Author: alicewgold

I would like to state that I am a brunette, but now I am a mix of grey, white, brown, and blonde. I would also like to say that I am 150 pounds, but that would be a boldfaced lie. How about I say I am work in progress because that is the truth? A beautiful work in progress. I love the sound of my fingers tapping on the keyboard and my greatest hope is that something that I write will lift someone else on their journey.

Three Years to Live

If I only had three years to live, this would be my bucket list:

Love hard the people who mean the most to me. Don’t leave the world without the assurance that they know what they mean to me.
Be gentle with my husband and kids. Be a person they will remember as love.
Live in a way that will give me peace in knowing the kingdom I will earn.
Pray, read, gain spiritual knowledge and assurance in scripture, church, temple.
Write the damn book.
Take the damn honeymoon. (Does using the word damn mean I won’t have assurance in the kingdom I will earn? Dangit!!!)
Have a last fantastic family vacation.
See NYC.
Run a marathon.
Hike Timp.
Have a sister weekend.
Say a final goodbye to the Pacific Ocean.
See fireflies again with my kids. See Grammy’s house and go to Dollywood.
Ride through the canyon in Fall on a motorcycle that belongs to LG.
Write my kids a life love letter.
Leave LG better off than I found him. Give him permission to love someone else, no matter how hard that is for me.
Overcome the mattress…make the most of every minute.

Not to self: Nowhere on this list does it say to buy a house. We won’t be able to afford a house if we do everything on this list. hmmm.

I think I should live like I only have three years left. What could it possibly hurt?

Royal Teenagers (And I’m not talking about their pain in my @$%)

Just the other day, one of my girls said to me, “Mom, your blog used to be cool. Now it’s all boring. You never tell any good funny stories anymore.” I laughed. Agreed. And then threatened her to go public with her latest shenanigan. She immediately understood what I meant when I said, “I can’t tell everything about you guys anymore and you guys are all my funny stories.”

I thought I was the only one who had quit telling stories about my kids.Then it was brought to my attention that there is a lack of material about what it is like to parent teenagers on this here web. I can’t find the first article I read, but here is another one. It’s a legitimate concern. As a veteran blogger I get the very real struggle. As your kids get older, you can’t just air their dirty laundry. I mean, really, now their dirty laundry is actually bras and underwear. And boys. And other people’s kids. And raging hormones. Bad decisions. The list goes on. Any good parent should be careful. (Unless their kid is making millions in the movie industry, of course. JOKING)

My two teenage daughters and the one coming right up on 12 would NOT appreciate me being totally honest. I can’t tell you everything. I can only tell you the good things. This is a problem for me because I am all about making the internet an honest place.

I can tell you that this meme

<<<<<<<<<<<<<

is not exaggerating.

When it comes to raising teenage girls, a hurricane does hit the bathroom every single morning without fail.

Raising teenagers is hard. Personally, I think taking care of babies is harder. I should know, I have both right now. Ha! Babies are physically exhausting, but teenagers are engaged in emotional warfare at all given times. It’s not that they want to be bad, it’s just that they need so much reassurance. You know the saying, “Those that need love will ask for it in the most unloving ways.” Well, it’s true. Teenagers are some of the worst culprits.

Teenagers ask for love with eye rolls, insults, self-depracation, rebellion, etc. They make stupid decisions because of their overriding programming for belonging. They are desperate to know that they matter. They want to be told everything is going to be o.k. They just need to feel safe. (Kind of like us adults but add in lethal doses of hormones, acne, and bullies.) Makes me think of this skit.

Yet, when teenagers act like they do, they make everyone around them want to run for the hills instead of giving them hugs. I actually like the mental challenge that they present. Call me crazy, but I’d take the mental marathon over the monotony of diapers and feedings any day….except yesterday. Yesterday was really bad. Sometimes your teenagers will make you wonder if they have any brains at all….that was yesterday. As a parent who is left screaming, “Have you heard anything I have told you for the past 15 years?” I can assure you that like with all phases of parenting some days are way better than others.

Getting to the point of the post in 3, 2, 1.

In all my three years of teenage experience, I have actually figured something out. My job is to OVERLOVE my kids. I need to love them to the point that they won’t need to ask for it in the most UNLOVING of ways. It’s so hard to do. It requires a lot of sucking it up on a parent’s part. A lot. It feels good to have figured out my job: to train my teenagers out of asking for love ineffectively, but it is also a daunting task…especially when they “hate me.” (That was yesterday.) I am supposed to 1- help them inherently know that they are worthy and loved. No matter what. And 2- If and when they are feeling unlovable, downtrodden, and like a screw-up, they need to know how to effectively ask for and *receive the love that they need and it is my job to teach them. (*We all know those people who need way too much love. I think this is a result of them not learning how to receive what is given to them.)

