Our Simple Joys

You'd Better Write That One Down

2011-09-04T20:52:00.007-06:00

said everyone I told this story to.

Jenny's room is a disaster. She doesn't know where to put her plethora of toys and they always end up strewn all over the floor. So I hauled out some boxes and gave her a specific place for each type of toy.

Big box for dress-ups. Little box for dress-up accessories. Big drawer for tea party toys. Big drawer for barbies. Little drawer for Pollys. Etc.

It took both of us nearly two full hours of working constantly to get her room clean and organized. And the whole time it was a delight. Primarily because of her attitude.

Thrilled with the novelty of organization and pleased to have some one-on-one time with her mommy, Jenny sang the whole time.

(To the tune of Row, Row, Row You Boat)

I love Mommy. She is so very fun.

And she loves me to.

I love my mommy.

She sang it over and over, with minor improvised variations.

She'd sing a verse, then pause to pick up a toy. "Oh! Polly stuff! So cute!" Then she'd sing a verse as she put the polly stuff away.

I love Mommy. I love her very much.

Because she is so fun

And she teaches me stuff.

I pulled her bed away from the wall and underneath she discovered two rag dolls I had made her that she has named Jenny and Jasmine.

"Jenny! Jasmine!" She clutched them to her bosom. "I missed you so much!" Then she cradled them and looked into their little painted faces. "I will take such good care of you."

Then off she'd trot to put them away.

My mommy is so fun and she is so great.

I love her very much

And she loves me too.

Since then we've turned the song into a call and response.

Me: I love Jenny. She is my pretty girl.

Jenny: And I love you too, you are the best mommy.

Try it with your little one. I highly recommend it.

Birthday Boy

2011-07-07T18:15:00.006-06:00

Peek . . .

a boo!

James is two today. Which seems odd to me because I have thought of him as two for a few months now. But now it's official.

Today he sang to himself "Birday to you, birday to you, birday to you." And you know what? He's just about the most beautiful child I've ever seen. With his shaggy blond hair and his blue blue eyes, his cute grin, his precocious ways, his primitive sentence structures, and the way he always calls me Dad and then corrects himself, he never fails to make me smile.

Except for when he makes me want to scream.

James won't let Daddy out of his sight.

Blowing out his candles

The look on his face when we revealed his new tricycle

Opening a Toy Story dvd. LOVE his face as he recognizes Buzz and Woody and Jesse.

I love that boy.

Holiday Weekend

2011-07-06T11:15:00.005-06:00

What did I do this weekend? Well, thank you for asking.

I cried when I FaceTimed with my beloved nieces and nephew. I stood on a snow bank. I went to a yurt. I baked a red, white, and blue velvet cake. I watched fire works. I judged my neighbors who must have spent thousands on their fireworks while I simultaneously enjoyed the results of their show. I played Temple Jeopardy. I performed America the Beautiful poorly. I ate pancakes and smoked pork (not at the same time). I got a migraine. I saw a rainbow.

You?

And for your viewing pleasure, here's Jenny singing "You're A Grand Old Flag"

Cousins

2011-06-08T16:11:00.003-06:00

Spotlight

2011-06-06T11:44:00.006-06:00

Jenny was spotlighted in Primary yesterday.

The kids love the spotlight. We turn out all the lights and a hush settles over the room. Then someone with a flashlight waves it around the children's faces, much like a search light. Meanwhile, someone else is reading (by flashlight) the spotlight paper. The clues are read, and the children try to guess who it is.

"This person's favorite food is spaghetti."

All the kids think it's them.

"This person's favorite scripture hero is Jesus."

Again, all the kids think it's them.

"This person's talents are baking, dancing, singing, and twirling."

The boys slide down a few inches in their chairs and the girls all still think it's them.

"This person has one brother."

All this time Jenny is listening, sitting on the lap of her teacher, with quiet attention.

"This person's favorite place to go is Disneyland and to get churros and the Tulip Festival."

All the children are stumped. Except for Jenny. She perks up and says "I think it must be me."

"This person's favorite blessing from Heavenly Father is animals because they are fun to take care of and to feed. This person is . . . Jenny!"

She said "I knowed it was me", with a self-satisfied smile.

If I Were In Charge: Mothers' Day Edition

2011-05-09T10:37:00.002-06:00

If I were in charge of Mothers' Day I would change it to a Saturday. That way Dad would be home instead of at work or at church meetings and he could take the kids all. day. long. One whole day away from my motherhood would make me appreciate my motherhood more. I could spend the day shopping and getting a pedicure or reading or whatever. Alone. Or with my sisters. And when I got home the children would be playing happily in the backyard and the kitchen would be clean.

If I were in charge of Mothers' Day and couldn't change it to Saturday, I would cancel all church meetings other than worship services. The token parting gift would either be chocolate, or in lieu of gifts the money for said gifts would be donated to a local women's shelter.

If I could speak in Sacrament Meeting on Mothers' Day, I would not speak about how to be a better mother.

I wouldn't talk about sacrificing all things for my family or being more present in mind rather than just present in body.

I wouldn't talk about paying more attention to my children or turning the audio/visual babysitters off or ensuring we have family dinners together or planning fun activities.

I wouldn't rub salt in the sounds of the unwillingly unmarried or infertile.

And I most definitely would NOT perpetuate the nonsense about how women are more righteous and celestial minded than men (hence why all those carnal and weak men need the priesthood to elevate themselves to female levels of perfection) and that's why women are more nurturing and called to be mothers.

I wouldn't reinforce stereotypical gender roles that alienate those who don't fit the mold.

Instead, I would talk about love. Love for ourselves. Mothers give and give and give and mostly it's hard and mostly it goes unnoticed and unappreciated. But the hardest part of motherhood is how hard we are on ourselves.

I would talk about being good enough. Being a perfect mother, always patient, always kind, is impossible. No person is perfect and therefore no parent is perfect. We're all going to screw up. It's expected. It's supposed to be hard. You're supposed to fail in little and maybe big ways every day. But that doesn't discount the many successes that are to be had each day.

I'd give credit to all the times I want to yell at my kids, and don't. I'd give credit for the three nights of the week that I prepared a decent dinner, and forget about the ones I didn't.

On Mothers' Day, of all days, mothers should be made to feel like they are okay just the way they are, instead of being lectured to about idealized mothers and instructed on how to be a better mother.

We know what we need to do to be better mothers. We're doing the best we can.

I may not be able to be a perfect mother. But I can be me. And that, I believe, is what my children need most. Just me.

Of A Certain Age

2011-04-07T15:36:00.004-06:00

Youth and maturity are all relative. I've heard that "old" is whatever age you are plus ten years. I seem to think of myself in a state of perpetual 26-years-oldedness. I'm sometimes surprised when I look in the mirror and see how six years and two children have changed me. And I'm sure that feeling will only intensify as more years and more children come to pass.

A while ago my doorbell rang on a Saturday night and for some crazy reason I decided to open it. Usually I ignore people at the door, but this is becoming increasingly difficult as my four-year-old delights in visitors and screams in joy every time she hears the doorbell. I'm trying to teach her to hide when the doorbell rings, but she isn't in full agreement on the necessity for that.

When I answered the door it was two or three 15 year old (ish) boys from my husband's sunday school class. They were collecting donations for an Eagle project. (Side note: why are there no Eagle projects anymore that require any actual work or leadership or original ideas of how to serve and contribute?) We chatted for approximately 45 seconds during which one of them said "Your daughter is so pretty. Can I date her when she turns 16?" To which I emphatically said "Not a chance." He laughed and then they were on their way.

The next afternoon my husband told me that those boys thought I was hot. During his lesson the boys were laughing and sharing some sort of private joke. Brent asked what they were talking about, hoping to draw them back into the lesson, no doubt. One of them said "Well, let's just say that for her age, your wife is quite attractive."

While I appreciate the compliment, I'm a bit mystified at the qualifier. Who knew I was of a certain age? Maybe I'll have to rethink my life career as homemaker and redefine it as a cougar. Ah, the possibilities.

My Girl Turns 4

2011-04-07T13:59:00.005-06:00

Four years ago at this very moment I was lying in a hospital bed with 30ish stitches and a gorgeous and perfectly healthy little baby girl.

And now she's a sassy preschooler with enough brains to manipulate her mama regularly.

Plus she's totally gorgeous. When she's not dirty, that is.

We're doing the whole cake and ice cream thing on Saturday when Daddy comes back from his business trip. But she knows that TODAY is her birthday, and she seems to think she should get to open presents and eat cake today and on Saturday.

So I pulled some orange rolls out of the freezer for breakfast and stuck some candles in one of them. I told her they were her special Birthday Rolls. She got very excited and danced about. I love how simple it is to make a child happy.

Well, sometimes it's simple.

One of Those Moments

2011-04-07T13:36:00.003-06:00

I couldn't sleep last night. I was lying awake around 2:00 a.m. when my baby started crying. He's not a baby any more, but I still see him that way. I'd better procreate again soon or my son will be doomed to a mother who stunts his development.

He sounded sick.

Now, normally when James wakes up in the middle of the night calling me, I wake up grumpy. I find sleep to be an elusive companion, and I resent anything that interrupts our time together. I usually lay there for a minute or two, listening to my son cry, giving him a moment to see if he'll just go back to sleep.

This was not one of those times. I could tell he wasn't just having a momentary waking, but needed comfort. Then I surprised myself. Rather than feeling resentful at my loss of sleep, I realized that I actually wanted to go into the nursery and hold my boy. Perhaps it was because I was already awake, and thus sleep loss would be less of a burden. Perhaps it was because my husband is out of town and my bed was feeling awfully large and lonely. Regardless of why, I craved to feel the weight of James' limp body in my arms.

I went in and performed the tortuous nasal syringe ritual and then cuddled him close. He just melted into my arms and it was as though he really was a baby again, wanting nothing more than to be close to his mother. His hair smelled good. His fingers clasped mine. His head lay heavy in the crook of my elbow. His chest rose and fell against mine as his breathing became deep and regular.

I whispered to him "I love you, James."

A pause. Then a tiny "Too" muttered from behind his binky.

Ahhhhh.

These are the moments that make it all worthwhile. These are the moments I must cherish now while they are still abundant.

I'm Not Depressed. Really.

2011-02-25T15:51:00.006-07:00

I've been sleeping a lot lately.

A lot.

Like 10-12 hours a night. (Not including the 2-3 times I wake up and have to take care of little ones who cry at ungodly hours.)

It has been fabulous.

I like to luxuriate in the comfort and warmth of my bed in the mornings for as long as possible. The sexy man I am married to rouses me when he gets up to shower. But I still lay there. Sometimes I doze. Sometimes I just revel in laziness. And I don't like to get up until my children wake up and I HAVE to.

To, you know, do mom stuff.

So when Sexy Man goes off to work, I'm barely out of bed and looking my most fetching.

Then I spend the day taking care of little helpless ones that have endless needs. And I try to remember to take care of my own needs. Like eating. And occasionally bathing. Once in a great while I even dry my hair and put on makeup so that I don't look like Medusa. Although, if I'm being completely honest, I don't usually get around to demedusifying myself until about two o'clock. Because that's when the tiny one is napping instead of pulling on my pants and crying "Hoe jew!" (toddlerese for "Hold you!"), or writhing in my arms and banging his skull against the bridge of my nose while screaming "Nooooo! Uh-huh! Nooo!"

I spend my days wiping a myriad of things many times. And bending over. I am forever bending over to pick things up. Toys. Paper. Crayons. Bits of sandwich. Children. Clothing.

Living the dream, right? I am, actually. This is my first choice. To be a virtually unappreciated stay at home housewife. I certainly am not going to let anyone else raise my children, thankyouverymuch, and since children need constant supervision, that's my job. Well, I'd let Brent be the stay at home parent, but he is capable of making a lot more money than I am. I have a lot of skills, but none that anyone would pay me for. And so we have fallen into traditional gender roles. And happily, too, I might add.

But just because my life is exactly how I would choose it to be doesn't make it easy.

And so after nine hours of being SuperMom I start to lose it. I lose my patience. I yell. I cry. I hide. And while I am yelling and crying and hiding, I sometimes try to pick up the rubble and occasionally cook dinner too.

And then Sexy Man returns home. He comes home to a disheveled and rapidly deteriorating wife. And suddenly the demons that have been possessing my children for the last one-hundred-and-forty-eight minutes (not that I'm counting) exorcise themselves and two cherubic smiles beam brightly.

But my face? Not so bright. And the very moment my children are behind closed doors in darkened bedrooms, I head straight for my own sanctuary. My blissful bed.

And this routine is what has led my husband to believe that something needs fixing.

Wife crying? Needs fixing. Husband jumps into SuperDrive and takes over the wiping and the cleaning and the parenting.

Wife in bed at eight o'clock? Something wrong. Wife must be depressed. Hormones? Need drugs?

No. I'm not depressed, My Love. I'm just very, very tired. And THANK YOU for taking over the wiping and the cleaning and the parenting, by the way, and not coming home expecting me to serve you chicken pot pie on a TV tray so you can unwind from your own stressful day by ignoring your family that desperately needs you. I'm sorry all you ever see of me is a woman barely conscious or barely holding it together. Someday when we're independently wealthy you can quit your job and be home during the day and then you'll see that the happy and vivacious woman that you married does still exist.

She does. I promise. I just need to find her.

Is it bedtime yet?

Valentines and Mean Girls

2011-02-10T08:58:00.004-07:00

This morning Jenny and I were preparing her valentines to take to school today. Jenny wrote her name on each one in the "from" space. Then I inserted the temporary tattoo that came with each one and folded it. Next Jenny removed a heart sticker from the sticker sheet and taped each valentine shut.

During this process Jenny said "And maybe when Vera gets a tattoo she will like it and then she will be nice to me."

I started crying.

What goes on her head?

2011-02-08T08:28:00.002-07:00

Whilst sitting on the toilet and talking about how her bum is hurting, Jenny, with no segue, said:

"Mommy. I need you to not ever ever tell anyone that I'm a magician. But you can if you need to, but I'll have to not let you."

It Has Begun

2011-02-02T18:10:00.002-07:00

I received my first door-to-door solicitation of the year today.

Isn't it a little early for that?

Curses.

Oh, and happy Groundhog Day, y'all.

Just What I Think

2011-01-17T11:48:00.002-07:00

I've been disturbed lately. Well, by lately I mean the last few years or so.

Disturbed by loving, devout, wonderful people who love God and Jesus and his word and use their interpretation of that word as a hammer. Or a measuring stick upon which they judge others.

Here are a few examples of things that have disturbed me:

1. I have a friend that I genuinely like and think well of. She believes that no "good" mormon (since that's what we are) could be a Democrat. Now, I'm not a registered Democrat, but neither am I a Republican and I certainly can't understand members of the LDS church who follow the Republican party the way they follow the prophet.

