Musings

Work through your Suckiness

My friend Donna is super amazing. She’s a great cook. She’s got it all going on in home decor/fashion. She’s insightful. She’s pee-your-pants-hilarious. She also takes gorgeous photos in NYC. You can follow her instagram feed here.

[Note to self: next time when you blindly type in /donnashoots at the instagram url close your eyes. If you miss that essential underscore between donna and shoots, you get some eclectic-fine-art-nude-photographer.]

Anyhow, I’ve always had a huge respect for Donna. She’s brave. She always follows her heart. She knows herself and goes after what she loves. I have enjoyed watching her photography evolve and improve. I’m sure Donna is going to love being mentioned in this post entitled “work through your suckiness.” For the record, Donna, you have never sucked, at anything, but your photography gets better every day and I loved it from the get-go.

A while back Donna shared this youtube video which shares Ira Glass‘s (yes, I just had to look him up.) idea of working through that gap between the beginnings of your creativity (which always kind of sucks) and what you know as good art (which you will never quite reach if you give up because you suck.) <<<<< Longest sentence ever. Pretty sure that is a run-on. Let’s just chalk that up to my beginnings of suckiness.

The video is well worth the watch.

I’ve been pondering on this video for weeks. I have this big dream of being a “real” writer. I’ve been working on a book for years and have only completed three really crappy chapters. Months ago after a gruesome hour-long writing session where I finished a few sentences and edited the crap out of everything else, I decided that I should never even expect myself to be good enough. I should just let go of the dream and teach English instead. “Let’s face it: I’m never going to be JK Rowling,” I said to myself, “Shoot, I can’t even hope to be Rick Riordan.” (Don’t get me wrong. teaching English is also a life-long dream, and I will be amazing at it, but I just never want to be one of those teachers that teaches because they can’t do. You know what I mean?)

Then I watched this video and realized that the only difference between the great writers and myself is time, patience, and practice….well, and 5 kids (they are pretty opposing to most of my goals.) I’m always grateful for any encouraging and inspiring messages I get in my life. I need them. I think most people do. That’s why I’m sharing this with you today.

This “work through your suckiness” theory is applicable to everyone in whatever they are doing. Every day I am tempted to quit at so many things, but especially as a mother. However, I always keep working at it. I’ve evolved. I’m a much better mother now than I ever was 15 years ago. (There’s a special place in heaven for oldest children.)

So, keep at it, my friends. Do what you love, even if you suck. Eventually you won’t suck as bad.

And that’s your most sucky message of the day. Just keep singing, y’all. Even if you embarrass yourself on your American Idol audition.

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?

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.

Mom’s new year seems so old.

Two things are pressing on my mind today.

1- I need to make my new year resolutions.
2- How am I going to stay sane this year?

Maybe they can be related? Yesterday in church there were a bunch of new ladies. We were to go around the room and tell a few things about ourselves. Our name. Where we live. Our favorite treat. Our job. Our hobby.

I was all prepped to give me answers. I’m Alice Gold. I live within walking distance from the rest of you. In a two bedroom condo. With 5 kids. And a dog. I’m still blessed beyond measure. My favorite treat is whenever I don’t have to cook. (Who said treats have to be sugary anyway?) My jobs are to stay sane and to be kind, both which are greatly challenging and fulfilling. My hobbies are all in trouble this year because I have a newborn.

And then I had to leave the room to change the baby’s stinkiest diaper of all time. I decided I would change my hobby to figuring out if it is possible to change a boy diaper in under 10 baby wipes. By the time I got back to the room, they had changed the game to just telling everyone your name. (They were running out of time.) psh.

I don’t even think I made resolutions last year. I was pregnant. Totally off the hook. My goal last year was to grow a baby. I did it. I’m amazing.

