And the light bulb went on... again

I'm wondering whether or not to post this on the blog, but what the heck? I've done worse things than what I'm about to share. But shhhh... don't tell my mom.

I got called to the Young Women organization in our ward recently and was very excited about it. Partly because I was ready to move out of the ward to get out of the calling I was currently in, but also because I was really excited to work with the youth. So remember: I did start out with a good attitude.

Now the presidency member that I work with is an outgoing, fun, super cute lady. In fact, the more I got to know her, the more I became intimidated by her. She's got a great sense of style, she relates extremely well with the girls, she's very articulate, and on and on and on. Being, well, me, I started worrying that the girls wouldn't like me as well as they liked this other leader; that when I showed up with Cheerios smeared into my skirt and a haggard expression of one who has just barely survived another Sacrament meeting with a four-year-old, they would dismiss me as one of those uncool mother type figures; that I wouldn't be able to bond well with these girls. And on and on and on.

But today, I experienced a small miracle in the form of bad spelling. That's right, spelling. The aforementioned leader gave the lesson today and as she was listing things on the board, she remarked that she was a terrible speller. "Oh, sure," I thought, and was positive that this was just false modesty. Here was simply another thing she did well. Turns out, she's a bad speller. I mean, a really bad speller. And instead of inwardly gloating, I had an "aha" moment. Was I going to hoard this little tidbit and use it against her, or think of it every time I started to feel jealous or insecure? As much as I may have wanted to, I had this thought instead: this woman is not perfect. She is beautiful and talented in many ways, but she is a human being with crazy little imperfections, just like the rest of us. I can get over myself and be her friend. I want to be her friend.

Anyway, just wanted to share because so many times I feel like I'm not good or smart or accomplished enough to be worth much. But I am. And so is she. I hope you think you are, too.


For some of you, this will look familiar. I wanted to post it again today and add a little story.

On Wednesday night, I was talking to one of the girls about Personal Progress. The conversation drifted a bit to school, and then a little further to boys. There may also have been a lot of giggling going on, but that's neither here nor there. This girl looked at me and said, "You're really easy to talk to. I'm feelin' the love!" (This is a direct quote.)

Do you have any idea how that made me feel? If you've read this, then perhaps you'll understand the depth of my emotion when I say that It. Was. Awesome.

And you know who gave me the courage to open up to these girls a little more (besides my super wonderful husband, who pep talks me on a regular basis and my great bishop, whose advice was that I could best help these girls by simply "being present")? It was this leader. With nary a word, she encouraged me to be, well, me.

I wonder if she knows how cool she is, without even trying. I think she must, and she doesn't even get a big head about it. It's part of why she's so cool.


P.S. In an attempt to show my family how much I love them and want to be with them, and also in an attempt to catch up with life and prove that I am strong enough to quit blogging cold turkey for at least a weekend, I'm taking a little break (this is even a scheduled post - how blog savvy am I?). If you haven't signed up to win some cool stuff, go here, make a comment, cross your fingers. Have a great Halloween weekend and I'll see you Monday.

All the rage

road rage

noun

a fit of violent anger by the driver of an automobile, esp. one directed toward and endangering other motorists or pedestrians

(I'm assuming everyone knows what road rage is, but I thought I'd slap a definition up there so I look all fancy and smart.)


I don't get road rage. I mean, I understand why road rage exists; I'm just not someone who engages in that particular practice. I don't have the emotional wherewithal to get upset at people I may never see again (except maybe that girl in the grocery store, and I've mostly forgiven her).

No, I like to save my rage for those I hold dear to my heart. You see, I get bed rage. Yep, bed rage. If my husband is in the middle of the bed, or has inadvertently gouged me with his toenails, or is breathing too loudly (and no, I don't mean snoring, I mean breathing too loudly), I fume. If Millie is up for no good reason, I lie in bed, wishing I could go stick her in the car seat for the rest of the night (not that I'd never do that, first, because it's cold, and second, because that would be a horrible thing to do). When Riley coughs or sneezes, and I wake up and then stay up for half-an-hour, steam comes out my ears (and this is not conducive to good hair days, of which I don't have many to begin with).

If my family is going to run me ragged (in a good way, because I sure love 'em) during the day, they should at least have the decency to sleep through the night without moving, breathing, making any noise, or needing to pee. Sheesh! That's not too much to ask, is it?

To be fair, last night's bed rage was my own darn fault. Or maybe I'll blame it on Target. Yeah, I think I will. Because Target is the only store I could find in town that still had candy corn left (specifically, Autumn Mix) and I felt that since food storage is a smart idea in these perilous economic times, I should stock up. So I bought two bags, and I tore into the first one last night with much gusto. My stomach wasn't too thrilled at 4:30 this morning.

Then, as I was just starting to get drowsy, I had the idea that this might make an interesting post. And you know how that goes. Or maybe you don't. Don't worry, I'll enlighten you. It starts with that little idea for a post. It then quickly spirals out of control until you have not only the entire post running around in your brain, but also all of the other things you need to do the next day, which leads to you thinking about the list of things you were supposed to get done last week but didn't and now have to add to this week's to-do list, which reminds you of something funny that happened that might make a good post idea.

Anyway, there I was, Blogger Becky running amok. Real-life Becky knew that if the next two hours were spent sleeping instead of doing all that other stuff, it would make life much easier for the entire family. So she yelled "Zip it, you freak!" to Blogger Becky, who was a little disgruntled, but slunk off just the same. Real-life Becky got maybe another twenty minutes of sleep. Who knows? And really, I can't blame my husband or my kids. I just have sleep issues, I guess.

So if you're ever driving around in my neighborhood and you cut me off or are following too closely, no worries. Just don't ask if you can crash at my place for a night.

