Tuesday, December 24, 2013

Baby Barnes #2

Well... we're pregnant!  Yay.  It has been a couple of really miserable months.  Alaska knows how to stand by me and flush to toilet each time the heaving lets up a little to get the smell out.  And she knows to pull some toilet paper down for me to blow my nose afterwards and knows that if there's nothing in the bowl but I am still bent over it to come around behind me and rub my back.  'Cause she's got a good dad to show her how to do all those things.

They say you forget about all the bad of pregnancy by the time you have another.  You don't.  My first time bent over the toilet I cried.  I wasn't ready for this to all start again.  The sickness.  But it was what our family needed.

I am only hoping that it goes away soon, rather than lingering like it did with Alaska.  It's easier for me to count the days that I don't throw up than the ones that I do.  And that's been going on for a month a half.  I have to eat every two hours or it gets unbearable and I puke.  By the end of the day I am tired of eating, tired of making things to eat and tired of thinking of things to eat.  Because the other tricky thing about pregnancy is if you eat something that you don't want to, it usually finds it way back up regardless of when I ate it.

It's officially unofficial, though.  Because I don't want to tell people and then have them asking me when the due date is, when will I know it's a boy or a girl, blah blah blah because that means doctor appointments and I haven't even had one yet.  So... yeah.  As long as there is no doctor appointment it's still unofficial and my time counting down until the birth-date can't happen yet.  I want the biggest head-start possible.  With Alaska we managed 13 weeks.  They wanted to do an ultra-sound to make sure she was progressing as much as she should be, etc. by the time we got in there and they were able to tell us she was a girl right then.  That wasn't all that bad.

I have already started to notice that I think I am showing.  Perhaps I am just parnoid and I feel bloted a lot of the time, but I am pretty sure my waist has thickened considerably, even if there's not a bump unless I have just eaten.  I feel comparable to a boa constrictor.  A huge ball in my belly as soon as I eat something and nothing as soon as it's gone.  But it is dang obvious.

With Alaska I was still just barely, barely showing at 20 weeks.  The kind of showing you could do without sticking your belly out just a little.  My muscles were tight, keeping her in, this time, not so much.  My clothes already feel like they are wearing me, instead of me wearing them, and I am dreaming of the day I can slip into my pregnancy pants to even out the muffin top that has already started to appear.  That's a sad, mature grown-up wish.

Mysterious Veggie Plate

It baffles me.  You think you know.  And then you don't.  Like so much of life.  Too much of life.

I have decided my signature "I'll bring the..." will forever be veggie plates complete with ranch dressing made from greek yogurt.  It's a crowd pleaser and something I feel comfortable bringing as more and more people are coming out as gluten free and less carbs and more healthy stuff, please!  The people-pleaser in me, I suppose.

Rummaging through thrift-stores is an all-time favorite hobby and I picked up a most excellent crystal vegetable tray.  A little more rummaging produced a little bowl for dip that more often than not is being used for cereal when all of our bowls are dirty.  Even now, I use my pampered prep bowl for dressing because it has a lid that fits snug and guarantees no surprise ranch-messes in the trunk upon arriving.  No one seems to mind the the center of my vegetable trays holds tomatoes or olives more often than dressing.

It's not super often that I get to pull the crystal platter from its home among the other things we don't use a lot, but you gotta have, like pitchers and trifle dish.  But when I do, it gets a good use.  This past week I used it twice, and you know what?  I am so confused!

I took it to my parent's house for thanksgiving loaded up on all colors of the rainbow.  The only thing eaten?  The celery.  Thanksgiving dinner was delicious and there wasn't much room for something that probably should have been served as an appetizer instead of the spinach dip and bread.  But the celery got munched on as people's plates winded down and needed just a touch more.

Took the exact same plate to a Young Women event, and what do you know?  The only vegetable left was the celery!  Everything else was dipped and eaten.  It is so weird to me.  Had I known, I would have had less celery and more of something else.  But I didn't know there would be such a difference in opinion over a vegetable plate.  Proves that vegetables are not all equals.  I did find it interesting, though, that as I gathered up vegetables that are often found on veggie plates, there were more vegetables than I remember as a kid.  Which must mean that I am becoming more aware of what's out there and how to jazz up your ordinary plate.  We don't use cauliflower as a filler around here, that's for sure.

One of Those Awesomely Horrible Days

It's been one of those awesome days.  The kind where Alaska Paska was the biggest punky in all the world, short of the kid who throws a tantrum complete with kicking and screaming.  We obviously haven't been working on our shopping etiquette very much since moving back to Oregon where it takes 40 minutes to get anywhere note-worthy.   Note to self, we need to work on this so that she can shop beside me before this baby comes.

A lady at Walgreens today asked me if I got my boots locally.  Her granddaughter would love a pair.  "No, I got them at Macey's."  The man next to us chuckled and says, "You'd have to shop pretty hard to find something local around here."  Meaning, if you don't like what WalMart of FredMeyer has to offer, you've got a little bit of a drive to look forward to.

I knew Barnes and Noble would be the hardest store to take her in, especially since I left the mini-stroller at the house.  That meant it would be her and her two hands up and over everything.  It had to be our first stop.  Before she became The Punky that we all know and love.  I needed my Alaska Paska.

It didn't go well.  We did get out with only one time-out and one run-away moment and one 'crying 'cause you're holding my hand' moment.  Pretty good that the numbers didn't rack up higher than that.  But I was a haggard mess by the time we left.  I didn't feel well enough to be stretched to any kind of limits and had definitely over layered in layers that were impossible to take off without losing my dignity.  Like a jacket covering my ugly sweater and a scarf to bustle out the front so that the high neck of my ugly sweater couldn't be seen, as well.

We stopped at two more stores, both with carts that she refused to stay buckled within and though I had a list a mile long, I was done.  You couldn't pay me to take her grocery shopping.

Got home just in time for a nap and I puked into the toilet.  We had to have a white elephant gift and a favorite Christmas treat to share for our party that night.  I dropped Alaska off at her Grandma's and pretended to know what I needed.  I fell back on chocolate for our white elephant gift, you can never go wrong with candy.  I wasn't entirely sure of our group, whether gag gifts were going to be ok and all that.  Always tricky playing with different groups of people.

Too sick to make a treat to share, thought I could take spinach dip.  Found it and looked around for some pre-sliced bread.  I didn't even feel well enough to cut bread!  Couldn't find the bread and instead I bought a plate of 7-layer dip that looked like it had been sitting around for a couple of days and a bag of chips.  No shame.  I took it and it was eaten.

The party was a success and it was fun.  Gag gifts were definitely invited, although you gotta have the good gifts to make the gag gifts even more horrendous.  The worst, a knit your own bikini kit.  It was hillarious and hideous.  Most likely will be making a return next year.

Setting Boundaries

I have had a lot of time to think.  Lots of time to reflect on things that are most important and how to live a healthy life without regret or doing things I say 'yes' to just because 'yes' is easier than, 'no thanks, no interested.'

It's just something that has come naturally, after seeing a counselor, I have one more appointment and I will be 'cured'.  Almost cured?  Almost the person I was a year ago.  A few scars that still need fading, but for the most part, I've got it back.  And I am so grateful that I got up the courage to get an appointment and even went through with it as I saw the people smoking 'just outside the premise' because smoking isn't allowed within the premise.  And I kept going as I passed the couple of haggard, greasy haired people at the front door and even pushed forward past the high school boy who very well was a foster-child and has had a rougher life than I could even imagine.  Pushed past it all and spilled my guts, even if my guts were more thought out and organized and 'smaller' than most people's problems who were there my first day.

My counselor asked me what I was taking away from this 'almost last' appointment and I think I got it.  I got the greatest gift a person could be given.  I told her, "I don't feel so broken anymore.  I can see the progression and the growing that has happened."

I wouldn't have seen that if I hadn't enrolled in counseling.  I would still be fuming with disappointment that I wasn't what I was before.  I wouldn't have been able to look at the progression that I have made, but would always be sitting on the pavement looking towards the stars and their light that I used to hold and be frustrated that I wasn't there.  But having gone to counseling, I accepted out-loud that I was sitting on the pavement.  That it was cold and not where I wanted to be.  And slowly I began to pick myself up and give myself the wings that I need to get back to the stars.  Instead of always being frustrated about where I wasn't, I could sit back and watch the progression as I became again what I wanted to be.

My current homework is still setting boundaries.  Something I have had problems with since the beginning of time.  Doing things that I don't really want to do.  But saying yes because nice girls say yes.  So instead of saying an automatic 'yes' to anything and everything, I have to say, "Let me think about it" even if I know after I think about it, the answer will be yes.

And I have two victory stories to tell about sticking to boundaries and comfort zones!