[You should read that last paragraph again because I honestly think it’s the secret to a happy life. Not just for teenagers.]

When all else fails, and I am ready to ring my kids’ necks, I remind myself. They are royalty. They are princesses. Even if they are acting like evil stepchildren, I remember that I am going to have to answer to the King when I get home. He is going to ask for a play by play. If I pass, I will earn a place in the royal family. Not just any old place. I will be adopted in and be made a queen. I don’t know about you, but I desperately need to be royalty.

One way I give myself this daily reminder is when I play taxi. Every time I pull up to the school, the field, the kids’ friends’ houses, the church…wherever I am picking them up, I text them an acronym.

YCA

Your carriage awaits.

They are royalty.

Yesterday, I employed a new tactic. It’s called the special dinner. I thought, “If she is acting this bad, she must be really desperate,” so I pulled out the linens, the glassware, and flowers. I made a nice dinner. We all toasted her. We wrote down what we loved about her. Just because she is grounded for five weeks it doesn’t mean that we should quit loving her. If I’ve learned anything I’ve learned that they need the most love when they are in trouble….which is often as a teenager.

I guess we’ll be having a lot of special dinners.

When I explained the reason for the new tradition of a special dinner, one of my kids declared, “So, when we are slamming doors, crying, breaking rules etc…we are going to get a special dinner….l guess I am getting a special dinner every night.”

Teenagers!

Had I Remembered {a reflection on motherhood}

Had I remembered…..

the nights that I have to retrieve a pacifier at least every hour

and the mornings where I just want to read a single chapter of my book but the multiple feedings, epic dirty diaper, bath-time and the fact that for whatever reason he won’t go to sleep without being held make me give it up all together because it’s already noon

the teething

the whining and crying whenever I put him down

the poop that spills out of at least every other poopy diaper and up his back

the cost of diapers, wipes, and formula

the expense of changing wardrobes every three months

the spit up on every imaginable surface

the nap-times that are always too short

the date-nights that happen less frequently and for shorter spans of time

the little fingers that want to help my type

the impossibility of going to a movie as a family

the sex that only happens in a state of pure exhaustion

the weight of 20 pounds in my arms all day every day

the lugging of a car-seat everywhere I go

the sacrifice of about 90% of my free time

the difficulty of finding the time to just keep the house clean

the regular appointments to the pediatrician

and the fussy days after immunizations

the inconvenience of cooking a meal with a monkey on my back

the drooling like a puppy

the frustration of unloading a dishwasher when he grabs at everything

the impossibility of eating a meal with him in my lap

the fact that no matter how hungry I am he always needs to be fed first

the walking around like a zombie feeling that never goes away

the arduousness of Sunday mornings

{the list could go on and on}

…..but I’m so glad that I forgot. Had I remembered I probably never would have had him, and without him I would have missed out on….

his huge smile (that cheers everyone he sees – including the ornery old guy at church)

the fun times that his sisters play dress-up (see video below)

the cute way he sucks his lower lip and looks like a turtle

all the times he learns something new (he’s playing the piano below)

watching his face light up every time he sees his daddy

the euphoria of peekaboo (cutest video ever to be shared in the future whenever I get it off daddy’s phone)

his love of music

his fascination with the TV

the way he covers his eyes with his arm when falling asleep

rediscovering the softness of baby blankets and the way he likes to hold them against his face

getting to smell baby scent any time I want

watching him kick and squirm like crazy any time he’s naked or in the bath

his stubbornness and laziness that surfaces every time he refuses to hold his own bottle

his piqued curiosity every time he catches eye of our dog walking close by and how he loves to grab his ears

the way he screams instead of talking

the feeling when he finally relaxes and falls asleep in my arms (and sometimes sucks on his invisible pacifier like below)

his chubby cheeks….and legs…and fingers

his adorable laugh

The 3 Keys to Managing Your Kids’ Emotional Hypersensitivity

I am not a licensed therapist, but write this post as a very experienced mom who understands emotional sensitivity.