Creature of habit

Earlier this month, in our city election, none of the mayoral candidates received at least 40% of the votes. So hubby and I hit the polls again yesterday for the re-vote. Adam mentioned that since we were out and about anyway, we could swing by another polling location and vote early in the presidential election. I demurred, telling him that I needed to review the names of people I'm voting for. (This is partially true - for the life of me, I cannot remember which one of the guys I want for Senator. They were on the same page in my sample ballot booklet and it came down to the two of them. I picked one. I just can't ever remember which one. Oh, man, I'm the worst kind of voter, aren't I?)

So, yes, I really did need to review the names. But you want to know the bigger reason I said no? It was because it wasn't the first Tuesday in November. I've always voted in the presidential elections on the first Tuesday in November. (Always. Ha! This will only be the third time I've voted for president. Still, it's tradition.)

Even two years ago, I would have been embarrassed by this. I wouldn't have wanted people thinking that it was impossible for me to be flexible or spontaneous. I would have seen this as a major flaw in my character. But not anymore. So I like to stick to a schedule. Big deal. I like to have a plan and follow the plan. So what? I am a creature of habit. Wanna make somethin' of it?

See, I finally learned something about myself. This doesn't mean that I freak out over every little glitch in my perfectly planned day. It doesn't mean that I hate surprises and I'm never up for something new. I'm not a stick in the mud. I just like routine. And that's okay. I'm okay.

Now when my husband gets home and reads this post, he's gonna give me the look. The one that says, hey, you don't have to make up excuses about reviewing names. Just tell me the real reason. Because I'll still love you. And then I'll give him the look. The one that says, I know you will. Sometimes I forget, but I'm still trying. I'll give you the real reason next time. (We've got some pretty amazing looks, right? And after only five years of marriage. By the time we hit our fiftieth anniversary, we won't even have to talk anymore. It'll be all telepathy, all the time. We'll be rich and famous, and then no one in the world will give a hoot that I'm a rigid control freak.)

So I'm curious. Do you have a flaw that's not really a flaw? Have you come to terms with it? And, most importantly, do your husbands still love you, in spite of (or even better, because of) that flaw?

Go ahead. Spill.

Blah

Well, it's been non-stop fun at our house since Sunday evening. In fact, I think I'll refer to the last thirty-six hours as Puke-Fest 2008 (which is actually quite similar to what I've always imagined Oktoberfest to be like - I mean, all that beer and sausage can't be good for the digestive system, right?). And just in case you'd like your own little festival, here's a schedule of events:

Sunday evening:
Boy gets sick.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.

Very early Monday morning:
Mom "sleeps" in room with Boy because Boy is feeling sad and a little scared.
Dad gets sick.
Repeat.

Monday morning:
Girl gets sick.
Boy still sick.
Dad still sick.
Mom gets sick.
Repeat.

Monday afternoon:
Everyone sleeps for three hours.
More sickness.

Monday evening:
Dad's on the rebound.
Boy and Girl eat Cheerios off the floor like dogs, but who cares? They're eating something.
Mom is stretched out on couch, wondering why she got the worst case, but also glad no one else did.
Dad, folding the thirteenth load of laundry of the day, makes the comment, "This housekeeping stuff never ends, does it?"
Mom shakes her head weakly.

Tuesday morning:
Dad goes to work.
Boy watches Clifford.
Girl sleeps.
Mom, without much enthusiasm, blogs about Puke-Fest 2008.

The End.

It's a bird, it's a plane...

See this guy?

Thanks to him, I've been feeling safe and secure all weekend, while my husband was away in Girdwood for a class. Yeah, he's pretty tough looking, right? He can leap from very tall couches and shoot fire out of all ten of his fingers.

His name is Super Riley.


This is his arch enemy/best friend, The Mean and Nasty:

If I'm doing dishes and The Mean and Nasty comes along to thwart my efforts, Super Riley whisks her away to play with cars or trains. If we're strolling through the grocery store and The Mean and Nasty gets mean and nasty, Super Riley uses his awesome power to distract her or coax a smile. If The Mean and Nasty takes off down the hall with one of my shoes, Super Riley is right there to save the day.


I'm so lucky to have such a big, strong superhero in my life!


P.S. Before you ask, I'll just tell you. The Mean and Nasty? I have no idea where he came up with that. His words, not mine. I thought about discouraging it, but you know, it could be a whole lot worse.

There goes the sun, little darlin'

In keeping with what has inadvertently become the theme of the week, I'll be talking about Alaska today. People keep asking great questions, which gives me more and more things to write about.

Kris wanted to know if the lack of sunlight during the winter months bummed us out.

Well, first let me give you some info. Where we are, the average amount of daylight for the month of June is 19 hours; for the month of December it's 5 hours (from about 10am-3pm). And our first winter here, I loved it! It was kind of cool driving to the grocery store at 9:30 in the morning and needing your headlights. Of course, once the novelty wears off, it's a little less fun.

But I've fallen into a routine. After June 21st, we lose a little daylight each day, though it's not until the middle of October that I really start noticing. By that point, I'm all geared up for the holidays. So I happily sail through November and December on a little cloud of turkey dreams and Christmas spirit. And now that I associate darkness with snow, I even get a little excited about the shorter days. When January finally rolls around, and I realize that we're gaining back those minutes of daylight, it's a pick-me-up. It really is a mental thing for me: get past Winter Solstice, and it is smooth sailing from there.

Now having said this, I realize this is by no means a typical reaction to the darker months. A lot of people struggle with the lack of daylight, and even though I'm pretty okay with it mentally, it still does a number on my body. It is a lot harder to get out of bed when there's no sunlight streaming through the window month after month. (On the other hand, it's hard to make yourself go to bed on time when the sun is still shining at midnight.) It makes me a little lethargic and I start craving carbs like nobody's business. (Gosh, I'm glad I have something to blame this on for at least part of the year!)