1) We are living in a low in-come apartment complex and out of the 8 apartments that make up our block only three people have a car.  We are one of those three and I am mostly home and I get asked for rides often.  Someone asked for a ride and I was extremely busy getting ready for my first bazaar.  I had my hours limited and was counting them down like precious seconds.  I told her I could give her a ride in a couple of hours and she was all like, "Oh, well I think I'll just walk, then."  I was fuming mad.  But felt rightfully justified in a, "I said no" kind of way.  I had felt bad about not making her problem an emergency when, to her, it wasn't even an emergency.  I am so weird.  But she's weird to.  Asking someone for a ride would be my last step in solving a problem, when for her it was her first idea.  It's a crazy world we live in.

2) I had a Pampered Chef party set up.  I didn't want it.  I didn't want the perks that came from setting it up.  I didn't want to worry about people showing up or not showing up.  I didn't want to plan a party.  I didn't want any of it.  But I had said yes because it was the logical thing to do.  So, I took a big breath, and I told the lady I didn't want to do it.  I cancelled it before it was even an event.  That is something I never before would have dreamed of doing.  I like to think that I am responsible, and if I say 'yes' than you can bet it will happen and get done.

Something I have learned and become bolder in over the past few months is watching out for myself, feeling the tension inside me rise, and listening to the worries that wake me in the middle of the night and taking them by the throat and strangling them rather than letting them haunt me until the day of.  I have become more inclined to listen to my inner well-being and stand up for it rather than being the girl who can conquer anything.  I've been that girl.  And she doesn't get much credit.  So if it doesn't hurt, I am going to slip out every once-in-awhile.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

The Askingest Pigeon Around

I have always, always loved 'The Pigeon' books.  Ever since I found them in college and had them read to me on a day that definitely could have been better.  I still remember being in pjs and wrapped in a blanket, downstairs on the lovesacks that littered the common area of the freshmen dorms.  Levi brought a stack of children's books from the library and read them to me after a full day of classes and not feeling well.  "Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus" was the only one available at that point and we read it three or four times before moving onto the next book.  Love that sassy pigeon.

We got "The Duckling gets a Cookie" not so long ago and it has become one of Alaska's favorites.  Not because she loves it, but because I love it.  Handsome Husband and I quote it back and forth in conversation and it has become quite the inside joke.  We need more.  Yesterday I got home from a bird release and Steven says, "Alaska is really 'the most askingest pigeon around'"  And I laughed.  Because I knew exactly what he meant.  She's always asking, 'what is this' and asking with a question in her voice, "momma" or "dia-dee" as she points to an article of one of ours.  Or asking for more milk.  The pointing game is one of her favorites and she'll point saying, "Dis?" to a dozen of objects, even if she points to the same object twice.  I always feel like she's quizzing me and I now understand why often, picture books made for little kids have word recognition built into them as each picture on the page is labeled.  They thought that was for the kids.  No.  That is for the parents when we can't think fast enough to name a duck.

My current hope is that even though she's not saying the words after me right now, she's practicing in her head and someday I will be amazed when she points to an object and says its name when she has never said it before.  Right now we are working heavily on colors and I am not hoping so much that she'll be saying the colors, but that she can recognize them.  The words will come soon enough, I am sure.

Rocking the Toddler to Sleep

Confession:  I rocked Alaska to sleep for her nap this afternoon.  She has been a champ at going down for naps and sleeping through the night since baby-age.  Like, pridefully good.

But lately she has better things to do than to take naps.  Play with Kitty Kitty, look at books, run around like a crazy and tag along behind me as I clean a bathroom and pick up the bedrooms.  I let is slide for two days and then that was enough.  After shutting her in her room for half a hour, I always caved at her 'tap-tap-tapping'.  She can't open doors yet, and we plan to keep it that way as long as possible.  Is that crippling a child?  I don't know.  But it keeps her in her room at nap time, and that is the battle right now.

Only, the peculiar thing about her nap-time scamming is that instead of playing with her toys, she tends to sit by the door and holler.  ALL of her toys are in her room.  But she sits at the door and cries with a diaper in hand.  Because she has learned that if I check on her and she's got a diaper in hand it guarantees a bum check, and that's 15 seconds more than if I were to walk in there and lay her in bed again.  Smart girl we've got on our hands here.

I had my battle armor on for today and left her in there for one hour and forty-five minutes.  Oh Please, don't look at me that way.  I can see the judging in your eyes.  I did check on her every half-hour.  And I did know she was fine.  And believe me, I felt every single cry for 'maaaaaamaaaaa' that came through that door.  It made it very hard to concentrate of anything else.  So keep your judgy eyes to yourself.

15 minutes before my last ditch effort of letting her out of her room I swaddled her and tucked her into my arms in our stuffed rocking chair.  I sang a few songs and her eyes were closed in 5 minutes.  A total of 10 minutes and I was laying her down in bed.

Those 10 minutes that I sang to her, I watcher her little face.  Those deep-brown eyes that have always looked back at me, so strong and alert.  Always alert from day one.  Her whipped cream complexion has been darkened by the sun and her skin tells the truth on me, that we don't always do lotion after baths anymore.  Her forehead tells of tears, a few spots of fresh skin that were healing under dark scabs during the warmest days of summer.  The scars will fade with the next sun tan in the spring.  But right now they peek, shy out of slumber.  Under usual circumstances she's moving too fast for anyone to notice.  Her small nose and miniature ears looks less like doll details and more child size.  I breathe in deep while kissing her forehead and it's not the same milky johnson's baby smell that filled my nose the last time I held her like this.  The only thing remotely the same, as my arm starts to tingle from her heavy head, is her eyelashes.  Long and feather-like, they always remind me of butterfly wings.  Softly curling at the edges as they swipe across the tops of her cheek.  Butterfly-like not only in their dainty design, but in the fact that just when you think a butterfly is going to stay a while, the lift up their wings and fly.  Just as you think those eyes are going to stay closed and they flutter open at the smallest movement.

I took her to bed and lay her down, eye-lids barely opening and kissed her one more time before tip-toeing out and closing the door.  She slept two hours and I got my 'my time' for one more day.

Christmas Browsing in November

Yesterday Alaska and I were having a hard day.  Not that it was hard, it was just long, really. Really long.  I didn't feel so well and I hated letting her watch Word World after her nap.  I needed a good pick-me up and Handsome Husband needed some poster board for a sign.  

As much as I dislike going to WalMart, that is where we headed.  I don't know.  It's so 'college' to me.  I would much rather spend a little extra and go somewhere locally owned where not everyone in their pajamas go.  But it's what we've got.  And sure, sometimes it's all the energy I have to get my hair done to get out the door and cute clothes would be the tipping point, but at least I wear yoga pants instead of my pink owl pj bottoms.  Let's show some respect around here.

We took our time and went straight back to the seasonal and walked through all the ready-made gift ideas, candy and your classic Christmas Bling.  Then through what used to be the garden section, turned out-door decor and wrapping.  Alaska loved Santa driving the airplane with a propeller that spun, all 8 ft of it.  It was hideous.  I picked up and smelled cinnamon pinecones and scentsicles smelling like Chritmas Tree, breathing in deep.  Winter White Fir.  Passed through the glass bulbs that have been replaced by safe plastic, losing their fragile appeal and landed among the classic ornaments of Disney characters and miniature leg lamps from 'A Christmas Story'.
 
There is something demanding about the season that requests to be seen, smelled and experienced.  Felt deep in the heart.  Our apartment right now is so cozy it easily feels cluttered if there is one item out of place.  We have two good sized half-walls that could simply collect things just by being.  I am constantly clearing them off and keeping them clutter free because it makes the biggest difference in the atmosphere as to how it feels and how I feel, besides vacuumed floors.

There's no place to put decorations, half-walls included because it doesn't matter what's on them, it feels like too much.  I left our Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations in their boxes this past season and thought the Christmas would have to stay packed up, as well.  But as I look around, we could use a little Christmas cheer.  As annoying as decorations are to put up and take down, they add enough to make it worth it.  I am anticipating the day when Alaska is excited about decorations and begs to pull the boxes down.  Setting her nativity up the day after Thanksgiving, like I used to.  And I'll embrace it again then.  But right now it just seems too big.  Except Christmas.  We're going to need some Christmas this year.  No tree.  We haven't got the room for that.  But some glass balls hanging from the ceiling is a Christmas tradition around here. 

This year I have big plans.  I've been saving money for a while now and have plans to set out Christmas for a couple of families.  I am really excited about it and have already started collecting ideas.  It makes it so wonderful, to be getting gifts for someone, and to have it be a surprise on top of it.  The kids are still young enough to believe in Santa if they wanted to and I've got plans that include lots of wrapping paper and lots of glitter.

