Five, Four, Buckle My Shoe

Re-finding Me

2012-01-23T21:09:00.000-08:00

If I have ever offended you, I do apologize. There are very few instances where my intent has been to offend someone, but I'm sure I have done it more than those few times I meant to. I've gotten much better at keeping my mouth shut over the years, which isn't always a good thing, but is a necessary, if not slightly unfortunate part of growing up and maturing.

I used to pretty much say whatever was on my mind. If I thought it, I said it (though this did not apply to anything that was potentially embarrassing, incriminating or personal for me). There were times I know I made my parents or siblings cringe and have to resist covering my mouth and escorting me out of the room. But, as my Mum recounts, there were also times I spoke up and said what no one else would say, and was dead on in my assessment of the situation. Some adults would be appalled, but I didn't always get a talking to like people sometimes thought I should.

I started university in a place that was like another planet compared to where I grew up. People didn't always appreciate my blunt, forthright, no-nonsense way of talking. So I learned to clam up, and keep some of my opinions and thoughts to myself. At times, I felt like a cartoon, turning several colours, shaking, steam coming out of my ears- just trying to be polite and quiet. But with practice, I got better at it.

What was an accomplishment in my college days, I now see as a weakness, even a fault. I've realized recently, that I'm not as much myself. One of the reasons for that is that I am polite bordering on demure in some instances, and it feels like I'm playing some character who is altogether foreign to me. I'm all for manners, believe me, we're big on that over here. But sometimes, things need to be said. My opinions might actually be helpful, not offensive. Occasionally a few truthful, loving, blunt words are exactly what are needed. I have had 3 separate occasions now where someone has said something to me that on the surface seemed really rude or inappropriate, but in truth was the exact thing I needed to hear, and said in the only way I could hear it in that moment. That's a gift.

I don't plan on going all mean and cruel, but I am going to speak up more. I think, in hindsight, that truth telling, blunt side of me was actually a gift and talent that needed some fine tuning, not a personality flaw to be squashed out of existence. Again, I hope to not offend. Besides, generally if I mean to offend, there is little question that that is the case. But I would hope more often, since I am a grown up (apparently), that my speaking my mind and seeking the right and truthful thing will be good and helpful, to me and to others. Somewhere along the way, parts of me have gotten lost, and I'm starting backwards down a road in hopes of finding them again.

Be afraid, people. Be very afraid.

That's A Wrap

2012-01-18T20:19:00.000-08:00

My last pregnancy was rough. Fifteen weeks of mind bending nausea (I never threw up, but wished I would for just a moment of relief), a 2 month bout with walking pneumonia, a screwy hip that made it excruciatingly painful to walk or even stand for about the last 4-5 months, plus the usual aches, pains, worries (a little miscarriage scare, anyone?) and unbelievable fatigue. My body was telling me it was done. It felt like it was falling apart beneath me.

So that's it. No more pregnancies. Instead of celebrating never having to do that again, I'm sad. There is nothing more amazing I will ever do in my life, and I plan on doing some pretty great things. But growing a person, feeling them move, giving birth, seeing each little face for the first time... there is nothing that can ever top any of that for me. It seems many women are so relieved to be done, and then can't wait for all their kids to be in school, but I guess I'm just weird. I'm in no rush. There are so many phases and days and moments I would pause if I could. If I felt like I could physically manage it, I would have more- at least one, and maybe 2 or 3. But I know I can't.

I didn't expect to feel this way.

I am not ungrateful. I realize, I know the blessing it is that I got to have my five. Something many women long for but can't do for a multitude of reasons, I got to do. And it was incredible. So leaving this phase behind is hard. From pregnancy to newborns to my midwife to miracles that happened along the way, it's hard to imagine life without any of that. I can't even begin to list the things I have learned and become from this phase of my life.

But now, I will never not be a mother. That is the joyful note I choose to keep playing. It's my bit of heaven on earth. Yes, even on the days that are a wee bit, um, challenging. I sometimes find it hard to believe that I could really be this lucky. These kids? The best people I know. I tell them all the time, "I am the luckiest Mum because I got you. Nobody else got you."

But for the moment, I'm allowing myself to feel a little bit sad. End of an era, folks. End of an era.

Kickin' It With the Stay-At-Homies

2012-01-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

I have rules. There are limits. These kids have regular bedtimes and mealtimes, are not allowed much sugary or processed food, and have limits on their screens. I realize I can't protect them from everything as a parent, but the things I can control, for their safety and well-being, I do. So much so that I was once called 'anal' by my mother-in-law, and I took it as the highest compliment. (That one came because I wouldn't allow my kids to ride around in her truck, through a small town, on snow covered roads without any car seats or boosters).

We have almost as many channels blocked on the tv as we have available. These kids have never seen MTV or VH1 or any such thing. They know the channels that are the ok kid channels, and they stick to them.

So you'll excuse my mouth dropping open, quickly followed by near-painful laughter upon hearing the following:

Grey was laying on my bed, fussing, while I was in the bathroom attempting to get ready for the day. Duncan comes running in and announces,

"I'll take care of him, Mum!"

Duncan makes faces, does voices and hands over toy after toy.

Graham still fusses.

"Grey, it's ok!"

Grey fusses louder.

"Dude! I'm RIGHT HERE."

Grey starts to cry.

"Grey! I'm HERE for you, YO?!"

Graham wails.

Defeated: "Duuude."

My 5-year-old. He both entertains and terrifies me. Word.

Me: Also Available In Happy.

2012-01-06T20:25:00.000-08:00

Spent, drained, worried, concerned, relieved, grateful, sad, stressed, exhausted, sorry, sympathetic, overwhelmed, wound up, scattered, confused, frustrated... these are some of the options available currently.

The Happy Wendy appears to be out of stock or on back order. Perhaps some refurbishing going on. If you don't like this version, you can always try back in a few days or so.

It has been a rough week. There is no way to avoid the way a week like this sort of tears me to shreds while I'm busy dealing with crises, and then vanishes, leaving me with a giant mess of built up thoughts and emotions to sort through. Today I've begun sorting.

It's not fun.

35 seizures in just over 7 hours. My boy. My poor, sweet, innocent, doesn't-he-already-have-enough-to-deal-with boy. I steal extra kisses, say extra I love you's, because for a while there, there's no way to know if it might be my last chance. I place my hand on his back or just under his nose to make sure he is still breathing. I do it a ridiculous number of times.

How much can one little body take? I absolutely hope to never discover the answer to that question.

He's coming around. Talking a bit. Today he was able to pick up and hold a cup again, and get it to his mouth. He could stand and walk without crumpling to the floor. And with each little bit that he is restored, so am I. My heart always seems to be the last thing.