Adam would want me to put in his two cents, and I'm crazy about the guy, so I will. He's mostly stuck inside for the daylight hours during the winter, and as a result, has a harder time with it than I do. He feels more cooped up and claustrophobic during those months, so it's good for us to go shopping together, or go for a walk, even if we feel like lounging all evening. Last Thanksgiving, we took a three-mile walk around the neighborhood in the dark, and it was so much fun! Plus, Riley loves flashlights, so why not?

How about you? What's it like where you live?

My eyes!

Is it just me (hey, why does that sound familiar... oh, hi Randi!), or is that yellowish color in my new header a tad on the abrasive side?

No matter. I'm too lazy to fix it right now anyway.

Why we moved to the best state in the Union

Sue Q wanted to know what brought our family to this great state. (Isn't it the best when people ask questions that give you ideas for blogging? It means you don't have to think so hard. And I love not thinking hard, don't you?) So, I'll tell you why we came.

It was the Russians.

What, you need more than that?




Okay, so we were living in Idaho, doing the dreaded job search, when Adam returned to Virginia (where we had previously lived for a year) to complete the final month of classes for his Master's program. We'd been submitting applications for teaching jobs to several different schools in several different states, none of which included Alaska. Then, in Virginia, a friend of Adam's mentioned that his sister worked in a school district up north. And as a bonus, there was a sizable Russian-speaking population.

See, Adam speaks Russian, thanks to his mission. And he's always wanted to use that skill for something more than accosting (he'd rather I used the word greeting, but whatev - this is my blog) old ladies in the supermarket when he hears them use the word сыр (cheese) or туалетная щётка (toilet brush). So combine that with an ELL (English Language Learners) endorsement, and presto! A happy man.

In a matter of two weeks, we went from I-don't-know-what-we'll-do-if-we-don't-find-a-job-soon anxiety to hey-Mom-and-Dad-we're-moving-to-Alaska-and-we're-taking-your-favorite-grandchild-with-us excitement.

And that's what brought us here. Well, technically, two planes and a ferry and a car brought us here (planes for Riley and me, ferry and car for Adam), but you get the idea. Yeah, sometimes it's hard not to have family nearby, but we love the people here and have made a lot of good friends. It feels like home.

By the way, it was mentioned that I practically gave away the top-secret location of our place of residence in my last post. It's true, you could probably track us down now without too much effort (even though I did crop the snowman picture so our building number wasn't right there in bold, black numbers). I only ask that once you commence stalking me and my family (but mostly me, because I'm the famous one - I have my own blog, you know), you bring cookies to share. Or brownies. Maybe both.

Yeah, both.

North to Alaska

One of my blog pals, Mommy Bee, wrote a great post about living in Alaska and I loved it so much I took her suggestion to do the same.

Wasilla, Alaska has a population of 9,780. Wikipedia says that this makes us "the fourth largest population center in Alaska, after Anchorage, Fairbanks, and the capital Juneau." Nice. Wasilla is located in the Matanuska-Susitna Valley; it's about 40 miles north of Anchorage and 170 miles south of the entrance to Denali National Park (which is where Mt. McKinley is located).


The Valley has been growing rapidly for many years. Sometimes I hear people say that it's getting too crowded and they're thinking about moving further north. That always makes me chuckle, but maybe in a few more years I'll understand. Just since we've lived here, the town has acquired a super Walmart (there was already a Walmart, it just got upgraded), Target, Chili's, IHOP, and my personal favorite, Dairy Queen. So unless you're a frequent shopper who requires a lot of variation, you can get by pretty well.

The summers are short, but thanks to extended daylight hours, it's not too traumatic. And since it doesn't get very hot, you learn to seize the day. I think it may have hit the high sixties on the day this picture was taken.


We are just starting our fourth winter, so I'm no expert, but it doesn't get a whole lot colder than in South-Eastern Idaho, where I grew up. Some years we get a lot of snow, some we don't. Our first Thanksgiving here was the best I've ever had. It snowed the entire day, and we alternated shoveling snow with warming up inside with a slice of pie.


One year we built a snow cave out in the front yard.



And of course, there are always snowmen that need constructing.


Wasilla Lake is within walking distance from our apartment and is great for both swimming and ice skating.



These mountains, part of the Talkeetna range, are my favorite mountains ever. They have their own personality.


Some days, even if I'm just making a trip to the store, I look around and think about how incredible it is to live here. I'm a lucky girl!

P.S. I also wrote about a wildlife tour we went on a while back. Check it out here if you'd like.

Is getting there really half the fun?

For some reason, I have always had this notion that a mom who had trouble conceiving or who had to go to great lengths to conceive is ten times the mother I am. If you have to work really hard for something, you appreciate it more, right? Does that extend to children? Because I got pregnant soon after I married Adam. Really soon. People kid us about having a honeymoon baby, and I always counter with, "No, we waited three whole weeks." Sometimes I wonder if I take motherhood for granted because it came so easy.

Do moms who tried for years and years to have a child get frustrated with their children as often as I do? Are moms who were on bed rest for nine months more patient than I am? Do moms who finally, finally get to hold that baby they've been dreaming of count their blessings more frequently than I do? Maybe. But maybe not. Maybe whatever road you had to take to get there, motherhood is hard and demanding and exhausting and unbelievably wonderful. Maybe it's not the getting there, but what comes after you've arrived that's the important part.

And maybe I'll quit with the maybes and tell you a little about my own journey to becoming a mom. I've mysteriously alluded to the horrors of my first pregnancy in some previous posts, so here's the skinny, with all the gory details. Well, not too gory.

Month 1
No problems. Didn't even know I was pregnant. Life was normal.