My other goal was to give birth all-natural. I failed. I tried and tried. I labored for what seemed like forever and I thought I would die. I wanted to push the baby out. The doctor said I was only at a 7 and wasn’t allowed to push, yet. I felt destroyed and figured I experienced enough all-natural and that the actors in movies really don’t exaggerate. I was not being kind or staying sane. I begged my husband for the epidural and cussed out the anesthesiologist enough when he got there that he gave me the spinal dose. (You mean you didn’t give me the spinal dose on my other 4 kids? What the heck?) One contraction later…literally…the doctor examined me and said the baby was crowning. I’m blaming the lack of all-natural delivery on him, but we all know it is really my inability to relax without almost lethal doses of drugs.

I’m not gonna lie. I’ve pondered how much easier life would be to live on a constant dose of lethal drugs, or laughing gas…or marijuana. Lucky for me, I’ve never crossed that ponder to action or else I would be a drug addict, in rehab, or dead. Life was meant to hurt. Drugs rob us of the very essence of mortality…except in labor…those drugs are legit. (This paragraph is a total sidenote that I can’t bring myself to omit.)

So, this morning the high of having a newborn wore off. I almost made it 4 months. That’s pretty good if you ask me. When everyone else in the family took off to work and school, I enjoyed the silence for 5 minutes until the baby started crying out of hunger. I looked down at him and felt a little resentment. I’m 41 and still waiting for “my turn”. What I really want is to pursue my own goals, yet for the past 15 years it feels like all I’ve done is take care of babies…I stared at baby Max in the eyes and committed to continued sacrifice. I’ll get my turn eventually.

[I don’t want to turn this in to a stay-home mom vs. working mom debate as I think the choice is personal. I did however laugh a while back when I asked one of my working mom friends which would be better to take a trip to Hawaii with or without children (if you could only go once in a lifetime). She answered, “With kids. We would never go without the kids, we would just miss them too much.” I was like, “yea right, I might get that if I hadn’t committed every waking hour to my kids for 15 years. I would miss my kids after about 5 days and then I would get over it for a few more.” It’s a lot harder to miss your kids when you are always with them.]

Anyhow, the older I have gotten, the more I realize that I can be a mom and pursue my goals. I just can’t pursue them in an all-out fashion like I would prefer. I have to balance my time for me with my time for them. I tend to give them a lot more than I give me, and I hope someday I will look back on that decision with no regrets. Let’s face it, I’m not taking any career with me to the next life, but I do think God will sit me down and one of his first questions will be, “How are your kids? How is your relationship with your kids?”

So this very long post has helped me to process my two things “to do” today. Thanks for riding along. I’m going to stay sane one day at a time and not expect too much out of myself or even for myself. I’ve done it 15 years. What is five more? And, really, is it the end of the world that I’ve been writing this all day instead of doing Caroline’s homework, working on the budget, or cleaning out the stove? Nah.

My answer #2.
Here are some simple goals.

1. Don’t have another baby. Ever. Check. This should be easy. See last post entitled “I’ve been fixed.” But gosh dangit as soon as I heal up from surgery LG and I plan to die trying. 12 weeks of celibacy in a 4 month period of time is rough.
2. Write. When I can and/or feel like it. Maybe join a writing group or class?
3. Take care of myself. This will hopefully include getting back to my running upon doctor’s approval, biking some, eating healthier, and getting back down to pre-baby weight before Maximus’s first birthday. (the occasional pedicure too)
4. Take pictures. When I can and/or feel like it. Read my camera manual if I get around to it.
5. Camp and hike.
6. Love. My husband and kids, mostly.
7. Self-improve. Focusing on being kind and gracious, letting go of control, living in the moment, and being happy.
8. Self-discipline. Focusing on not wasting as much time on FB and being a better morning person, which really means getting to bed earlier.
9. Give more to God. Having daily quiet time. Look for ways to serve my fellowman.
10. Read. (I’m not making a reading goal ever again as per the advice of my therapist.)
11. Save at least $10,000 towards purchasing a home. Sacrifice.
12. Overcome my fear of physics. Watch some smart youtube videos.
13. Remember!!! My family is my greatest blessing. Ever. Make sure they know that I know.

What’s not to love?

I’ve been fixed.