Soon my boy will be back, with his mischievous laugh and Cheshire cat grin. And I will be laughing with him, though he almost never lets me in on the joke.

For now? Still sorting. I know that Happy has got to be around here somewhere...

Hair Experiments #2 & #3: A Yikes and A Nice.

2011-12-31T15:24:00.000-08:00

This is the next Pinterest hair experiment. It sounded fascinating to me that I could get beachy waves from a flat iron...

My hair after twisting and ironing on the left, partially pulled through on the right, and then a shot of how it ended up.

It's not too beachy. Wavy, yes. A little crazy and frizzy, yes. With the exception of #2 on the right, the pictures don't truly show how wild and unkempt and uneven it all was. I don't think your styled hair should make you laugh, and then post picture taking, be thrown into a ponytail for the rest of the day. I'm calling this one a FAIL. But then it could just be my hair.

Then there's the curling wand. It looked fairly promising to me, like I might not totally mess it up with this.

I wrapped sections of hair around at its highest heat, and it turned out pretty well. The back, I cannot do to save my life, but so far this is the easiest way to get some decent curls/waves. The curling wand: for styling idiots.

Temporary Lunatic

2011-12-23T10:02:00.000-08:00

I lost it. I don't like to yell or scream at my kids, but I did this morning. In fact, I am still in tears about it as I write. It's a good thing I'm a lousy typist, because two of my fingers are throbbing with so much pain, I wouldn't be using them now even if I could type properly. I got quite the beat down from Noah this morning. I was screamed at, kicked, hit, grabbed, scratched to bleeding, and this kid is no lightweight. What was my offense, you might ask? I was trying to get the boy dressed.

I don't say too much about what day to day life can really be like with a kid with autism and a seizure disorder. Partly, that's because I figure, who wants to hear it, and partly, there's no real point to it since very few understand, and no one can do a thing about it. There have always been challenges, but many of those grow as he does. He is getting big. I am not a big Mum. He is still in diapers at 8. Sometimes he does NOT want to be changed. It has to be done.

I have what I think is an extreme fight or flight response. Mostly I don't choose flight. I've been that way my whole life. If I felt under attack, or that someone I love was under attack, I would instantly turn to fight. Sometimes verbally, occasionally physically, but even when I was clearly going to be way outmatched, I would act first, think later. Thankfully a couple of times I had a good friend talk sense in to me, or in one case, a very wise male friend who picked me up and carried me out of a room during college, when some foot-taller-than-me guy was lying about my sister. My response is good in the appropriate situations, but not so much in others.

It is instant, if you are ever physically attacked or hurt by someone you just want to defend yourself and fight back. It's instinctive. But when it is your child, who is nearly as big as you are, that is kicking you in the ribs, or head butting you in the head or face, taking large chunks of skin off of your hand, you can't react that way. I do have to block him, and defend myself like that, sometimes I have to sit on his legs or something when he is just wild, but all that adrenaline and stress has to go somewhere, so I yell and/or cry. It's not pretty. It's not helpful. It feels like the world is ending in those moments. But it's better than going a few rounds with my son.

I have recently started exercising regularly again after a year+ hiatus, and honestly a portion of the reason for it is so that I can get stronger to better handle Noah as he grows and not get beaten to a pulp. Any parent of a child with autism will tell you that when they are melting, they get freakishly strong, it's as though they turn super human for a little while. You have to be able to hold them off, or physically remove them from situations where necessary. It is weird to even have to think about that with my nearly 9 year old boy. But it is reality for me.

So if I'm out and about all banged up looking like I've taken up cage fighting, or wearing helmets or padding at seemingly inappropriate times, or completely lose it when you ask me how I'm doing, just smile at me and know the lunacy is temporary. I will return to a relatively normal human being capable of rational thought and good conversation again soon. Just please, today, don't mess with me. Or risk having your own fight or flight response tested.

Dough of the Playing Variety

2011-12-22T15:01:00.000-08:00

If you too would like to be known as the best Mum ever, make some of this play dough over the Christmas break. Of all the recipes I have tried, I think this one yields the smoothest, softest dough. My kids LOVE it. One batch makes about the same amount as two of the larger size playdough cans, so I usually divide it and do 2 colours per batch. Here is what you need:

1 c. flour
1/2 c. salt
1 c. water
1 TB oil
2 TB cream of tartar
Food colouring (primary colours are great, and the fluorescents work really well too)

Combine dry ingredients in a pot, then add water and oil and stir. Cook 3-5 minutes over med-low heat, stirring constantly until a ball forms. Remove from heat. Take it out of the pot and put on a surface that won't be ruined if colour gets on it. Add colour and knead in. Store in airtight container.

Dip: Not Fit For Celery

2011-12-19T13:57:00.000-08:00

Have you ever made a new recipe and then wished you had never found it in the first place? I'm not talking the colossal failures, I'm talking the ones you can't stop eating. I have found a few of those this past year, but the most recent is a little Pinterest gem:

Cookie Dough Dip.

Here's the recipe:

8 oz cream cheese, soft
1/2 c butter, soft
1 c. powdered sugar
2 TB brown sugar
1 1/2 tsp vanilla
1 c. chocolate chips (any kind you like, I prefer the Mini chocolate chips)
1/2 c. Heath toffee bits (get them already smashed up, right by the chocolate chips in the baking aisle)

Beat the cream cheese and butter together. Add everything else, and blend at low speed. Chill.

Serve with graham crackers or some other plain cookie. If you like the salty/sweet combo, you can also serve it with pretzels. And in the interest of decorum and good manners, I would remind you that it's not polite to just shove your whole face in there.

This is what theirs looked like:

Here's mine:

I Know Merry Christmas and I'm Not Afraid to Use It

2011-12-12T13:17:00.000-08:00

Every time I hear "Happy holidays" or "holiday shopping" or "holiday sale" I cringe a little. In fact I'm out and out bugged. I find myself asking aloud, no matter the circumstance, "Which holiday is that?" And 99% of the time, the correct answer is Christmas.

In Canada, the word 'holiday' is used interchangeably with the word 'vacation' (and I believe in the UK, the word holiday is used over the word vacation, but any of my Brit friends can correct me there if I'm wrong). It also means any official day off of anything.

Just wish me a Merry Christmas. Heck, wish me a Happy Hanukkah, I'd cheerfully say that right back to whomever offered it. Do not wish me Happy Holidays. I'm not on holiday, I'm not going on holiday, but I am very busy getting ready for Christmas.

I am a Christian. I believe in Jesus Christ. I happily celebrate His birth this and every Christmas season. Some people don't. That's just fine. But not believing in Christmas' true meaning doesn't make it any less what it is, any more than not knowing or liking me makes my birthday not my birthday.