Month 2
I hated food - all food. Everything edible repulsed me. I lost somewhere between ten and fifteen pounds in two weeks. There were two visits to the ER, due to dehydration. Then I spent a week in the hospital and came home with a picc line. Phenergan became my best friend, not because it lessened the nausea, but because it could put me to sleep in less than 5 minutes. Adam became an expert on flushing out the picc line and hooking me up to TPN.

Months 3-4
I hung out in bed all day, watching movies and reading books, retreating from the world in the hopes that I could dull the constant icky feeling in my stomach. I began to wonder if you could die from nausea (and kind of wished I would). I consumed nothing but Wheat Thins and Koolaid, and threw up 10 to 12 times a day. My favorite thing in life - the only thing I liked - was sleeping. It was a blissful escape from reality. I had very vivid dreams of food. Buffet tables of nachos with all the fixings, huge piles of spaghetti, and chicken strips with four types of dipping sauce.

Months 5-9
The picc line came out and everything was perfect. Seriously. It just stopped. The rest of the pregnancy was cake. Mmm... cake. Lots of cake! Hey, don't judge me. I had a lotta time to make up for.

My pregnancy with Millie was, thankfully, not as difficult. Still, when a pregnant friend tells me she's thrown up twice in a week, I stare at her incredulously, thinking how insignificant that is, until my humanity kicks in and I say, "Man, that sucks!" Because it does. Who cares how often it happens? When you feel lousy, you feel lousy. Who am I to diminish her feelings?

Okay, I think I'm starting to ramble. My point is, in motherhood, as in all things, I guess you've got to cope with the hand you've been dealt. And if you can find a way to enjoy it, and not just tolerate it, you're a superhero.

To be or not to be... rude?

I read a post a day or two ago about rudeness and whether it was ever okay to be rude. I was going to tell a little story in the comment box, but I decided that it would work better as a post, since the little story turned into a big story. Plus, I'm curious what other people think.

One evening, at the grocery store, my poor son got sick. It ended up all over him, me, and the cart. I stood there for a moment, soaked, shocked, and slightly embarrassed, and then asked one of the store's employees to lend a helping hand. Now, I have no problem cleaning up a mess, and I totally understand that puke is gross. It just it. Even more so if it comes out of someone else. But I was holding a crying child, for crying out loud! There just wasn't a lot I could do. And maybe you have a magical pair of pants with a handy mop in the back pocket for such an occasion, but I do not.

So they sent a girl to grab a mop. She came back, looked at the floor, looked at me, and turned away. Then she turned back for another peek, backed up several steps, then leaned forward for another look. Her monologue went something like this:

"Oh my gosh! That's just... I think I'm going to be sick. I can't handle this. I don't do well with... Oh my gosh. I don't really... I just... Oh my gosh. Gross. I just can't handle this."

And all the while, she's flitting around like a hummingbird, looking, and then looking away in disgust. I was speechless. And unbelievably pissed off. Finally, another employee came over, snatched the mop, and got to work. And get this. The girl stayed to watch, her idiotic babbling continuing in the background.

I apologized for the inconvenience, sincerely thanked the man who helped, and we headed home. I fumed the entire way. And in all honesty, I don't know who I was more angry with, her or me. I couldn't believe that I hadn't say a word! I should have told her, "You can't handle it? You can't handle it?! I'm so sorry, I thought I was the one with the problem. Get the %#@* out of my sight and go find someone who is capable of coherent sentences and an ounce of decency!"

Anyone who knows me well is laughing heartily, because even though I'd like to have the guts to say something like that, I don't. I'm polite. It's a curse. I guess that nice will get you a long way in life, but sometimes it'd be nice to be able to get a little rude if there's a crazy girl with a mop involved.

Am I right?

My big day

Today is a big deal for me, it being both my one year bloggiversary and the day of my 100th post. It's practically a national holiday!!

Step back in time with me, won't you? Here's what I wrote for my very first post:

Well, after much deliberating, I've decided to start a family blog. I've been playing around a bit and have realized I'm a bit clueless about setting it up, but hopefully it will be nice and pretty soon. Wish me luck!

It's both touching and informative.

Well now. On this day, I decree that there shall be no lurkers on my blog! If you stop by to read, you better comment, got it? Cuz it's my bloggiversary and I'll get bossy and domineering if I want to! Huh. Doesn't quite flow like the original. But seriously, I've got a pack of very aggressive cyber dogs ready to go postal on your... uh. You know.

I got some great suggestions from people a while back on what I should do for my big day. Oddly enough, none of them involved vicious threats or cyber dogs. Weird. Talk about lacking imagination...

Anyway, I've decided to do a giveaway. And to tell you all why I started blogging. (I probably should have mentioned the giveaway second, because now no one is even interested in the reason I started blogging, which I guess is okay; it's not like it's a life-changing story. But you have to read it to get to the giveaway info, ha ha! And no skimming through to the end - cyber dogs, remember?)

It all started because my sister had a blog. She kept bugging me about it, and she's pretty cool, so I thought maybe if I had blog, I could be cool as well. Turns out, blogging can't make you cool. It can't give you better hair or even take you down a dress size. And yet I loved it! Not only is it an online journal of sorts (which I'm hoping my kids will want to read someday, if only to make themselves feel better about their own lives), but it got me in touch with some old friends and introduced me to new ones. Plus I love to write. Where's the bad?

Any now for the giveaway! Drumroll please...

A Charlie Brown Christmas is one of my favorite Christmas shows ever, so I thought I'd share the wealth. In addition, I'll throw in a few homemade Christmas cards, because I'm selfless like that.

And I have to tell you, because it's just so like me to worry about something like this, that I debated for days about the cards. I know that there are millions of artsy and crafty ladies out there who could totally kick my butt in the card-making department. If you're one of those ladies and you win the giveaway, and you smirk when you get a peek at my novice card making skills, just lie to me, okay? You must tell me how impressed you are with my skills. Lie through your pretty little teeth. Or big teeth, whatever.