Some people say to do nothing at all if you have a child who is overly-sensitive. They argue that to tread on a child’s emotions is to kill their spirit. Others try to break their kids of it as if they are a rodeo horse. As an overly-sensitive adult and a mom of 5, I say the best thing you can do to help your child with their hypersensitivity is to give them 1- awareness, 2- tools, and 3- model healthy behavior.

1 – Awareness sounds like it should be so easy, but it can be really hard to approach a sensitive child about their sensitivity. hurtyfeelings That’s where Hurty Feelings by Helen Lester comes in. It’s a cute and fun easy-to-read picture book that will keep your kid’s attention. It is also packed with an emotional-wellness-punch. Fragility the Hippo is super-sensitive. This book explores what happens when one takes offense too easily and it also offers a great outcome in overcoming the problem…I’ll give you a hint….the answer has to do with Fragility finding her own voice. You can find the book at Amazon, here. I highly recommend it for its entertainment value as well as for the great opportunity it will provide to approach a sensitive (ha!) subject with your sensitive child.

My only other piece of advice with awareness is DO NOT approach your child with this subject when they are in hypersensitive meltdown mode. Wait until things have calmed down….way down. Maybe even broach it over a special dinner. Definitely make sure you are showing love and support and not criticism. Ideally it should be a constant dialogue. “Uh-oh, here comes that flood of emotions. What should we do about it?”

2 – Tools. There are all kinds of tools that your kids can learn when it comes to over-sensitivity. I’ve been going to therapy for years to learn and really internalize them. Here a few of the ones that I have found most helpful:

1- Self-esteem. This is NOT giving your child something to be proud of. That can help temporarily, but will not solve the problem long-term. Self-esteem is rooted in an inner dialogue which consists only of the message, “I am worthy.” Period. Every individual has worth. Not because of what they accomplish. Not because of who loves them. Not because of anything except for the fact that they are an individual and they are of worth. Religious people might call this being a child of God. I am not sure what atheists call it, but whatever you teach your child, just teach them that they are of infinite worth just because THEY ARE.

2- Order of love – This goes hand in hand with the self-esteem. It is something my current therapist harps on in every single session. It is a principle that has slowly changed my life and the life of my husband. The order of love should be like this: from God, from self, for others, from others. Many people get this screwed up and they seek to find their worth from the latter places first instead of giving it to themselves. It screws them up. Royally.

3- The victim triangle – In the triangle you have a victim, a pursuer, and a rescuer. Learn about it. Change it. If you are being bullied or your kids are being bullied, congratulations, you have perfected being the victim. Change.

4- Boundaries – Usually your kids are struggling with this because you haven’t taught it to them with your own behavior. Boundaries can be tricky, but I have found they are VITAL to emotional health. Essentially, you have to learn to say no. You also shouldn’t be an over-pleaser. You need to honor other people’s boundaries. Here is a good place to read the basics. I also highly recommend the book Boundaries by Townsend and Cloud.

5. Get rid of the shame! Feelings are feelings. No one should be made to be ashamed of how they feel. They literally can’t help it. Always validate feelings (for others and yourself) and teach your kids to process them healthfully. One of my daughters processes well when doing sports, the other by painting. Sometimes we all just need some alone time.

One of my husband’s cousins contacted me a while back and asked me for advice about one of her kids who is highly sensitive. She said, “You seem to have a good handle on processing your emotions.” I busted a gut. If she only knew! The reason I have a handle on it is because if I didn’t learn to process my overabundance of emotions I literally would have been locked up years ago.

As a mother I completely get her concern. One of my daughters is overly sensitive too. {I won’t say who or things could take a downhill real fast.} As a mother it is very very concerning to see her create this huge black hole around herself. Even as her family we are afraid to approach her a lot of the time. This daughter takes everything to heart and she gets hurt by the most random stuff. You have to walk on eggshells around her. She doesn’t fully realize that because she is so sensitive she is actually hurting her ability to connect with others. She is holding herself hostage with her emotions all of the time. Because she is sensitive she is perfect prey for bullies and the equally emotionally unhealthy. We are constantly trying to raise her awareness and give her tools to help.

This brings me to my last point: 3 – Modeling healthy behavior. If your child is struggling with being emotionally healthy it is very likely that you are too. I get my overly sensitive daughter. I am just like her. Over the years I have learned how to manage the sensitivity. I’m always practicing at it. I’ve also learned that being sensitive is not always a totally bad thing. In some ways my sensitivity is a huge blessing: I can see things going on around me that others don’t. I tend to appreciate beauty more. But more often than not my hypersensitivity has caused me trouble.