My other big plan is to learn more about Christ.  To KNOW Him.  I mean, sure, I know your regular stuff and I've read Jesus the Christ, but I want to know more.  That is what my December is going to be about.  Christ and what He did with the short life He had and the people that He spent His time with.  It all seems so miraculous to me.  So magical and divine.  That a man could teach so much, in such a short time.  Touch so many lives, and not only those have been touched for generations.  But touch those that He literally touched.  I am always trying to be Christlike, because that's part of my promise that I made to Him when I was baptized.  But I think it's always good for us to immerse ourselves in the goodwill for others.  A great huge dunking of goodness where we notice the good we have been doing because we look for it and record it, not just because we are living it casually every day.

Bought some cinnamon scentsy today and plan to bring Christmas in with a huge hug!  Right after Thanksgiving, of course.



Friday, October 18, 2013

Counseling for the First Time

I had my first counseling appointment.  And it was fantastic.  Highly recommend counseling for anyone and everyone who is interested in themselves and how they tick.  Even if there's nothing wrong, doesn't hurt to find out more about yourself.  We're talking peace here people!  $22 bucks a pop and I am all over that like sugar on candy.

I would most definitely suggest taking a list with you, though.  A list of questions/concerns you have about yourself.  That way when the poor counselor looks at you and asks, "What seems to be the trouble?"  You don't just look down at your hands and think quietly to yourself, "Well, I am a little broken.  Can't you see?"  You look them square in the eye and you say, "I am feeling really stressed out.  And it started when..."  And you relive your stressful story and you cry a little because it's a little tender piece of you that you've kept inside and protected for so long.  Carrying on with a bright smile and falling apart behind closed doors.  And then she says, "I understand.  That is quite the burden."  And you start to cry again, because you never thought someone would agree with you.  That yes, it is hard, but I am girl of resilience and I was going to keep pushing on.  But she says, "I am so glad you came.  Let's figure this out together."  And you learn stuff about yourself that you never considered, even though, deep down, you probably knew it.  It just took a second voice and a little set-apart time to allow myself to think about it.  And then my idea of how I thought everything should be was popped.  And relieving tears came when I was allowed to not be so hard on myself.  When her gentle words said, "That is hard.  Don't make is so hard.  Try this instead."  And I did.  And it's fine, but more problems have bubbled up where the ugly head of a problem had been biting.  And I have them written down for my next session.  And I wonder if this cleansing process is going to be solved in a series of four sessions or if I am always going to be finding more questions about myself.  And maybe I will need a standing monthly appointment to get myself sorted and figured out enough to do the things that I love.
I feel like it's a deep cleansing.  How, maybe, if I scrape away enough layers, I can take away that semester of 21 credits where I got straight As with one C.  Ridiculous teacher that nearly gave me a heart-attack every time I went to class because of her high energy.  Maybe I can peel back all those boyfriends.  Scrape off that year and a half where I was working 30 hours a week and trying to balance 18 credits while living the college life.  Sand away until I am left with me.  Writing the way I love.  Reading books.  Scrap booking.  Helping.  Loving with all I have.  That girl is somewhere inside me and I want her back.  I am taking her back.  Maybe it will take 4 sessions of counseling to heal my broken and pinned wings, maybe a few more to strengthen the muscles to fly.  I am ready, with my list, of things that need to be polished to leave me strong.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

Our Saturday Weekend

Handsome Husband does not often get a Saturday off.  We have had three Saturdays off since we moved here in March.  It is now October.  But when he does get Saturday off, the nice guys at Les Schwab make sure he gets a Monday off, as well, and all of a sudden we have a three days weekend!  Which requires doing something 'big' and 'awesome'.

This three day weekend we took a trip to Seattle.  I was assigned to teach young womens that Sunday and since it was the last lesson of the month I didn't feel like I could ask someone to trade me and have to take a rain check for it.  Our three day vacation turned into a two day vacation with a little weekend snuck in there.

Saturday brought the sauerkraut festival and a stake temple day.  I HAD to go to the sauerkraut festival and I knew that Handsome Husband and I should be making that trip to the temple.  And not just a trip, but the trip that would put us there in the chapel to hear the special words that were intended for our stake at the appointed time.  It was an emotional thing for me, as last-minute plans and changing plans have become something really hard for me to handle, but it was arranged for us to be there.

Generally, we don't take pen and paper in with us, but I felt if I were to be somewhere hearing a few messages I should take special note of them.  I also took the time to make special note of the feelings I had felt and the things I had thought.

1) The temple will bless our families.  Not just by being sealed for all eternity, but as we serve in the temple, our families and dear ones will be blessed.  The angels will be near to raise them up and guard them.

2) Why are we taught from such a young age to look towards the temple?  Why is it such a pulling force?  Because the Lord has chosen someone to work in His place and be His mouthpiece.  The gospel has been restored.  This is the essence.  To do the work of eternity.

We had stopped by the sauerkraut festival on the way into Portland and had taken the time to look around.  I do love a good festival and the sauerkraut bratworst was the best ever!  Next year I may be brave enough to try the sauerkraut icecream, but not this time.  Alaska rode in her stroller, pointing out each dog we passed and saying, "dog, dog, dog, dog..." until we replied, "Yes, that is a dog."

Saturday night I prepared my lesson, which was a new step for me.  I am more of the, 'prepare a lesson the morning of' kind of girl.  This whole being 25 years old thing is really working out for me.  Making me quite the responsible person.  I love teaching the young women.  I just love, love it.  And instead of being nervous, I get excited.  I love them so much and it makes it easy to teach.

Sunday we packed our bags in a hurry, stuffed everything in the car around the jogging stroller and pack 'n' play and set off for Seattle.

Monday, September 30, 2013

It's Raining, It's Pouring

The past two days have been nothing but rain.  You think I kid.  I do not.  I have been watching for a break so that perhaps I could start a 60 min. walk dry, even if I couldn't finish it dry.  No such luck.  True Oregon rain all through the morning, the afternoon, and on through the evening.  I had forgotten.  Spoiled by Utah autumns where the leaves crunch beneath your feet the whole season long.  Where your never have to worry about your riding boots having wet toes and never think to yourself, maybe I should trade these riding boots in for some rain boots so that I can go grocery shopping.

This morning, as soon as were up, it wasn't raining and I bundled Alaska into her coats and socks and shoes with a blankie.  We set out at a jog and slowed to a walk as I got a pain in my side.  The sun was hiding behind a couple of soggy clouds, but it was dry.  And my dry, I mean there was no rain falling from the sky.  There were definitely enough puddles to keep the most ruthless of puddle-jumpers happy for five hours.  The long grasses of summer were beaten down, having succumbed to the constant pressure on their long stems.  Trees jangled and tipped a leaf's amount of water onto Alaska and I as we passed under their branches.  Leaves scattered parking lots and tripped on the sidewalk.  The rain had pulled them down to earth where they would find their mortal fate.

We were 15 minutes from the house when the rain started up again and I began a slow jog, pulling the umbrella over Alaska's torso.  We had been in worse, that's for sure.  Just the week before we had slipped into the store real quick on our way home from a walk to pick up a few items and we came out to a full on rain storm.  There was congestion at the sliding doors as everyone who had just checked out came to a halt at the sight of the rain that was not there when we all went in.  It was a mess as they put on jackets, pulled up hoods and located their car from the covered entry, calculating the most direct cut.

And there was me and Alaska.  I take the stroller into the store with me when we're coming back from a walk because it's less transitioning and my stroller has way better steerage than any cart I have pushed, which means we're in and out faster as I glide past carts blocking isles as they search for the perfect cake mix.  I was wearing my t-shirt and shorts, 'cause it has been a nice day, and she was in jeans and long sleeves.  We took a deep breath and in we went, jogging hard.  10 minutes to the front door and we had to cross the highway that always has the longest lights.  Biggest blessing, I pushed the button for the light to cross, and it lit up, allowing us to barely pause at a light that we usually spend 3 minutes at.

The high school was out for lunch and the teachers were standing at the cross-walk, in their slacks and leather shoes, to deter the underclassmen.  Sharing jokes under umbrellas I knew I wasn't going to pass them without a comment.  "Well!  What are you doing out here in the rain?"  me, "We got caught"  them, "Sure did.  You're doing great."  Not as painful as I had thought it may have been.  I gave a little wave and we were almost home.

I don't mind being caught in the rain as much as the idea is uncomfortable.  It's just a hassle to get a shower with all your clothes on, and running shoes.  I think it's time I start doing early-morning water-aerobics again.  My first friends in St. Helens were the little, crinkly ladies who show up at the pool at 5:45 am each morning for their exercise and I haven't seen them since summer started.  It was easier for me to go on a walk then to get to the pool at 5:30 in the morning.  I do believe the reverse has come this past week.

Pour on, rain.  I've got a swim suit.


Friday, September 27, 2013

The Bloggess

Ok.  For real guys.  I just found this blog and it is the most hillarious thing to have ever happened to me.  Have you ever seen me laugh so hard I cry?  No.  Me either.  But I totally just did.  Twice.