So, leave me a comment (on this post) and I'll announce the lucky winner in two weeks, on November 3rd. Good luck!

Eighty-six the expectations

Remember my cookie story? The one about wanting perfect "moments" but ending up with a kid in time out and a frustrated mom instead? Yeah. Apparently I haven't learned my lesson yet.

Yesterday I asked Adam if I could take a trip into Anchorage for some shopping and a movie. He, loving husband that he is, knows that if I don't do those types of things occasionally, life will swiftly go downhill for me, him, the kids, and any poor fool who happens to get in the way. So he said yes. I planned out my whole day (cuz I'm a big nerd and I like lists and maps) and had this perfect little scenario in my mind of how the next morning would go.

I would get up before the kids and have time for a nice, leisurely shower. Then I'd make everyone breakfast and there would be no comments like, "This is yucky," or "I'm not going to eat this." Millie wouldn't throw food and we'd have nice a conversation that didn't revolve around Riley's bodily functions. Then I'd get the kids dressed and ready for the day, kiss everyone goodbye, and be out the door by 8:15. There would be love and harmony every step of the way.

(Listen, I know you're wondering which fuse in my befuddled little brain has blown in order for me to come up with these highly unrealistic dreams. And you're wondering why I haven't yet figured out that things never, ever, EVER go as planned. I don't know what to tell you. I'm a moron.)

In reality, I got my shower and I left the house at 8:40-ish. Not horrible, I know, but wait for it. It gets worse. The kids got up too early, so I knew they were bound to be cranky by lunchtime. Millie had a poopy diaper and a milk-soaked shirt when I left. Breakfast took forever; there was throwing of food and a barked order for the boy to go chill in his room until he could deal with life like an normal human being. (Do four year olds count as normal human beings?) Then Riley peed all over the floor (again!) while Millie screamed bloody murder in the background. By the time I hugged everyone goodbye, I had already cried enough to remove any trace of the mascara I had so carefully applied an hour earlier.

Then we - me, my guilt, and Chris LeDoux - headed off to Anchorage.

Now, I should tell you that I had a great day in Anchorage, and I feel rejuvenated enough to last another week as a wife and mother. But why, why, why do I set myself up for failure like that? I don't know. I really don't.

But I'm going to keep plodding along. I'm going to quit expecting perfection from me and from those around me (especially the ones who don't even have fully formed cognitive skills yet). I'm going to stop taking motherhood so personally. By this, I mean I'm going to stop beating myself up every time one of my kids makes a not-so-great decision.

In the words of Gloria Gaynor, "I will survive!"

Go ahead, hit me with it

I haven't had too much drama in my life recently, so I thought I'd whip out some controversial topics for us to mull over. Politics, health care, and education, oh my! That sounds like fun for everyone, yeah?

My first subject is none other than the Palin poll. Have you heard about this? The PBS website had a poll awhile back that asked, "Do you think that Sarah Palin is qualified to serve as Vice President of the United States?" One story states that the lefties knew about it first and flooded the polls with NO, so the righties have been circulating emails to get people to vote YES. Such the drama! My question is, do you think the only reason there is all of this hulabaloo over a Vice Presidential candidate is because it's a woman? Has there ever been such a fuss over any other would-be Vice Prez? And is it really an issue of qualification (and I'm assuming here that they're talking about her lack of experience)? Because I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say maybe we should be worrying more about things like, well, the issues themselves. What's your opinion?

Now, onto health care. Not your health, per se, but that of your little ones. I took Millie to her one-year well child appointment yesterday and the poor thing had to get six shots. Six! She was cranky and worn out and she clung to her daddy for the entire evening. And I wondered, was it neccessary? Do you immunize your kiddos? Because there seems to be a whole lot of information on both sides. If you don't immunize, your child will get smallpox. If you immunize, your child will become autistic. I know that this is gross over generalization, but do you see what I mean? Is it six of one and half a dozen of the other? Either way there are risks. Either way, someone, somewhere is going to be appalled at the decision you've made, so you may as well pick the one you feel good about, right? Oh, and one more thing. I've never had a flu shot. Neither have my kids. Comments... suggestions... tongue lashings?

Last but not least, education. I have been asking everyone in sight when they sent their boys off to kindergarten. In fact, I have a friend who has a friend whose father-in-law, I think it was, who... well, you get the idea. Whoever he is, the guy wrote a thesis for his Master's explaining why boys - ALL boys - should wait an extra year before embarking upon their elementary school journey. In his family, the girls started at five and the boys started at six. Do you think that when to start school is an issue that differs for each individual child? Or do boys have it harder in a more girl-friendly education system? I just really, really, really don't want Riley to have a bad experience the first year and end up hating school for life. Boys typically have a higher energy level, and sitting still for a long period of time is not one of Riley's strong suits. But he's bright, and I don't think he'd struggle with the curriculum. We've tentatively decided to start him next year. (He'll be five in May.) But as you can see, I'm still agonizing over the decision.

Okay, now that I've got you arguing amongst yourselves, I'm gonna throw jealousy into the mix. Because look what I've won!

Mmmm... they look de-lish, don't they? I almost feel bad because this was the first time I'd ever commented on that particular blog. Almost... Thanks, Sue!

Hugh, to-do lists, and great gift ideas - all in one post!

Is it strange that when I don't have a car for the day, I get grandiose visions of being 150% more productive than on other days?

See, we get by with one vehicle in our family. My husband, wonderful man that he is, bikes the 2.5 miles to work every morning in rain, sleet, snow, or dark of night. Like the postman. But I think Adam is way hotter than the postman, considering the person who delivers our mail is not male. This is not to say that if our mailman WERE a man, I'd think him cuter than my hubby. Because I wouldn't. Adam is a very nice looking fellow. Unless our postman was Hugh Laurie, and then it would be a toss up. But Hugh probably doesn't need another job, because he's a doctor, and doctors are loaded.