Recently after being in a social situation with some friends, one friend lamented to me that two of the other friends were making fun of her. I hadn’t noticed it. I asked the friend, “Are you sure they were talking about you? Could you just be overly-sensitive? Whenever I see two people talking, I always think they are talking about me. No matter who they are. Even if they don’t know me I think they are out to get me.”

I’ve learned to calm my sensitive inner dialogue in these types of situations. Awareness of my over-sensitivity has probably been my greatest aid in overcoming it. The second best technique I already mentioned above. I have worked hard on loving myself and letting go of whether or not others love me. I’ve had to stop living my life to please other people. It was literally making me insane.

As I’ve learned to be emotionally healthier I have noticed my kids improve also.

The good news is that your sensitivity makes your beautiful self even more beautiful. You can learn to manage it and as you do, you will have greater happiness and so will your kids.

I recommend going over here and testing yourself. And here and here you will find some good suggestions on managing your emotions. Here is a great list of what NOT to do. Here is a great list of what optimal emotional health looks like. If all of this isn’t enough, do not be afraid to find professional help. For you Utah County Utah locals our therapist Joyce is really great. For the rest of you, ask around. Make sure you get a good therapist. There are a lot of quacks out there.

For the keepers of the nests

It’s one of those days. One of those weeks. Okay, fine, I’ll be honest; it’s one of those months, perhaps one of those years. It seems like one of those lifes. I became a mother in 1999. Last century. And let me assure you, I’ve lived every single one of those very long 5,738 days. I haven’t just lived those days, I’ve worked my tooshy off

for. every. single. one.

Lately, the thingee has been threatening to take me over. I am not sure what the thingee is. If I had to explain it I would say it’s kind of a mix of depression, resentment, worthlessness, and just an overall feeling of overwhelment. Some people may call the thingee mental-illness, but because I am fully medicated and know the difference between scary depression and the thingee I promise you the thingee doesn’t single out the mentally ill. The thingee is out to get all of us. Parenting is hard. The thingee is determined to make it harder. I’m pretty sure that the thingee’s only purpose for existence is to make us quit. I don’t know how he does it, but he’s always there whispering things like:

This is too hard.
You can’t do this anymore.
You’re screwing them up.
You can’t give them anything else.
It’s not wrong to just want some sleep.
You deserve to get away.
Run away as fast as you can.
Hurry, before they eat you alive.
Don’t get out of bed. Ever again. Until they are gone.
Even when they are 18, they are still going to need you.
What in the world did you get yourself into?
Kids suck.
They need you too much.
They don’t need you at all.

I don’t like living with the thingee. Over the years I have figured out a few tricks on getting rid of him. This post isn’t about those tricks. This post is about the miracles that happen when my own tricks don’t. Today I received a miracle. I was talking to my mom on the phone. She was just checking in. You know asking the typical mom stuff. “Do you have enough money, Alice? How are you feeling? Do you guys need anything?” Oh, honey, I know how exhausting it is. You really are such a good mother.

I explained to her my constant battle with wanting to leave the house and make some money. “It’s just so hard, mom. So many of my friends work. They get vacations. They get new clothes. They don’t have to worry.” She validated me. She said these words I will never forget..

“Alice, it’s not that you can’t work as a stay-home mom, it’s just that you get to do all the jobs that nobody else wants to do.”

We laughed. Cracked up. It takes a “stay-at-home” mom to know one. We’re the ones who get to:

run the girl scouts.
and the cub scouts.
clean the houses.
cook all the meals.
grade the homework for the single teacher with no kids who gets paid to do it but can’t find the time.
watch over the latchkey kids at the condo playground.
make the cookies.
shop for the groceries.
take the recycling in for the kids’ non-profit.
mend the clothes to make them last longer.
doctor the sick.
feed the families who are in need.
run the carpool.
take food to the starving kids at the track-meet. and a blanket.
run back to the school for the forgotten homework, or permission slip, or lunch….fill in the blank.
do the class parties.
always be in charge of the craft…those working moms just don’t have the time.
taxi the friends.

the list goes on and on and on and on…

We stay-home moms go without. again. and again. Because we are so present we are the ones acutely aware of everyone else’s needs, and we also know that our own needs can always wait another day. This is not to say you working moms don’t do enough. Heck, if anything you have way more on your plate.