Check this out.  But don't check it out if offensive language offends you.  Nope.  Don't.  But if you don't mind too much and need a good, hard laugh... you can thank me later.

http://thebloggess.com   Entry on Sept 17, 2013

But that's not what this is about.  This about me.  And a phone.  I hate punching in the numbers to listen to voicemails.  So I don't.  And when my mailbox is full, I like to keep it that way as long as possible so that it is impossible for people to leave messages.  Phones are for texting, not for talking, unless there's an emergency.  Like I forgot about visiting teaching.  Then I need a phone call to remind me of places to be and things to do.  E-mail, facebook, texting... there are so many ways to get a hold of a person.

This is an entry by the bloggess, edited for your viewing pleasure.  And I thought I would share since it's something I can so totally relate to.

A series of voicemail messages I listened to a year and a half after they were sent because I don’t know how my phone works:
Yvonne: Argh.  This lady at the drugstore just coughed H1N1 all over my daughter.  Call me in 4 months when you actually get this.  I’m sure we’ll still be friends then.  Probably.
me (leaving myself a message when I couldn’t find my journal to write in): Why don’t people use “let’c” as a contraction for “lettuce”?  It would save time.  This is me, by the way.  Not future-me though.  Just regular me.  Hope we’re doing well.
My sister: Hey, someone in our family died but I’m not telling you over voicemail because that would be weird.  But you’re never going to get this because you never listen to your voicemails. It’s like I’m sending a time-capsule into space that no one will ever find.  I though you were supposed to be the responsible one.
My sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today.  I’m calling to remind you.  You owe me.
me again: Hi.  This is just me pretending to be on the phone so that I don’t have to make eye contact with the crazy lady on Main who’s always talking to herself.  Except that technically I’m calling myself to leave myself a message so I’m basically doing the same thing.  I bet this is just how the crazy lady got started.
My sister again: It’s daddy’s birthday today.  I’m calling because you said that I didn’t remind you about mom’s birthday even though I totally did.  Does this phone even work?
My sister again: Hey, did you know it’s your birthday?  My guess is “no” since I didn’t remind you.
me (leaving a message to myself again): If dead people want to wear open toed shoes in their caskets do the morticians give them a pedicure or are you just stuck with however your feet looked when you die?  Do you have to pay extra for the death pedicure?  I should get a tattoo on my chest that says “Put me in feetie-pajamas when I die”.  That way I’m warm and I’m saving money.
me again:  Okay, I just remembered that I don’t have any feetie-pajamas and it would suck if right before I died I ballooned up to like 500 pounds and Hailey was all “HER DYING WISH WAS TO HAVE FEETIE PAJAMAS” but they can’t find any in my size and so she spends all her time looking for enormous feetie-pajamas when she should just be taking care of herself.  Now I’m all depressed.  Forget the tattoo.  The tattoo was a terrible idea.
Victor: WHY DON’T YOU EVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE?
me (leaving a message to myself again): I was calling to remind you to write something funny about birds but then I got distracted by my own voice on the answering machine and now I don’t remember what I was going to say.  It was about birds, I think…?   I lost it.  Way to go, us.
my sister again: It’s mom’s birthday today.  Honestly, I don’t even know why I try.
Laura: Okay, why do you even have a phone?

Coast into September

We still talk about it.  That one day.  That super hot day.  The day of all summer days.  And it wasn't even summer.  School had already started the week before.

It was a Wednesday and I had decided the previous Sunday that Alaska and I would be at the coast on Wednesday.  I had it all figured out.  We would need to leave in the morning in order to beat the heat since our little car has no a/c and then come home in the evening with just enough time to shower off summer sand before going to mutual at seven.  It was 9:30 when we pulled out of our apartment complex and I turned up the country, settling in for a long drive.

We made a few stops, one in Rainier to pick up some sand toys, which they didn't have any of, so I got a couple of metal spoons to dig in the sand with and as an after-thought a package of fruit snacks.  We had crackers and applesauce and waters and juices.  We were going to be ok.

Stopped at a used furniture store on our way through Astoria.  I am always on the hunt for a china cabinet that will fit into our over-sized bathroom to store towels and miscellaneous bathroom items.  And I found one.  For $250.  Much out of my price range.  Especially since it would need a nice coat of paint to update itself.  Passed it by and we headed onto Seaside.

Usually we stop at Del Ray as our beach of choice because it is less crowded than Seaside.  Today, though, I wanted to be around some people.  And have a back-up plan of the seaside aquarium if Alaska got tired of the ocean before it was time to go.  I shouldn't have worried.

We took our time parking, taking the luxury to find just the right spot.  I loaded up our jogging stroller and thought to myself, "Next time, we'll have to bring a wagon"  First we'll have to get a wagon.  I watched two mommas carry umbrella strollers down the steps that lead to the sand and may have smiled to myself when they pushed to go forward and their itty bitty stroller wheels dug into the sand, not turning at all.  Their surprised faces were priceless and then they giggled nervously to themselves.  I could see their minds turning, "How are we going to get closer to the water?  I have a baby, a bag, and a stroller to now carry.  Ooof. 

There was no way I was taking my stroller down those steps, there had to be a way around.  And there was.  Which led straight to a couple of swings.  Alaska swung to her heart's content, always asking 'more' in sign each time the swing went slower than a push from an under-doggie.  That girl loves a good thrill.  We stopped by the bathrooms real quick and then made our way down to the water.  

Spreading out our blanket on the sand, I changed Alaska into her swim suit.  We took pictures and ran out in the waves.  That girl loves the water and we spent two hours galloping in the waves before coming out for snacks.  There were lots of grandmas and grandpas out walking their dogs, and Alaska noticed every single one of them.  While we were eating goldfish crackers Alaska couldn't help but notice and be amazed at how close the ducks (read: seagulls) got to our blanket.  She chased them around and  enjoyed her time drying off.  We had one more hour in the water before the wind picked up and I called it quits.  We changed and made our way back to the car after stopping by the swings again.  Having a swing open to use on both the way to the water and on the way back from the water goes to show how many people were not at the beach.  It was so nice to have it to ourselves.

We stopped in Gearhart to look through a home junk store and had dinner right next door at the burger place that sold malts and had battered fries.  It was delicious.  Alaska slept the rest of the way home and we got back just in time to take baths and get over to the church to help lay out bark chips.  It was so refreshing to come from the coast where we had been cool all day and be outside in the left-over heat of the day.  It was perfect.  And I am so glad that I got to spend it with my punk-a-bunk.  She is so absolutely my favorite to hang out with.  I want to keep hold of that.

Thursday, September 26, 2013

Where We're Supposed to Be on Sunday

Today we had our first major melt-down at church.  Alaska was having a hard time keeping quiet, aka, whimpering and whining and nothing could be done to make her stop.  Not even fruit snacks.  The ultimate measuring stick of unfixable unhappiness.  Handsome Husband took her out to the foyer where she screamed and cried for 15 minutes until he took her home to bed.  I guess she kept crying, "Momma." and wanted to go back into sacrament meeting.  Which is good.  We've had to take her out less times than I can count on my hand because we do whatever it takes to keep her quiet and in our pew.  I want her to know that sacrament meeting is where she needs to be and it's a time to be reverent.  Today's episode has confirmed we have succeeded.  The little fact that she wanted to be back where she knows she's supposed to be instead of roaming the halls.  Made my heart smile.


Columbia County Fair: July

I love farmers' markets.  I love festivals.  But I love fairs the most.

I love looking at the animals and eating the food.

I knew Alaska wouldn't last forever, so when we went to the fair we made sure to see the animals first.  She aid moo when we saw the cows and "dog" when we saw the goats.  She loved the bunnies and it filled my heart with joy as I lead her up and down the isles of cages, her little eyes looking at each.  I've yet to find someone who loves looking at bunnies as much as I do, she followed me close behind and looked at each and every one, where as  I am so used to Steven pulling me through, suggesting that every bunny looks the same.  Alaska was a faithful follower and didn't mind that there was a whole row of bunnies with the same colors and markings.

Walking down the isles in the swine barn, the pigs snorted at her through the bars and she was not impressed.  She stepped away and gave them the, "who do you think you are" look.  However, her side-step from one side where the pigs were sticking their noses into the isles swiftly took her to the other side of the isle where another snout just about brushed her arm.  She got her, "I am so freaked out right now" face on and took a couple of quick steps forward to get away.  I was so proud of her though, for taking care of the problem on her own instead of reaching backwards to me, to pick her up.

Meandering through the pictures and quilts and photos I noticed much of what was at the fair was entered by kids, and perhaps that's the way it ought to be.  A way for kids to showcase what they are interested in and working on and proud to share.

I hunted down my curly fries like a mountain lion hunting a jackrabbit.  I had searched all the fairs over in Utah for two summers trying to find them.  Utah always slices their potatoes too thin and it created potato chips instead of curly french fries.  I took my own ketchup bottle and hauled it around in the stroller so that I didn't have to depend on the fair's ketchup supply that always seems to be low and ridden with germs.