What is everyone so worried about? Who is getting so offended by hearing the word Christmas? No one is forcing anyone to take part in any of it if that's not what they choose. I have had people say all kinds of things to me that have nothing to do with who I am or what I believe, but if the intent is kind and well meaning, I will never take offense. I was once wished a Happy Mother's Day when I was not yet a mother, and in fact was having a difficult time trying to become one, but I smiled, and said the same thing back. It was somebody trying to be kind, I could never have grumbled at that sweet lady for what she said.

So if there is any confusion left, I give you a tutorial in pictures.

Holiday tree

Christmas tree

Holiday lights

Christmas lights

Hanukkah 'lights'

Holiday card

Christmas cards

If you were hoping for some warmer, gushier Christmasy post, try one of these: http://hoopdeedoop.blogspot.com/2009/12/i-believe.html
http://hoopdeedoop.blogspot.com/2010/08/wonderfully-wrong.html

I'm Not the Girl That I Intend to Be

2011-12-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

My title is a line from a Sarah Bareilles song, and every time I hear it, I am tempted to shout an "AMEN!" I am falling short pretty much across the board these days (please refrain from making any height jokes). It's not just a matter of not getting to things on my to-do list, although that is one glaring category. It's big things like the dreams I had once, the person I thought I was, or that I thought I'd be by now.

But life doesn't go in a straight line.

Sometimes that's my fault. I have made decisions and choices that have been everything from dumb to questionable to freaking brilliant. But that's the thing with decisions. They lead places. And you don't get to pick all the destinations.

And other people get to make decisions too. Sometimes they are not good at it.

Bad things happen even when you have good intentions and make good decisions.

You can mean well but make things worse.

You don't know what's coming. Ever. So what you do today, though it's great for today, might make the you five years from now crazy, that you were such a blockhead and so shortsighted.

Some good choices make other good choices impossible.

Some goof-ups won't ever go away. Ever.

You can have a dream, and even some talent, and the answer may still be no. Or it could be yes. And the no could be good and the yes could be bad in the end. Or vice versa and all that.

I intend to be better, smarter, happier, more productive, nicer, funnier, more care-free, more helpful... but. You know. I'm not.

Come to think of it, the girl I intend to be sounds like somebody I probably wouldn't hang out with. I kind of dig imperfection. What's that saying? "Everything has a crack. That's how the light gets in."

And light is good.

I may not be who and where I thought I'd be by now, but there is an awful lot of light in my life.

Hair Experiment #1

2011-12-05T10:51:00.000-08:00

This is what I tried:

This is my hair, damp, before:

Here's what it looked like after:

It doesn't look like the how-to, but it looks decent. When following instructions to a tee, I hoped for better than decent. But my hair is nuts, and it doesn't curl in the back, so I guess I'll call this one a partial success. On to the next... ;)

Nothing But Respect, Grandma, Nothing But Respect.

2011-11-29T09:29:00.000-08:00

I did a little bit of grocery shopping this morning. I had 2 kids with me and a full cart (thanks to the car seat) and could barely see where I was going. We were approaching the check out lines, and since there were only two open, we headed toward the shorter of the two. A little white haired old lady was slowly, gingerly making her way with her cart, alongside us. I began my turn toward checkout #7, and suddenly, out of nowhere, Little Old Lady sped up, darted to the inside lane, passed us, and cruised right into checkout #7 where she then slowly, gingerly unloaded her few groceries onto the conveyer. I hid my face behind the car seat and burst out laughing, and then not loud enough for her to hear said "Well played, Grandma."

Had it been anyone else, any other demographic, I would have been bent out of shape and may have even let that person know what I thought about them butting in. Instead I waited with a huge smile on my face because honestly? I was impressed. Get back to me in about 45-50 years, I'm stealing her move.

Pin Worthy?

2011-11-28T13:07:00.000-08:00

I am a little behind, as usual, but I have finally gotten on Pinterest.com. Overall, I am loving it, as it allows me to remember and keep all the awesome things I find online all in one place. No more million bookmarks, or spending hours trying to find that-one-thing-I-found-on-that-one-website.

Some of the things I have pinned on my boards are things that are tried and true that I love, other things are just cool finds that I hope to have/make/try at some point. To this end, I have decided I will hold regular Pinterest experiments here on my blog. I will take pictures and report on the outcome of whatever I'm trying out. This will include recipes, hairstyling techniques, household or cleaning tricks or shortcuts, or heaven help me even a craft or two, pretty much anything I find that looks awesome.

This is prompted by some hairstyling tutorials I have found online that I absolutely know will not turn out on me the way they are portrayed. Mostly due to my lack of skill, but also because I swear some people post how-to's or things online that they know an average joe can't do, just to mess with us.

So here's to hopefully some successes (Pin Worthy!) and lots of failures, because goodness knows the failures will make for a much more interesting and entertaining read.

In the meantime, here's my Pinterest page. If you aren't on there yet, but want to be, send me an email and I'll send you an invite. If I know you. And I know for a fact that you aren't nuts. There have to be minimum requirements.

I Don't Get It: High Heels

2011-11-16T20:23:00.000-08:00

We all know it, so I'm just going to say it. I'm short. I don't like it, but there it is.

High heeled shoes should be my greatest love, but I hate them. What sadist came up with this torturous bit of brilliance, anyway? They are uncomfortable. They hurt my feet, mess up my posture, the taller ones have to be at least a little bit dangerous, and let's face it, they're one of fashion's more dishonest items (Spanx or padded bras I think win that category). "No really, I'm this tall, and my calves always have this impressive muscular looking indentation..."

For me, I feel a little self conscious in heels, like everyone must be looking at me the way they do a guy in a bad toupe or driving a souped up I'm-trying-to-compensate-for-something sports car- "Look at the short girl trying to look tall." with a half pity-filled, half sneering head tilt. I don't need that grief, even if I'm only imagining it.

I haven't ever really needed heels. I only ever had one boyfriend who was tall enough that I had to stand on a step to be anywhere near his face, otherwise, I've never had moments where I haven't worn heels but wished I had.

I'm far too practical I think, as I think about things like getting mugged, or Noah running into the road- I need the ability to run. I cannot run in high heels. I cannot balance babies and diaper bags when I wear heels. My impressionable teen years were spent playing soccer (cleats), riding horses (equestrian boots) and babysitting (socks). Not a stiletto in sight.

Why haven't women as a whole realized that the guys are running around pain free, using their entire foot to propel themselves around, while we stand there in heels? Or we gingerly follow behind, aerating the grass as we go. Don't you think visitors from another planet would take one look at us and assume we were all being punished for something?