The parts that maybe you don’t understand are the day in and out of never being thanked, always being undervalued, society as a whole thinking that you are just lazy and underachieving. You can’t possibly get the selflessness that is always undermined and the mental taxation of handing your life over to a bunch of small dictators that come to you with problem after problem to be solved and lost item after lost item to be found. Never getting a raise. Going without again and again. Feeling like you are actually losing brain cells.

Like Annie says, “It’s a hard knock life.” Why any of us choose to do what we do is beyond me. I ask myself that question every day. And when I ask myself that question the thingee strikes hardest. He’s so relentless.

So back to this morning. I was having a crappy “I don’t want to do this anymore” morning. The thingee had me in a tight embrace in my comfy bed. I had to sneak out of his Magic Mike arms and crawl to the kitchen to get the kids breakfast. My eleven-year-old had a hormonal break-down on the way to school, while the kindergartner was finishing her homework that we forgot to turn in last week in the back seat. The baby was poopy. The dog was happy in the car, but had whined locked up in the bathroom all night because she won’t quit peeing on the carpet. You see, the morning was rough. Like every other morning.

I was had it. I was trying all my tricks to fight off the thingee and then found myself with my mom on the phone getting a little validation. I felt a tad bit better. Especially as we laughed.

I looked out my back window. You won’t believe what was there. I didn’t.

Staring down at me was the greatest thingee warrior of all time. Right from the branch of the tree through the sliding glass door there she was….

A. big. fat. pregnanter than pregnant. robin.

This bird and I had a staring contest while my mom chattered away about the time she sold bread to have a little extra grocery money. I kept my eyes on the mama bird as I blinked the tears from my eyes. My mom retold the story about walking through a parking lot with my dad. He found a $100 bill. He looked up at my mom and said, “You’ve been praying again, haven’t you Sharon? I guess this is for you.” She bought groceries.

The bird was silent, but as she stared, I heard her, as clear as day….

“Alice, someone has to watch the nest.”

So, after escaping in the bathroom for the last twenty minutes to write this post, I’m off. (Even with the hemorrhoids only a mother who hides in the bathroom can know.) Dinner can’t wait and neither can my baby birds.

I am proud to announce that the thingee continues to lose after 15 years, 8 months, 20 days, 15 hours, 38 minutes, and 15 seconds. But who’s counting? I am, you idiots. Just because I’m watching the nest, it doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize about that vacation I aim to get in another 18 years.

The 24 shades of love (that happen to be gray today)

The 50 shades of gray is what everyone is talking about this Valentine’s Day. Most people seem to hate it for a bunch of reasons I really don’t care about. I did find it funny when my 11-year-old daughter said to me, “I asked dad what the 50 shade of grey was about. He said it’s about sex. He also said it’s pornography for women.” Ha ha ha.

I came up with my own list of fifty shades. They have nothing to do with the book but everything to do with me and my man. (You can quit reading if you want.) This post took roots while I was in the bath tonight. Imagine my surprise when I took my phone out to photograph the source of inspiration (my wedding ring) and found this staring back at me. Oh, I know it’s got gray written all over it. Don’t get too offended.

So in honor of the holiday that celebrates love, here is my list of 24 grey things that remind me that I am loved. I don’t know how it works in the book or the movie, but if I can come up with a list of 24 grey things from ONE day that remind me of the love I share with my husband it’s pretty certain that I can never really do it justice with my words. That’s real love, no pornography needed.

1. My white-gold wedding band scraping against the bottom of the tub symbolizing long-standing commitments.

2. The silver change he rummaged from the car ashtray to pay for the kids’ hamburgers.

3. The squeak of the chair-leg as he pulled it under the dinner table.

4. The foil-wrapped butter packet he handed to me for my bread.

5. The metal front door of our home closing as he left to go on his almost weekly trip to the Dollar Tree with two of our daughters just because it is one of their favorite places to go and spend their allowance.

6. The scrape of our bedroom window sliding across its track as he opened it as we went to bed tonight. (And then he didn’t complain as I closed it ten minutes later.) The constant battle of temperatures is just one small way we always work it out.

7. The sound of the water coming out of the silver kitchen faucet as he made the baby a bottle today.

8. The tap of the grayish keys on his silver keyboard of his laptop as he did the budget.

9. The grayish keys again while he worked on the spreadsheet he created our kids to track their fundraiser profits.

10. The zipper on the diaper bag as he fetched out the baby’s anbesol to relieve teething discomfort.

11. The stainless steel frying pan hitting the stove eye as he cooked his own breakfast for the millionth time even though he’d prefer for me to do it.

12. The flaps of the grey comforter of our bed as he pushed it away from his hot body onto my not so hot body. (Yes, we do this every night – rain or snow.)

13. Seeing his hand hold the silver-ish door open for the strangers at the restaurant tonight.

14. Catching a glimpse of his beat up Honda accord that is goldish in color with silverish patches of wear as I drove off in my way-nicer silver Honda Odyssey today.

15. The jangle of his keys as we ran errands together this morning.

16. The sight of him putting the dingy gear-shaft into reverse so he could watch me approach a stranger’s door from the best possible angle.

17. The grey t-shirt he changed out of before we went to dinner because it was stained with baby spit-up.

18. The watch he carefully put on his wrist because he makes do with it after I mistakenly bought him the kind with the stretchy band for Christmas. It yanks out all his arm hair and snaps at his skin when detracting.

19. The sound of the dishwasher hardware unclasping as he retrieved dishes from it.

20. His dark-grey shorts with the belt loops that are starting to come unattached. He’s been wearing them for at least a decade and I’m sure he will for a decade more. He likes his comfort. He’s frugal. And he doesn’t care.

21. His pewter razor that he uses every day.

22. The stubble on his face at the end of the day.

23. The posts of the perfect-sized pearl earrings he bought me to show his love and the posts of the ones he bought two years ago that were just a tad too big.

24. The stainless steel wedding band that I haven’t seen in a while. It’s probably lost along with the three others we bought at Mount Rushmore seven years ago and the three others he had before that.

What do you want to bet it’s lost?

And what else do you want to bet that it doesn’t matter. After 17.5 years of marriage (today is exactly 17.5) if I’ve only learned one thing it’s not about the ring. It’s not about the shades of grey. It’s about the love.

Oh, and I just asked him about the ring. He said, “It’s not lost. I never wear it anymore, that’s why it’s not lost.”

Love people. It’s all about the love.

Anything I can’t do, he can do better.

I’m privileged to be his wife and after 17 years of hard work (and lots of therapy) I’m lucky to also call him my hero. LeGrand is my man. He’s my main squeeze.

Everyone should be married to their hero. It’s pretty freaking awesome. Now, I know what you are thinking. “Shut up Alice, not everyone gets to be married to their hero. Stop making people feel bad.”

My response is this, “Being married to your hero is your choice. No matter how bad you think your spouse is, I promise you, there is just as much good in there, too. Choose to see the good and you will be surprised at how much of a hero you’ve been missing.”

Our close friends and family know a lot about our ups and downs. They don’t know our stories as intimately as we do, but they know our struggles. They know we’ve fought against each other and for each other. They know we disagree. They know we’ve taken each other for granted. They know about that one time when I kicked him out of the house for a week. They know how horrible I’ve treated him at times. They know about his screw-ups. But, they also hopefully know a little about how we’ve evolved…How we’ve overcome. How WE have prevailed. They know that marriage is delicate. It could all come crashing down at any given moment. Ours won’t. We have a few of secret weapons. I hope they never let us fail.

First, we love each other. We’ve never stopped loving each other from the first day we met, we’ve had a deep love that eventually turned romantic, but has always been enough to keep us invested. Some days it might be love in a friendship form. Some days love shows up as a mutual respect only. Others it has been pure lust. (Those days were fun!) In the hardest days I think it’s safe to say that we have relied on pure charity, but every day of our 18+ years of knowing each other love has always been there in one form or another. Like the good word says, “Love never fails.”

Second, we are loyal. We stay committed. We work stuff out. We look past our own selfishness and choose to desire the other’s happiness. We do what it takes to choose each other over and over again no matter how much the other has hurt us or let us down. We’ve learned how to make each other happier and have worked at it…every. dang. day…even if it was to call a truce and work again tomorrow.

And last, but certainly probably least, and perhaps borderline dysfunctional is that we need each other. During the darkest days of our marriage I always have had one obsessive question: “But, how could I ever live without him?” I need him. I need him like the tides need the moon, like the stars need the night, like the rain needs the water. I need him to give me light, help me grow, and as a purpose to flower. I only smell as good as he sniffs. I am only as beautiful as he takes the time to observe. I only want to keep living because he loves me and needs me. Yeah, like I said, borderline dysfunctional.