Another thing Utah does is they call their elephant ears 'scones' and serve them with honeybutter instead of the traditional powdered or cinnamon sugar.  And you know?  Sadly I had gotten so used to that, that I missed the honey butter as I chomped into my deep-fried dough of yummy goodness covered in cinnamon sugar.

I had my first hand-dipped corn dog.  Not much to talk about.  I didn't realize it would be so soft.  I prefer my corndogs from the roaster at the local mini-mart where they have been rotating in circles for 5 hours, creating the perfect shell around a juicy dog. Next year I will skip that and go for the Philippino food.  It looked so tasty.  Almost worth the $8 fair entry fee again the next day just to eat dinner there.

Finished the night off with some carnival rides and I think, perhaps, my awesome dream of finally having Alaska to go on rides with (Steve gets sick) may have been crushed.  I didn't feel so good after the first two and never got quite back to feeling right until I got home.  I may have just outgrown carnival rides.  Which makes me super sad, because Alaska will never have the cool momma that takes her on all the rides in the evening when everything is lit up.  She'll have to go with her friends like the rest of them.



Let the Girl Sparkle

Oregon's 'extra rainy' season has begun.  Washing the smell of sun-warmed blackberries back into the earth.  Creating prisms on the leaves of all the trees that are reluctantly turning from green to orange.  Rinsing the red slide at the park and soaking into the barkchips.  The days of sandals are over as little feet tap in puddles from the car to the house.  Alaska's sandals have gotten a good wear this summer as her only shoe for both park playing and being rinsed Saturday night, aided by a toothbrush, for church going.  They have been our summer love.

We went to Payless today to find some closed-toed shoes that may be more practical in the rain and playing on wet playground equipment.  No such luck for a momma on a mission, but Alaska's eyes filled up on pink sparkles.  Cinderella slippers covered in glitter and heart confetti.  They are most definitely not practical.  Too gaudy to wear to church and too sparkly to wear to the playground.

But she loved them.  She let me try them on her in two different sizes and listened patiently as I showed her how to un-do the velcro that keeps them pinned to her feet.  She then proceeded to walk down the isle and pull every pair of pink glitter shoes out of their boxes and try them on.  I am a stubborn shopper, but I do know that when something catches your eye more than once and looks just as glamorous as it did the first time, it's best to follow your instincts and get it.

Alaska does love a good shoe and she's been known to wear other people's shoes around the house and to pull shoes out of boxes at stores to try them on.  However, they have never before been consistently the same shoe.  She was totally entranced by the pink glitter.

As I knelt there, watching her carefully put one shoe on, and then the other before continuing down the isle to the next box of pink sparkles I could either resist and walk out with no shoes since none of them were what I was looking for, or I could let the girl have what her heart desired.  She's not always going to be brave enough to wear pink glittered shoes.  Let the girl sparkle, I say.  We got the shoes.  And she'll be wearing them to the playground and I think that's ok.


Coping Strategy of Cleaning

Put the baby, the toddler?, to bed early tonight.  Handsome Husband is out changing tires in the dark of the night after coming home for some warm taco soup.  And me?  I am at home, sitting on the couch with Kitty Kitty in my lap, surrounded by two-days worth of mess.

Yesterday was a 'dump-and-leave' kind of day and today was a, "I don't have time to clean up, nor entertain Alaska' kind of day.  Which means she entertained herself by emptying the dishwasher, pulling out fabric scraps, getting into my makeup bag and examining everything in it and then bringing it to me.  I never understand.  The house can be completely picked up and perfect, and then one day can make it look like I haven't cleaned in two weeks.

But I am here.  Present.  Listening to Jack Johnson.

Handsome Husband made the comment of how much damage Alaska can do to a clean room the other day.  And you know what?  It wasn't even that bad.  It could be picked up in 10 minutes  I think I have been forever scarred by having three younger brothers.  Where a room could easily take a hour to pick up, much less vacuum and dust and organize.  There was always a room somewhere that had a complete carpet of cars and trucks and plastic dinosaurs.  And later, legos.  Those legos.  They never stayed in the room they were supposed to, either.  I was always vacuuming up small pieces and would hear a chugga-chunk-click and they were sucked up.  My heart stopping each time, willing the vacuum to keep working because I didn't have time to fish something out that couldn't be suctioned into the 'forever goneness' of the vaccum bag.  My mom had to repeat often, "If it's big enough to see, it's big enough to pick up"  But those legos.  Sometimes I never even saw them, just heard their clattering death.

My most memorable cleaning experience, besides spending hours on my hands and knees tossing dinosaurs, legos, blocks, cars and trucks, action figures and stuffed animals into separate plastic baskets is cleaning my own room with my mom.  Once.  That's all it took for me to never let that happen again.  Moms throw stuff away.  Sometimes important things.

We were having company that summer and because my room was the biggest, I would be evicted and set up on the floor downstairs somewhere.  Things weren't especially bad - except the one corner.  There was a corner that the ceiling slanted sharply over, and it wasn't really big enough for anything.  Except to shove everything.  I mean everything.  All of my school work that they send with you on the last day before summer vacation.  The pencils and crayons and pencil shavings tumbling out of my pencil case.  Clothes that I didn't feel like hanging up or shoving into drawers.  Toys.  Stuff.  Paper.  It was a wreck and took two days to clean out.  And my mom was there for all of it with a big, black garbage bag.  It was bad enough that I never shoved stuff in that corner again.

I think I have just always been a cleaner and an organizer.  When I was little I remember how much I loved to clean the bathroom with a wet wash cloth and a bar of soap.  That was pure joy to me.  Plus I got to play in the water.  And organizing the junk drawer was a favorite of mine.  I loved cleaning windows.  Cleaning and I have gotten along for quite a many years.  Don't get me wrong, though, those hours spent picking up boy toys were not my own doing.  That was Saturday chores.  And in highschool I was too busy and resented any mess that I had to clean up that wasn't my own.  Which is why my main chore became the bathroom and vacuuming the stairs and upstairs hall.  I didn't think it fair that I should have to pick up after the boys or do any other house chores because I was hardly home, and when I was, I was in my bedroom, the bathroom, or eating dinner.  I used the bathroom the most, so I was ok cleaning that.  And I did have to walk upstairs and down the hall to get to my room, so that was a decent chore as well.  Anything else met a, "But I didn't make it!" when asked to clean something.

I quickly learned that the best gift to give a mother is a clean house and it was often that my mom would leave for a few hours and come back to a clean kitchen.  Sometimes if she were to be gone all day and I was babysitting the boys I could convince them to help out and clean up the living room before they put on a movie or played a video game while I did everything else.

Some people eat or exercise when they feel themselves spin out of control.  I clean.  My self-induced therapy.  And on a hard day, you can count on me going through clothes, a closet,  toys, anything.  And the more I can donate to goodwill, the better I feel.  Which means we don't have a lot of 'extras' laying around.  If it doesn't get used, worn, played with, it's gone.  I try really hard to keep my hands off of Steven's stuff, but I have been known to get rid of clothes and books without asking for fear that they stick around.

It's a better coping strategy than most, I'll give it that.  But it's weird recognizing that in yourself and knowing that when the house is a little messy it means that you are happy and content with life as is.  And realizing when the floors are spotless and all the dishes in the dishwasher that something is not lined up.  Not always.  But most of the time.  And I never even knew it.  I thought maybe I was always cleaning because our house is so "cozy" small.  But after writing all this out, I do believe it is because it is something that I can control when there are so many other factors that I feel like I cannot.

While I sit here, surrounded by a mess that is telling of two busy, productive days, I count my blessings for the messes that I am able to let go.  At least for today.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Taking Back Summer

I know I'm not going to school anymore and we have a few more years yet before Alaska Paska makes her debut into kindergarten but it just seems that after 17 years of a life revolving around a school schedule that starts after labor day, summer has an end.  And I'm taking it back.

We had a smashing beginning of summer with our trip to Utah and then we got back and things got a little mellow around here.  The really hot days caught me off guard and after spending so much of the spring at the parks I couldn't get used to the heat outside where the slides were too hot to go down and the play equipment Alaska wouldn't touch without saying, "hot, hot."  We started going out at 4, but even now, with the bulk of summer heat pounding on us, 4 is too hot.  And by 6, I am ready to be in for the night cooking dinner.  I'm ready for some big things to take back summer and send it on its way with a fall bucket list.

Our 'end of summer' bucket list includes:

Playing outside at 7.
Eating each of the entrees at the Thai trailer.
Making zucchini muffins.
Family photos.
Getting stuff in the mail for my Oregon teaching license.
Crafting 3 projects to sell.
Starting a collage journal and to practice.
Getting icecream at dari delish.
Thrifting down commerce in longview at my own pace.
Eating a burger and malt at the burger place on the corner of commerce.
Nights on the River

I'm not going to let summer slip through my fingers.  We're taking it back.