I can appreciate a nice dress shoe, on occasion, with a little boost in the back for creating a bit of a feminine line, a slightly dance-y walk. But wear anything too tall, and you know if the balls of your feet could talk, they'd be screaming for mercy. Or swearing.

And winter?! Crossing an icy parking lot in high heels could easily qualify as an extreme sport. I swear I can actually hear the low voices of commentators critiquing my technique or lack thereof as I exit church some freezing Sundays. "She's going to have to stay focused and stick that curb landing after such a disappointing bumper grab by the minivan earlier..."

I may be in the minority on this one. But tall girls don't need to be taller, short girls aren't fooling anyone. I'd like to adopt an all flip flops or boots policy for myself, but in the meantime, just know that any time I'm wearing heels, you can totally steal my purse and I won't be able to do a dang thing about it.

Mum Speak 101

2011-11-15T12:05:00.000-08:00

1. "Give me a break." means nothing. Nobody can and nobody will.
2. "I'm so tired." means I want to tidy non-stop, break up fights, and make a lovely dinner which most of you will complain about having to eat.
3. "Come here." means stay right where you are and pretend you didn't hear me.
4. "Put away your clean laundry." means take it into your room complaining mightily the whole way, and then toss it around the room so that none of the floor is visible.
5. "I need to get out." means, when it's convenient for everyone else, and not at all for me, I'd like to explore the grocery store thoroughly, all alone, at an ungodly hour and call that time for myself.
6. "No more candy." means quick, run to the pantry, grab what you can reach, cram it in your mouth wrappers and all, and I'll be happy to clean up the vomit in your bed in an hour or so.
7. "Be quiet, the baby is sleeping." means scream, yell, throw things, ride every possible wheeled toy across the wood floor, chase your siblings, and feel free to walk right in to baby's room for no reason at all.
8. "I don't want to watch this." means I want to watch one of the other shows that I can't stand, just not this one.
9. "Go clean your face." means sit right there and use that perfectly clean shirt you're wearing to wipe up dinner and your runny nose all in one convenient swipe.
10. "I love you." means I love you. And we'll do it again tomorrow.

I Only Have One Minute Left In My Brain

2011-11-09T09:07:00.000-08:00

When I am grumpy or otherwise struggling with my day, there is something that usually helps. Kid History.

Some brothers had the brilliant idea to have their own children recount stories they had been told about their Dads' or Uncles' childhoods, then the Dads and Uncles (and a couple of friends) re-enact the stories just how the kids tell them. I can watch these videos in this series over and over again.

I bring it up now, because I have recently introduced my kids to them, and now I'm hearing some of my favourite lines and hilarious moments being repeated by them. Here's the first one. Watch all six. You will laugh. FACT! Faaaaa-c-t.

My Blog Could Beat Up Your Facebook Page

2011-11-01T20:24:00.001-07:00

Facebook has messed up the blogging world. Before everybody got on Facebook, I could read so many friends' and strangers' blogs and get to know what was going on in their lives or minds or families in some detail. It was actual reading, of something that took some effort to write, at times with some humour, or heartfelt sentiment, or insight that a few scant sentences could never hold. I loved that. I still love that in the blogs of those who take the time to write or update.

But Facebook stole people away to a place where you could feel like you were interacting and reading and writing without any actual investment of time or energy. You can get on there, scroll through some posts, "Like" some statuses or comments, or if you're feeling bold, write an entire comment, and walk away feeling like you've done your bit to connect with people for the day. There, you can craft a sentence that is funny/informative/clever/sad and if enough people "Like" it, you think to yourself, "My work here is done." and then busy yourself with more important matters like choosing a new background for your blog that you no longer write on.

Isn't Facebook kind of gossipy and even a little Peeping Tom-ish at its worst? A lot of people know your tiny bits of business, and, mind you, these are mostly people who wouldn't strain themselves clicking that link over to your blog. Rumours have the potential to blow up into mammoth fire-breathing creatures before anybody thinks to question the veracity of what one of your many degrees of "Friend" has written.

About those friends... I have to wonder about that word being used to describe so many people that couldn't even say a simple congratulations when I had a baby, or haven't commented on or liked anything I have written on Facebook ever. The category should read "People I Know" or "People I Met and We Mutually Figured the Other Wasn't Insane, So...". Because you know what? My Friends? Most of them read my Blog. Yes, this archaic thing. And as many of them who have blogs and write on them? I read. Even if a friend announces something on Facebook, I will look forward much more to reading their blog post about that very announcement.

Those blogs of virtual strangers that I read? We aren't "friends" on Facebook. We could be. I mean I'm not opposed to it, because I read the blogs of people with whom I feel a kinship or connection, people who, if we lived in the same place, would likely become friends.

Facebook isn't terrible. I'm guilty of partaking in the drive-thru socialising extravaganza on there just as much as the next guy. I have met some great people through Facebook (but even with them, I'd rather read their blogs). I reluctantly admit Facebook does serve some good purposes.

But...

Blogging is best. It is more interesting. I believe it is closer to the essence of the person, and I love that. Facebook is the energy drink and blogging is the long cup of (herbal?) tea on a comfy couch.

Though, for those days I'm in a hurry, I wouldn't mind a "Like" button at the bottom of a really great post.

'Tis My Season

2011-10-25T18:48:00.000-07:00

Fall weather. Grey skies. Apples all over our lawn and kitchen. Scents in the air touched with cinnamon. Crunchy leaves. Sweaters. All things I love. I realize I will shortly be griping about freezing my butt off and it taking 45 minutes to get everyone out the door, but for now, aaaaaah.

There is something about fall. It makes me all at once happy and nostalgic. It is sort of my New Year's. This is when I tend to reflect and renew and daydream. Some years fall has been a fabulously happy time, and others it has been heavy and hard. This year is some of both, but more happy than hard. When I was nose to nose with my smiling baby today (who incidentally was rocking a sweet grey sweater vest), well, that's bliss. Noah actually tossed and caught a football with the rest of the family after dinner. That's big. Like tears in my eyes big. Maybe that's making me a bit sentimentally foggy tonight.

Fall is when I see beauty all around. To all those I love, past and present, all those who inspire, uplift and enlighten me, those who make me laugh until it hurts, those who love me even at my most unlovable, those angels in my life who masquerade as mere mortals, to kind strangers, beautiful souls, Happy Autumn.