Oh, golly. Let's get back on track, shall we? Hubby? Awesome. Me? Car-less for the day because Adam needed to be in Palmer.

Now obviously, the first thing to do when you're stuck at home with two kids and no place to go is to declare a pajama day, in which no one bathes or brushes hair or gets out of bed until 8am (that's late for us). The second thing is to look around your humble abode as you're eating breakfast and wonder how you live in such filth. This will lead to a very long list of chores to be done, which includes, but is not limited to, the following:

dishes
sweeping
vacuuming
dusting
cleaning out the front closet
going through the kids' clothes to pack away what no longer fits
cleaning the bathroom
filling up a box to be donated to the thrift store
laundry
making sure library books are not overdue
emailing that recipe my friend asked for
wiping the fingerprints off the computer and TV screens
changing the towels in the kitchen and bathroom

Yeah, I can be an overachiever. You know what they say, when the going gets tough, the tough make an insanely huge to-do list that will render them useless by four in the afternoon. Or something like that.

Has anyone but me noticed that my list is still patiently waiting on the kitchen counter because I'm at the computer blogging instead of working? No? Cool.

While you're along for the time-wasting ride, check out this little number. It'd make a great Christmas gift, right? I mean, this is something I can't believe I've been living without. And it's on sale! Does life get any better? I think so. And here's why.

Alright, alright, enough with the tomfoolery; I've got work to do.

No fashionista here

I just read an article about fashion trumping pain when beauty is at stake. Is that for real?

Because I'm the type of girl who puts on a coat if it's cold outside, whether it ruins my "look" or not. I never wear heels unless I'm going to church, and I've never owned a little black dress.

Now, don't get me wrong, I think that high heels and jeans can look great together. I love bright, bold patterns, and I kinda like the belt-over-the-shirt look. But I can't pull any of that off. My sensible, logical self doesn't condone squished toes, three coats of mascara, or chunky necklaces that my daughter will try to choke me with. And I think I've come to terms with it. Of course, I have days when I change my outfit four times and I wish I looked like Lorelai Gilmore, but for the most part, I'm comfortable with who I am.

It makes me wonder, though. Am I a lone, frumpy girl in a fashion-savvy world?

Go ahead, vote in the poll. You know you want to.

My good points

Today my blog pal Heather asked those of us who are so inclined to list the things we do well as mothers. It's already been a rough day at my place, so this is either a really good assignment for today, or a really bad one. I haven't quite decided which.

But I will persevere!

1. I am good at waiting ten, twenty, even thirty seconds for an answer after I ask a question. If it is obvious that Riley is thinking and not just tuning out, then who am I to rush the process?
2. I am good at providing hearty, healthy meals for my kids (and husband).
3. I am the fountain of all knowledge. When it comes to the location of Hot Wheels, that is. If Riley has misplaced a beloved car, chances are, I can visualize its last location. I'm spooky like that.
4. My kids get a hug and a kiss every single morning.
5. Millie hates to be on her back - screaming, wailing, thrashing, she does it all. So I've learned to be the fastest diaper changer west of the Mississippi.
6. I'm good at taking my kids to the library on a regular basis.
7. I'm good at letting them know what's going on for the day. Riley, especially, seems to do better when he knows the schedule.
8. I let Riley and Millie know that I'm excited to see the things they can do - somersaults, picking up Cheerios, landing flying jumps off the couch, whatever.
9. I'm good at sharing stories about grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, etc. Living so far away makes it hard to get to know them, so we pull out pictures sometimes and talk about the extended family.
10. I'm good at being just as excited as Riley at holiday or birthday time. Obviously, Millie doesn't quite understand what's going on yet, but she sure loves to see the rest of us excited.
11. I'm good at telling Riley what a great big brother he is, and how much his sister loves him. And vice versa.
    
12. Riley has never been nervous to go to the doctor or dentist. I like to think this is because I am honest with him about what goes on. If he's getting shots and it's going to hurt, I say so. But we also talk about how it goes away quickly, so he doesn't get worked up.
13. Millie doesn't have to endure hair pulling yet, because we forgo the cutesy hairdos for now. (This probably says more about how lazy I am than what a good mom I make, but oh well. I don't like my hair yanked, so I assume she doesn't either.)
14. I love my kids. I love 'em like crazy, even on the days it's hard to like them.

Hmmm... I think I've decided. It was a good assignment for me! And I'm excited to read what other people have to say.

The good, the bad, and the so-so

Good news: I am about five pounds away from fitting into a pair of pants that I haven't worn since Adam and I were newlyweds (and by fitting, I'm talking no love handles hangin' out). Shhh! Do you hear that? I think a choir of angels is singing!

Bad news: I'm all stressed out over buying a house again. How do people afford homes?!

So-so news: In ten days, it will have been one year since I started blogging. Plus, I'm about six posts away from my 100th post. It feels like I should do something big for that day, or at least write such an amazing post that I'll get 813 comments. (Good grief, what the heck would I do then? I'm the type of person who feels that if someone was nice enough to comment, I should check out their blog and comment as well. That'd be a lotta work. Let's shoot for 15, instead.) Anyway, I guess I could do a give away or something cool, but today I'm feeling horribly unmotivated. Someone just make my decision for me, please! And don't tell my husband I gave you free reign to do it, because he gets in trouble for that.

Am I overqualified for this job?

I read a post today by Lisa over at Away From It All. She showed us some of the math homework her fifth-grade daughter has to do, and I admitted something to her that I'm now going to share with the rest of you. I pulled out a pencil and did the math problems. (hangs head in shame)

It's true. I love math and always have. I know to some people, that's makes me a big fat loser. And totally lame. But I'll be over it in a few minutes, so no biggie. It did get me thinking, however. I went to four years years of high school and five years of college. And for what? To learn how to put a Blue's Clues DVD in the DVD player, make killer breadsticks, change diapers, and color inside the lines? Is my "real" knowledge being completely wasted while I hang out at home raising kids?