2. My sister's roommates told her that since she voted for Obama that she was a "baby killer". I voted for Obama. And as far as I can tell I love babies and think they should be given the chance at life.

3. A kid in my sunday school class said that since the demise of "don't ask don't tell" that he wouldn't risk his life for a gay member of his platoon. If, that is, he ever joined the armed forces and there was a gay man in his platoon and they were in a life-and-death situation.

To which I responded: "Even if this gay man was a good man? An honest, hard working and loyal soldier who would be willing to risk his life for yours?"

Then another boy piped in and said "No gay man could be a good man. That's a contradiction in terms."

I was flabbergasted. How could he think that one facet of a person's identity completely defined him and negated all his other qualities?

Yes, the scriptures say homosexuality is a sin. But they also say that we should love our neighbors like ourselves. When we hate a person for something he is how is that any different from hating the Savior? "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Right? Don't we believe that part of the Bible too?

What about the bit about "judge not that ye be not judged"?

And don't forget that when the Savior was asked what the most important commandment was he replied "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself."

Now I don't know about you, but I believe that God created all of us. And I believe that he loves all of us. ALL of us. Not just middle-class Christian White Americans like me. He loves the Jews. He loves Muslims. He loves Blacks. He loves fat people. He loves homosexuals. He loves Republicans. He loves the French. He loves the poor. He loves drug addicts. He loves porn stars. He even loves those Enron guys, Dick Cheney, and Bernie Madoff.

I don't have a lot of answers. And I'm sure glad that I'm not the one to judge the wrongful actions of others. But this much I know: I am to love my neighbor as myself. I am to refrain from judgment. I am to worry about the kind of person I am and the way that I treat others. Anything that divides us as the children of Christ ought to be eschewed. We ought to be One.

So when I support gay marriage and any other legislation that protects the civil liberties of my brothers and sisters under Christ, don't judge me.

And I'll try to return the favor.

For additional reading of one of the most thoughtful and articulate essays I've ever read, check this out.

My Days

2010-12-15T09:49:00.002-07:00

The days slip by.

Happy days. Angry days. Pain days. Productive days. All part of the experience we call life. Right?

Sunday was a happy day.

(Aside: They are happy now that my husband no longer has to attend many hours of meetings all day, leaving me to bathe and dress three bodies, blow dry two heads of hair, prep three lesson plans, assemble lesson props and materials, keep the three dressed bodies relatively grime-free, and get the three bodies and the bag or two of props down to the church unassisted. Oh, it's so nice to have a husband with a non-leadership calling.)

After church and after naps my children were starting to get on each other's nerves. They were screaming at each other about the darn jingle bells. I've only got about 30 bells. Somehow that's not enough to share. So I shouted in a sing-song voice "Who wants WAFFLES!" That made Jenny stop screaming and she jumped up and down saying "I do! I do! I do! I want HELP you, Mommy. I do! I do!"

So we made breakfast for dinner. I turned on some Christmas music. And I twirled in the kitchen while I waited for each waffle to brown. James laughed and laughed each time I twirled. We sat down at the table and my children actually ate without incessant prodding. (Eating something covered in syrup usually goes down a lot easier than meatloaf does.)

That night my house fulfilled the measure of its creation by being the perfect holiday setting for a fun family dinner.

Yesterday was a pain day. I was up most of the night before in pain. My husband woke to the sound of me puking. That was a relief, because once he got up I was finally able to put on my favorite migraine movie. I watched nearly the full 5 hours of Pride and Prejudice before my children even got up. Well, I didn't actually watch it. The bludgeoning of my skull affects my vision so I can't actually stand to watch anything. But I listened to it to keep my mind off the pounding pounding pounding.

My children watched netflix streaming Blue's Clues, Dora the Explorer, Caillou, and pbskids.org Super Why videos all. day. long. It was great. I spent the time laying on my bed whimpering. That was not so great.

When my husband FINALLY got home (he came home early. 30 whole minutes early.) I began weeping in relief. Then the tears just wouldn't stop because I was so exhausted and in so much pain and so unbelievably sick of these damn migraines. Then Brent told me he had to go to scouts in 30 minutes. I cried harder. Then he told me he'd take both the kids with him. I cried in relief again.

(For the dear women in my life who are feeing bad and wondering why I didn't call you to come help, it's because Jenny was coughing and snotting the whole house up and I didn't want to expose Mom-who-cannot-afford-to-get-sick or any of the babies that you all have. Otherwise I would have. Next time I will. Assuming Jenny's not sick.)

Today has yet to be defined. I have a sneaking suspicion it's going to be an angry day. It's only 10:00 a.m. and already Jenny has dissolved in tears or tantrum half a dozen times. James was up for about 4 hours in the middle of the night last night, so he's cranky. I put him down for a nap, but I hear him banging his crib against the wall so I doubt he'll fall asleep any time soon. At least his crib-time separates the children and so their mutual screaming is on pause for an hour or so.

I have not lost my temper yet. But it's only 10:00 a.m. And I still am suffering from Headache Hangover.

The salvation of this day will come in the form of my sisters. Lunch with the girls at a place that isn't here is what I need. A change of scenery. New faces to look at. Grown ups to talk to. A room full of Polly Pockets for Jenny to get lost in. It will give me the emotional nourishment I need to carry on carry on carry on.

Meow

2010-10-03T21:48:00.000-06:00

Things They Do

2010-09-24T22:30:00.000-06:00

Jenny often wants to wear my diamond ring. When I refuse she gets a small hair elastic and wears it on her finger and calls it her wedding ring.

Jenny likes to pick out her own outfits

James likes to feel the skin at the edge of clothing. He often fingers my arm just underneath my cuff or the skin at my neckline as we cuddle during his lullaby. He also does it to himself whenever I lay him down for bed or a diaper change.

Delicious. I could just eat this kid.

Jenny grabs the camera whenever she sees it. She can operate it pretty well. She turns it on, looks through the viewfinder, and then tells me to move a little bit this way or a little bit that way and then orders me to "say cheese". She has taken many many many exceedingly unflattering pictures of me. And several of the floor and her legs and her toys.

Jenny's still life photography

James shrieks. Loudly. All the time. Jenny shrieks back. Then they scream at each other at precisely the same pitch and with the same timbre with a blend only siblings can create. At times I can't tell them apart.

"Look Mommy! We're in a bathtub!"

Jenny enjoys drinking straight lemon juice. She also likes to taste salt and pepper. She shakes it into her palm and then licks it. Over and over until I stop her. She also likes to eat butter. She dips her finger in it, just like I did as a child. She'd eat spoonfuls of it if I'd let her.

Jenny tried to apply mascara

James crawls down the stairs halfway, then pauses, then comes back up. Then back down. Then back up. Then he swings the baby gate back and forth. Shrieking in delight and pride all the while.

Playing together instead of screaming at each other. A rare and delightful thing.

Jenny cries out every night for me. Her scared little voice sobbing in the darkness for her mama. I go in. We snuggle. I tell her I love her. She goes back to sleep.

Bear Lake 2010

James giggles when I kiss him on the chest. He also likes it on the neck. Kissing him on the belly doesn't do much for him. He also likes it when I nibble his toes.

Still hanging on. No walking yet.

Jenny wraps towels and blankets around her body and then says "Look Mom, I a princess!"

Bear Lake 2010

James generally won't let me take pictures of him. He immediately makes a beeline for the camera and grabs it from me or screams if I don't give it to him.

Can you resist that smile? I didn't think so.

James likes to put his hands in my or Brent's shoes and then crawl around, pushing them along in front of him.

Super Rainbow Girl

Jenny likes to put on my stilettos and sling-backs and walk around, heels clacking loudly on the tile. Often she's wearing nothing else.

I remember doing this as a kid. Only the shoes of my choice were my mother's cream colored open toed pumps.

Neither of my children will let me shower or bathe alone. If they hear water running, they find me and scream until they are in the water with me.

The most fun they ever have together.

Both of them like to mow the lawn with Daddy. At the same time.

A favorite Saturday morning activity

I love my kids.

Another Prayer

2010-09-15T19:55:00.001-06:00

Dear Heavy Fadder,

Fank you for Shelley to come over.
Fank you for Benjamin to play . . . wif me.
Fank you for to help Jenny not be whiny.
Bless us to sleep good.

In de name of Jesus Christ,

Amen.

Are we seeing a theme already?

Jenny Prays All By Herself

2010-09-14T19:56:00.001-06:00

Dear Heavenly Fadder,

Fank you for Noelle to play wif me.
Fank you for us to sleep good tonight.
Please bless Mommy to be patient.
Please bless James to be not scream and whiny.
Please bless Jenny to sleep well.

In the name of Jesus Christ,

Amen

A Rite of Passage (for both mother and daughter)

2010-09-07T13:06:00.000-06:00

It's official. I'm a total failure.

I've failed at a lot of things in my life. Not one to brag here, but I've got some pretty good failures on my curriculum vitae. I wouldn't call myself a champion or professional failure, but I've definitely walked the road of defeat.

Today I failed in the capacity as a mother. That's right. I'm a bad, bad, bad mom.

Today was my first-born child's first day of school. And not just the first day of the year. The first day of school in her whole life. In her entire 3.5 years of living she has never been to school until now. And can you believe it? I didn't take a picture of her in all her first-day glory before dropping her off.

No picture for the blog, for her scrapbook, for her memories. I failed her.

A successful mother would have planned ahead. A dedicated mother would have remembered last night that a certain little girl had smudged the lens of the camera with her grubby little fingertips and would have had the forethought to do a load of laundry so a clean microfiber cloth would have been handy to clean said lens.

A competent mother would have imbued such a sense of excitement in her daughter about her first day of school that the daughter would not have had an emotional breakdown right as it was time to get in the car, thus making the mother late.

A proper mother would have found some way to more effectively stem the tide of tears that ensued after explaining that it was against the rules to take any toys to preschool as she heartlessly removed them from the Hello Kitty backpack.

A decent mother would have made sure to capture the moment of departure appropriately, as is its due as a rite of passage, and immortalized it for all time on a pink and green paisley matted scrapbook page.

Alas, one more thing to add to my list of personal failings.

On the up side, I DID make the time and had the patience to paint my daughter's fingernails and toenails the colors of her choice while dressing her.
I DID remember the teacher's instructions to put the daughter's bathing suit under her clothes and pack a towel.
I DID remember to pay tuition on the first class of the month, thus qualifying for the $5 early-pay discount.
I DID remember to put the baby in the car before we left, rather than leaving him alone in his crib for the 20 minutes it would take me to return.
I even succeeded in sufficiently distracting my alternately writhing/screaming and wiggling/giggling daughter during the drive over with talk about farm animals so that her socks and shoes remained on her feet until arrival.

Phew.

Maybe I can do this after all.

Does a picture after-the-fact still count? Even if it's blurry with finger smudges?

Good For Me

2010-09-05T13:12:00.000-06:00

When Brent and I were dating, I told him that I was anti-social, and would infinitely prefer staying home with a book to going out to any social event, especially LDS ward parties.

He agreed with me wholeheartedly. He said that he too preferred to stay home and hated socializing and having to "be on" when he was tired after a long week working away from home. (Back then, he traveled for work something like 48 weeks out of the year. Yes. Insane. Glad he doesn't have that job any more.) He said he loved to read and hated to party.

Ah, that response was music to my ears. I thought that truly I had found my soulmate. Someone who would want to be home with me and wouldn't want to leave me to hang out with the guys.

You know what?

He lied.

He didn't mean to. He thought he was speaking the truth. When I said "any social event" and he said "me too" what he really meant was "singles ward events". And really, can you blame him? Anyone who has been a member of a LDS singles ward for more than a couple of years can understand that one. Ugh.

As it turns out my husband is quite the social butterfly. Not only does he like to attend all ward parties, block parties, charity events, holiday activities, and other engagements that we're invited to, but he actually prefers to host parties.

Usually about once a month Brent asks me if I'd like to have so-and-so and so-and-so to dinner. He's not really asking. He knows what my answer will be. He's just telling me. So I smile and put on my happy face and start thinking about all the cleaning that has to be done before we have 30 people over for dinner. Again. Didn't we just do that?

So I grumble to myself and get a migraine at the thought of entertaining that many people and having them in my house, my sanctuary, my safe and private space. I clean and hurt my back and gag on the smell of smoking and carcinogenic flesh that permeates my house.

And then the guests arrive.

And you know what?

I always have a good time. And I'm always glad that Brent made me do it.

I would NEVER invite people over (unless my children share a bloodline with you). It just doesn't occur to me.

And so I'm glad. I'm glad I have a husband that led me astray during our courtship. Because of his dinner parties, I meet and converse with people who are genuinely wonderful. Because of his friendliness, I have friends.

And who doesn't need more friends?

So thank you, Mr. Jensen, for once again nudging me out of my comfort zone. You knew I'd enjoy it. And I did.

Escargot Raw

2010-08-07T12:07:00.000-06:00

Before yesterday I never really thought about how perfectly a snail can fit inside a one-year-old's mouth. It's the perfect size for sucking on but not choking on, as James demonstrated for me.

Yes.

Yes he did.

A Bigger Slice of Jenny Pi

2010-07-21T12:01:00.001-06:00

Attitude Adjustment

2010-07-20T10:38:00.003-06:00

I haven't been writing much. I suppose because most days I feel like I'm drowning and don't have anything to write that people would want to read.

My life is filled with minutiae and drudgery.

Clean the nasty bathrooms.
Try unsuccessfully to feed my children.
Pick my children's food off the floor.
Do the dishes.
Do the laundry.
Clean the crud off the counter.
Reorganize my kitchen cupboards after the last time my husband was in there.
Circumvent tantrums.
Endure tantrums I am unable to diffuse.
Hold one child while the other screams.
Hold the other child while the first one screams.
Hold them simultaneously while they both scream.
Plan dinner.
Fail to make dinner because I once again didn't make it to the grocery store because shopping with two tiny kids is impossible and frustrating.
Get a migraine.
Put my kids in front of Blue's Clues so I can have 30 minutes of peace.
Try not to scream.
Try not to yell.
Try not to cry.

Rinse.

Wash.

Repeat.

What gives me hope is knowing that this is the hardest time in my life and that it won't last forever. When it is over and my children are grown I will miss it and long for these years back.

I recently came across a quote by the author Anna Quindlen, and I tell you, this is going to be my personal mission statement.

The biggest mistake I made [as a parent] is the one that most of us make. . . . I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of [my three children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages six, four, and one. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

I need to write this quote up and put it on my mirror. Chant it to myself daily.

Treasure the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

I desperately want to be a fun and nurturing mother. I want to enjoy my children. I want to look back on every day with satisfaction that I did my best. I know I'll never be perfect, but I want to simply love my life.

And I do. I already do.

I am immensely happy with my life. I'm just not happy with myself.

A Slice of Jenny Pi

2010-07-12T17:31:00.001-06:00

Father's Day

2010-06-20T13:03:00.000-06:00

For Father's Day I gave Brent a card with a picture of a topless model wearing wings.

Now you may think of a Victoria's Secret catalog, but no, he got something better.

I Love To See the Temple

2010-06-05T15:30:00.001-06:00

Since our move we can see a large LDS temple quite well on our drive home. Every time it looms above us Jenny shouts "Look! A TEMPLE!"

She gets very excited and always wants to drive past it and tells me all about Angel Moroni atop the steeple.

Today I consented to drive past it, and as we pulled into the parking lot she said to me "Once I was a big mommy in a big dress and I got married in that big beautiful temple. Then I grew down to become a little girl."

I love my kid.

Ingleside: Status Update

2010-05-17T09:08:00.002-06:00

I named my new home Ingleside. Those of you who immediately understand why are of the race of Joseph. If you understood the phrase "race of Joseph" you are hereby invited to be my best friend forever.

For those of you not yet in the know, I shall give you an inside look at the world that is Anne Shirley Blythe.

After Anne and Gilbert are married, they move to a tiny seaside cottage where Gilbert begins his first practice as a doctor. There they make several friends who are of the race of Joseph and have their first baby. All this occurs in the fifth novel in the series Anne's House of Dreams.

The next book Gilbert talks Anne into buying a house too big for them. It is a beautiful home, but Anne doesn't want something that big, nor does she want to leave their dream house. Gilbert reminds her that they plan on having many more children and that the cottage could not accommodate a large family. So they buy the large house not for their immediate needs, but in planning for the future. A future of children and work and play and laughter and love and tears and lessons learned. They name their home Ingleside.

Thus, in honor of my beloved Anne, I have named my home Ingleside. Here I will bear and raise my children. Here they will frolic in the backyard and play and imagine as only children can. Here I will work and garden and pray and love.

Now that I've lived at Ingleside for just over two weeks I feel like I can begin compiling my lists of loves and love-nots about the place.

Things I Love-Not About Ingleside:

1. My kitchen sink has a flat bottom. This means that the water and food particles don't flow toward the drain without assistance, resulting in a usually dirty sink. Hmm. New habit to follow: clean sink after every use.

2. It is not a two-story Victorian or Cape Cod style house, nor is it built in the Colonial style or is an Arts and Crafts bungalow as my heart truly yearns for. Alas, it is a rambler.

3. A few cosmetic things that I can change over time.

Things I Love About Ingleside:

1. It is red brick with black shutters and front door.

2. It has my bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and laundry all on one level. (Ramblers are good for something.) Thus I can stay here until I die, even if I'm wheelchair bound.

3. The yard. Oh, the yard. Room to roam. Room to frolic. Room to plant. Room to build. Room to play.

4. The hangar. I love having a storage space that is seemingly limitless.

5. Main floor laundry. Can I say that again? MAIN FLOOR LAUNDRY! Ah, I feel like shouting it from the rooftops. Now I know I sort of already mentioned this one in number 2, and it seems like a rather boring thing to be thrilled about, but if you had knees that hurt like mine and had to carry heavy laundry baskets up and down 13-step flights of stairs, you would understand. Especially if you had done it while pregnant or tried to do it with a baby on your hip. This was one of the primary reasons I wanted to move and now I have my heart's desire.

6. The tree out front. It's huge. It's green. Sure, it rains debris down every time a wind comes through, but oh it is lovely.

7. The chickens and roosters in my back neighbor's yard. I love hearing the cockadoodledoo of the proud cocks throughout the day.

8. The plantation shutters in the front rooms of the house. They are pretty. They are practical. They are easy to open and close. They let in a ton of light or conversely block it well.

9. The view from my dining area onto the back yard. Have I mentioned how much I love my back yard?

10. The master bathroom remodel that is coming along. Oh, it will be beautiful. Anyone who wants to take a soak in my claw-foot tub at the Spa del Maren is welcome anytime.

I feel so blessed. So completely and utterly BLESSED to be able to call this house my home. I am a lucky woman who is incredibly grateful to have found her Ingleside.

A Sunday Evening of Contentment

2010-05-16T19:39:00.002-06:00

I write as I lay in bed, propped up on insufficient pillows. I lay in the very center of the bed in a vain attempt to even out the lump that has been created between the two valleys my and my husband's bodies have made in the mattress.

My bed is currently in my living room (as the master bedroom is a construction zone), and thus affords me a view of the street. I'm facing south and watching the day's light drift west while the shadows lengthen easterly. Through the slats of my plantation shutters I watch my neighbor sit in his green and white lawn chair in his driveway. Another neighbor walks by walking his dog and holding his wife's hand. I love to see elderly people hold hands. I love the way their body language tells me that after all the years and no doubt joys and trials, they still are sweethearts. It is a future I hope to attain and look forward to.

My husband is cleaning the kitchen (wonderful man) while my daughter noisily rolls her wagon around on the slate floor (adorable girl). My baby is sleeping contentedly in his room (sweetest boy).

Today we made it to church on time. We sang hymns and prayed. I wrestled with children. I tried to listen to the talks and lessons. I came home grumpy but still glad I went. Glad that I'm married to a man who also wants to go.

We visited a neighbor and took them cheesecake. Not mediocre store-bought cheesecake, but the real deal. With raspberry topping. A small gesture of gratitude for the generous help they recently gave us.

We played in the yard (oh, how I love my new yard) and enjoyed the sunshine. Ah, the sunshine. It has been missing for far too long this spring. I love the rain, as anyone who knows me really well can attest. But lately I've been craving the sunshine, and today took the time to enjoy it with my loved ones.

It has been a simple day. But such a sweet one.

More On Mother's Day: Going Nuts

2010-05-11T09:28:00.004-06:00

The night before Mother's Day I had a visit with my sister during which I expressed the tumult I have been feeling lately regarding parenting two little kids.

I feel angry much of the time. I can go from feeling perfectly fine to angry at the slightest provocation from my children these days. I feel like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde sometimes: out of control and volatile. Perhaps it's not as bad as I describe, but that's how it feels. I'm constantly battling to stay calm and not scream back at Jenny when she screams at me.

So it was in the frame of mind of defeat, frustration, and exhaustion that my husband came home late with a bunch of flowers in his hand. Fortunately my first response was one of pleasure and gratitude. It was nice to see my sweet man at the end of a long evening.

Unfortunately that response was almost immediately eclipsed by feeling an unwarranted amount of hopelessness because I didn't know where a vase was. (Keep in mind that 3/4 of my entire life is in boxes right now and consequently stress levels are high.) I almost started crying because I didn't know what to do with the flowers.

Brent, calm and reasonable, found the box I had clearly marked "FRAGILE: Glass Vases" and brought me a selection.

Then I started snipping the ends and arranging them. I almost started crying again because I was tired and it was late and I just wanted to go to bed and mope about what a bad mother I was rather than arrange my own flowers. I was feeling grumpy and muttering things like "because he couldn't possibly be bothered to spend the extra money on an arranged bouquet, could he?" and other irrational and mean things. I ended up just dumping them in the vase and not worrying about the shape of the arrangement.

Brent played it smart. I suppose the occasional tears that would leak out in the midst of talking about a neutral subject tipped him off. I went to bed. He rubbed my back. He told me I was a great mommy. Of course I didn't agree with him, but it was good to hear. I need that reinforcement sometimes. It helps me get through the crazies that occasionally possess me.

Oh, I just pray my children will forgive me someday and that I won't scar them for life.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T13:49:00.003-06:00

Today I received my first ever Mother's Day gift made by a child of mine.

I remember making these as a kid. My primary teacher would give me a template that I would fill out. Something along the lines of "I love my mom because . . ." and then I'd write something and try to be sincere. Then I'd color the flowers printed on the page and my teacher would put it in a dollar store brass frame and I'd proudly give it to my mother after church.

She's smile and say thank you and give me a hug.

Then she'd get six more identical gifts.

Some weeks later I found my framed gift in a trash bag. And to be completely honest with you, I totally understood. Sure, I suppose there was a fraction of my childlike heart that wondered why my mom would trash my gift, but I distinctly remember not feeling bad, not even one iota. After all, it was more of an assignment rather than a voluntary offering. And over the years I'm sure she had received many many many such items, in varying degrees of tackiness. She just didn't want to be burdened with the junk. She had her children, and they were the most precious gift anyway.

Then there's my mother-in-law whom I am sure has kept every single mother's day card/letter/gift that her six children have given her through the years. She's the kind of woman that treasures every "memory" (as she calls them) no matter how small or trivial, and keeps them forever.

Two different responses, and yet I am sure that both my mother and my mother-in-law love their children fiercely. I know of no two women more devoted to their children and grandchildren than these two.

So today as I received my Ikea oven mitt upon which my daughter had scribbled with markers and her nursery leader had traced her hand and misspelled her name, I felt a strange role reversal.

To own the truth, I was delighted to receive the gift, even though the teacher gave it to me and not my daughter and in fact Jenny had no idea why she made it and was supposed to give it to me.

I have been needing a new oven mitt for a while now.

Easter

2010-04-19T07:48:00.006-06:00

Big Girl Spoon

2010-04-14T18:19:00.003-06:00

"Mommy I need a Big Girl Spoon."

I was a bit distracted, feverishly attempting to get as much of dinner prepped as possible before the baby woke up.

"Uh huh. Okay. You can get a spoon."

"You get it. I need it."

"I can't get it right now because I'm chopping chicken."

"Um, I can't reach it. I need a Big Girl Spoon to clean up the poop."

Finally she had my full attention.

"What?"

"I need a spoon to get out the poop. The poop is in my sock and I can't get it out."

I looked at her. No smell. Pants on. And usually pants on also means diaper on. Usually.

I looked closer. She was wearing sweat pants that have elastic around the ankles. Sure enough, there was a little lump right there near her right sock that shouldn't have been there.

I opened her pants. No diaper. What? How did that happen?

Ah, the joys of potty training a child who is capable of dressing and undressing herself.

Cursing the Cake

2010-04-08T09:19:00.006-06:00

Yesterday was my tiny one's third birthday. Only she's not looking so tiny anymore.

The night before I baked her cake. In the morning I cut it into the requested Hello Kitty shape and frosted it. I had to do it in stages because a mother of two little ones doesn't often have an uninterrupted hour to do anything, much less take that long to frost a cake.

After years of mocking my sister and how she coordinates her birthday child's clothing to the colours of the themed cake, I now understand. I have fallen from my lofty ideals of simplicity and have spent too much time on a character cake, when I should have been packing and cleaning.

As I was frosting the cake and simultaneously cursing myself for the idea of it in the first place, I began to wonder who I was doing this for. Was I really doing this for Jenny so that she could have a fun birthday? Or was I doing it for myself in some twisted way? What was I getting out of it?

I was stressed.

I had way too much to do to waste an entire day on prepping for a 3-year-old's party that would last two hours.

The frosting was running down my arm and the little stars wouldn't maintain their shape because I don't know what I'm doing and my frosting was too thin and my baby was starting to cry and I had only just started.

Argh!!!

Was I trying to impress the party attendees? No, they're just family members who have seen me at my worst.

Was I trying to prove something about what a fabulous party-planning and creative mother I am? Possibly, but since I know I'm not really any of those things, why would I try to prove something I don't hold to be true?

Because I want it to be?

Hmm. As I was pondering this, Jenny began enthusiastically chanting "Thank you, Mommy! Thank you for my Hello Kitty CAKE!"

She said it over and over with such sincerity and joy that I was glad for the task.

She loved it. She really did. She talked about it in anticipation for weeks and in enjoyment all day and for a few days more. She cried when it was all gone.

That's right. I did it for her. My intentions were pure.

Enough

2010-04-03T21:04:00.007-06:00

Is it a motherly trait or just a female one to feel an inordinate amount of guilt? Perhaps it runs throughout the fairer sex, but is intensified by motherhood. All I know is I feel a lot of guilt a lot of the time and my husband feels relatively none.

A man does something that warrants an apology or does something insufficiently. He either feels no guilt because he recognizes that he did the best he could, or perhaps recognizes no wrong. Or he feels just enough pricking to either spur him to rectify the situation or just move on.

A woman worries. A woman obsesses. A woman cries. A woman frets. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

What I feel most guilt about is anywhere I am less than I think I ought to be. I am not patient enough with my three-year-old. I don't have enough energy, time, limbs, you name it, to simultaneously soothe my infant and keep dinner from burning, or even make dinner at all.

Something has always got to give. And I always feel guilty for not doing whatever it is that had to give.

Since becoming a mother of more than one child, lots of things give that I truly wish didn't have to.

The laundry can give. I can live with the guilt I feel about being an ineffective housekeeper.

Delicious and inventive dinners can give. Brent can feed himself. Macaroni and cheese will keep you alive.

But my children's needs?

I feel guilt about not savoring James's infancy like I did Jenny's. I feel guilt about not taking as many photos and video footage of him. I feel guilty about not reading him stories. I feel guilty whenever my pain or schedule or toddler prevents me from holding him whenever he shrieks for my attention.

He's at that stage where he wants Mama and no one else. He will be perfectly content and happy playing with something or someone. I walk by the room and he cries for me. He hears my voice and he cries for me. The instant he realizes that he is not with Mama is the same moment he recognizes that his life is incomplete and horrible and he needs me NOW!

Needless to say, he cries for me a lot. I can't always go to him. I do as soon as I can. And of course when I do I feel guilt about whatever it is I'm putting down to pick him up. Usually it's Jenny. Often it's something I ought to be cleaning or packing in order to meet our moving deadline.

I can't do it all.

Nobody can.

And so I am extremely grateful for the little things that make my multitasking easier. In particular, James's sleeping habits.

He is a gold-medalist in sleeping. The kid is a champion napper. At night time I can read him a story or nurse him for a few minutes, then lay him down awake, exit the room, and shut the door and he makes nary a peep. He just relaxes, lays his head to the side, and sleeps.

It is one of the great pleasures of my life to put that kid to sleep. It then frees me to be sufficient. In that moment I can simultaneously do the right thing for my baby (give him sleep) and also attend to whatever needs attending to the most.

Lately James has been teething. He doesn't want to fall asleep in bed. He wants to fall asleep in my arms. Once he has fallen asleep he doesn't want to sleep in his bed. He wants to sleep in my arms.

Last night after my third attempt to lay him down and his third refusal to accept sleep and his third time plugging up his nostrils with baby slime from his crying, I just held him. I didn't nurse him, or sing to him, or bounce him. He just nestled in my arms as I sat in my rocking chair. There he fell asleep. I held him for a long time.

Brent was putting Jenny to bed.

I let myself forget about the laundry, the vacuuming, the packing, the dusting, the clutter, the painting, the MESS MESS MESS that surrounds me and that I need to tame as quick as possible so we can sell our house.

I just let it all go and held my baby.

I gazed at him until the tiny sliver of light that comes in his window had faded to nothing. I listened to him breathe. I watched his eyelids flutter. I felt his tiny fingers pull at my neckline until he could feel my skin. I felt his warmth against my chest.

I held him and he held me and in that moment I felt complete. In that moment I was enough. I was all he needed and all he wanted. For him, right then, I was enough. Enough.

I need more moments like that.

Habanera

2010-03-23T17:34:00.004-06:00

Enjoy!

My Baby Can Read (well, no, not really, but she can talk about the pictures)

2010-03-22T08:24:00.006-06:00

I woke this morning to the sound of Jenny's voice coming through the monitor on my nightstand.

"No animals in my bed! No animals in my bed!"

I thought she must be processing the way I kick the cat off my bed every time I catch him on it, and was throwing the multitude of stuffed animals off her own.

I was wrong.

"Good night. Good night. Good night. Good night."

Is she playing mommy and tucking her animals in bed (a favourite pastime of hers)?

Wrong again.

"All animals go back to the ZOO." Jenny chanted.

Ah, she was reading to herself.

One of the best picture books ever written and illustrated. If you have a tiny one, you should add this book to your bedtime story repertoire. And don't forget too watch the mouse and his banana.

Why I Haven't Been Here On My Blog Entertaining All Of You

2010-03-17T10:55:00.006-06:00

I've been in the middle of a project.

Is your house as messy as mine?

Getting ready to paint the walls after finishing the cabinets.

Last night's mess still on the stove and counter.

One of many Disaster Zones

Disaster Zone in more detail

Drawers waiting to go back where they belong. Adding to the mess, of course.

Door fronts still missing. Painting accoutrements on the counter.

But hey, I have this nice new tile in my kitchen and entryway. If you don't know what it looked like before, believe you me, this is a GINORMOUS improvement.

Happy boy in the midst of chaos.

Jealous sister wants to claim the bumbo as her own. Good thing she's still a skinny-minny.

Satan's spawn wanting to come in. Sorry kitty. No stepping in the paint trays. And what a nice reminder this photo is of how dirty my windows are. One more thing to do. Sigh.

Your Answers Are Confidential

2010-03-17T09:18:00.003-06:00

Or so I am assured by our government. But, remembering how the Navy lost a laptop with access to a database that contained all my husband's information a few years ago, and how they contacted us to assure us they were working on recovering the information but to prepare us for the possibility that someone may have obtained that information to potentially pull some fraud and/or otherwise illegal shenanigans, I don't know how much I trust that.

But, as my U.S. Census Form envelope let me know in no uncertain terms, my response was required by law.

So I complied.

I don't mind, anyway.

Why would I want to keep confidential my name and my race and how many kids I have? Pretty much any schmo could figure that out.

I am a woman.

I am white.

I am married to the homeowner.

I have two kids.

I declare it to the world, that this is who I am.

Yes, I am a privileged middle-class white stay-at-home mom.

And you know what? I'm happy to be me.

But shouldn't I be offended that I had to check the box that said "white" because they didn't even give me the option to be "caucasian" or "european american"? Why is "white" a politically correct term but "black" or "indian" or "red-neck" isn't? It feels strange checking a tiny little box next to a word that defines my race, as though that defines me. I may be white, but I don't like being confined to small spaces that limit who I am.

You want to know who I am, Federal Government?

I am sarcastic.

I am loyal.

I am loving.

I am guilty.

I am afraid.

I am happy.

I am shy.

I am faithful.

I am sincere.

I am content.

I am weak.

I am patient.

I am also strong.

I am also impatient.

I am also discontent.

I am also bold.

It just depends on the day and the surrounding circumstances.

But it's hard to find a place to put that on a census form.

A Funny Story

2010-03-02T22:27:00.003-07:00

Jenny: Yahnt me tell you a funny stowey?

Shelley: Okay.

Jenny: They laughed and laughed. The. End.

The Magic of Imagination

2010-02-25T17:50:00.005-07:00

My dear sister Jessica recently wrote about imaginative play. Here is my favourite line of her post.

"A book taught my children about Vesuvius and Pompeii and now they can excavate my back yard, unearthing the magic of knowledge wedded to imagination."

Now if that doesn't whet your appetite for the whole thing, I don't know what will.

I enjoyed it so much, I just had to share it with the three of you who read my blog who don't already read hers.

Find it here.

Enjoy.

A New Decade

2010-02-23T20:10:00.009-07:00

It's my birthday today.

I'm officially thirty-something.

It was a great day.

My mom took me to lunch. We went to The Dodo and I had their famous turkey sandwich with delicious, savory, and unbeatable barbeque dipping sauce.

I haven't been out alone with my mom in AGES. I always have Tiny and Squeak along, so I have to be "Mommy" the whole time, and not just me. I miss grown up time. I miss my mom. Even when I see her frequently, it's just not the same as when we have one-on-one time. Our lunch today reminded me of not only how much I love my mother, but what a wonderful friend she is. How many women can say their mother is also their friend? I'm so grateful that I can.

Then she bought me a present.

Isn't it beautiful? I love it. I've been giddy about it all day.

Then this evening Brent took me out to dinner at Mazza. You would not believe how unbelievably delicious everything is there.

We took the kids with us and they were so good. James was happy and smiley the whole time. Jenny was pleasant and charming and didn't throw a single tantrum or whine even a little bit.

We finished our meal up with baklava, and then we walked next door to The King's English. Brent kept the kids entertained while he let me browse to my heart's content.

When we came home he gave me this:

It's called the Vixen necklace. I don't know that I'm much of a vixen, but I like thinking that I could be one if only I had the right necklace. Oh wait, I think I do!

The day was also filled with emails, messages, and calls from many friends and family.

Perhaps the nicest message I received (though all were sincere and very much appreciated) came from my brother-in-law. He said:

"Things I like about you:

your kids,
your laugh,
your style,
your cooking salmon,
your book recommendations,
your burps,
your singing,
your and Jenny's voicemails,
your being so great to my brother and family,
your husband,
your appreciation for pirates,
your blog posts,
your Christmas bread,
your opinion,
your southern drawl,
your prof. Trelawney,
your license plate frame,
your Jane Austen-ness
your breakfasts,
your political musings,
your Bubba Clause,
your preference for opaque fruit snacks,
and
your overall wonderfulness.

Roane"

Isn't he the sweetest? I have to admit my Professor Trelawney costume is pretty good and my children and husband are fabulous. I am fairly opinionated, and yes my political musings might get me ostracized from the neighborhood if they were more widely known. (I've got you wondering now, haven't I?) However, my license plate frame was a gift from Roane, and while the idea behind it was mine, the execution was his. I'm not sure what Bubba Clause is (perhaps my African-American Santa Claus tree topper?). And while I do love opaque fruit snacks and all things Jane Austen, I don't really appreciate pirates. I merely tolerate them. I have to. It's either tolerance or kicking against the pricks. I choose acceptance and resignation over chronic pain in my toes.

Thank you Roane, for the love you show to me.

Thank you all my dear friends and sisters for your friendship and love.

Thank you Brent, for the beautiful necklace, for our amazing children, and for being so loving toward me all the time. Thank you for working so hard to provide for our family and facilitating and supporting my desires to stay home with our children. Thank you for making me panzarotti and cheesecake. Thank you for remembering the little things, like how I prefer raspberries to strawberries, dark chocolate to milk, and how Cold Duck is my bubbly of choice. Thank you for watching chick flicks with me, for liking Sydney Bristow as much as I do, for not complaining when I ignore you for hours when I'm sucked into my latest novel, and for being the best kisser in the universe.

But mostly, thank you Mom and Dad for giving me life. Mine is so blessed, so happy, and so full of love. The two of you gave me a delightful childhood where I was nurtured, taught, loved, provided for, and given My Little Ponies. You also gave me numerous siblings who were perhaps my torture 25 years ago, but have since become my best friends in life. You prepared me for life as a grown-up, making the process of growing up less scary. You helped me become the wife and mother I am today.

I owe you everything.

The Great House Hunt Part III

2010-02-23T19:53:00.004-07:00

Sometimes things just feel right.

After our second showing of two properties, we knew which one we wanted. It was clear. It had the edge ever so slightly in terms of amenities, plus is had the zing.

We made an offer the same day. Last year the property was listed for 125K higher than its current listing price. Of course, that offer was totally inflated, but still, 125K is a HUGE drop. We offered 15K below their current asking price, which they accepted.

!!!

So not only are we getting a great house, but we're getting it at a good price. The seller's accepted our purchase price, but they wanted to quadruple our earnest money. It seems they were jerked around quite a bit by the buyers they were previously under contract with. They were very pleased with our "clean offer", as their agent put it.

It just felt like it was meant to be. Within four days we went from despair, to seeing the house twice, to having a signed offer. After months and months the actual deal seemed to happen rather quickly.

It's not the 100% perfect dream house. But it's awfully close at maybe 90%. It's a rambler, not a two-story. It's in South Jordan, not Cottonwood Heights. (Although the more I learn about South Jordan the more excited I am to be living there.) It means a 25 minute commute for Brent rather than his current 8 minute commute. It was built in 1985 instead of 1905 or 2005 (at least it's not 1975. I've had enough of that decade's architectural design.)

However, it IS red brick with light mortar, black shutters, and black front door. It is on .99 acre which will give my children all the room they could want to frolic, plus have room for a big garden, chickens, beehives, fruit trees, a pool, a miniature golf course, and a putting green. Maybe even a shooting range.

It has a shed the size of an airplane hangar. We can't decide whether to turn it into a pool house, a music studio, a casino, a bowling alley, a spook alley, or a dance club. Or we could just buy a boat, some ATVs, snowmobiles, a trailer, and a few trucks to store. Since after we get our new mortgage we will be able to afford all these things, I'm thinking we somehow make a combo of a swimming pool beneath a sport court, like in "It's a Wonderful Life."

The house has main floor laundry. It has a huge kitchen. It has a walk in closet. It has a tiny formal dining room that we're going to convert into an office. It has a small formal living room that we're going to turn into a music room. It has a great family room off the kitchen. It has a big brick hearth and mantel that houses an old fashioned stove. It has a big blank wall where Brent can have some built-in bookshelves for his leather book collection.

It has a game room decorated in a grey, black, orange, and chrome Harley Davidson theme. It's awesome. I'm definitely keeping the chrome paneling.

But the best thing about the house is that it puts me in a position to bless others. It will be a place to gather with friends and family. We'll be able to have people over and have the space to socialize comfortably while the children run amok in the yard. I'll be able to have my children and grandchildren over, the house overflowing with love and affection. I can't wait to start making memories there.

We close at the end of March.

So. 4th of July barbeque at my house. Who's coming?

Oh, and did I mention that the shed has a moose weather vane?

The Great House Hunt Part II

2010-02-19T14:19:00.003-07:00

Read Part I here

We have been looking for almost a year and have toured countless houses. Our realtor's file on us is about an inch and a half thick, stuffed with the property reports of all the houses we've seen. (He's been a very patient man.) We were being picky. But we knew what we wanted.

Then we found it. The house! Ah, it wasn't perfect, but it had the vibe. It had the zing. I could SEE my family living there. It had beautiful, dark, exposed beams in the living room. It had a cozy family room off the kitchen. It had a gorgeous yard, a nice deck, a nicely planned kitchen.

Well, we made an offer on that house.

The owner's agent pulled all sorts of manipulative shenanigans on us. He lied about having a second offer on the house to pressure us into making a fast and high one. He called our agent with stories of the owner's wife in tears about leaving, and just another 10K would make her feel so much better about things. Apparently she had talked to so-and-so and so-and-so and THEY were SURE that the house was worth more than we were offering. Seriously? Like I care what so-and-so said or that the owner's wife was crying?

Plus, they were always past deadline whenever responding to us and extremely unwilling to concede anything to us. In protest we became rigid in our negotiations. After having given them all but one item on their counteroffer, we made our best and final offer. Then their agent decided to just ignore us. No formal refusal. Not even the courtesy of a phone call. Just silence.

Needless to say, we didn't get the house. In fact, when it did finally sell it was for only 4K more than our offer. A measly four thousand!! In the grand scheme of house prices, that was nothing. We were disappointed. Ah well, onward and upward.

Months went by as well as many more houses. Onward and upward became onward and status quo, and sometimes distinctly downward. Keep in mind that we were seeing 3-5 houses nearly every Saturday. We were getting burned out, but nothing seemed right.

Then we found it. The house! It was a beautiful 2 story with a most delightful floor plan. And it had plantation shutters throughout the house. The basement was unfinished and the yard wasn't ideal, but the location was great and more importantly, I could SEE us there. So we made an offer.

The owners countered. They came down a measly 4K and threw in their grand piano. Well, a grand piano is nice and all, but come on, meet us in the middle here! Sure we low-balled them, but honestly this house had so many red flags in its history (such as having recently sold as a short-sale for 150K LESS than its current listing price) that we didn't want to offer the inflated asking price. So we countered back. We came up a hefty amount.

Then silence. Again. We were being blown off AGAIN. Can't you people have the decency to return a phone call? An email? Crikey, how about a text? Don't you people want my money? Our agent finally called their agent's principal broker (and have I mentioned that this agent has a reputation in the industry for being difficult to work with?) and Mr. Boss Man blew us off and said that he was certain the agent was being professional and would do everything possible for us and would definitely return our calls.

Nothing. No response.

Then our agent's principal broker called their agent's principal broker. Come on, people, talk to us. Don't you WANT to sell you house? Why on earth did you list it if you're not willing to enter into negotiations with interested parties? Well, finally the agent called ours. He gave a price that he thought we should offer but couldn't say whether or not the owners would find it acceptable. Hmm.

Back to the search.

Discouraged. Disheartened. Tired. Sick of it all. Time running out as the deadline for the tax credit looms ever closer. We went out with our realtor again. All the houses were lame, lame, LAME! We were depressed.

Not quite ready to give up hope, we scheduled another tour. The day before the tour the house we thought had the most potential cancelled our showing. The owners of the house had accepted an offer the night before. Grr.

Wanting to fill the time slot, I picked a house to see that I remembered finding online months ago. It had been under contract last fall, but the sale fell through. It had only been relisted for ONE day. Last summer when I saw the house online I crossed it off the list because of its location. It looked like a great house, but it was too far away. Of course, by this point in the hunt we were much more flexible on a little thing like location. Once we saw what was available in our area of choice and realized we didn't like anything there, we cast our net a little wider. Or a lot wider, depending on your point of view, I suppose.

With less than 24 hours notice, the owners decided to let us see their house. After the tour that day we had two properties we wanted to see again.

Faith renewed. Energy back up. We were FINALLY excited about a couple of properties again. In fact, we liked them both so much we had some serious deliberation to do. We weighed pros and cons. We made a matrix. I assigned a point system. We evaluated every tiny detail of the houses and our lifestyles. It came down to six on one side and half a dozen on the other.

The second showing would break the tie.

The Great House Hunt Part I

2010-02-17T08:16:00.004-07:00

It's no secret that I've never loved my house. It has some flow and functionality problems that just cannot be fixed with a remodel. I have thought and rethought and mentally configured and reconfigured my floorplan. I just can't solve my major complaints with it without creating others.

So when the housing market crashed and interest rates dropped, Brent and I started looking. We don't need to move, certainly not now anyway, with only two children. Our current house has all the square footage we would ever need. But I dreamt of a pantry (ooo, a pantry, she said with a sign) and a mudroom (oh, a MUDROOM, she wistfully thought). The call of upstairs laundry (UPSTAIRS LAUNDRY she swooned) was in my heart. We desired a backyard for our children to roam in that was bigger than a handkerchief.

We made a list of what features our dream house would include. You know, like when you were a young teen and your youth leader had you write a letter to yourself to describe your ideal husband. If you write your ideals down they will serve as a guidepost during your search for the perfect companion, and help you weed out anyone unworthy, however alluring.

That list has guided us during our hunt. There have been houses that were so full of charm and coziness that I was ready to sacrifice a lot of function just to call that charm my own. The list and Brent's ever present practicality vetoed that house.

The list has also included things that I do not want. There have been houses that Brent has liked but that were a little too hoity-toity and vacuous for me. The list of nots and I vetoed.

There have been houses that look great on paper. They have everything we need, nearly everything we want, close to perfection, but lacking that zing, that vibe, that feeling of home. Just like in my single days when I'd date a guy who had it all, but we just didn't click for whatever reason. I held out for the zing in a spouse, and after much patience and many unpleasant blind dates, I got it. I was confident I could find it in a house as well.

I thought that finding the house would be the hard part.

Turns out I was wrong.

Amen and Amen

2010-02-14T20:16:00.003-07:00

"I could never love anyone as I do my sisters." ~ Jo March

I read this post on a favourite blog and had to share it.

Check out Blog Segullah.

Finding My Stride

2010-02-11T09:00:00.005-07:00

It's been just over seven months since Squeak was born and I think I've finally hit my stride.

About a year ago, waddling around hugely pregnant, I was frustrated that I had to keep putting Jenny down. She ALWAYS wants to be held and sit in my lap. At the time there was no room for her in my lap and I wasn't strong enough to stand up holding both her and myself up. I began to worry that I wouldn't be able to take care of both my kids simultaneously. I had a hard enough time already, and the baby was still on the inside.

I quizzed the multiparae of my acquaintance. I got a lot of nonspecific answers that gave me no wisdom whatsoever. Answers like "Oh, you just sort of figure it out as you go along" or "You just do the best you can."

Yeah. That much is pretty obvious to the uninitiated. Give me some tips here, people. Give me the inside scoop into how you run your day and tend to the needs and wants of two tiny ones and yourself and your household. I wanted the logistical lowdown.

For some reason, it was hard to come by. At first I thought that these women were being selfish. Why wouldn't they share their experiences with me? Is this some sort of hazing ritual, where you're only allowed full membership into the mommy club after you struggle on your own until you "figure it out"?

Now I've come to realize that the reason they weren't more specific in answering my questions is because they've blocked it from their memories. It was so traumatic for both them and their children that the emotional scar tissue is too hard to see through. They just don't remember how hard it was because either they stopped having children and things are so much better now, or they have had more children and now their lives are even worse.

When lamenting to my favorite sister-in-law who is more sister than law, she gave me the key. She gave me the brutal truth, unadorned, ugly.

"Sometimes," she said, "you just let them cry."

This was a new thought. I believed that my entire mission in life was to prevent my child from any discomfort at all cost, and that included crying.

My mother is the best baby-tender in the world. She taught me how to be conscious of the tiniest discomforts and threats to my child. She drilled me until I knew to contort my arm so that the car seat was positioned just so the sunlight never hit my baby's eyes. She taught me to inspect the inside of clothing to make sure there were no restrictive elastic bands that might leave a red mark on baby's skin. She taught me to immediately respond to slight whimpers so baby never cried. She taught me to always have a toy (or kitchen implement) handy to give to baby to hold, lest baby becomes bored and fusses.

My mother molded me into an excellent mom.

For her tutelage I am truly grateful.

So the idea that "sometimes you just let them cry" was horrific to me. Because as we all know, a crying child is evidence of an incompetent and unloving mother. Right? Well, according to my beloved sister Jessica (homeschooling mother of three), sometimes I'd have no choice.

She was right.

The first few months of my son's life were rough on all of us. Well, on all of us but Brent. I was still recovering from a bad tear and cracked nipples and doing so while sleep deprived. I got better, but balancing the needs of my children didn't get much easier for a while.

I learned I could usually keep at least one of them happy. Occasionally and miraculously they would both be happy at the same time, but I knew that was just grace of God and had nothing whatsoever to do with my mothering.

But every once in a while (meaning a couple of times a day) I found that I couldn't get either one soothed and content. They would sometimes both be inconsolable. Their hysteria working synergistically to bring me to tears also. There we'd be, the three of us: the infant (who has every right to cry), the toddler (who can't help her developmental level of constant emotional overload) and the mother (who ought to be the grown-up but who can't control her emotions when her stress levels blow through the roof), all crying together in a huddle.

Well, a few more months have passed and I'm happy to report that both of my children are usually pretty content most of the time. We still have our moments of grief and pain, but we're basically all happy.

So before I block it all out and am unable to pass on my experience and wisdom to the next questioning mother, here's how I do it.

1. Allow the toddler to watch Disney movies and PBS kids more than is good for her.

2. Take deep cleansing breaths while child A or B is screaming and you can't get to them right away. It doesn't help much, but at least it will prevent you from screaming "shut up!" at your children.

3. When the baby is content, tell him (in the toddler's presence) that he has to wait because right now it is the toddler's turn to be held. This makes the toddler very happy to be the chosen one. Then when the baby starts to cry, you can tell the toddler that she already had her turn, and now it's the baby's turn. It won't make her like it any better, but at least it feels fair.

4. Don't worry about bathing or dressing your children. It's a hassle, inevitably one or both will end up crying, and in an hour's time they'll both look grubby again anyway.

5. Forget about the housework. Your home will not be tidy again for about 20 years. Focus on the bare minimum to keep things running relatively smoothly: dishes, meal planning, laundry. That's it.

6. Release the guilt you feel when they cry/scream/throw tantrums. You'll intervene/soothe/rock/hold/kiss-it-better as soon as you can (like as soon as you wash the raw chicken juice off your hands). A few moments of screaming is better than getting sick with salmonella.

7. Focus on the awake child when the other is napping. Don't be lured into doing housework or wasting time on the internet in the few moments of peace you may find.

8. Frozen chicken nuggets (for the toddler).

9. Chocolate (for you).

10. When the husband comes home, greet him with a kiss, let him change his clothes, then hand him both the children while you hide out in the bathroom for an hour. There you can take your first shower of the day, read a magazine or novel in the tub, cry and scream into a towel, or catch up on your sleep.

Good luck, and may the force be with you.

Things I'm Wondering

2010-02-05T08:34:00.003-07:00

Why are people inconsiderate, inflexible, and unprofessional? Don't they want my money?

When battling my bossy almost-three-year-old, why do I sometimes have difficulty remembering that I am the grownup and act accordingly?

When I know it's good for me, why don't I do it?

Today I Am Grateful

2010-01-27T14:16:00.004-07:00

for

antibiotics
naptime
leftovers
pillow-top mattresses
hot water
soap
Baby Signing Time
mini miracles/immediate answers to prayers
my home
my husband's income

What are you thankful for today?

Say Uncle!

2010-01-16T15:35:00.009-07:00

So I have bronchitis due to a bacterial infection.

It's been one of the worst weeks of my life.

When my best friend died was worse.

The first week postpartum after each of my kids was born (and I had cracked/bleeding nipples and a torn perineum) perhaps ties.

A week ago it was just a sore throat, funky voice, and lots of coughing. But the fun had only begun.

Then I got a fever. I was racked with chills. I could not get warm. Shivering uncontrollably in a hot bath. Then came the sweats. I could feel the heat emanating off my face and neck. Sometimes I would have the chills and the sweats at the same time. How is that even possible?

Then came the body aches.

The coughing intensified, which led to a headache. This headache would increase in intensity every time I coughed so that it felt like I had an ice pick jammed through my skull. That's been fun.

Next appeared a migrating rash on my legs. Incessant itching. Now we're just adding insult to injury. Speaking of insult to injury, the bottom of my tongue is bloody and sore from banging on my uneven bottom teeth every time I cough, and I think I have a cavity. I've got a toothache. I know it's not related, but I don't think I should have to suffer anything additional.

Then the hacking began. Not just coughing, but gagging on large amounts of mucus. I'm constantly spitting it out, but I can never get enough up to feel comfortable.

The mucus just won't come up to my satisfaction, no matter how many fluids I drink and how much I cough. As a result, whenever I lie down the mucus shifts around in my throat, blocking off my trachea, so I jerk awake choking.

So I didn't sleep the last two nights. At all. (A silver lining: now I can better have empathy for my suffering mother who lives with really bad apnea.)

I'm a freaking zombie.

Oh, so dramatic, Maren. Come on. People get sick all the time. Buck up.

Normally, I would think so too. But now I'm a mother of a toddler and an infant. Today when I went to the doctor and he asked if I was getting plenty of rest, I just laughed. No Doc, I'm not.

All day I have to care for two very small kids who have lots of needs. This results in no resting, which results in my sickness getting worse. Luckily my family hasn't gotten sick (yet). My daughter is undressed, unwashed, totally disheveled and gross. My baby is wearing the same thing he has worn for many days. The house is a complete and utter disaster zone. It makes me want to vomit, it's so bad.

I wish I had a wife. She could take care me when I get sick and "go to work" for me too. If Brent was this sick, he wouldn't go to work. Plus he'd have me home all day to entertain kids and bring him food. I get sick, and I just have to wait the hours out until he can come home and give me a reprieve.

I have needed backup so badly this week. I'm not usually one to cry uncle, but

UNCLE!!!

The funny thing is I have lots of friends and family around to support me that could normally give me help. I haven't asked for any because I don't want to run the risk of spreading this to anyone else. I feel like I can't ask anyone to put their health at risk just to let me rest a little.

After this long and miserable week, today is Saturday. Finally. I took myself to the doctor and he asked me if my husband was home for the weekend. When I answered affirmatively he said "Good. It is my prescription that you do nothing but rest and breastfeed. Make your husband do everything else."

Thankfully I have the kind of husband that will.

So I have 48 hours to rest and heal. Praise to God above.

Now that I'm resting and finally feeling some peace for the first time in many days, I'm craving the company of my family. All my brothers and sisters (except one) and their kids and spouses are having dinner at my parents' house. We do this every Saturday.

Saturday Night Dinners at the Homestead are one of the best things in my life. It makes me so happy to be there, surrounded by all the people in the world that I love best. I look forward to it every week.

I need the balm of sisterhood to soothe my cracked and raw soul tonight. I need the delicious dinner that couldn't be improved upon because nobody and I mean NO BODY - not even your mother - can cook like my mother (except for maybe Ina Garten). I need that hug from my Pa that tells me I'm still his girlie, even though I'm a mama now.

But I can't go. I'm in exile. Don't want to expose my dear ones unnecessarily. So I am sad.

Now I know how Emma (the one who isn't here) must feel on Saturday nights.

We miss you, Emma.

Speaking of crying uncle, for your viewing pleasure and because I could really use a laugh, I give you one of the best scenes of of one of the best movies ever made. When Tim Tebow cries and squeals as Scut Farkus pulls back his arm, just imagine me whimpering there. :)

I Was Unaware . . .

2010-01-14T09:41:00.006-07:00

that I said certain phrases with regularity, until I heard them come out of my toddler.

Some examples:

Holy crap.
Does that sound like a plan?
Okay, Love.
No, that's not one of the options.
You okay, honey?
I gotcha.

Now that she's copying me so much, I'm going to have to start checking my phraseology. So far number 1 is as bad as it gets. I have yet heard her say "suck", which I say all the time. And I just really don't want to hear that word coming out of a two-year-old.

P.S. As I write my infant is lying on the floor playing. I just looked over and saw that he has rolled far enough to grab one of my Crocs and is sucking on it. Gross! Man, I'm going to have to start cleaning up my floors.

Tender Mercies

2010-01-13T12:04:00.005-07:00

I am grateful . . .

that the bludgeoning sensation in my skull only lasts as long as the coughing does.
that the sweats and chills are subdued somewhat during the daytime
for Baby Signing Time dvds and for PBS kids for entertaining my children so I can supervise them with minimal effort and feel like at least they're learning something while I rot their brains out.
for a husband who will come home, feed the toddler, clean the kitchen, and bounce the baby while I lay down.
for a baby who delightfully decides to be content today.
for a toddler throwing fewer tantrums and being more helpful than usual today.
that an entire week of this nasty flu is behind me, so that I am closer to the end than the beginning of my suffering. Supposedly.
that I slept the better part of 13 hours last night.
for frozen dinners.
For the capacity to have multiple windows open at once so Jenny can watch home videos and I can blog simultaneously.

While you may think my tone is sarcastic, let me clarify (since the written word can be confusing on tone sometimes.) I am absolutely sincere. When feeling like you want to die, you count your blessings where you can. I am truly grateful my suffering is not worse. It could be, so easily.

My Pride and Joy

2010-01-13T11:51:00.003-07:00

So I just have to gloat a minute about how brilliant my daughter is and share her latest significant milestone.

For Christmas Jenny wanted an easel. Granny obliged.

Jenny has LOVED it. Today as soon as James went down for his nap Jenny rushed up to me (knowing that his naptime is the only time she gets to use her easel) and demanded "I want do paint my art."

"What color do you want."

"Red. No, yellow."

"Okay, yellow." I left to get the yellow paint.

"No, BLUE!!!!!" Jenny screamed in typical fashion, thus completing her usual waffling whenever faced with a decision.

I set her up.

She made a couple typical paintings of nothing but big globs of paint smeared around in an unrecognizable abstract.

She requested a fresh canvas.

Next time I looked up it was because she had pronounced "I made a smiley face!"

Surely not I thought, but wanted to see what in her mind was a smiley face. I saw this.

Well, not quite that. I just saw the head, the eyes, and the mouth. She hadn't completed her masterpiece yet.

Then she said "And a nose."

She painted a nose.

I cheered and high-fived and hugged.

She wiggled out of my hug protesting "AND LEGS!"

She proceeded to paint legs. One and two.

Let's take a closer look.

I'm keeping it forever.

James - 6 Months

2010-01-11T16:13:00.007-07:00

My baby is six months old. How the time flies!

Here is a list of his accomplishments, habits, and tastes.

He is an accomplished roller (just back to front. He can't get back yet.)
He is an accomplished grasper. I must always have a toy handy and try to keep them out of Jenny's ever snatching hands.
He loves milkies.
He loves his swing.
He loves to lie on his back and wiggle around, trying to reach whatever is lying nearby.
He likes to use his toys as a hammer. He frequently hits himself on the head.
He loves his big sister. He will watch her endlessly.
He prefers his lion rattle to his elephant rattle.
He makes gutteral moans when he's tired.
His smiles continue to have the power to melt the hardest man's heart.

Thanks to Shelley for the beautiful photos of my boy.

What's Inside

2010-01-11T16:10:00.004-07:00

Jenny saw this in a toy catalog.

I tried to explain what it was, saying something like "if you could take off your skin and look inside your body, you would see that stuff."

Then she said "And I take off my body and there's candy in my body."

Yes, Jenny. Most certainly there is candy in your body. Usually is.

I Want a Room

2010-01-07T13:03:00.002-07:00

I want a room that is all my own.

I place I can read, write, dream, think, be.

My husband has his man-cave, a place for his poker tables and chip collection. It's a room I rarely enter. It is the one room in the entire house that I haven't touched in any way (well, that and his bathroom. If you'd seen his bathroom you'd understand why I've avoided that one too).

It is entirely his. There he can revel in his manness. There he can indulge in all the hobbies and activities that I don't share with him. It is in that room that he plays games, solves puzzles, rearranges his collection, polishes the fingerprints off his plaques. It is there he goes when he wants privacy to wrap Christmas presents, build models, or put something he doesn't want meddled with.

I am welcome there. I can visit him in his den if I wish. Occasionally I venture in and ask about this chip or that. He goes into great detail, giving me a much more in-depth answer than I can comprehend or appreciate. And while I am welcome there, the space remains his.

I want that.

It is true that I have in one way or another, taken over the rest of the house. I choose the paint colors and the curtains. I move the furniture the way I want it. However, in doing so, I always consider his tastes. I decorate in a way that will suit us both, not just me. If I was making decisions only for myself then I would choose differently.

I paint. I hang things. I plan renovations. He says nothing. He lets me do what I want. And if that is the case, isn't the whole house mine, and the Salon Privee his?

I don't think so.

It's in how a room is used.

Our bedroom may have green walls and furniture that I picked out, but it has his mess as well as mine. Not to mention Jenny's clothing strewn across the floor, toys under my bed, and a kitty contaminating my sheets.

The office holds my piano and our desk. I painted a shimmering topcoat on the walls to make it give the illusion that it's glowing. But the desk is cluttered, there is an obstacle course on the floor between the chair and the door, and despite my best efforts I can't keep the closet doors closed.

The bathroom often acts as my refuge. In there I can be alone. I put the entertainment and safe keeping of our children in my husband's capable hands in the hour after dinner and before bedtime. I shut the door, light a candle, and slip into the tub. But the tub doesn't fit my back and the tile and floor is old and ugly. Plus I have to clean toddler grime out of the tub every time I want to use it.

The nursery probably comes closest to being mine. Brent has a couple of things on a high shelf in the closet, but other than that it is entirely my domain. Except everything in there serves the baby. Except the chair. The chair is mine.

So I have chair. A place I read and write and think. But I can only use it when the baby isn't sleeping. And if the baby isn't sleeping, chances are, I can't really have the time to myself to enjoy the chair anyway.

Someday I'll have a room.

In my room I will have a piano. A harp. A little antique desk that will hold my laptop, my stationary, and nothing else. I'll have an old bookcase full of my beat-up paperbacks. My books look so shabby next to Brent's leather bound books, that they need their own space. I don't want them shoved inaccessibly in a box. I want them out. I want their loved and dog-eared pages to be close at hand.

I'll decorate with florals and toile. Or maybe in shades of white. I'll have a large window that will face a garden. I'll have a comfortable arm chair and lots of lamps. The kitty will never be admitted. The children's toys will never encroach. I will be able to shut the door when I need solitude, or open the door when I feel like welcoming my daughter's happy face and energetic play. I will keep flowers on an occasional table. There will be no phone. There will be no television. I'll have a brightly colored rug and a plant with dark, waxy leaves in a terracotta pot that I'll paint with polka dots.

A luxury, you say? Absolutely. In my large house I plan on having many children. Space always seems at a premium, despite how much square footage a family has. Maybe I won't get my room for many years, when my yet unborn children are grown and Brent and I become empty-nesters.

It's just as well.

Until I have the luxury of having time to myself, I suppose there isn't much point in having a room to myself. When that day comes I'll have my pick of rooms. Will I want it as much then? When the whole house is empty, will I even need my own space? I'll have the time to enjoy it, but will I spend that time longing the rooms to be filled to overflowing once more, mourning the disappearance of my babies?

A Sampling of the Best of 2009

2010-01-06T14:14:00.004-07:00

10. My daughter, the Tiny One, learned to walk. She was about 20 months old before she took her first tentative steps. She was so tiny that she only looked about a year old. Except she could talk in complete sentences and recite the alphabet. She takes after her mother for whom cognitive development supersedes physical development.

9. We bought a membership to the zoo. Jenny LOVES the reptile house. It may be nasty smelling and old and not even remotely attractive, but it houses snakes and turtles and a crocodile. She can't get enough.

8. Watching Brent and Jenny walk home from church together, hand in hand. The tenderness of watching the two people I love best have a quiet moment together makes my heart swell and reminds me that life is good. So, so good.

7. Brent got a new job. A great, albeit boring, job. A well-paying job that is as secure as one can expect in the banking industry in the current economy. He likes his boss. He likes his coworkers. He likes the company. We have income. He is happy. I am happy.

6. A family outing to Silver Lake. We saw squirrels. We saw fish. Jenny had a shoulder ride. She didn't fall in the water. There is something about being in the mountains that feels more like home than any other place. It is comforting and reminds me of teenage summers spent at camp. Plus the fresh, crisp air filling my lungs and invigorating my mind just makes me glad to be alive.

5. I felt for the first time the growing life form within my belly flutter his legs.

"I'm growing fast in here Mama" he seemed to say. "Thanks for providing such a warm, cozy, squishy place for me to play in."

If only you could know how much I love you, Baby.

4. Brent walked in the house with flowers in his arms. He told me that while he was shopping he got to wondering when the last time he brought his wife flowers was. He couldn't remember. He said that was just sad. So he bought me flowers. Just because he hadn't in a while.

3. A walk in the gardens at Thanksgiving Point. It was my anniversary with Handsome, and I had packed a delectable picnic. We drank bubbly, ate broccoli/tomato/almond salad and croissants, savored dark chocolate truffles. We let Tiny One run excitedly from tree to flower to stream to bridge. I pushed the stroller. Handsome rubbed my shoulders and kissed me tenderly.

2. Watching Jenny run into the living room on Christmas morning and have her mind blown away by the fantastic art easel set up. Wait! A bike! A BIKE! Must go to bike first!

Wait.

Can't.

Easel.

Bike.

Easel.

Bike.

Indecision splayed across her lit up face as she was torn between two gifts so perfect, so delightful, that her body was filled with delirious joy. Ah, to see her excitement overload brought back to me the brand of magic that Christmas held for me twenty-five years ago.

1. My beautiful boy

flesh of my flesh

apple of my eye

sweetest darling

captain of the babies

was born.

He came to me after a quick six hours of labor in a peaceful and dimly lit birth center in Holladay. Due to the sacredness of the event, I only allowed my husband, my midwife, and my nurse to share the experience with me. It was intense. It was hard. It was glorious. And at the end of the run-away train ride, I held perfection in my arms. Those first few moments of James's life I will cherish always.

New Beginnings

2010-01-02T13:24:00.007-07:00

Well, it's that time of year again. The decorations are down (supposedly; I'm actually still working on that one) and the skies are grey. Our waistlines are bigger after all that holiday food. Our motivation is high.

What will I accomplish this year?

This year I will finally get thin.

This year I will finally get organized.

This year I will finally make a habit of . . . .

It seems to me that I usually set goals that have been my goals for some time. The things I want to work on are usually accomplishments that have eluded me for years. This year I'm gonna do it.

Sound familiar?

I don't think the new year is a time for new beginnings. It is a time for inventory and continuing the journey. I'll pick myself up where I am and take a couple steps forward. I'll likely take a few steps back as well, but that's okay by me. As long as by the end of the year, when I total all my steps, I've taken more forward than back. As long as the general direction I travel is forward, I'm happy. I suppose I'll move in a rather zig-zag pattern, but that's still forward, isn't it?

I have been working on my 101 in 1001 list. I'm not setting any New Year's Resolutions, since I've already got plenty of things planned. My 101 list progress follows.

Accomplished: 17

Currently working on: 17

Hired out: 3

Not going to happen: 1

Yet to embark upon: 63

And I've got about 2 years and 2 months left to work on them. Slow and steady wins the race, right? (The operative word being STEADY.)

As I examine myself and my motivation (or lack thereof, as is often the case) I can easily get discouraged or distracted. I think it's helpful to remember that any worthwhile goal is going to take work. And work, as we know, is an eternal principle.

President David O. Mckay said "Let us realize that the privilege to work is a gift, that the power to work is a blessing, that the love of work is success."

I love that.

Maybe that should be my motto for the year: The love of work is success.

I want to love my work more. If I think of my work as a blessing to my family and a labor of love, then hopefully I'll be more motivated, accomplish more, and complain less. If I love my work then I'll be successful in it.

I'll be happier too. And who couldn't do with an added measure of happiness?

It's a New Year

2010-01-01T11:54:00.003-07:00

And outside my front door it looks like this:

Fun with Food Allergies

2009-12-29T18:17:00.004-07:00

So Jenny's wheat allergy is negligible. I've considered it so for a while anyway, so that's not real news.

Jenny's egg allergy is somewhat improved. We can try giving her eggs and see if she tolerates it. Just need to keep the epi-pen handy in case she can't.

Peanut allergy is worse. No definitive news yet, but she'll likely have this allergy for the rest of her life.

No tree nut allergies. Yea! She can have almond butter and almond milk now. And I don't have to keep her away from the pistachios either.

Her milk allergy is also worse. However, she may tolerate milk cooked into things and cooked cheese. We'll only know if we try it. A little scary, but potentially worth while.

Good times.

Jenny Needs

2009-12-26T21:03:00.001-07:00

"Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?"

"Yes, Jenny?"

"I need . . . I need . . . I need . . . I need . . . I need . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I need caaaake."

A Thank You Note

2009-12-26T12:31:00.005-07:00

Dear Santa,

Thank you for visiting our home recently.

James would like to thank you for the rattle and teething ring. He slept through Christmas morning, but Jenny was more than happy to assist opening his gifts. Now that he has discovered he has hands, he is always looking for something to hold. Those little gifts fit perfectly in his tiny fingers and they taste good too.

Jenny would like to thank you for the beautiful butterfly bicycle and Dora the Explorer helmet. She is still learning how to push forward with her feet, rather than back, thus activating the braking system. She can get on and off the bike by herself, and loves to ride it up and down the hallway. Come Spring she will be a pro and will love the extra space she'll get riding it outside.

Brent would like to thank you for the backgammon attache. It suits him perfectly and he has spent hours stroking its fine leather and admiring the inlaid pips. The custom dice holder is a nice touch, and the dice cups are just right. He is glad he now has a board worthy of his brass doubling cube, which he has put in a satin pouch and put with the board. He hopes that you won't be offended that he has replaced the doubling cube you gave him. He has also traded out the balanced dice you gave him with some of his own that are personalized with his initials. He chose dice that coordinate with the colour of the pips. The whole thing looks custom done and is of such high quality that he is so excited! Now he really does need to participate in the backgammon tournament in Vegas next year.

I would like to thank you for my new MacBook. (Thank you, thank you!) It was very unexpected, as I understand your budget doesn't usually allow for such extravagant gifts. It was fun to get such a surprise. Perhaps I will use it to write the next best-selling teen pulp fiction novel and we can make it a tax write off.

We had a wonderful Christmas. We spent time with loving family, and that is always the best part. That and the food. The food was really good.

Hope your Christmas was just as delightful and filled with joy.

Love,

Maren

The Tree

2009-12-17T10:12:00.010-07:00

This is our tree.

This is Big Ben

that Jenny hung on our tree.

This is the snowman

that is next to Big Ben

that Jenny hung on our tree.

Here is Pinocchio

who swings next to the snowman

that is next to Big Ben

that Jenny hung on our tree.

Here are some balls

that hang near Pinocchio

who swings next to the snowman

that is next to Big Ben

that Jenny hung on our tree.

If you couldn't tell, Jenny is a fan of the "cluster method" when it comes to decorating.

More Christmas Fun

2009-12-15T11:49:00.002-07:00

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Monkey See Monkey Do

2009-12-14T14:12:00.002-07:00

Jenny watches me teach piano lessons and has observed me writing notes in my students' books. Jenny copies this behavior, and I have to be careful that I don't leave any music I care about on the piano. Every time she sits at the piano she requests a writing implement.

Today she handed me one of Brent's laminated score cards that she had scribbled all over in wet-erase marker. She said "Look, Mommy, I made a lesson!"

Hallelujah!

2009-12-09T08:40:00.004-07:00

Someday I hope to see this number done at my Ward Christmas Party.

Who says that being worshipful always has to be solemn?

You're welcome.

Thank you Annie, for this delightful addition to my day.

Bargaining

2009-12-06T09:35:00.002-07:00

Jenny has decided that having a time-out is an acceptable price to pay for certain misbehaviors.

She'll offer to have a time-out in exchange for permission to be naughty.

Today's offer was this:

"Please can I hit the kitty and have a time out?"

I thought I'd teach her about the difference between asking permission and asking forgiveness, but I don't want her in on that little secret quite yet.

Things She Says

2009-12-04T20:16:00.002-07:00

"I want to eat pretzels and sit on the couch with Mommy and watch Gilmore Girls." (Said in a desperate attempt to put off bedtime.)

"Is [the moon] shining just for me?" (Walking to the car after the Festival of Trees.)

"I want to be a little bit not soft." (She said this one when admonished for being too rough with the baby.)

My House is Haunted

2009-12-04T14:31:00.003-07:00

That's right.

I have a poltergeist.

I might think that the poltergeist is responsible for opening drawers and cupboards, but I'm pretty sure that's just my husband leaving them open.

Right now my poltergeist is playing with Jenny's Leapfrog learning table.

The table will be quiet for days. Weeks. Sometimes months. Then suddenly and inexplicably it will start to sing. Right now it's singing the alphabet song. Over and over.

Maybe my poltergeist is a toddler.

My toddler, however, is sleeping sweetly.

Ah, I love nap time.

Favourite Books of the Year

2009-12-03T08:48:00.010-07:00

I have read 98 books so far this year. Granted, most of them were YA, so they go really fast. For those of you who like to read (especially YA) here is a quick list of my favourites of the year.

The list is in the descending order that I read them, and in no way indicates a ranking or preference. Nor do I group them by genre as I probably should. Here you go:

Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

A post-apocalyptic setting wherein Katniss, a teenage girl, competes in a fight-to-the-death televised competition in order to save her little sister's life. The main character's actions during the competition spark feelings of revolution in the oppressed people of the nation. A great springboard for discussion on reality television, government, rebellion, family, and the confusion of teenage love.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

Sequel to Hunger Games as the rebellion spreads and Katniss unwittingly becomes the poster child for revolution.

Inheritance by Christopher Paolini (Actually a series of Eragon, Eldest, and Brisingr)

Teenage boy meets baby dragon and together they experience adventure and tragedy as they are thrown into war. Eragon must take up the mantle of the Dragon Riders and battle to save Alagaesia from tyranny.

Forest Born by Shannon Hale (4th of her Bayern books)

Rin has lived in the Forest all her life with her large extended family. She has buried her frighteningly powerful abilities as she's grown up as the quiet and steady cook, maid, and nanny for her family. She leaves her family to go to the city with her brother, Razo (of the previous Bayern books), and gets swept up in an adventure wherein her dormant abilities come bursting forth. She's frightened by what she can do, fearing the her raw power will overcome and destroy her. It's a story about self-discovery, self-mastery, and self-confidence. A wonderful book for a young, insecure teenage girl.

The Time Traveler's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger

The first time Clare meets Henry she is five years old and he's middle aged. The first time Henry meets Clare he is his twenties, and so is she. The convoluted story of their relationship and marriage as they try to live normal lives despite the genetic anomaly that results in his regularly disappearing from the present to travel into the past or future, an ability over which he has no control.

The Invisible Wall by Harry Bernstein

Autobiographical story of growing up on a street during WWI where the inhabitants of one side of the street were Jewish and the other Christian, and the events that transpired, breaking the barrier between the two.

The Chosen One by Carol Lynch Williams

The story of a young teenager, raised in a polygamist community, who is "chosen" to marry one of the apostles of her community. This apostle happens to be her middle-aged uncle. She fights the calling and as a result puts her whole family in very real danger from the leaders of her people. She battles between saving herself and saving her family from unspeakable horrors. A well-researched, well-written, and frightening book. Not for the sensitive heart.

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

Autobiographical story of fighting on the front lines in the German army during WWI. It does a wonderful job of expressing the psychological damage that soldiers suffer, and how if affects them for the rest of their lives.

No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency by Alexander McCall Smith

Precious Ramotswe is the first female detective in Botswana. She is "traditionally built" and adheres to traditional thought and morality. A gentle mystery with wonderful characters. The first in a delightful series.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

Santiago, a shepherd boy, travels far to follow the advice of a prophet in the hopes of finding an unimaginable treasure. A story of listening to your heart, overcoming the challenges that face you, and following your dreams.

About Alice by Calvin Trillin

Columnist Calvin Trilling writes about his wife, who left him to cancer. She wasn't perfect, but she was beautiful and smart and sassy, and he loved her. Tender and sweet.

Fablehaven by Brandon Mull

Kendra and her brother Seth go to spend the summer at the estate where their grandparents are caretakers. While there they follow a series of clues to discover the truth about the mysterious estate: that it is in fact a sanctuary for mythological creatures that are in actuality not mythological after all. They unleash an evil force and fight to save the sanctuary and protect the world from the creatures it holds. So fun. So imaginative.

The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman

Newberry winner and an absolute delight. Gaiman takes his inspiration from Kipling's The Jungle Book, telling the story of a boy whose family is killed when he is an infant. Instead of being raised in the jungle by animals, the boy is raised in a graveyard by ghosts. He nears manhood and needs to reenter the mortal world and discover the secrets behind his family's murder.

The Thief by Megan Whalen Turner

A thief is released from prison in order to help the king steal a precious treasure from a neighboring country. Full of plot-twists and surprises. An extremely enjoyable and fun read. The first in a delightful series.

Ina May's Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin

A must-read for any woman desiring a natural birth. Despite Ina May's rather far-out hippie lifestyle, her writing is still very accessible. Ina May remains an incredible resource and advocate for natural birth. She is a true pioneer in the return of midwifery. She convincingly teaches the reader that childbirth is a healthy and natural process, not one to be feared, but to be embraced. She describes labor not as painful, but as the most intense sensation that requires ALL of your attention. That perspective was invaluable to me and was in large measure responsible for the incredible birth experience I had with my son. If you're interested in natural birth, you can read my birth story here.

Peter and the Starcatchers by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

Ever wonder exactly why and how Hook lost his hand to the crocodile? Ever wonder what made Peter and Hook such mortal enemies and how they met in the first place? Read this book to find out. The first in a series.

Family Man by Calvin Trillin

Trillin writes about family life, fatherhood, and the delight of his children. An honest, sweet, and tender glimpse of the most important part of his life.

The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks by E. Lockhart

Private school shenanigans. Frankie is frustrated that her boyfriend won't share with her the truth about his membership in the most exclusive secret society on campus. She succeeds in uncovering their secrets, duping the entire group, and anonymously taking charge of their activities. What happens when a girl controls the most popular boys in school? What happens when she is discovered?

The Penderwicks: a Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy by Jeanne Birdsall

The title says it all. A simple story about the innocent adventures of children.

Talk to the Hand: the Utter Bloody Rudeness of the World Today, or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door by Lynne Truss

I felt understood and somewhat vindicated just by reading this book. Glad I'm not the only one who feels that etiquette and manners are important. Laugh out loud funny.

My Life and Hard Times by James Thurber

A brief look at his childhood in Ohio. Humorous and full of wit, Thurber writes about the eccentricities of his family and the foibles of human nature. Would that more writers could accomplish what Thurber does in such brief sketches.

What She's Been Up To Lately

2009-12-02T10:27:00.007-07:00

Jenny is kicked in the face by a baby's foot.

Jenny begs to watch herself in the camera.

Jenny wakes up with a rat's nest.

Jenny models the "crazy eyes" she stole from Shelley's house.

Jenny wants to be a baby too.

Jenny sings and dances and shows off her "crown" and "dress".

Goodbye Again

2009-12-02T09:58:00.004-07:00

Recently my sister Emma and her family moved to Arizona. She came back for Thanksgiving and stayed at my house for three weeks. I loved having her here.

Here is a video of her boy and my boy.

She's back in Arizona now. I miss her already.

Help!!

2009-11-30T13:14:00.003-07:00

I don't take NEAR the amount of photos that a lot of people do, and I am already overwhelmed with the organization needed to keep things in order.

How do you organize your digital photos? I want to use dates, but without a descriptive title how will I ever find what I'm looking for?

What's your method? Any tips?

More of Jenny

2009-11-15T19:11:00.004-07:00

[Jenny pushes several buttons on the phone then holds it to her ear]

Hello? Hello? Is Jenny there? Hi! Um. . . is anybody in there?

a few hours later . . .

[Jenny throws herself upon the floor]

No, I NOT contrary!!

Laughter

2009-11-12T11:00:00.001-07:00

Favourite Uncle

2009-11-06T17:44:00.003-07:00

Jenny: I want more fruit snacks

Mommy: No. You've already have fruit snacks. You can have more after you eat dinner.

Jenny: Waaaaaaaaaaaa! *sniffle sniffle* I want Roane come over and help me cry better.

James Nearly Rolls, Jenny Sings

2009-11-05T14:52:00.002-07:00

Peek-a-Boo

2009-11-04T19:31:00.003-07:00

Jenny grabs my silk curtains with her grubby hands and twists them all around her.

We play peek-a-boo for a minute because I know it's completely futile asking her to not touch them.

After a minute I get sick of the game and fail to respond. Then I hear her plaintive little voice say (muffled within the fabric) "Where am me? Where am me, Mommy?"

The Sweetest Thing

2009-11-02T09:26:00.002-07:00

Yesterday was a hard day at Church. Fussy baby and resistant primary children. My daughter threw a tantrum at the end of church because she didn't want to go home. Husband was dawdling talking to someone and I decided to leave without him. My feet hurt because none of my shoes fit post pregnancy. I was pushing the stroller with a crying baby in it, trying to get the toddler to walk instead of sit down in the middle of the street and play with rocks.

I finally motivated her into moving by chasing her down the sidewalk. Once we got close to our house I passed her and headed down the driveway. Then she had her final meltdown.

Sitting in the dirt, screaming "NO!! You chase ME mommy!" She was not happy with my passing her.

James was still crying in the stroller and I was in a hurry to get inside and nurse him. I couldn't leave Jenny out in the street unattended, and I was trying to coax her inside.

I offered letting her push her shopping cart. I offered candy. I offered bath time. Nothing worked.

Suddenly James stopped crying. I felt my stress level instantly drop a notch.

At the same time I saw Brent striding towards us at the end of the street. He looked so handsome and tall walking toward me carrying his leather bag and wearing his dark suit. I have one sexy husband!

I pointed him out to Jenny and encouraged her to go run to him. It took her a minute to figure out where I was pointing and to see him. When she saw him she instantly stopped whining, stood up, and ran to him.

In that moment I felt such joy. Yes I had been having a hard day. However, seeing my adorable child totter down the street with her arms out happily shrieking "Daddy!" and giggling as she ran, and watching the love of my life walk briskly toward her and call out her name, filled my heart to the brim.

I love these people. They are my life.

It was the sweetest, most perfect moment, watching those two run to each other.

I am confident my life will be filled with many more such wonderful moments, but how can such joy be surpassed?

This is what it's all about.

Portrait of Jenny

2009-10-28T15:05:00.003-06:00

My dear friend Jenn is a professional artist and she has done the most beautiful portrait of her son. It inspired me to ask her to do one of Jenny. She came over and took some pictures of Jenny to gather inspiration for the portrait. She did a couple sketches for me to help me decide what I'd like.

I'd like all of you to weigh in on this for me. You all know me and know Jenny. What do you think would be best? Please vote in the poll in the sidebar.

Option #1: Mother and Daughter. I love the way this captures the relationship, and think it would make a beautiful painting. However, I do already have some photographs of me like this with her, though admittedly most of them are when she was an infant and not a toddler. It would show more detail of her face than the next one.

Option #2: Jenny and Bear. I think this one shows her personality a little more, and I love her posture and the way she drags that bear around. This one would be more of her profile, which I have to admit I love.

What do you think?

It is a Truth Universally Acknowledged That . . .

2009-10-28T15:02:00.000-06:00

Autumn Colours

2009-10-28T11:10:00.003-06:00

The vibrancy and crispness of the outdoors during Autumn always thrills me. Who doesn't love it? And crunching leaves beneath my feet? Delightful!

I think it's somehow God's gift to us to make up for the dreariness that is soon to follow. We know that soon everything will be brown, grey, cold, and nasty. For months. And then a couple more months.

Could God possibly be saying "I know you all suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder. So sorry about that, but natural laws must be obeyed and whatnot. Perhaps one last bash before the grey settles over your life, hmm?"

Yesterday it snowed. The decline and fall of beauty has begun. I wished to hold on to the colour just a little while longer, but alas, natural laws must be obeyed. The earth must rotate. The seasons must change. The gloom is inevitable.

Memories of Fall colours and hopes of Spring life serve to sustain me during the winter. True, I have the holidays to look forward to, but those last only through the first couple months of winter. It's January - March that make you want to abandon your life and responsibilities and run away to Belize.

Anyone want to come along? Let's leave January 2nd.

The Apple and the Tree Part II

2009-10-28T09:15:00.004-06:00

I have heard reports from my mother that as a child I screamed in my sleep. I only recall two specific epithets being described to me.

Get down, Jip! (Jip was our beloved yet counter-jumping dog who loved to steal forbidden food.)

and

I hate you! (With the occasional variation of I hate you, Davy!)

Apparently tantrums weren't enough of a release, and so I had to purge myself during unconscious hours too.

Jenny does the same.

Usually her exclamations are something like No! NO! NOOOO! or I WANT it! or STOP IT!

She wakes me up usually twice a night, sometimes more, with her screaming. I used to go in her room to see what the problem was. Then I realized she was asleep. Now I try to ignore it. But it's hard. It wrenches a mother's heart.

My poor overemotional girl. Just like a true toddler.

Just like a true girl.

A Fun Project

2009-10-27T12:38:00.004-06:00

Granny invited us over to her house a few weeks ago. Brent was out of town and I was trolling for something to do.

Grandpa was also out of town, and so JaeReg and her kiddos were babysitting Granny. As the evening's activity, Granny had baked and frosted cookies to paint.

Here are some of my and Jenny's creations.

Jenny never ate a whole cookie. She enjoyed gouging the frosting and nibbling the edges, though.

Thanks again, Granny, for the fun night!

The Apple and the Tree

2009-10-26T11:18:00.004-06:00

I believe all mothers have feelings of inadequacy. We wonder if we're doing everything the best way we can for our kids. We are riddled with doubt and fear. Here are a few questions I've been asking myself lately:

Am I handling my child's tantrums appropriately?

How best should I discipline my child?

What can I do to get my child to eat more vegetables?

What can I do to get my child to eat more of anything other than candy?

What can I do to get my child to eat anything at all?

Am I providing enough of a stimulating environment?

How can I give more one-on-one time and still get the dishes done?

How can I suppress the desire to yell "Shut up!" at my kids?

How can I balance my attention-giving so each child has his/her needs met?

Am I permanently scarring my child by the way I'm (fill in the blank)?

Oi.

What children don't realize is that parents don't have all the answers. We are not the sum of all wisdom. We're not sure how to handle most situations. We just do the best we can.

When I was a kid I thought that my parents' word was law. I thought they knew what they were doing, and when it didn't happen to suit me (for instance, when my screaming reached such a pitch that I was ordered to go to my room) I felt that they were making me suffer on purpose. This belief urged me to scream louder to punish my mother for punishing me.

My mother says that I was a sweet and happy baby. I never made an unhappy sound. Then she says when I turned two I started screaming and never stopped.

I now know how she feels. I have a two year old who has started screaming.

As a child I strongly identified with Beverly Cleary's character Ramona Quimby. Ramona was the little sister. Ramona suffered many injustices in the world, at least in her eyes. Ramona was always making great big noisy fusses. I learned from her how to make my noisy fusses great and big. She taught me, for instance, that when exiled to one's bedroom, the tantrum need not end. In fact, it must escalate in order to serve its purpose. However, a tantrum taking place in a closed room is much more easily ignored by the supervising adult. So the effort channeled into the tantrum must increase.

Ramona's greatest teaching moment for me in this regard is when she put on her Sunday shoes (because they had that hard heel) and laid on her bed sideways so that she could kick the wall. The heel not only make a louder sound against the wall than if she kicked it with tennis shoes or stockinged feet, but they also made rather satisfying black scuff marks as well.

I know I followed Ramona's example on more than one occasion. I don't know if it served it's purpose in making my mother suffer as I was suffering, but now that I'm a mother suffering at the hand of my toddler, I assume it did. Mom never mentioned the wall-kicking though. She probably didn't want to draw attention to it. That gave me permission to keep doing it. And I did. Until my mother kept ignoring it so long that it felt futile. What was the point of destruction if it didn't get me anywhere?

I feel empathy for my daughter. I remember what it was like to be so full of dissatisfaction, frustration, and unmet needs and desires that I was always on emotional overload. It doesn't feel good, and I needed an outlet. My daughter clearly does too.

Jenny screams and whines at the slightest provocation. She never behaves this way in front of extended family. No auntie or grandparent privy to her whining has ever heard what those little lungs can really do.

When Jenny throws a tantrum there is much screaming and mucous flowing. As I remain unmoved by her histrionics, she elevates them. Her screaming becomes strained and forced, to the point that I know she's hurting her throat.

"Good!" She probably thinks. "That'll show mom!"

Ah, poor girl. If only I could explain in toddlerese that these tactics will not prove fruitful. They will only upset her and me both, resulting in neither one of us getting what we want.

Someday I will be the grandparent. She will be the mother with the hysterical toddler. She'll get hers, poor kid.

Positive Reinforcement

2009-10-22T08:24:00.004-06:00

Jenny: I want that.

Brent: No, Jenny, I need to use it.

Jenny: I want it!

Brent: In a minute. Right now I need it.

Jenny: I WANT IT!

Brent: Right now it's Daddy's turn. When I'm done you can have a turn.

Jenny: Aaaahhhh!!!! I . . . WANT . . . IT!!!!

[Brent finishes what he's doing]

Brent: Okay, Jenny, I'm all done. It's your turn now.

Jenny: I drawing

[Jenny draws]

Jenny: I writing

[Jenny writes]

Jenny: Good sharing, Daddy!

Substitution

2009-10-19T14:12:00.001-06:00

I've been reflecting on the things I need to change in my life and things I need to give up.

I need to give up Halloween candy.

I need to give up some of the time I spend online.

I need to give up complaining.

I need to give up the idea that I am the way I am and am incapable of change.

Once I give up those things I need to replace them with positive things.

Eliminating negative things/thoughts/behaviors from our lives isn't good enough. They need to be supplanted. In their place we need to substitute positive things, positive thoughts, and positive behaviors.

If every time I went to grab a piece of Halloween candy I did 50 jumping jacks instead and drank a glass of water, not only would I avoid the extra calories from the candy, but I'd rev up my metabolism to burn a few more than I would have otherwise.

If I gave up some of the time I spend online and spent it instead on reading the scriptures or in personal prayer, I would have an added measure of the Spirit to guide me and sustain me throughout my day, helping me avoid temptation and encouraging me to do good.

If every time I found the need to complain about something I chose to find something to be grateful for instead, I would have a greater measure of happiness in my life.

If I give up the idea that I'm incapable of change and instead truly believe that change is possible then I am facilitating my own change. If I truly believe in the Savior, Jesus Christ, and his redeeming atonement, then I must believe in the power and possibility of change. If we couldn't change, then His sacrifice would have been meaningless. Having faith in Him means having faith in my own ability to change, for it is through His power that I can be changed.

Positive Reinforcement

2009-10-15T09:44:00.003-06:00

Jenny is watching Super Why!, a PBS Kids show that she loves. This show is completely responsible for teaching her the alphabet. It was effective enough that she could identify all 26 letters at 18 months old.

From the television I heard Wonder Red, who has WORD POWER ask "What letter makes the errr sound?"

I responded "R!"

Jenny followed up with "Good job, Mommy!"

Later on I heard Super Why with the POWER TO READ ask "What would help Spider not frighten Miss Muffet away? Bark at, smile at, or yell at?"

I shouted "smile at!"

Super Why said "Let's try smile at."

Jenny said "Good job, Mommy!"

I felt so good. It's a nice feeling to get encouragement and positive reinforcement from someone you love, even if it comes from a two year old.

Sappy Mama

2009-10-15T09:41:00.002-06:00

My son has the sweetest smile I've ever seen. It takes up half his face. It bursts forth like a ray of light and happiness. It makes my heart just melt!

Now I know that sounds totally cliche, but it's true! Whenever he smiles I literally have this sensation in my chest like my innards are turning to jelly. He bowls me over every time. I love that kid.

Yesterday my daughter told me "I love you, Mama." for the first time without prompting. She'll tell me she loves me if I ask her to, but this was of her own volition. :) It was a sweet thing to hear.

YEA!!!

2009-10-09T08:17:00.003-06:00

Brent come homes tonight.

There is light at the end of the tunnel.

It Just Isn't Right

2009-10-06T09:40:00.003-06:00

After Jenny was born I began to notice my first grey hairs. They seemed to grow in patches. One patch was on the top of my head, right where I part it. Another patch was behind my right ear.

After James was born I noticed even more. Now they are lightly sprinkled throughout. I notice them more because I haven't had my hair done for nearly four months, and my roots are a couple of inches long. Yes, when babies are born mothers tend to neglect their previously lustrous and gorgeous hair. (Except for my mom. I believe she got her hair done when my baby sister was only a few days old.)

I can accept my greying hair. It happens. Colour in a bottle is a happy thing, and I am certainly not too proud to use it.

However, it just does not seem right that I have grey hair at the same time I have acne. Middle-age symptoms and adolescent symptoms should not exist simultaneously in the same body.

I'm 30 years old. Shouldn't I be done with zits by now?

Where's the justice?

Makes Me Thankful . . .

2009-09-29T15:51:00.002-06:00

for Loki. Suddenly he doesn't seem quite so annoying.

A Few Personal Letters

2009-09-29T15:26:00.008-06:00

Dear Emma: Thank you for your wit and humour. Thanks for feeling like you can vent to me. I'm glad we're sisters. You are in my thoughts and prayers.

Dear Jenn: Thanks for being my friend. I'm glad we've started walking together (assuming the weather will allow us to go again). I need someone to motivate me to get off my lazy rear end and kick me into gear. I love your creativity and goodness.

Dear Loki: Please stop meowing so loudly. It's really irritating. Why don't you just curl upon my lap and purr?

Dear Jenny: Please stop kicking the wall and just go to sleep.

Dear James: Thank you for sleeping through the night. You are the best baby ever.

Dear Cottonwood Title: Thanks for the money.

Dear Bono: Thank you for much comfort and inspiration over many years.

Dear neighborhood: I'm glad you're safe and full of people I like.

Dear Brent: Please come home and cook dinner. I love you. And you're dead sexy. Especially when you're cooking dinner.

Dear House: Why can't you just learn to clean yourself?

Dear Laundry: ditto

Dear Rocky Mountains: how I love you. I love your fall colours. I'm not sure why I love the colour of decay, but in Autumn it is just gorgeous. Let's get together soon. How about a leisurely walk in your loveliness this weekend?

Dear Mom: I love your cooking. I love your company. I love your house. I love you.

Dear Jess: I wish I was more like you. I know you aren't perfect and have your own struggles, but you inspire me to improve myself. You have a spirit about you that is calming and nurturing. Thank you for being in my life.

Dear NPR: Thank you for keeping me sane and preventing me from slipping so deeply into mommydom that I forget who I am. Also I thank you for giving me something to talk about with other adults other than the most recent developmental milestone achieved by my children.

Dear Blogger: Why do you insist on adding more spaces between paragraphs than I want? I don't know how to fix it because I am html ignorant. Please stop trying to be smarter than me (like Microsoft Word) and just do what I ask without additional formatting that I do not ask for.

Dear Father in Heaven: Thank you for my life. I know I complain a lot, but I am awfully grateful for my endless blessings.

Happy Birthday Jenny

2009-09-29T12:52:00.009-06:00

Not this Jenny:

That Jenny is actually a namesake for this Jenny:

Today is Jennifer Alicia Neddo's 31st birthday. At least, it would be if she hadn't been killed by a drunk driver 14 years ago. (Deseret News coverage of the accident here.)

14 years.

I can't believe it's been that long.

Jenny was my best friend. She was kind, good, loving, creative, and fun. And she had amazing hair. She was like a sister to me, and when I lost her it was like losing half myself. The bulk of my childhood memories are of things I did or imagined with her. She was a good example to me and I believe I was and am a better person than I would have been without her in my life.

We are 13 years old in this picture, taken after coming in from playing in the rain.

There are lots of stories I could tell you about her. Suffice it to say that I loved her. Still do, in fact.

Happy birthday Jen, Jenn, Jenny, Jennie (she liked to rotate her name spelling), also known as Bob.

It's been 14 years since I've seen you, and I still miss you.

More Jenny Conversation

2009-09-28T13:37:00.003-06:00

[We drive away from the Homestead and wave to Grandpa, who is standing in the front yard.]

Jenny: That was a Grandpa. I love him.

Mama: I love him too.

Jenny: I love him too.

Mama: And I love him too.

Jenny: I love him too. I love him too. I love him too.

Mama: Do you love him too?

Jenny: Yes. [pause] I want a treat.

We Miss Brent

2009-09-25T13:06:00.005-06:00

Brent's been out of town again this week. He gets home tonight around 2130-2200, but since that's after Jenny's bedtime I told her he's coming home tomorrow.

This morning when I got her up the very first words out of her mouth were "Daddy go?"

Here was our conversation:

Jenny: Daddy go?

Mama: He's in Connecticut. He'll be home tomorrow.

Jenny: And I can hold him.

Mama: Yes

Jenny: And I can hold Daddy.

Mama: Yes

Jenny: Daddy come home and I can hold DADDY!

We miss our man.

Delightful

2009-09-21T21:50:00.010-06:00

I've been watching Cranford on DVD today. It's a British mini-series with an all-star cast, made in 2007.

It's simple and simply delightful. The acting is wonderful and the writing excellent.

It's about a small English town (that has more than its fair share of single ladies of ascending age) and the goings-on of the townsfolk. Such gentle catastrophes are depicted as to make me smile frequently, occasionally laugh out loud, and even weep once in a while.

It's about people. People who are foolish, selfish, kind, giving, and loving. It's about longing, loving, friendship, and family. It is just wonderful.

Here are two of my favourite lines from one of my favourite characters, a Mrs. Pole (one of the single ladies of ascending age).

"This is no time for sport! There is lace at stake!"

"Men. They're all the same. My father was a man, so I think I understand the sex."

If you like English things and/or tasteful and extremely well written comedy that is simultaneously sweet, check it out. You'll be glad you did. And if you don't like it, then it's because you don't get it and you shouldn't take recommendations from me because clearly we don't have the same taste.

Where'd the Consideration Go?

2009-09-21T15:35:00.002-06:00

Public Rant.

I have these wonderful neighbors across the street. I really like them. I do not, however, like it when they throw big parties because inevitably someone parks in front of our driveway.

We have had to ring the doorbell and request the Offending Party to remove their vehicle on more than one occasion.

My neighbor later apologizes and says something like "Ah, if it ever happens again, just call the cops and have them towed."

I'd love to, but first of all that would take too long, and secondly, despite what my neighbor says, I think that might end badly and I don't want to jeopardize my relationship with them.

So the last time this happened Brent had the Offending Party move their car. Many apologies followed. What was he supposed to say? "Oh, that's all right. Feel free. I don't mind."?

After she moved her car she asked him if she could go back and park there again. He said no, that he was leaving again in a half hour and would be in and out all evening.

She asked "Then where can I park?"

Umm. Gee. Let's think about that now. How about ANYWHERE ON THE STREET THAT ISN'T IN FRONT OF MY DRIVEWAY? So sorry if it mean you'll have to walk an extra 20 yards.

Later that night when we came home the parking lot in front of our house was gone. Apparently the party was over. However, it had left its mark.

Our mailbox was no longer in the erect position it had been a couple of hours before.

Grr.

Jenny Sings (sort of)

2009-09-14T09:25:00.004-06:00

Oi With the Poodles Already

2009-09-10T07:18:00.006-06:00

Tuesday I woke up to my whole body aching like I had worked out the day before. It took me a while to realize that it was the result of holding children all day Monday. Getting out of bed was tough! Then Brent left for Connecticut. It made me cry of course, and the crying gave me a headache.

Then James decided to be more fussy than usual, rather than being his normal happy adorable self. He had his two month visit with the pediatrician, and merely getting out the door with two kids was a huge ordeal. Both were crying. What does a mother do when both kids are crying and you need to go to an appointment? Well, you just let them cry, unfortunately.

Walking from the car to the door was another ordeal. Jenny wanted me to hold her, but I couldn't because I was carrying an infant in a heavy car seat. So she walked, but grudgingly and slowly. Did I mention that the car seat was heavy? And that Jenny was taking her dear sweet time as I was holding said heavy car seat? And that my arms were already sore from the workout they got the day before from holding the children ALL DAY LONG? Sometimes the smallest things can be tough.

Checking in was fine, but as soon as we were in the exam room it started up again.

We waited for 45 minutes and I was spending a rather large amount of energy the whole time bouncing the baby. Jenny was mercifully quiet, though not content. She wanted me to hold her, but I was able to distract her by talking about the jungle mural on the walls.

When the doctor finally came in our visit went well. I was able to reduce the vigorous bouncing down to an easy rocking motion without too much trouble. James is growing and developing normally. It's odd for me to have a kid in the 75th percentile after having Jenny the Runt.

Then it was time for the shots. I had been dreading these all morning. Both kids needed them.
I told Jenny she was going to get a poke and that it would hurt, but it would be over really fast and then she'd get a sucker. She kept saying "No Amy poke me." (Amy is the nurse.) "No Amy poke. Just a sucker."

I was glad I was able to prepare her, and it wasn't that bad. James, however, had to get three pokes. He actually settled down quicker than Jenny did, but it put him in a bad mood for the rest of the day. Well, I guess he was already in a bad mood. This just did nothing to help.

Here's a video of Jenny talking about our doctor visit. Notice how rapidly her facial expression changes from on of tragedy to happiness as she goes from talking about her shot to remembering the sucker. (It was a tangerine flavoured Dum-Dum. It smelled really good, but she wouldn't share with me.)

The day followed in much the same way. It was just a parade of delightful events involving more puke, diarrhea (in the bed, in the clothes, down the leg, smeared on the arm, on the floor), crying, whining, and thankfully a little sleeping.

I was looking forward all day to Brent calling me in the evening. When he did I was unable to enjoy my conversation with him because of the kids continuing their challenging behavior. I recall telling Brent to hold on and dropping the phone on at least two occasions, one because, yep, you guessed it, more puke.

Well, I'd better go get the diarrhea load out of the washing machine now and load up the latest vomitous one.

After this lengthy and complaining post (if you've made it this far) I must restate that which I began with:

Oi with the poodles already!