So it’s 12:30 and I can’t sleep. I’m here at the hospital. Yesterday between 10 & 1 my doctor cut me open and removed my prolapsed uterus and stitched up my bladder. It’s pretty weird that I feel so peaceful about not having any more kids.

It’s strange knowing that I will never give birth again. I’m not sad about it as I’m 41 and have a 3 month old who is kicking my old dragging butt. I have five kids and that’s enough for me. In fact it may be a little more than I can handle.

Funny as I lay in the hospital, where my kids aren’t allowed to visit, there are still reminders of them that help me remember WHO I am: I’m mom.

Last night I watched Abigail’s concert via live stream. It was pretty hard to focus as I was all drugged up, but seeing my oldest beautiful teenage daughter singing joyfully warmed my heart more than anything could.

I was super worried about leaving my youngest Baby Maximus for three days, but I was placed in a room with a portrait of twins that look so much like Max.

I have very tender feelings about motherhood right now. Being mom is who I am. It’s what I choose to do every day.

This guy may just be three months old, but I’ve been mom for almost 16 years with an eternity to go. I absolutely adore my children.

My doctor assured me that I wouldn’t have hormone issues since we left my ovaries, but he said some women get very melancholy because of the psychological effects of knowing they can no longer bare children. I told him
I’d be fine. I feel very secure that I’ve brought all the kids to the world that I was charged to do. It’s a great feeling.

Being a mom is the third best thing I’ve ever done in this life. The first is living the gospel. The second is becoming a wife. Funny, how all these things are connected to each other…as part of God’s plan.

His plan for me to be a mother, just as He is my Father is so very humbling. I want to be the kind of parent He is. I want to be the kind of child that makes Him proud. I think my role as mother brings him joy, just as it gives me joy.

Parenting is God’s gift to us. It serves as a constant reminder of His love for us and His trust in us.

I was touched by my dad’s Thanksgiving speech this year.

Dad’s thanksgiving speech 2014:

^^^I just watched this after having it posted for a month and realized that I missed the “touching” part of the speech. It came before I started videoing. Yes, I am an airhead sometimes. The touching part was when my dad said something to the effect of, “You are all loved. You were all wanted.”

All 49 of us minus a few on missions, one grandkid who led the way to heaven, and a couple celebrating with their dad got together at my oldest brother Erick’s house. It was such a beautiful gathering.

My dad nailed the tender feelings of a parent. We are all loved by each other. That’s what family is about.

Life isn’t about anything but learning to be one big happy family.

Having major life-altering surgery has caused me to reflect on how blessed I am.

Not only has my immediate family stepped in to do my job while I recover, but so many friends have helped in so many small ways. The love is tangible.

I may not be giving birth ever again (giving life to my children is the greatest thing I’ve done with my life) but I can always continue to love.

Pajamas, Pizza, and Pop

pj,pizza For the last few months I’ve been feeling completely depleted, spread too thin, at my wit’s end, over it. I laugh at blog posts written by parents with one or two children giving pep talks to those other parents with one or two kids. They say don’t worry, you’ll get there. It’s all worth it. Not that having one kid or two kids isn’t respectable….it’s just that I want to scream through the Ethernet cable…..”Try having four!” And then I laugh at myself because there are probably plenty of moms out there who are right now screaming through their cables and reaching my ear, “Try having eight. Try having ten.”

Honestly I know a lot of parents who have four or five kids. I guess that makes them all extra horny in today’s society. just kidding. I guess I am just a Mormon. A majority of my friends have more than three children, but it’s kind of funny because a lot of those friends aren’t Mormon.

It’s easy for me to get into this “nobody has it worse than me” mode. And honestly, sometimes I think I really do have it hardest. I don’t know any of my friends who have ~~1….~~ (ok I started listing it all and then realized how lame and pathetic I sounded). But, let’s just leave it at the fact that everyone has their own struggles and mine always seem to have an unfair girth. It might be true or it might just be my incorrect victimized attitude. Either way it NEVER helps me to dwell on it.