Of Bread and Beefcake

2011-10-23T11:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you shouldn't go into a grocery store hungry. And you probably shouldn't get a sample of bread, let alone when that bread is called "White Chocolate and Pecan Artisan Bread.". I did not buy any. I may or may not have been coming up with excuses to go back to said grocery store in the middle of the night while up feeding baby. If you see me excitedly running through a parking lot with a paper bag tucked under my arm in a football hold, I am not on a klepto high. I'm just transporting some very good very bad bread home where I may or may not hide it behind some canned goods in the pantry.

On another note, if I see Mike "The Situation" lifting his shirt and showing his abs in one more picture I may die of a massive eye roll. Seriously, dude. We get it. You have abdominal muscles. Yay for you! Abdominal muscles that you spend time sculpting and developing more than you do your brain or personality. Impressive. Go eat some Artisan Bread and put your shirt down.

That is all.

All You Need to Know

2011-10-19T13:20:00.000-07:00

The next time someone asks me how I'm doing, I will refer them to this photo.

This was taken a few days ago. That's my baby's socks. He had kicked them off while we sat at the dinner table one night last week. I didn't pick them up. I thought about it, but I was too tired. On the socks is some spaghetti. Spaghetti is my fall-back meal when I am sleep-walking through the dinner time hour. Note how dried out the spaghetti is. That is because it too fell on the floor at dinnertime last week. Again, I was too tired to pick it up. The kicker? The two events were not even on the same night. The socks fell one night, the spaghetti the next. And I left them both there, overnight, and I didn't even feel that bad about it. Until the next day. I cannot believe what I allow sometimes as far as cleanliness goes these days. It's disgusting, I know. It's all cleaned up now. But the picture is quite a good response to the query "How are you doing?". Dried spaghetti on baby socks on my kitchen floor for over 24 hours. That's how I'm doing.

Versatile Blogger. Yup.

2011-10-06T08:53:00.000-07:00

I've been awarded. I'm award-winning.

I never win anything. And yet, thanks to a new friend-through-blogging, I feel as though I have. I will spare you all the ramblings of an impromptu acceptance speech, but now, as per the bloggy award rules:

*Thank the blogger who has awarded me and link back to them
*Share seven things about myself
*Pass the award along to 15 other newly discovered blogs

A BIG thank-you to the lovely Ms. Clay at http://12hourstobedtime.blogspot.com/

So seven things about me- it may be hard to do this without repeating things I have already posted. Hmmm.

1. I am Canadian. I have lived in the U.S. for 15 years, but I am still Canadian.
2. I have had 5 babies, at home, all with the same midwife. I consider these to be some of the greatest blessings of my life.
3. I lived in Belgium for a summer when I was 19. I spoke fluent French, ate the best bread, cheese, and chocolate of my life, and had a wild terrifying ride in the back of a police car when I took a day-trip to Paris. I did nothing wrong, but was guilty of being a cute 19 year old that these two policiers just had to help. I think one of their phone numbers is still floating around in a photo album somewhere...
4. I was a full-time actor up until I had kids, and at some point hope to get back at it.
5. I am a nearly 16-year vegetarian. During this time I have experimented with veganism, and raw foodism, but I'll always be a veggie-head.
6. I had never driven a stick shift or pumped my own gas by the time I got married. Both things changed fast.
7. I was a Highland dancer for a few years growing up. I was quite good, won several medals, but sprain-prone ankles finally did me in.

Here's my list of 15 blogs to whom I will pass this award. They are not all brand new, but they're some of what I regularly read:
http://imadhis.blogspot.com/
http://theproulxs.blogspot.com/
http://jorgensensblog.blogspot.com/
http://werewinginit.blogspot.com/
http://motherblogginguilt.blogspot.com/
http://benandjanet.blogspot.com/?zx=b7dd5b66b4dd0e92
http://peace-forme.blogspot.com/
http://bleylbanter.blogspot.com/
http://rachelparkerbishop.wordpress.com/
http://pieandbear.wordpress.com/
http://wouldbewritersguild.blogspot.com/
http://5boycheesesandwiches.blogspot.com/
http://chezshumway.blogspot.com/
http://meganknorpp.blogspot.com/
http://colquittclan.blogspot.com/
http://thesuperangie.blogspot.com/

I could add more, but some folks have private blogs, and I must spend time on other things today. Everybody should have a blog. And write on it often. Hint, hint.

Halloween. This Year, Meh...

2011-10-04T20:00:00.000-07:00

A lobster. That is what my 3 and a half month old baby is going to be for Halloween. There is nothing cute about shellfish, but my baby dressed as a lobster? Come on.

I have friends who sew and make awesome costumes for their kids- I don't. There are not even costume ideas floating around this over-occupied mind right now.

I used to have great ideas. One year during high school I had one of the cooks in my school's dining hall save all the cereal boxes for a week or so, and I went as the cereal section of the grocery store. And in last year's Halloween blog post, I mentioned my very realistic arab costume. We're talking award winning costumes here.

Halloween can get expensive, even if you go the home-made route. Marley would love to be Strawberry Shortcake, but $30 for a costume and another $15 for the must-have accompanying pink wig, for a 2-year-old mind you, is not happening. Part of me doesn't get all this effort and expense just to get a bit of candy. If you're going to get all dressed up, put in all this preparation, shouldn't it be for Christmas, or at least a birthday, where people are giving you actual gifts, and everyone knows exactly who and what you're celebrating?

What are we celebrating again? Costumes? Candy? Scariness? That slimy crud inside pumpkins? I love little kids dressing up, and fall, and all that, but I'm not a fan of the really creepy ghoulish parts of Halloween. The bottom line for me I guess is just letting my kids have an excuse to dress up and run around outside past their bedtimes. But then if that's the case, why do I dress Noah up when he couldn't care less? I mean, at 8, he has only been eating solid food for 2 years, and even then, only a select few foods. He doesn't eat candy. He looks at us with some disdain and minimal tolerance as we're sticking him in some get-up that he has absolutely no use for. And the baby, why do I feel the need to dress him up? Certainly it's not for him. It seems Halloween is as much about the parents' entertainment as the kids'. There's too much pressure to have some brilliant, original or cute costume- this year at least, it feels like pressure.

Why can't I just dress my kids up on a Thursday, pump them full of candy, chuck them into piles of leaves, roast marshmallows over our fire pit, and call it good? On to Christmas, I say. Which this year may feature a very cute Christmas lobster.

Why I Like Rain

2011-09-16T19:58:00.000-07:00

I like water.

I never have to squint when it's raining.

I like food. Food comes from plants. Plants need water.

It makes different sounds on my roof, windows, the driveway and trees. All of the sounds make me happy.

It cleans the earth a little.

I love when the sky is filled with big, dark, grey clouds.

There might be thunder and lightning, and I get to make up answers about where they come from when my kids ask. They believe whatever I say.