My man is my hero. Anything I can’t do, he can do better. In the past few weeks I’ve been focusing on how he makes my life better. The other night as we laid our heads on our pillows bone tired from our 5 children sucking the last bit of marrow from our weary bones, I said, “LeGrand, I love you. I can’t think of anything I want to change about you.” He laughed and listed off my most common complaints and has proceeded to remind me of my words at every one of my verbalized annoyances. Did I mention that he makes me laugh? I sure love you LeGrand. I never want to live without you. Thanks for making me not suck. As my partner in crime, you always compensate. That’s what I call true love.

Here’s the way my man does what I cannot. What does your hero do better than you?

Science fair projects – not only can I not understand the subject matter, I also do not have the patience.
The kids’ math homework – ditto to what I just said about science.
Mornings – I hate them.
Being nice. He is always reminding me to lay off the car horn or let things go.
Chilling out. If it weren’t for him our kids would have no one to sit down with for a TV show.
Budgeting. Probably my most sucky suck. He’d be a millionaire by now if it weren’t for me.
Technology. I don’t totally suck at this, but I am so glad I have my very own help desk.
Tenderness. The touch of his hands makes me go all mush and when he holds a baby…gah gah gah.
Legal documents. Once again his patience and intelligence prevails.
Basketball. He’s our go-to man for free-throw contests and the grand ticket prizes whenever there is a pop-a-shot to be contested.
Diffusing anger. You just can’t be angry around a person who never has anger.
Comedic relief. His wit, perfect timing, and unassuming personality are the perfect blend of hilarity. Oh yeah, we are talking about things I suck at. Fine, I admit it, I’m not that funny.
His humility. He really requires very little attention…the perfect match for this attention whore.
Last, his ability to love people for their good. He rarely complains. He always gives people the benefit of the doubt and he gets a kick out of their insanity.

How’d I get so lucky? I love you LG. O.k. there are a few things I would change, but man I did amazing at picking my perfect match.

No-bake Indoor Smores

It’s been some time since I have shared a recipe.
I made these for an after-school snack today and decided that they needed to be shared.
They are super easy and delicious.
Indoor smores are the perfect treat for the middle of winter when it’s just too cold to make real smores outside.

Enjoy.

1. Butter or spray a rectangular pan.

2. In a large saucepan, melt together while stirring:
10-16 oz. mini marshmellows (save 1.5 cups for later)
6 Tablespoons butter
1/3 cup corn syrup
1.5 chocolate chips (semi-sweet or milk)

3. Remove from heat. Stir in:
1 teaspoon vanilla
16 oz. box of Graham cereal
1.5 cups mini marshmallows

4. Press into rectangular pan, let set. Cut into bars.

Life is always worthwhile when you cry or smile.

When I die the most important thing I would want to say to my family is “I love you and I’ll see you on the other side.” If I was allowed more than one sentence I would probably elaborate on my wishes for them to live good authentic lives.

I would tell them how I hope for their happiness, and I would tell them I would regret not being able to be there for them physically in their times of sadness. I would want them to know that if I can negotiate something with God, I will and I will always be right by their sides watching over them until we are reunited.

The song “Smile” from Charlie Chaplin’s 1936 movie Modern Times is one of my favorite songs. (Did you know the lyrics were added later based from themes and scenes from the original film?) This song brings back a lot of good memories for me. LG gave me some Happy by Clinique perfume for one of our first Christmases together. It came with a CD full of happy songs. We used to lay in bed together listening to the CD. When “Smile” came on it always seemed so appropriate. Those were really happy times, some of my favorite from my entire life.

However while re-listening to this song recently I discovered how the message of smiling when you are in pain is just kind of screwed up. I thought about Michael Jackson and Judy Garland (both have beautiful renditions of this song – go ahead – hit their links) and how their lives came to tragic ends way too soon. I thought about how they both may have lacked the emotional intelligence and/or support they needed. Maybe nobody ever told them it was o.k. to cry? I wish I could have helped them somehow and see them die in happiness, not out of their desperate attempts to escape.

Crying is an important part of life. Without times of sadness we wouldn’t know how much to treasure the times of happiness. We don’t have to run away from sadness. In fact I’ve found trying to run from it makes things much worse. Sometimes we just need to take time to process our emotions. We need permission to cry in our pain. Everyone should have someone in their lives that will just hold them while they cry.

I’m thinking about the pains I’ve experienced in life. They have been my very best tutors. Not all my days have been spent smiling while laying in my bed with my husband. In fact, I would say that I’ve probably had a close equal amount of time laying in my bed alone crying over life’s sadness. (If you read my blog regularly, you know this. I often use this as a place to process a lot of my emotions.)