I think not.

I think I'm intelligent enough to help my kids with their homework once they start school. If not, I'm intelligent enough to find someone who can. I'm smart enough to manage our finances. We're buying a house next year and I've read everything I can get my hands on so that we'll being making economically sound buying decisions. That takes at least half a brain, correct? And I know enough about the English language and grammar to blog well enough that at least one person thinks I'm funny on a regular basis (thanks, Heather!).

In twenty years, I don't think I'll be looking back lamenting the fact that all I ever did in life was raise kids. Because it takes smarts. It takes hard work and energy and love and an unbelievable amount of patience.

I think that's something to be proud of.

Blast from the past

I got tagged by T, who joked about us being long lost twins. Uh, T? My birthday is also on a small holiday. Creepy, no?

So here's the deal. I'm supposed to tell you a bit about what was going on in my life 20, 10, 5, and 1 year(s) ago. And yesterday. I don't know if yesterday is part of the tag, but T did it. And yesterday was a good day, so why not share?

Twenty years ago:
I was seven years old. What was I like at seven? Very similar to what I'm like now, I suppose. A skinnier, shorter ISFJ.

Ten years ago:
I was in the middle of my first semester of college and loving every minute. Chemistry was my favorite class and calculus was my least fav. Don't get me wrong, I love math! Algebra, geometry, trig - love it! Calculus is a whole other story. It's not technically math, is it? It's more like brain-numbing gibberish. It doesn't matter, though; I slept through 75% of the course.

I was also learning other valuable bits of information (though I didn't know it at the time), like that roommates are good prep for having kids. I need to use the phone! Do your dishes! Don't be so noisy - it's one in the morning! You think you can drag home drunken/stoned strangers and have me be okay with it? You've got another thing coming, missy! See? Bring on the teenage years.

Five years ago:
Adam and I were living in a little hole of an apartment in Virginia, still newlyweds. We certainly didn't score points with anyone by moving over two thousand miles away from both sets of parents, but it turned out to be a great thing for our marriage.

Also, almost exactly five years ago, I found out I was pregnant with Riley. I was terrified, excited, and sick as a dog. My first few months of pregnancy could be a post (or two or three) in and of itself, so I'll just say that it took a good two and a half years after Riley to even want to think about possibly having another kid. And not because we didn't want more kids. I just really wasn't looking forward to doing the pregnancy thing again.

One year ago:
Millie was about three weeks old and I was in a sleep-deprived zombie-like state that only newborns and insomnia can produce. My mom was visiting from Idaho, and all the changes that had recently taken place had turned my normally cheerful little boy into a cranky, undisciplined monster. And those were his good days. Fortunately that passed quickly, and Millie learned to sleep through the night.

Yesterday:
Yesterday we got a good four inches of snow. It was beautiful. It's melting off pretty fast, but I'm a sucker for those fat, wet, heavy snowfalls that turn the world white.

I voted yesterday, so I felt very mature and responsible.

Yesterday Riley was playing with his Power Touch Learning System when he turned to me and asked why his book wasn't working. He had taken out the Sesame Street book that came with the system and replaced it with his favorite Clifford book. I told him it wasn't compatible. He suggested we go to the library to find a compatible Clifford book. I told him this was a good matter to take up with his grandmas with regards to Christmas shopping. He agreed.

I noticed yesterday that the price of a gallon of gas has dropped below $4. That's nice.

Yesterday I did a good deed, and it made me feel good. I need to do those more often.

Alrighty, then. I tagged people recently, so I won't boss you around again so quickly. If you want to do it, have fun. I did.


(Yes, I blatantly stole the title of this post from a poorly scripted movie starring what's-her-face and the cute guy from The Mummy.)

Tooth troubles

This story goes out to T, who has, at one time, also had a broken front tooth. If you've never experienced this, well, you're not missing out on much. Unless you have a dentist fetish, in which case, break away!

When I was about eleven, I had a best friend named Cheyenne. We did everything together, partly because we really liked each other and partly because we lived in very close proximity to one another. I remember we used to ride our bikes down to McDonald's just to play on the toys, even though we were too old to be doing so. (Not too old, I think, because you're never to old to have a good time banging up your knees on plastic slides. More like too tall. We were waaaay past the little red line that qualifies you for entrance.) We went sledding together every winter. We hung out at the bus stop together and teased one of the boys we thought was cute because he looked a little like Elvis. Maybe just the hair. Anyway, we hung out a lot. That's my point.

One fine summer afternoon, we were doing what we did best - hanging out - but there was nothing to do. (Of course, I've discovered as an adult that there is always plenty to do, it's just that you don't have the motivation to do it.) So we made up a new game. We were going to roll a golf ball along the porch and see if we could get it to stay between the gaps of the wooden slats for the whole length of the porch. (This is harder than it sounds, by the way, so don't go thinking you could do it without several minutes of intense practice!)

As Cheyenne carefully rolled the golf ball towards me, it hit a knot in the wood, bounced up, and cracked my left front tooth right in half. I should mention that this was the summer before I started junior high, and thinking that I'd have to start my career as a seventh-grader with half a tooth missing put me in a state of utter panic. I'd be the laughing stock of the entire school! And what about the cute Elvis look-alike at the bus stop? He'd never wanna kiss me now! (To be honest, he didn't like either Cheyenne or me very much to begin with, maybe because of all the teasing, so this fear was probably unfounded.)