There might be a rainbow. Marley screams like a little girl when there's a rainbow. Because, she's a little girl. And rainbows are awesome.

It gets cooler outside when it rains, and I like it cooler.

My hair actually gets better when it's rained on.

Puddles are extraordinarily fun. Especially driving though them at high speeds or jumping in them with my kids. Or without my kids. I'm just saying.

Rain is the closest thing to a car wash that I ever get.

I have on occasion cried in the rain, and then no one can tell. They just think I look like crap because of the rain.

The Everly Brothers (who I love) have a most excellent song about Crying in the Rain (that I love). Rain and the Everly Brothers are a nearly unbeatable combination.

One of this planet's all time best smells is the air right during and after the rain falls. I swear that smell extends life or creates brain cells or something. It's magical stuff.

It makes me feel some of my British and Scottish heritage right on my skin.

God made rain. How can you argue with that?

Hooligans

2011-09-14T16:31:00.000-07:00

I'm not a Mother. I may be an unwitting gang leader. I am in charge of a pack of wild beasts. They are hooligans, all.

They wake up. They destroy the kitchen, pilfering every last bit of cereal or breakfast-like food they can find.

They will smile to your face and say something cute or funny whilst they spread sand, clothing, jam and toothpaste on the furniture and carpet.

They steal. Food, make-up, debit cards... nothing is safe.

They're sneaky and underhanded, pretending to play Roblox on the computer, when I'm fairly certain they're actually hacking into my bank information hoping to purchase Duncan's online shopping cart filled with $2800 worth of Thomas toys and then resell them on ebay for a profit.

They spend an awful lot of time digging holes in the back yard and then covering their tracks with a good dousing from the hose. Who knows what I'd find back there if I started digging?

I've seen outgoing phone calls on my cell to numbers and area codes I don't recognize.

They have their own language and it's so sophisticated that it sounds like they're all speaking different dialects. But I've seen the knowing glances.

Two of the diapered kids have been caught hiding various items in their diapers. I haven't figured what their intent was with those, but I'm sure it wasn't good.

They regularly use sleep deprivation as a means of manipulation and infliction of harm.

They leave, they come back and they throw clothing and bags and books all over the front room. Just a careless mess, or the beginnings of a barricade in preparation for a rumble with the next poor sot to come to the door?

If you don't hear from me for a while, please send help. The hooligans are running wild.

Locks

2011-09-06T20:31:00.000-07:00

I have inner turmoil. Confusion. Uncertainty.

Bad hair.

My hair is too long. It's wild, unruly, unkempt and pretty much a hot mess. Really it's not even a hot mess since that would imply the use of a hairdryer or some styling tools. Not happening. I'm lucky if I get it washed these days, and air drying has been the name of the game all summer long. But when my kids went to school this morning, it was only 55 degrees and I was whomped in the face with the fact that fall is coming, and soon air drying soon won't be an option.

For some reason, after I have a baby, I always want to cut my hair. I think somehow less hair means simpler hair, and I cut it and then remember that you really have to do shorter hair for it to look decent.

I no longer want to appear as though I'm channelling Medusa, or doing a trial run on my scary Halloween hairdo. And at only 5'1", it doesn't take much to be totally overtaken by my hair. So just cut some, right? Well there's part of the dilemma- I could, but for one, I'm nearly to the point where I could cut it and donate it if I went short-ish. And, with shorter hair my comes my unfathomable fear of one dreaded thing: Mom Hair.

Yes, much to my chagrin I drive a minivan, but I don't want people to know that about me by looking at my hair. I am a Mom, but high waisted tapered jeans are not mandatory, and neither is the "I stay home with small children all day, so I've given up" haircut. I don't even know what that haircut is. There are many variations, but you know one when you see one. And if I get one, I won't ever really know it. No one will tell me. They'll think it, but never tell me.

I'm not good at doing my hair, so I'm limited by that. Round brushing? Forget it. You'll be cutting brushes out of my tangled mass by the time I'm done. Plus I have the post baby new growth coming in, so for about a year or more, I will look like I've sprouted several antennae any time I try to add any sort of volume to my hair. Styling my own hair is just not an area where I have any know-how or confidence whatsoever.

I'd like to look fabulous.

My guess is I will look something like me. Minus some split ends.

Where Deep Thoughts Meet the Sleepless

2011-09-03T19:14:00.000-07:00

It may appear I'm moving backwards, upside down or nowhere at all, but I know I'm always growing. Well not literally growing, but you know what I mean. I'm still short. I just meant that I... aw, crap. Never mind.

Baby

2011-08-18T22:08:00.000-07:00

My baby I'm tired, and just want to sleep
I know you'll be up before long
You'll awaken and need me all through the night
I'll force my eyes open and hum you a song
The night will seem endless, the sunrise too soon

Your sweet little smiles
Your warm little sighs
Your soft fuzzy head
Your hand finding mine
Your perfect round cheeks
Your angelic gaze
You're beautiful, beautiful

So though I am tired, I'm secretly glad
For I know you'll be bigger by morning

I Get It: Angry Birds

2011-08-18T12:14:00.000-07:00

A deviation from my usual "I Don't Get It"-themed posts, finally something I get. I heard about people playing Angry Birds for quite a while before I actually saw the game myself. To me it seemed like one more of those trends that would catch on, it would seem like everyone was talking about it and participating in it but me. Kind of like scrapbooking or the whole Twilight thing, which I just never got into.

Right around the time I was due to have a baby, my phone started flipping out. Battery drains, dropped calls, turning off by itself, etc. This would not do. Phones need to work when you're going to have a baby any minute. So, new phone. With Angry Birds on it.

Jeremy started playing first, and was hooked like a crack addict within the first day. He's not one to engage in much fluff entertainment, so this was weird to me. The kids played. They cheered, yelled at the phone, growled and screamed "YES!!" and I wondered what all the fuss was about.

Soon after baby arrived, I found myself sitting holding him, exhausted, trying to get him to sleep. I also found I could hold my phone and have a look at Angry Birds with my free hand. And, turns out I could fling some unsuspecting birds with that free hand. Soon things were cracking, crashing to the ground, blowing up, and pigs were disintegrating into thin air. This is AWESOME, I thought! I didn't know how badly I had been wanting to blow something up until I was doing it.

I shouldn't have been so surprised since I do have a side to me that likes a bit of chaos and mayhem, mostly the kind I can walk away from, and that somebody else cleans up. I've long thought that as an actor, I'd be the only one whose career consisted exclusively of period films (Jane Austen or some castles, anyone?) and action films (guns, running, chase scenes, and yes, blowing stuff up) if I had my way.

So maybe flinging birds at structures and pigs isn't quite the same, but there is a certain satisfaction to obliterating everything that was on a screen, level after level. I'm not hooked. I sometimes see birds when my eyes are closed, trying to go to sleep, but I'm not hooked. This game is not enriching my life or making me a better person, but if I'm going to yell at something, better some green pig in a helmet than my kids, right?

Angry Birds. I get it.

Why the Sleep Deprived Should Not be Making the Decisions

2011-07-27T07:07:00.000-07:00

To say we had some trouble naming this last baby would be a wee bit of an understatement. I wish we had our happily ever after where that's concerned, but I'm not so sure. That's the root of the problem really, I'm not so sure.

Once we had narrowed down to Theo and Graham, I figured we'd just sort of know after we sat on it for a few days. Didn't happen. Jeremy, who I'm sure thought he was being accommodating and helpful, was great with either name. The kids were split. Duncan and Marley liked Theo, and Gabriel preferred Graham. So it came down to me.

My first choice was and still is Graham. I have loved this name for a long time. I grew up hearing it since it was the name of one of my dad's friends and past business associates. He and his family let our family use their vacation cottage in Nova Scotia a few times growing up which made for some great vacations and memories. This Graham also worked with the British government alongside Margaret Thatcher, and ended up being knighted. So then it was always Sir Graham after that, which upped the awesome factor in my mind.

I planned on at least some of the time, nicknaming the baby Grey for short, also positively associated with something in my childhood. My hands-down-no-contest best years of school were grades 6-8, when I attended a tiny private school called Grey Gables. Just hearing or saying the name still makes me smile.

The problem came 10 days in once we actually turned in his papers with "Graham Jack" on them. I was initially happy with it, but 2 and a half days later, I couldn't take it anymore. With just the few people we told, it was already being pronounced wrong. Well, wrong to me. In Canada (and some other countries and states), it's pronounced "Grey-em" or "Grey-um", with two distinct syllables. Here in Utah, most people say "Gram". That's what I have called my Gramma for years. You can't call my baby boy Gram.

He's already going to run into correcting pronunciation all the time with our last name, and I didn't want him to have to do it with his first name too. So back we went. Mulling it over. In a last minute decision, just hours before his baby blessing, we decided to go with Theo, which we really do like, and keep Graham as the second name so we had the option to use it if we changed our minds again. Theo is a good boy or man name, and has a wonderful meaning as the short form of Theodore which means "gift of God". So fitting for this boy.

But then everybody was calling him Theo, and I wondered why we even kept Graham in there since nobody's using it. It's just going to mean one more name he has to write on forms for his whole life. I still call him Theo Grey much of the time, and honestly, I still think of him as Graham in my mind. I'm second guessing myself all over the place, and I have no idea if there's a way to settle it and then just leave well enough alone.

All the other kids' names just came and then just fit. I didn't expect to struggle, ever, with naming my child. He's six weeks old today. I'm still sleep deprived, and still wondering if I've made the right choice. Maybe Marley's got something- she was calling him Snuggers the other day (well, Thnuggerth, the way she says it). I'm sure he wouldn't hate us at all for using that one.

For All of us Parent Types

2011-07-20T13:38:00.000-07:00

Yes, this is a post that's a link to someone else's post. But it's so good. And I just had a baby and am getting no sleep, so give me a break. Geesh.

Motherhood Is a Calling (And Where Your Children Rank)

Introducing...

2011-06-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

Graham Jack.
Born June 15, 2011. 8 lbs, 9 oz, 21 inches of pure baby yumminess.
Pictures on his first day and his 12th day (bath and blessing). He's just a sweetie, calm, peaceful and a great daytime sleeper. :) His name has gone through many changes and evolutions and may continue to confuse and annoy those we love. But at least we decided what will go on the birth certificate. I am so in love with this little boy. I don't know why it still surprises me how instant and overwhelming that love is, but we and I would not be complete without him. I'll post more about his birth, etc some other time. For now, try not to smooch those little cheeks on your screen.

That's Not a Beer Belly...

2011-06-10T11:31:00.000-07:00

I realize, living in Utah, that pregnant women are a dime a dozen. They're everywhere. It seems the general population here has grown so accustomed to seeing, passing and associating with expectant ladies, that maybe they don't even really see the stomach anymore. At least that's all I can assume.

I'm 9 months pregnant. It's hard to miss. And yet I've had doors not held, people cutting me off or making me go around them in stores, people passing right by as I struggled with a huge box at the post office... it's baffling to me. Even pregnant, I'll hold a door open for someone who is more pregnant than I am. All of us pregnant ladies just sort of blend together, I guess. But each one deserves a little notice, some attention, some help. You don't know which of us wants to scream out in pain with each step. You don't know which one just came from the hospital where she had to have IV iron, or drugs to stop her from continuously throwing up. You don't know who just found out one of the twins she's carrying might not make it. I know there's not always something so dramatic going on, but pregnancy is a big deal. It's not an illness, but it's amazing and miraculous and hard and there's a brand new, never-before-seen person happening in there.

Part of what I don't understand is that Utah is a place where families are of the utmost importance. Those of us who are LDS believe that families are eternal. So why does it seem that pregnancy and birth are sort of a non-event here? Sometimes after I've had a baby, I've wanted to yell and scream and shake people, "I just changed my family for ETERNITY!! Who we are is now different FOREVER, do you hear me???" It's a big deal.

I think there should be baby showers for every baby, even if the family doesn't 'need' anything. For heaven's sake, just throw a party. There's a new person coming to the planet. There's a woman who is sacrificing herself in some way, every day from the first day of pregnancy on. Doesn't that deserve a little celebration? My mom says every new baby should have something new. Yes, my boys wore hand-me-downs, as will this boy, but how much do I love the thought of wrapping him in a brand new blanket that one of my best friends just gave me?

Babies should be acknowledged and welcomed. Moms should be honoured and supported (no matter how their babies come into their families). Take notice. You're probably passing right by miracles every day. If you're in Utah you're probably passing miracles every few minutes. If that doesn't mean anything to you, just at least hold the *#!@# door open.

Sigh. Hormones.

The Musings, Mayhem and Mental Breaks

2011-05-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

A while ago on Facebook, I posted something to the effect of "Do you ever wonder if maybe you've already gone crazy and nobody told you?". I'm contemplating that notion once more. If I had gone nuts, would I know? I can find fairly strong evidence that that may be the case, all around me, I don't have to look too hard. Luckily most of the time, I'm so busy I don't have a lot of time to really think hard about anything. When I do stop and take stock of where I am, what I'm doing, the mountain of insurmountables in front of me, I wonder why my parents ever let me out into the world on my own.