Sunday, August 11, 2013

The Table that Started it All

I will always owe a big hug to my kitchen table.  The excitement of having our very own table to make memories around was so overwhelming it acted as the pushing point to create a blog.  Weird, right?  But I am so grateful I have all of my best memories recorded and I am so grateful to that table of mine for giving me the umph to get it started.

Well.  A long time ago when we got that table, I knew it would look best in blue.  And this week, it's turning blue.  I've got it all primed up and am seriously addicted to painting at this point.  Nothing in our house is safe.  And may I just add, it makes a big job so much smaller if you're able to paint two things at once.  Paint one, and while the other is drying, paint the other, do a little cleaning and shebaam, time for a second coat already and my interest hasn't failed yet.

I was actually working on a second project, instead of painting a second object, although, now that said project is done, it's time to come up with another object to paint.  I just don't want to turn into one of those gals that has a gallon of paint and everything she paints is painted out of that bucket so that there's a blue kitchen table in the kitchen, a blue side table in the living room and another blue night-stand in the bedroom.  I am writing this right now so that I do not become that lady.  No way.

My project was one of those bow-clip holders for a friend who is having a baby girl in September.  I love them so much and still have yet to make Alaska one.  But maybe, with the extra fabric from this one, I'll come up with the courage and energy to create one for the most important girl in my life right now.  Goodness knows we need one.  Her bows are scattered throughout my bags and purses as she tears them out at church in the grocery store.  She's got a near bald spot on one side of her head that we have remedied with pigtails instead of side ponytailes.

Thank you kitchen table, for being amazing and letting me paint on you.  You, too, will soon look fabulous!

Clean Your Room

They gave me a calling in the young women's organization at church.  Have I mentioned that before?  Which is great.  I love the girls to pieces.  They are absolutely fabulous young women with great ambition and strong testimonies.

I have never been the kind that thinks later after a conversation, "Ooop, should have said that." But for some reason, the pressure to saying something enlightening to these young women tends to bring me up short each and every time and I tend to have repeat conversations in my head and come up with brilliant examples and lessons in my own life that I could share.  It's happened twice too many times now and I have decided that until I can remember to always pray to have the spirit with me, to remind me of enlightening things to say, I had better practice by writing my should-have-been answers.

This Sunday we were talking about becoming wives and mothers.  The qualties needed and how the girls could be working on those qualities right now.  The two that I was asked specifically to talk about were organizational skills and cleanliness while the other was forgiveness.

Question 1 "What was your room like, growing up?"
It was almost always clean.  If everything has a home it's a lot easier to put it away quickly instead of always having to look for a place to put it.  I think it's also important to own your abilities.  I don't like folding laundry.  When Steve and I were first married I was the dutiful wife and did the laundry and the folding, but soon  I began just stuffing clothes into drawers and that created a problem because the drawers wouldn't always close and it always looked messy.  I realized the problem and thought up the solution of purchasing a big bin.  Seriously.  It's the size of an extra large suitcase and now, instead of folding clothes, I toss his clothes into the bin and our room looks much more organized without clothes peaking out of the dresser.  I have more room in the dresser and can stuff my clothes in it without folding them.  Problems are solved because I knew my weakness of not wanting to fold and owned it, creating a solution that works for everyone.  If you know you will have a pile of clean clothes on your floor mid-week from trying on three different outfits each day, create a space for them to not be on the floor so that it is easier to tell them from the dirties.

We live in an apartment complex where people are in transitions in life and they have a hard time keeping things nice and taking responsibility for messes.  One of the little girls that runs around outside likes to come to our house, often asking after Alaska and if she can come out and play.  She came in to use the bathroom and came out saying, "Your bathroom is so clean!"  She sat on the couch to wait for Alaska to get her shoes on and says, "It feels good in here."  I loved that.  When a house is clean, it is much easier to concentrate on how it feels in the house.  Instead of spending an morning cleaning before someone comes over, I can spend 30 minutes and wash up the breakfast dishes and then spend the other little bit of time reading the scriptures and playing EFY music to invite the spirit.  A house not only needs to be clean, but to feel clean, in order for the spirit to work its magic.

Question 2 "Have you and your husband had an experience you would like to share with forgiveness?"
Of course.  Yes.  So many.  But mostly.  (And I bawled at this time.  It's been so stressful and I didn't even know it)  Mostly ever since we've moved, I've been so stressed.  It's hard having two families so close.  I was always getting upset.  Over the smallest things I would yell and scream and it wasn't effective because a person out of control like that is hard to listen to.  Steven would tune me out and whatever the problem was never got fixed.  So we came up with this scale of 1 to 10.  If something is bothering me, I take his hand and say, Steven, I have something hard to tell you.  This is always down calmly so that he can prepare his mind for it and then he knows it's important without me having to raise the volume of my voice.  I rate it for him and sometimes, if it's a low number, I can tell him right then.  If it's a higher number sometimes I need to wait a hour before telling him.  We've had to say a lot of, "I'm sorries"  and a lot of "I knows" but I think the most important part of forgiveness is the changing part that comes with it.  The changes that we make to create a happier life for each other and Alaska.

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Overcast Days

After living in the land of sunshine for so long, it is supremely nice to come back to the place where there are overcast days in the middle of July to break up the long summer days.  There is something refreshing about sleeping in an extra hour because the morning sunlight that loves to tickle eyelids has somewhere else to be.

Even more refreshing is opening the blinds to behold dry sidewalks, dry cars and soon-to-be dry grass, all shaded with deep blues and grays, holding promises of an adventure.  Uninterrupted by a blinding sun that would otherwise promise sweltering temperatures that would only be calmed by toes dipped in the Columbia River.  The quietness of a Saturday morning spread out before my eyes and whispered in my ears as I took the garbage out.  The first to leave footprints in the dew-covered grass.

The cooling temperatures gave me the extra nudge I've been needing to get Alaska and I up and ready to leave the house at 10 to the Scappoose Farmers' market.  Not very big and not too many people wandering around.  Apparently the clouds that gave me my energy kept others at home.  There were beautiful flowers for $5 put together by a little asian lady who used one hand to hold the stems and another to push flowers into the bouquet and when I took them from her I had to use both hands just to hold it upright.  A booth called "Dirt Candy" that sold lots of vegetables and leafy greens.  People from church who called out my name and we shared a story and a smile.  Little old ladies who smiled at Alaska and called her sweetie as she looked out at them from her stroller.

The clouds burned off by noon, followed by the need for a change of clothes for both Alaska and I.  Jeans were traded for shorts and hairs were pulled into ponytails and though the sun shared blue skies I still remembered the morning clouds with a smile.


Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Messes Make my Heart Thump Fast

I know it's been forever and a day.  A long time.  This move has left my head spinning, and it's still spinning.  This move has been the most stressful thing to happen to me in a long time.  I've had a hard time getting a routine going.  A hard time adjusting if said routine was thrown off, if even by a planned event.  I clung to plans like a child clings to their safety blanket with pink bunnies printed on the fabric.  I worked really hard at 'showing up'.  Hard.  And I worked hard at seeing things through other people's eyes, when really, I should have been using my own eyes and stating what I needed.

What I needed was space.  And space is hard to come by when you're living with in-laws and parents.  I felt like a bird, being held too tight.  My wings were cramped and it was all I could do not to burst and fly the coop.

Slowly I have regained the independence I once had.  A little each day, each hour I have alone at the house with Alaska.  I prefer it that way.  Me cleaning, her playing, and as I have started to feel better about life I notice myself reaching out to others.  Brighter smiles because I want to, not because it's polite.  Inviting people over for lunch because I want to, not because I need a friend.

It's been really hard and sometimes the hardness still catches me off-guard.  Just when I think things are ok, something happens and I have to focus hard to make everything go in the right direction instead of flying every which way.  It's still hard for me to make plans.  I want every day at home, in my own home, and I want control over that.  It's been almost 6 months.  When will that go away?  If I make plans to do some errands or take Alaska to the park I almost always chicken out and prefer to stay at home and clean the bathroom or mop one more time.  I think, in all honesty, it's a sickness.

Our house is nearly always spotless and I know that's something that has got to stop.  I get a hard thump in my heart if something is dirty.  I need a new hobby, bad.  I've printed all my pictures off.  All of them.  They came in a huge box while I was gone on vacation.  I am still trying to get the courage to unbox them and sort, because I know it will make a mess.  Who thinks that of something they used to love?  I would rather have a clean house that scrap some photos?  Something is definitely wrong.  And it's not even that sorting will make a mess, the mess doesn't come until you start scrapping them all and there's pieces of paper and pictures all over the place.

25 Mistakes Parents Make: episode 1

I may be jumping the gun on this one, but if I wait until Alaska and Orson and Talmage and unknown baby girl (Steve it hoping for Emily) become of the age to be practicing to prevent the top 25 mistakes parents make then I am going to be too pooped and busy to sit down and read a book about it.

