Mia, you're the one who started talking about it. "Well, why did you let me?"

"Dear Heavenly Father, thankful for this day, thankful for the food, thankful for my kindergarten, thankful for Eric could not poop in his underwear because that's so disgusting, thankful that Gracie can change him and not me, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen."