Month: March 2011

Polynesian Pani Popo

I would never attempt to give you a Polynesian recipe because I am not Polynesian. I do love the Polynesian people and culture. I guess my adoration can be traced back to growing up so closely with the Poly’s in my hometown of Carlsbad, CA and the neighboring town of Oceanside, CA. My dad was a Bishop of the church there when it took two whole cities to make up one congregation. Now, there are many congregations there. But, my family were so very fortunate to have many Polynesian friends. They became like family to us. To this day, I am drawn to Polynesian people. I feel like I am adopted in to their vast family. As they will be the first to tell you they are all cousins. Samoans, Hawaiians, Tongans, New Zea-landers…all cousins.

When LG and I got married 10 days after deciding, it was once again my Polynesian family who came through. My good friends Kia and Kyla (both originally from Hawaii) and their friend Lisa (who was totally white) decided to throw us a luau. To this day, without fail, every time we attend a wedding reception LG will proclaim that nobody has better food than we did. I think he dreams about the noodles. I didn’t get to eat much that evening. Apparently, I was playing hostess as LG was gorging at the spread. Can you say foreshadow? I am not calling my husband fat. I am just saying that if there is one hostess in this family, it is me, so in-laws stop typing shame on you’s now.

However, on that evening I got to eat one thing. Well, I actually probably ate at least 8. LG would bring them to me on a plate from time to time. Pani popo. I can’t even utter the word without salivating. Years ago when I started blogging I made an online blogging friend who posted the recipe. I have successfully made much pani popo on my own. I guess that means I am really a true cousin now. Out of pure reverence for my friend sharing her polynesian equivalent to The Holy Grail,  I am refraining from giving you the recipe here, but do go over and get it. You will not be disappointed. And at your next Palagi luau, I promise you will receive the most leis.

And just to give you a peek at how easy this recipe is. From the top of my head I can only remember three ingredients that are needed and one is Rhode’s rolls.

Pani PoPo

The Power of the Atonement

One thing I have come to understand in the past few years is that we each have addictions.

Some are addicted to alcohol, drugs, or sex. Some to pornography, coffee, tobacco. Many others have the socially acceptable if not revered addictions like exercise, house cleaning, make-up application, shoe collecting, or shopping. Some are hoarders. Some have eating disorders. Some struggle with same sex attraction. Some pedophilia. Others with having children (hello octomom) or stockpiling stocks.

I personally struggle as a co-dependent. I am also addicted to baked goods, and I am not saying that as a joke. Like so many others, in the closet and out, I have an obsession with being loved. I will do anything to be loved including but not limited to letting other people treat me like crap, excessively rescuing and controlling, crying for days when someone reprimands me, and being overly responsible. I am grateful that I am married to the man that I am, who understands my struggle. Many other codependents have to go through many relationships to be satisfied. Many other addictions can be traced back to original codependency; in fact many addicts have to come to terms with their codependency to successfully overcome their other temptations.

Just watch this Pink video for the song Please Don’t Leave Me and tell me she doesn’t get the need to be loved. Or  how about this one called I Can’t Make You Love Me by Bonnie Rait, one of my personal favorites. We sang the song Give Me the Gift of Love by Bette Midler at my Grandma’s funeral. I have come to believe that my Grandma understood the excessive need I feel to be loved. My mom has it too. No brainer really. Where do you think I learned it?

Anyhow, it’s Sunday. If I post on Sunday, it is going to be something that honors God. This video honors my God. It does a great job of explaining there is one place where we can get the strength to overcome addiction. I know this place to be my friend and Savior Jesus Christ. He strengthens me every day and I am so very grateful.

So, go ahead, say something mean. I am recovered enough I can take it. I no longer need you to love me. I have learned that getting love from one person is plenty satisfying. That person isn’t my husband; LG’s love is just icing on the cake. Your love for me is like daffodils in bloom, but God’s love: God’s love is as big as this whole magnificent earth. Actually it’s bigger than I understand. I can’t measure infinity.

Thank you to my God who frees me from my bondage. Next focus: milkshakes. I am not planning on taking that one too fast.

Speak up Sophia.

Sophia is our quiet child. She is our low maintenance child. I am always worried that I am not giving her enough attention because to be quite honest, in a crazy house like mine, she is a breathe of fresh air. She is so easy to raise. I would never make the mistake of calling her perfect because nobody is perfect, but as far as being her mom, she is really really easy. She doesn’t require much but some food and water. Heck, she is lower maintenance than our dog. She is definitely quieter than our dog. She rarely barks. She noticed her picture and came over to read what I was writing. She says, “I do not bark.”

Well, I’ve blogged before about a big oops with Sophia. These slip ups seem to be happening more regularly. Just the other day I found myself at Walgreen’s purchasing lemon heads and chocolate ice-cream to say I was sorry for missing her school program. My husband was having a crisis and his brother stopped in on his way through town to say good-bye before we moved. With all the drama, I totally spaced that I was supposed to go to her day program to make up for the night before when I was at Abigail’s school program that took place at the exact same time. I don’t know how single moms do it; my hubby and I have to divide and conquer all too often. Well, I cried to Sophia, apologized profusely, promised to watch the video, and cautioned her that she may as well learn now that nobody is perfect and she is gonna be let down. I told her that there was only one person that would never let her down. And she said that she knew that. I said, “Well, who then?” She replied, “Jesus Christ.” Very good. I am not totally failing as a parent.

Unless you count what happened at church couple of weeks back. Sophia was assigned to give a talk to the other kids. I totally forgot. In my defense, I told Sophia on Saturday to remind me that evening and she forgot too. On the way to church on Sunday morning, I told Sophia we would just tell her leaders that we forgot or the other option was for Sophia to find a scripture to share during the first hour and just give a brief testimonial about it. Well guess what? In between the drive to church and the hour after the first meeting got out, I forgot again.

So, you can imagine my surprise when Sophia comes up to me after the three hours of church and tells me she was so embarrassed for her talk. Hard slapped open face palm to forehead kind of moment. And then I may as well have slapped myself across the face too for being such an awful mom. I apologized and asked her what she did. She said she just got up and talked and that Daddy had come to watch. What? Why didn’t daddy rescue her? They didn’t come and get me because I was teaching the women’s class, but they did go and fetch LG from the man’s class. He, of course, had no idea about all of the above on-goings and walked into the Primary room figuring that I had taken care of it.

As we talked about it on the way home from church, LG was a doting father. He said that she pulled it off rather well. She pretty much just rambled about how she knows the Bible to be the true word of God. (I would say that has to count for something that she even knew on her own to talk about such a serious topic). LG then went on: She then clammed up and got quiet. She turned her head to the side and whispered to the Primary leader, “I am so embarrassed.” The kids heard. They chuckled. It lightened the moment, and she was able to finish it out.

Sophia had succeeded in filling her alloted time. LG was proud. The primary children had been entertained. The primary leader had been fooled into thinking that Sophia was overcome by the Spirit of God, but just for a second until Sophia proclaimed her embarrassment. I was left once again hoping to improve as a mother, but overall I count it a success. Mostly because our whole family laughed consistently for an hour after church while Sophia retold the experience over and over again.

I am pretty sure that the next time she has a talk, she won’t forget to remind me to help her. Or and this is a big OR the next time Sophia will tell her Primary President she dropped the ball OR the girl is gonna get pretty good at winging it. It’s not like we haven’t given her plenty of opportunity for practice.

Who You Are

Another poem (kind of) for LG. 
Don’t expect any of you to make it all the way through. 
And LG may hope that you don’t, as it gives away all his secrets.
Heck, LG may not even make it through this one.
It’s a doozie.

Who you are
To me.

You are choice between diet mountain dew or A&W rootbeer.
And an empty bag of BBQ chips.
You are love that is better than ice-cream.
You are sunrise, sunrise,
I can see it in your eyes.

You are kisses all around.
You are always kind.
But never kind enough to yourself.
You are sometimes down.
And sometimes crazy.
But I am the only one that knows that.

You are the guy

with great teeth
and you don’t even have to floss.

You are the man
who I love by my side
in the bed,
on the trail,
and
at the movies.

You are amazing calves
that can still dunk
any day.
And a bad ankle
that keeps you
grounded.

You are a little boy
I want to hug.

You are let it be
and sunshine on my shoulders.

You are fall leaves,
and rain on the metal eave,
open windows
to let in the sound.
You are the one
who holds me
in a Southern Storm
or watches in awe
the Western lightening
scrawl across the sky.

You are a child of God
who deserves unconditional love.

You are a mighty man
who holds the priesthood of God
and can move mountains.

You are the equivalent of a PHD,
even though you say you aren’t
and that you think PHD’s are stupid.

You are all tough
and swerve to hit the squirrels
and say you are gonna get rid of
that damn dog
and I catch you 
scratching and loving
the pet
and cuddling with the cat
while simultaneously
trying to shoot the crows
and you are a wonder to me
because I know you can handle
all the heartaches that I can’t.
And you can bury the pets
without shedding a tear,
yet you remain gentle.
You are a living paradox.
And you love smelly candles
and massages
yet wear the same old ratty T-shirt
because you don’t want to be a
metro-sexual
but a truly heterosexual
manly man.
Which you are.
But you love smelly candles.
And fondue.
You are in the wink of an eye

and Mormon Tabernacle choir.
And listening to you
listen to music
is like a spiritual experience.
Listening to you talk to your kids
about music
is like heaven to my soul.

And I haven’t even got started
about how sexy it is
when you play the piano
or quote Robert Frost.

You are dirty blonde,
and a toehead,
and mostly bald.
Your stubble up top
makes my hands tremble.

You are a fast typer
and a fast thinker
and fast with your
jokes.
And that’s about all you do fast.
Unless we count when you fidget.

You are a slow kisser.
A slow driver
and a slow reader,
but not to me.
To me,
you read the fastest.

You have perfect timing.
And against all odds
you have learned to be a good gift giver
which means everything.

You are a blinker
and a concentrator
and either do
one or the other.

You are the guy
who reads kids’ books
and plays video games
to bond with your kids.
Or they do it
to bond with you.
Not sure which
would be more accurate.
You totally own it
when I catch you laughing
at
The Wizards of Waverly Place
or Ponyo.
And you are proud of it.
And that makes me proud.
Because you are the best dad.
The best.
Anywhere.
You are the maker upper of games
that you like to play
with your buddies
in the front yard.
You are goof-ball
and I am one of the only
privileged ones to know 
that side of you.
And I love it when
you let others
see the part of you
that is fun and carefree.
You are a strong strong spirit
who fights every day.
And loves your God
and your Savior.
You are an amazing
teacher
that can explain
the most
complex
things to
a person
of any age
or
IQ.
You are the forgetter
of where you left your wallet.
And the loser of
at least 7 weddding bands.
One for every other year
just to keep things
new
fresh
and
exciting.
You are the best district leader
to the bold kisser
to the man I married.
And you were so handsome.
And still are.
You are my Matt Damon.
You are the handler of taxes.
And computers
and TV’s
and DVD players
and anything
with a cable.

You are hiding
away your change
so you can one day
buy an I-pad,
which you may want 
even more than that newest phone.
You are
the lover of
electronics.
All
electronics.
Even the remote control watch.

You are the disliker

of make-up,
and girls in immodest clothes,
and boys
who like your girls.

You are asleep
by 10 p.m.
and a snorer all night
on your back or side
but never on your stomach
and up at the 
beep of the alarm clock.
Up and at ’em.
It never seizes to amaze me.
Until I hear
the shower running
for at least a 1/2 hour.
Every morning.
And then I realize
why you are happy 
to get up early.
So you can sit in the bathtub
while the water runs
over you
waking you up.
You are the lover
of a hot breakfast
and rarely complain
that you didn’t marry
your mom
but instead a woman
who would
only cook for you
in the morning
on your birthday
or on Father’s Day
or when we have company.
You are the 
I can do without dessert
kind of person
but bring on 
the wings.
You are the man who is still
waiting for his BBQ grill out back
and his honeymoon
and his Cadillac
and his dreams to come true.
Yet you are usually content.
And worry about giving more to
your family,
then you take for yourself.
And that is such a turn on.
It makes me want to give you
that flat screen T.V.
that you still can only dream about.
You are the misser
of Atari
and your own
Pop A Shot
and
the days when
things were simpler and
your game boy
was in pristine condition
and you knew where
all the games were
at all times.
Instead of having to look
through the couch cushions for them.
You are the player of
Pretty Pretty Princess.
and completely honest
when you say you don’t 
need a son.
You have the patience of Job,
which makes you the best dad.
But it also makes your life hard.
Because I guess God knows you 
can handle hard stuff.
You are a hater of 
sand in your craw.
And mean girls.
And injustice.
And you are
just like me
and always on the side
of the underdog.
You are a perfectionist
even though you won’t admit it.
You are an avoider
of things emotional
or overwhelming
or out of your expertise
because you are perfectionist.
You are a jumper off roofs
and you are the man
who could only
stand or lay on his back
for a whole year
of law school,
but you never gave up.
And you still help people
move their furniture
even though you’ve had a disk
surgically repaired.
You are an appreciator of foods,
and always up for
trying something new
and the hole in the wall spot.
And never order the same thing twice
unless it’s
chicken fried steak.
Or that salad
that your age
has forced upon you.

You are always anxious
about change
and you don’t like uncertainty.

You are empathetic
and loving
and overly accommodating
to everyone but yourself.

You are a guy
who can lose 50 pounds
in two months
when you put your mind to it.

You are the kid
who thinks that there
is always something
better on the other side.

Your weakness does not define you
as neither does your strength.
What defines you
is you.
And I want you to know
that more than anything
this me
wants that you
to see you
as I see you.

You are self conscience
and self deprecating
and I want you to see
who you are
to me
and
who you are to Him

so you can
see who you really are.

Because who you are
is so much better
than who you know.

Two-Fers
Did you know that the toothbrush was invented in Tennessee?
Yes it was. I know it seems odd after all those Tennessee teeth jokes. 
“How do I know this”, you ask?
If it was invented anywhere else it would have been named the teeth-brush.
For the past several years I have been having a reoccurring dream that all my teeth are falling out. Or sometimes I have a bunch of junk stuck in my teeth and I am trying to in·con·spic·u·ous-ly (yes, I had to look that one up in the dictionary) rid my mouth of the sticky gum-like substance without anyone noticing. Of course in my dreams everyone is always looking at me and I can’t do anything inconspicuously. (Wow, I got the word all by myself the second time around.)
Well, my curiosity got the better of me. I finally googled the meaning of my dream. And, oh my goodness, it’s spot on. 
My dreams have been trying to tell me that:
1- I have anxiety about my appearance.
2- I fear rejection, especially regarding my sex appeal and femininity.
3- I am worried about making a fool of myself.
4- I have a sense of powerlessness.
5- I have malnutrition and a poor diet.
6- I have a family member or close friend who is very sick or near death.
7- I am putting my faith and trust in what man thinks instead of God.
8- I am lying according to the Chinese.
For me, all of the above are true, except for the lying. Unless we count lying to myself, which I try not to do, but I believe we are all guilty of it.
I wonder if when I quit residing in this great state of Tennessee if my nightmare will finally go away. And I think the answer may be yes. Why, you ask?
Well, it’s a simple answer really:
For the first time in 8 years I am going to have dental insurance.
I am so totally lucky that I have only lost one tooth while living here, and even for that one a permanent cap fixed me right up, but, oh how I felt old. I have worried ever since about having to get dentures. I think I have done well since only having one casualty while residing in the land of famous hillbilly teeth. I wonder if my new dentist will be able to do anything with this mouthful of plaque? I really don’t want to look like this photo for the rest of my life. 
Oh yeah, that’s not me. 
Tennessee may have some ugly teeth, but usually the women with the ugly teeth don’t also have a 5 o’clock shadow. And I am really not lyin’ when I say that it’s true that there are a lot of people here with some jacked up teeth. You’d think that I would at least be able to overcome #1 and #2 for the simple fact that I still have a full set.
I think you all should google your reoccurring dream and blog about it. I will do a post linking to you all with your story and we will see if Freud knew what he was talking about. Whose in?

Tennessee Bridge
Please excuse my boo-hooing. This is going to be a very sentimental post.

I’m already crying and I haven’t even started writing yet. I’m a mess.

When my father in law e-mailed this photo, he had appropriately named it “looking west”.
 Maybe I should also get him to send me the other side entitled “looking east”
 as I am sure there will always be a part of me that will do both.

In 2003, LG and I, with our three little daughters crossed over this bridge for the first time as a family. The girls were so young: 4,2, and newborn. We had come across the country for law-school and Grandma Gold’s empty house was a perfect place for us to crash while we house hunted (an hour and a half away) in Knoxville. It was two doors down from my in-laws, which is about a mile beyond this bridge. We didn’t know it at the time, but we started a tradition. It had been a long trip, where we learned all sorts of car sanity games. We challenged Abigail to a Tennessee Bridge off. She must suck in all the air support she could and holler “Tennessee Bridge” as we drove over. She should not stop hollering until we safely reached the side closer to grammy’s house.

Well, here we are, almost eight years later. LG’s employment is going to drag us back to where we came from. We can’t complain. It’s a great job. We love Utah and we know it’s what God wants us to do, but it is very emotional…especially for a big sap like me.
My mother in law just posted a picture of the bridge on facebook and said they are closing it down. They have built a bigger and better bridge off  to the other side. All I can do is cry. And reminisce. And scream, “Nothing can be bigger or better.”
So many trips and holler contests are flying through my brain. Abigail is 4, then 5 then 11, ever increasing in volume and intensity. Sophia was 2 and couldn’t quite pronounce the words, but still hollered right along with her sister and now she quite possible has some of the best breathe control. Bella was probably just crying that first trip across, but her volume was likely as loud as it is today, even though the words now come out loud and clear: TENNESSEEEEE BRRRIIIIIIIDDDDDDGGGGE. 
Sometimes the girls were in soccer uniforms or church dresses. Sometimes the car was loaded down with winter gear and Christmas presents. Or food that we didn’t want to go bad in our fridge at home. Sometimes we had a cat with us and a dog. But never both the cat or the dog. Thank goodness. Sometimes they were in bathing suits and we may have even had the occasional birthday suit in there. I can smell the homemade loaves of bread that Faye sent home with us and the Thanksgiving leftovers. I am blinded by the black of most of the nights when we were headed back home while I calculated which caffeinated soda I would purchase at the corner gas station just beyond the bridge. The kids would already be falling asleep and wouldn’t even notice the bridge.
LG and I got really good at driving across that bridge super slow while the kids’ faces turned bright red and finally gave in to the need for oxygen. A parent has to do what they have to do for the occasional win. We would have to remind ourselves not to slow down if it was at night and the girls weren’t paying attention. The girls have now turned their attention to teaching baby Caroline the tradition.
I am not sure how many times LG told me of his trips to the little market close to the bridge while we drove by. “I always got my gas there when I was a teenager.” “Dad and I used to stop there for worms when we would go fishing.” “We used to drive our bikes down here when we were kids”, to which I would reply, “Are you kidding me? This highway is frightening.” The response would always follow, “Yeah Alice, I’ve told you a million times, we would take the back-roads; they are so much safer.” I would laugh inside because I don’t think that there are really any safe back-roads in the whole state of Tennessee; I have personally puked while trying them out in the car. That’s when I started driving everywhere so I could avoid car sickness.
But back to the bridge. They are tearing it down. They are tearing down a piece of our family. And I can’t stop crying, but I guess it is kind of fitting since we have to move forward. We can’t stay here forever.But even if we aren’t going to be Tennessee residents and even if we aren’t going to get to visit grammy and papa as often, we now know that at least a piece of each of our hearts will forever be floating down the great Holston River. I think I can hear it as it faintly rolls along to the tune of Tenneeesssssseeeee Briiiddddgee.
wah wah wah.