I've had this strong feeling lately.  About families.  It probably started in college when we were writing research papers on the dullest book in history, in fact, it was the first chapter book ever written about the American West, a total classic, but as boring as all get-out and it was either write a paper on that book or Huckleberry Finn, which had already been ruined for me in highschool.  Please don't make me sound out every word Jim says in my head, ever again.

Anyways, I ended up writing about the role of men and women in that book and when I was presenting my final project to my teacher he mentioned that there has been quite a bit of research done on the "American front-porch" and how it has been declining, and with that, family values have been declining, and the significance of the two combined.  I was enthralled, but worn out from the research I had already done and was not about to go do more.  So I never learned anything concrete, but the idea has been festering in my mind.  This declining of family and family values and how the idea of 'family' is changing to include any group of people that love each other enough to sacrifice for one another and how is it really important that you get together with your family if there is really no strong bonds and is it just as important, or more important, to keep those close friends you have made in your life and have 'friend reunions' on a regular basis.

AND THEN ever since the mission age has dropped for both young men and young women I have a stronger desire build these children of mine and steer them toward a mission.  Not that I want that to be their life-goal, but that I want to raise them so that their hearts are in the right place at that time in their life to want to go on their own accord.  And that when they get back, they will just be touching down to the ground and will take off running toward their next adventure.  I don't want their mission to be the main point of all that is good.  It is good to be knowledgeable in the gospel and have strong testimonies for so many more reasons than to serve a mission.  

I know it is a large goal, a huge endeavor, but if I can do one thing in this world, it will be to raise righteous children who will become courageous young adults who will become stalwart adults and create stalwart families.  That is my greatest desire, even as my first baby is a mere 18 months.  And I will do all that I can to make sure that comes to past.  There are so many things I can worry about, as a mother, to hope that my children are well-rounded.  Social, talented, beautiful, and all the other things.  But as I study more about the gospel and rely on the promises made about what a mother can do to raise wonderful children I find myself calm in the knowledge that they will round themselves if I only lay the foundation good and strong.  That's not my job, to round them.  My job is to love unconditionally and teach with passion.

These are the promises I am clinging to.  And if I have to teach family home evening every single Monday night for the rest of my life on these topics, so be it.

"Ninety-nine out of every hundred children who are taught by their parents the principles of honesty and integrity, truth and virtue, will observe them through life."  
Wilford Woodruff

"Not one child in a hundred would go astray, if the home environment, example and training, were in harmony with the truth in the gospel of Christ, as revealed and taught to the Latter-Day Sants."  
Joseph F. Smith

Mistake No 1: Failure to establish a home environment that reflects the gospel.

Me: Conquered.  I got our official "Jesus picture" just this last time I was in Utah, and I can honestly say, it makes a difference in our home.  There's just something extra warm and cozy about having a picture of the temple and a picture of Jesus in sight.  Like everything is right in the world, even if that world is just a 30x30 foot combined living-room and kitchen.

The author also spoke about what we listen to, hang on our walls, watch on t.v., what books are on our shelves and how we treat one another and those people who come over.  How these things should reflect our beliefs and what we value.

He told a bit about Sister. Hinckley.  How her mother had placed a large picture of Christ in the room she shared with her sisters to remind them of who they are and what they want to become.  And she married a prophet.  Not that we all need to marry prophets, but it's nice to know that the potential is there.

There was some good statistics about media in the house and media in a youth's room, but it's not really that big of deal for me since Handsome Husband and I have already decided about that.  How there is no need for the children to have media in their rooms and how there will be no t.v. in the house but to watch movies on.  It's how we both grew up, and we were fine.  There were a couple of times I had to watch some news for a social studies class and for those few times I went over to a friend's house to watch.  No big deal.

I just wonder, how we can expect other kids to come over to our house when we have no fancy t.v. set up with a fancy game system and lots of channels to choose from.  And how you can have family time that doesn't revolve around the t.v.  Already the kids in the apartment complex we live in have noticed that we don't have a t.v.  But they keep coming over, so maybe it's not as important as I think it is.

I love this advice, "Look closely at posters or pictures that are on the walls, along with CDs, DVDs, books, magazines, clothes, and shoes.  All tell a story of how children are doing.  If you see no evidence of Christ and abundant evidence of the world, there is reason to be concerned."

And also, "Sit down in your most used furniture and look straight ahead.  What do you see?  Is it a picture of Christ?  Do you see a beautiful temple picture?  Remember that whatever you see, everyone else who lives in your home or visits sees the same thing."

I am working really hard at making our home environment something that others want to be a part of.  It has always been a dream of mine to be the house that all the kids want to be at.  To be an example for good to more than just my immediate family.

The past little while I was striving especially hard to have the spirit of Christ in our home.  And you know what I learned?  I can take the garbage out, I can hang things on the wall, I can move boxes and I can set up a table.  All by myself and all without nagging Handsome Husband about it.  And you know what the most miraculous thing about this whole project was?  He did the dishes.  Picked up the living room.  Put Alaska to bed.  Without me even expecting it or asking.  Because I had done my part of making our home welcoming instead of a place where there were demands, I feel like that rubbed off on him and things were much more peaceful and he helped because he wanted to.


And one more, just because I never want to forget.  While I was doing this little experiment of mine, one of the little girls that runs around outside all the time, came over.  She stepped in, walked over and sat on the couch and said, "It feels good in here."  Not, "it looks good."  or, "it smells good."  The key words of, "it FEELS good."  I could have called my life complete at that point.  She doesn't know how those words made my heart leap, and will never know, but I want everyone who comes to our house to notice the difference and how it just feels good to be somewhere clean, taken care of and where everyone is loved unconditionally.




Let's Talk Clothes for a Minute

I have a confession to make.  I HATE getting dressed in the morning.  Nix that, I hate getting dressed, doesn't matter so much what time of day it is.

It's just too hard to pick something for the day.  The hardness has evolved, as all hard things do.  In high school it was the whole 'try on the whole closet and leave it on the floor' kind of deal.  In college it was the, "but i don't feel like wearing blue today, pink would be a better option."  And now it's the "I have to save my cutest outfits for the days when I have the greatest probability of running into someone I know."  It's super sad.

If only all of our clothes could be our 'cutest outfit', right?  Which is exactly why I only ever buy one pair of jeans at a time, because whether I get two or three, one always becomes my favorite and the others don't get worn.  Unfortunately, tops aren't as universal and those require mixing and matching.  Right now I've got four that I can count on in a pinch, most days I run around in an old running shirt that isn't even mine.  My favorite fauxpaus.  Rummaging the racks of Goodwill searching for racing shirts that I never raced.  It can make an embarrassing moment when someone asks you about it, but who cares, right?  I love running, I don't need to pay a $20 entry fee to qualify myself as a 'runner'.  I pick them up for $2 a tag and wear them proudly.

Right after high school I went through a crazy shirt-making phase where I bought cheap, fruit of the loom undershirts and would print a phrase out in bold and staple it under my shirt before tracing over it with a tube of puffy paint.  I didn't even realize the collection I had until I was doing laundry one day and found a whole load of whites waiting for me, all t-shirts that I had branded.  They were the best.  Paired with a lace undershirt for special occasions and a solid for every day.  Thinking of that, Alaska and I should start sporting some home-made shirts.  Matching girly ones.  Where one part of the phrase is on my shirt and the other half on hers.  She's almost big enough where I can get them in a package of three.  *note made*

Sundays are seriously the hardest days to get ready.  Hands down.  Slapped down flat on the table.

You don't want to look like you tried too hard, but you need to look like you tried, and your hair has to match the style of dress your wearing and if you're doing a skirt and shirt duo you've got to create that outfit, complete with shoes.  Which is why I greatly prefer dresses.  Takes three quarters of the problem out of your hands that still have red prints on them from being slapped on that table.

I've recently found two sites that I can rely on for dresses.  Mikarose and jenclothing.  They are life-savers and for the past two times I have needed a new dress to add into the mix I have gone to them.  Bonus, for thanksgiving everything is 50% off.  I am waiting and saving to stock up.

I also am forever hunting around at thrift stores for dresses.  I have thrown on more than one under-shirt to complete a dress that originally has no sleeves.  Aint no shame here.

Which brings us to the reasoning for this post.  I am trying to kick out all my skirts that haven't been worn in the past two years.  This is harder than you think.  I have my reasons.  a) it has such good memories attached to it.  b) I haven't been the size I need to, to be able to fit into it again, until now  c) it looked so cute with that one shirt  d) smokin' hot deal

I know I should just let them all go.  They seem so juvenile to me, now that I have become a true woman and back again.  Meaning I gained x amount of pregnancy weight and then have lost it all.  But they have such sweet memories, all of them.  They were with me in all my high school awkwardness and followed me to college where I thought I wasn't as awkward, but maybe I was.  And now I haven't worn them in so long, and it's hard enough to pick one thing to wear to church, let alone try to pair a skirt and shirt together.