Anyway, once Mom got home, it was off to the dentist for me. I don't remember the exact sequence of events, but over the next few years, it went something like this: get a crown, get a root canal and a new crown, inadvertently pull off existing crown while eating a popcorn ball and get yet another new crown, explain the golf ball story to each new hygienist and/or dentist I talk to, get a three-hour crush on a cute dentist during college only to find out he's married at the next appointment, wonder if I should do a closed-mouth smile for wedding pictures because of the ugly tooth, move to Alaska, find out the crown has recurring buildup and needs to be replaced, curse rising dental costs.

Yep, that about sums it up. There is a plus, though. I've never been able to whiten my teeth because obviously the crown doesn't whiten along with the rest so I'd have been stuck with a very funny looking smile. But since I know I have to get the crown replaced in a few months, I can whiten a bit right before they do the 'ole switcheroo. Coolio.

So, feel free to share any tooth troubles you have. I'd love to know that T and I are not alone!

I'll give you a moment, mister!

I totally forgot about Therapeutic Thursday yesterday. Probably because I forgot it was Thursday. It's kind of been one of those weeks, plus I have a cold.

Hey, do you ever think about little "moments" you want to have with your child? Because today I made cookies. (I'm trying out a new recipe to see if they're good enough to use as Christmas goodie gifts. Yes, I know it's only October. Sue me.) Anyway, I made cookies and I thought that it would be cool to have a mid-morning snack with my boy. Millie was sleeping, so it would just be the two of us.

Picture it.

Riley and me, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, with a warm cookie in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. We're talking and laughing and I sigh contentedly, so grateful for the opportunity to be a mother. It's even rainy and cold outside - it's like a flippin' Hallmark commercial.

Are you picturing it? It's beautiful, right? Warms your heart? This was the moment I wanted to have.

Here's the moment I actually had:

R - I don't like raisins in my cookies.
Me - They're not raisins, they're craisins. Cherry flavored.
R - Can I pick them out?
Me - Sure, I'll help.
R - Mom, can I watch Clifford?
Me - No, you already watched some today.

(crying begins, for the third time this morning)

Me - Hey, pal, I think you need to go lay down for a little while. You've been awfully whiny this morning.
R - No I don't.
Me - Yes, you do.

(screaming begins as I guide him to his room)

R - Mom! (more screaming) Mom! (high-pitched wailing begins) Mom! (door banging begins) I have to pee and poop!
Me - Do it, and then get back to your room. Pronto!

Does Hallmark do reality TV?

A day in the life

Riley was out of bed early this morning. I tried not to let it put me in a bad mood, but I knew that by three o'clock, there would be discontent in our home. Oh, well. I still love him.

Millie must have scratched herself last night, because she woke up with an ugly red line stretching across her forehead. It looks a little like she tried to do a frontal lobotomy. Oh, well. I still love her.

I opened the fridge in search of breakfast and was greeted by a large container of mashed turnips laughing at me. Contrary to what my husband says, I'm positive that these turnips will sit it the fridge, laughing at me every morning for weeks, until I finally throw them in the garbage because no one will touch them. Is there a way to prepare turnips so that they won't taste like turnips?

I ended up having raisin bran for breakfast. But not just any raisin bran, oh no. Kellogg's Raisin Bran, with two scoops of raisins. And it got me thinking: has anyone ever separated the raisin from the bran to see if there are really two full scoops? Of course, how would you know unless you could see the actual scoop? Technically, if you used a measuring spoon as your scoop, there could be two tablespoons in the entire box and the two-scoop claim would still be legit, right? I feel like such a misinformed consumer...

After breakfast, it was time to shower. Before I hopped in, I had to remove a bandaid from my finger (I got a little too enthusiastic tearing apart a Kleenex box last night). Have you ever used Bandaid's Tough Strips? Holy adhesive powers, Batman! I thought I was gonna have to cut my finger off to remove the thing.

Things went better than expected up until two-ish. The trip to Walmart wasn't the best we've ever had, but it sure wasn't the worst. Riley got three more yellow smiley-face stickers to add to his growing collection. He wore them to the car and then peeled them off to stick on the back of the driver's seat. There are nine, total, all arranged in a nice, neat column.

When Adam got home from work, I told him about the comment Riley had made in the bakery section of the store: "Hey, Mom, I want one of these big, beautiful cakes next time it's my birthday." I guess my cakes aren't good enough. It doesn't matter that I gave birth to him and put up with his moods when he gets up too early, I suppose. Ingrate. Adam wanted to know if my feelings were hurt. I told him I'd blog about it and then I'd be fine.

There was spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. (Is it strange that I make my own meatballs? I've had two people tell me it's strange, but I don't understand why.) I always underestimate the amount of noodles needed. Someday I'm going to get the perfect sauce to noodle ratio. And when that day comes, something big will happen. I don't know what it will be, but it will be big.

Time to get ready for bed. Guess I'd better get off the computer and brush my teeth. Goodnight, computer. Goodnight, blogging buddies. Goodnight, moon.

Why is your vote going where it's going?

I have girded up my loins and decided to write a political post. Please be gentle.

I have still not decided who will get my vote this November. And it seems that this bugs some people. I am still in the process of deciding, not because I am completely uninformed and lazy, but because I am torn between so many issues. Does my opinion of what the education system should be outweigh my opinion of the war? Should I place more importance on the state of the economy or on moral issues such as abortion and same-sex marriage? When I agree with Obama part of the time and McCain the other part, who should get my vote? These are the thoughts that are running through my head; this is why I am undecided. Maybe I'll even choose to do a write-in.

I also feel annoyed when people assume that because I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, I will automatically be voting Republican. The Church does not require us to vote for a certain person, and in any matter, I typically don't see things in such a black and white way.

So just out of curiosity, what are some of the issues that will affect who you will be voting for next month? Has there been a particular speech or news article that hit you hard and influenced your decision? I would love to learn more!

P.S. Whether you're an avid McCain supporter, or you want Obama to be the next prez, I hope you will take this opportunity to vote. For me, there's no gray with that issue - just do it!