However, I do have a responsibility to myself to figure out if I am making my own life harder or if all my troubles are caused by things out of my control. For instance: I am Bi-Polar Type II. Did I do something to cause that? No. Should I forever hold my DNA hostage because of the fact? No. Can I manage it? Yes. How about the intense busy schedule that I’ve been fighting since the first day of Spring…is it my fault? Partially. There are parts of it that I can change, there are also parts of it that I just know are going to be there every year and I have to learn to handle it better.

So, I’ve been pondering a lot about things I want to change to make my life happier. Less stressful. More enjoyable. The responsibility of raising my kids always seems to be at the top of the list…If I could just get rid of my taxiing job, if I could just get someone else to cook dinner, if, if, if. Some of those if’s are doable. Some are not. But, it’s not like I can just get rid of my kids so I can have a relaxing life.

Do you know what makes me the most mad? The fact that after being married for sixteen years I still have yet to have a honeymoon! Isn’t that ridiculous!? I stew about my lack of being able to escape away every day. I hold deep feelings of envy towards all the people that seem to be able to drop all their responsibilities and travel away often. Finding an evening for date-night is almost as complicated as my husband’s budget spreadsheet around here. Our schedules, our responsibility to our kids, and our budget always seem to make it impossible….is that fact or is it just not enough of a priority? I don’t know.

And this post is lame. And now you know why I don’t write when I am pregnant! See, how this works. I just go about my life and then all of the sudden I am stuck in another trap. I am so happy to have a baby, but what I found to be a good alternative to traveling away to somewhere tropical, I can no longer even engage in. I used to escape up to the trail every day…to run or bike and then my pregnant body wouldn’t cooperate. So, resentment builds further. I get more down. I don’t see an escape. EVER.

More than anything I just want freedom! LG and I were talking the other day about what kind of car we would want if we could have anything. I would want a Woody, a convertible, a jeep…all things that represent freedom. His desire was for comfort. (It was an interesting exercise…tell me what your dream car says about you.)

So, when feeling stuck, I do what I can to forget about how I feel, I throw myself into what I can do…..be a mom. And then I get sick of that. Really sick of it. Yesterday was bad. Really bad. From 6 something am to 9 something pm I didn’t get a second for myself. I ran every direction for my hubby and kids all day. Even taking a moment to pee wasn’t about me but about the alternative of peeing my pants not being an option for the busy day.

So, I am here to announce that today I succeeded. I said screw it. I have done absolutely nothing except for make pizza for lunch. I found my own little realm of freedom. While eating pizza with my lovely daughters I said to myself, “This for you all of you other moms with the money and freedom to travel. Today I have the freedom to check out of life and the ingredients for this homemade pizza and root-beer floats.” And it felt good. Not as good as Costa Rica or NYC but better than yesterday.

The kids are watching Arthur at the moment. This is what was just said, “The point is we all feel stress sometimes.” I tuned in realizing that this post is all about me ranting about my stress. Is the universe trying to teach me something through Arthur today?…My kids inform me that it’s the lunch lady that is teaching meditation to the kids on the playground “Now, whenever those heebie-jeebies start playing patty-whack with your nerves.” Of course it’s the lunch lady. It’s always the lunch lady. When am I ever going to succumb to the fact that I’m the lunch lady and that teaching kids to meditate is a very important and thankless job? Someday it will all have been worth it, just like those mothers of two claim. They can still be right, even though they had it easier.

And now I can’t stop laughing inside thinking about what our house looked like on Sunday night when I tried to do the same thing with our whole family. I made them sit in a circle, do the meditation pose, and try breathing exercises. Everyone just laughed uncontrollably for thirty minutes. I tried to show them how I could even meditate with all the commotion….except I couldn’t keep a straight face for longer than 20 seconds and every time I cracked a smile they laughed harder.

Now Arthur is coaching Brain during his exam freak-out “Relax your little toes. Feel all that stress leaving your body. Now that stress is leaving the classroom and leaving the school.”

And all I can think about is flying somewhere far away along with that stress. Dangit. Back to where I started. This is my life. How many of you feel sorry for me? Please tell me you are in the same boat. It helps me to not feel like the only lunch-lady in the universe.