I guess what I am trying to say is, it's time to say goodbye.  And in order to do that, I need some closure and I need to talk it out.  I mean, they're just skirts for goodness sakes!  Let them go!  Except for when I see them, I remember all the great times we had together.  The EFY dances.  A couple of dance nights, clubbin' it up in Portland, swing style.  A long walk I had with Handsome Husband after devo at BYU-I when we were still trying to figure each other out.  They're right there, wound into the very fabric those skirts are made of.  And really, that's it.  Except for these are the survivors.  I have had my share of skirts.  Weeding out and adding more, plenty of times.  Yet these, these have stood the tests and have shown their valiance through many packings and un-packings.

Thinking of it, I could give them up to someone else.  But what if they didn't treat them the way that they needed to be treated?  What if they didn't know the history those skirts held?  It would be better to give them to a generic thrift store than someone I know, in fear that I worry about them too much and still have too much connection.  Or I could make them into a quilt of some sort.  After all, isn't that what quilts used to be made of?  But seriously, even the thought of that makes me squirm a little.  After all, I don't need all those memories bundled around me all the time.  It's just nice to see them, patiently waiting for me when I open a drawer.

And that's what happens.  The hardness of getting dressed used to be just hard, but now on top of all the other hard things I do to get this little family of mine out the door on time on Sundays it has become too hard.  I know those skirts need to go, I just needed to talk it over a little bit.


Saturday, July 6, 2013

Ephraim: The Best Two Years of My Life

Kimberly and I packed up the babies and hauled our soccer-mom-van, full of strollers and baby bags, down to Ephraim.

We drove down Main St. twice, once looking to the right, another time looking to the left before we pulled up on College Ave. to pass by the new on-campus apartments that filled up our once "magical field".  Magical because it was where I got my first college kiss, watched the stars glisten on a still night, threw a football with the boys during the day and the time all my roommates and I blended in with the grass as security scanned their lights after 11, making sure everyone was in their dorms.  Everyone but us, as we giggled under our star-gazing blankets, smooth lumps in the middle of the field, just out of reach of the head-lights.

The car looped around my sophomore apartment complex and I started bawling.  My roommates had become my best friends that year and we had learned to love hard and fight hard for each other.  Having dinners together every night really bonded us as a family as we always made extra for any significant others that wanted to join us.  The boys that year were like family, coming and going, always with a few cookies or treats in hand and we were well protected, being the only girl apartment on the bottom floor with our choice of two boy apartments to hang out with that we became fast friends with.

The memories were so strong they were like shadows and I saw myself tossing a football for hours with a boy from Oregon.  Barefoot, tan, short hair tucked behind my ear, throwing a ball with all my might through the middle stairwell of the complex.  I got really good at throwing a football the last few weeks of that last semester.

The parking-lot to my freshmen dorms had been taken out and re-done, smoothing over the yellow lines that had housed the ugliest hippie van in all of the state of Utah.  The very same van that, when I saw it, I died with embarrassment inside for the poor soul who had to drive it.  And then found myself buckling into the passenger seat the very next week as a soon-to-be boyfriend took me to the store to pick up some foundation early Monday morning, as I was too insecure to go to class without makeup.  They even covered up the stains that same boy had made when changing anti-freeze in his hippie van.  Stains that have held fast to the towels we tried to use to mop it up, the ones that I still own and use for drying the cat after a bath.

We parked there and got out, buckling our strollers together for the toddlers and loading the third stroller with an infant and enough diapers, wipes and sippy-cups to last us three weeks.  We hauled off, walking past the stretch of grass where I had held my first lacrosse stick and perfected the art of catching and throwing with a net.

Crossing the street we headed off for the middle of campus to check out the new library that had sprawled itself across the lawn we had used so many evenings for night-games.  I ducked into the math building to go to the bathroom and as I entered the cool building I checked in on my old math classroom, making sure it still held the same breathtaking 'here we go again' feeling as I came to class every day and left having learned nothing other than what the football players that sat in-front of me had done over the weekend.  I sneaked a peek into the math-lab (often, and with the best of feelings, called the meth-lab, as you never came out with a clear mind.).  "My" table was still there, where "my" tutor had spent a  hour a day with me, pouring over the homework from the class before.  He was the only one who could make sense of my carefully taken, foreign notes and explain it back to me in plain English.  Because of him I passed, with a C.  My only C.  Ever.  And it was the hardest C I have ever earned, I can tell you that.  The bathroom still smelled the same, that sweet smell of "this is a safe place" as I remember sitting on the second stall's toilet seat.  Praying with all my heart to be able to have a clear mind for the final.  The most powerfully hard hours of my life, and I smiled.

The library was awesome, as it should be, though what I had used the library for so many late nights it did not have.  No student desks set up for silent studying.  Everything was very 'group' designed.  Glass rooms for group projects and studying, chairs pulled together in circles for discussions, seats joined by a side-table for texting, no desks to be seen.  I don't think I would have spent much time there, beautiful as it was.

Concrete had replaced the fountain that had so often been the center of a practical joke.  Bubbles, koi fish, food coloring, rubber ducks, they had all been placed in that fountain sometime within the two years I went to school at Snow.  It's too bad.  It was always the talk of campus and brightened everyone's mood as they walked past on their way to class, pausing a second to check out what was going on and taking the news on to class with them.  It caused strangers to talk while waiting for the professor and allowed those of us who knew about it first-hand to share secret smiles with others.

The babies were sad and grumpy so we headed on back to the van, memories complete with a picture taken under the bell-tower with Alaska.  Yes, The Bell Tower.  And yes.  I have been initiated into the True Badger Club.  Twice.  The rules are that you go to the Bell Tower on the full-moon at 12 o'clock midnight and kiss as the tower strikes twelve times.  The first full-moon is the most talked about, but really, there aren't many people there.  The last of the year, though, that one is so packed it's hard to get a spot underneath the tower and there are people kissing all over the sidewalk.

I walked away remembering.  The best two years of my life.  They were hard, stressful, emotional, and full of good, made all the more sweeter by the fight I had for those sweet memories.  I have never grown so much in my life.  The first two years of college, out on my own in the world, I grew up.  Perhaps that is why missions are so often the best two years.  So much growing, so much love, so much hard and so much good.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

Utah Highlights

No one needs a play-by-play of a two-week vacation, but like everything we do in the life, there are always highlights.  Those highlights are what make life worth living, memories worth sharing and moments worth creating.

I hitched a ride to Utah with my mommy and brother John as they headed down to Arizona for a cousin's wedding.  Our first league of tripping ended in West Jordan at my grandma Nelson's house where we spent the night.  Early the next morning everyone headed for Arizona, dropping me off in Santaquin to stay with my friend Kimberly.  We've still got a week and a half to go where I will spend time at my grandma's house with my mom and brother and then go up to Grace with Handsome Husband's family for their family reunion, which Handsome Husband won't even be attending.  And I am really nervous about that.  But I feel like I should go and support this tradition that has been carried on for so long.

Highlights of Days in the Sunshine

Oregon was still freezing cold when we left, having rained the day before and the wind was blowing in for more.  We got to Arlington mid-morning and it was still too cold to change Alaska into her travel clothes, that consisted of shorts, t-shirt and sandals, so she ran around in the grass and played on the slide in her footie pajamas, regular white-trash style with car-seat head and all.

Not after we had been at Kim's house for too long, her little girl, Lynnzee, handed Alaska her most prized possession, her Minnie Mouse.  So glad they are going to be good friends this trip!

Lynnzee has a new sister that Alaska just loves.  I was changing Kaylee's diaper and Alaska was very interested in her bellybutton and tiny feet, rubbing Kaylee's belly and then her own, touching the small toes and looking up at me in total disbelief.  How could someone be so tiny?  She held Kaylee's hand and touched her fingers, curving her toddler hand around Kaylee's infant fist.  Alaska rubbed her belly for, "please" and looked at Kaylee expectantly.  "You want to hold her?"  I ask.  Alaska chirps, "Yeah." and reaches her hands out.  I helped her up on the couch with a pillow and she wrapped her little arms around Kaylee's middle, changing every few seconds trying to get the best hold.  Alaska is constantly giving Kaylee hugs and kisses, she is going to be such a great big sister when the times comes and that makes me breathe a little easier.

Took Alaska to an outdoor pool.  She wanted to wade out further than she was truly able because she loved the weight-less feeling.  Standing on one leg, toes stretched to anchor herself to the bottom she would exercise her other leg, lifting it up to feel it float.  After an hour of exploring the kiddie section she was content to sit on the edge of the pool and people-watch with her toes in the water.

Went to a splash pad and Alaska was brave enough to venture among the water shooting up, not staying just by the outside.  It wasn't long before the cold water chased her out, but I was glad to see her having a good time exploring the world.