So, in short, what I am trying to say is. It’s o.k. to cry. In fact it’s as necessary as smiling is for your emotional health. So do both. When you are in the middle of either happy or sad, most of all, know that your life is worthwhile.

I changed the words of the song to reflect the healthier message.
I am not voice-trained so feel free to skip the video, I made it for my family. I love you guys.

Who knew her homework would by my payday?

Hours upon hours I’ve spent hovering over my children making sure they were getting their homework done. I never dreamed this duty of mine would eventually pay off in a big old payday of personal validation.

But it did.

Before Christmas break Abigail wrote her 49 page autobiography for her 10th grade Honors history class. She did a bang up job.

We won’t mention how her dad had to take her to work at 4:30 a.m. to print it the morning it was due. Two hours later he then took an emergency trip to FedEx Office to get it bound. – dang ADHD! I was the lucky one in bed recovering from surgery. When LG got home with the finished work in hand, I was actually awake enough to read it over before Abigail took it to school to turn it in.

Reading my little girl’s grown-up account of her life was one of the most beautiful moments. The thing was jam-packed full of many of her most cherished memories. Without intending to include me, I was personally interwoven into every page. Yes, I was there for most of it. I saw her playing in the yard in TN all the time. I put away the toys all over the driveway when they just HAD to play Boxcar Children for the 55th time. I was the one who introduced her to “The Boxcar Children” in the first place! Yes, I was. (What a super proud book-loving mom moment to read that her favorite game to play as a kid was boxcar children!) I know her favorite food is lasagna and her favorite movie is “She’s the Man.” I didn’t know that her friend Courtney gifting her a stuffed sheep when she was four-years-old had meant so much to her but I am so glad that she shared about it. And, yes, I take as much pride as she does that the staff of her elementary school referred to her as Harvard Girl…even at five, she was her own little Elle Woods in the making….beautiful and smart. And, she, by some miracle of heaven belonged to little old me then and still does today.

Her teacher enjoyed the part about The Boxcar Children game too.

As shown above, her teacher, like me, also enjoyed the part of the paper Abigail wrote about me. Although I am positive she couldn’t have appreciated it as much as I did.

I am not trying to brag here. In fact, when I asked Abigail about why my part was just so sweet, she said, “Oh mom, that was so easy to write. I just wrote everything I felt about you and twisted any negative to positive. That’s why you sound so cool.” Ha ha. I didn’t care. I had bawled my eyes out at every single word. It meant everything to me to know that my daughter “gets” me. She knows me intimately. And, most of all, she still loves me, no matter what.

Like Julie Andrews sings in Sound of Music, I felt, “I must have done something good.” When reading Abigail’s words, every single crappy parenting moment dissolved. The one time I found Sophia with poop smeared everywhere in her crib, on her body, in her mouth….gone. The time I force-fed Abigail oatmeal when she was 2. A distant memory. All the nights I cried myself to sleep wondering how I could ever face another day, only to still be crying when everyone woke up….totally worth every second that seemed like an eternity at the time. All the instances where my kids have told me what I suck at and how I need to improve…they didn’t matter. I was loved, gosh dangit. I mattered to my daughter.

I know you are all dying to read it now. It won’t mean to you what it means to me, but here it is for all eternity. I will try to remember to come back here from time to time. Maybe the next time one of my spawn hollers that they hate me.

“My mother is a very eccentric person. She has a wonderful colorful personality. She is a crazy, fun, human being with little to no tact. That is only the beginning of my mother. She grew up with six brothers and sisters who are all just as crazy and loud as her. I love my mom so much and don’t know what I would do without her. She works so hard in my family to keep our house clean and orderly. She is probably the coolest person ever. She is always cracking jokes and gets along with my friends so well. I know I can talk to her about anything and I can count on her to understand me. She has a giving heart and wants to give to everyone around her. She does so much for me and I don’t even ask her to. My favorite thing I do with my mom is when she knows I’m having a hard time, she sends me a card and a little treat. Like once I was stressed and we had just gotten in a fight about something. The next morning, she dropped off a card and a Kneaders breakfast and said we would go shopping later that day. My mom is such an inspiration to me. She always goes after what she wants and doesn’t let anyone tell her she can’t which can be difficult sometimes, but I love her just the same.”

Now, tell me I’m not the luckiest mom in the whole wide world!!