I've got this ever growing tummy right under my nose, and yet I can't wrap my head around a baby actually showing up next month. There's baby gear all around, I'm feeling a near-psychotic need to clean everything in sight, it all points toward a tiny person arriving shortly. Apparently I am the one who will be giving birth. Huh...

I keep waiting for my van to clean itself. Every time I get into it, I am appalled and annoyed that it's as filthy as it is, as though I've been promised it will be different the next time I open the door. My fairy god-mother is a slacker.

Would you believe I was envisioning pulling some lady's hair and growling something rude at her in Sunday school this past Sunday? I didn't. She would have deserved it, but I didn't. There was a guy at church a few weeks ago I could have happily let have it too, but lucky for him, we never wound up in the same room. I realize my attitude is probably due for some tweaking. I think I can handle quite a bit of nonsense from people, but heaven help you if you treat my kids poorly, or if you just happen to be the straw that breaks this camel's back.

Bathing suit shopping. Maternity bathing suit shopping. Maternity bathing suit shopping when you only need the stinking thing for one week. Maternity bathing suit shopping for something you'll use for a week when money has about 80,000 other places it needs to go. Yeah.

On the upside, cuckoo goes both ways. I'm confessing here that I do actually believe that I have parking space angels. I get the best parking spaces probably 99% of the time. I'm almost never more than three spaces from the storefront. The seas of cars part before me. It's maybe not the most highly-coveted kind of angel to have, but I've got them. They do come in handy.

My kids are probably a massive piece of the pre-school type puzzle that explains my less-than-stable state of mind. But they're awesome. Between Marley's hugs and saying "I mish you!" anytime we've been apart for more than a few minutes, and Duncan busting a move for anyone who'll watch, and Gabriel explaining some complex story with his photographic recall, and Noah making up songs that include all of us (and oftentimes Jesus) in some unexpected or hilarious way... they are the joyful glue daily putting this particular mind back together.

Best wishes from the institution,
Wendy

Better Than I Could Say It

2011-04-27T11:47:00.000-07:00

My lack of blogging this month is not due to a lack of something to say. I'm trying to show some restraint because there have been so many annoying, exhausting, overwhelming and tiresome things to complain about. Nobody wants to hear that. Any time I complain about something on here, I can almost hear the exasperation of some readers who undoubtedly think I'm being petty or ungrateful. The fact is, most of the time, for each complaint, there are a few things going on that are far more difficult, and a few things happening that are great blessings or events. I suspect that's the case with most people most of the time. So if an occasional vent helps, I'm all for it, whether I'm the venter or ventee. I've just decided that my blog is not the forum for it this month. I don't know why.

In the meantime, I'm thinking back to a link a dear friend of mine posted a while ago to some stranger's blog who's post echoed so much of what was in my head when I read it. Beautiful. Read it here.

I'll write something not altogether complain-y soon.

My Answer

2011-04-11T19:53:00.000-07:00

Lest there be any confusion or question on anyone else's part, let me clear something up.
No.
That is my answer to the question "Did having Noah have autism make you not want to have any more kids?".

As though my whole intent and purpose in life was to give birth only to typical, normally developing kids that the world would embrace and adore. As though I see Noah as some sort of punishment or unfair burden hoisted upon me. As though I'm arrogant enough to tell God how it's going to be.

No. Having Noah definitely made me ask questions I might not have otherwise asked, made me consider more seriously what we as a family could manage, made me amazed at the trust and faith God has in me as a mom...

But how many kids this family welcomes, who is meant to be here, those are not arbitrary decisions or numbers, based on my fear or ideal or stress or desire or feelings of total uselessness (at times). That's for God to know, and us to find out.

I'm not offended by the question. Well in the spirit of full disclosure, I was for a while. But me being offended doesn't help anyone. Everyone, including Noah, needs to know that he is a gift. At times a very challenging, scary, overwhelming gift, but he has purpose. My kids are learning things from growing up with him that some people take a lifetime to learn. They need him. He needs them. To think that I could have taken that away from all of them by giving in to my initial sadness and fear over Noah's "special" path...

No. No. A million times, no.

Some Sundays

2011-03-21T11:47:00.000-07:00

Sundays are a mixed bag for me. I love being able to change up the pace a bit, and not spend half my day in the car. We usually get some pretty good family time in, and of course, I love the idea of going to church and learning and being uplifted. Currently, and for some time now, that is only an idea. We begin church at 9am this year, and it is not agreeing with us. Church is generally one big noisy, frustrating wrestling match that is mostly a blur to me when I look back on it. Since I can't say Sunday is all about being spiritually fed these days, I have to just catch the moments that happen because it's Sunday and different from the other days in the week.

This last Sunday, those moments included:

Noah repeatedly putting his hands out and shaking his head, saying, "And he's like, where's Jesus?" all through Sacrament meeting.

While the bread and water were being passed, Noah tried with all his might to feed both to Steve (in his Blue's Clues book). We figure that's better than when he used to pray in the name of Steve.

After living here 11 and a half months, being asked to introduce myself to the class in Sunday School. Seriously? I included this one because I might find it funny at some point.

Marley constantly checking on the old lady behind us who was "thleeping". She actually seemed relieved when the lady finally stayed awake for a while.

Being told by the lady that does music in Primary that my Duncan is "just enchanting" and "so fun".

Playing a game with the kids that ended with everyone laughing and no one crying.

During a nice long dinner time talk about lots of things including what to name the new baby, Duncan completely flipping out on the family when names were being suggested other than the one he likes. Screaming, "Will you guys stop it with this first name and middle name and last name???? Will you just stop it already?????". I think he figures he didn't get the gender he ordered, so he's getting his name choice, period.

Noah told everyone he loved them, by name, at bedtime. Okay, so I can't say for sure that this one happened because it was Sunday, but I do think Noah picks up on a good day, good family time and love in the air, and that seems a lot more likely for us on a Sunday.

These are the things that keep me sane on Sundays. There are many that are just ridiculously hard from start to finish, and I wonder if there's any point to it all. I think for now the point might be noticing and having gratitude for the moments. You know, in between the screaming, floods, fights, complaining... aaaah, Sunday.

Stretched

2011-03-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

Physically, yes, there is stretching happening. I feel like I look about 11 months pregnant right now, and I've still got a long way to go.

I don't have tiny babies. With Marley, I only gained 19 lbs, and she was 9lbs 3oz of that. I am not a large person, so babies have no choice but to grow outward, there is no stretching out lengthwise for my kids. Plus, you know, after a certain point (ie baby number 4 or 5), your muscles hang on for a while there, and then they're just like, Meh, forget it. That would explain why within about a week I went from being able to suck it in, to well, not.

With pregnancy I get a gimp hip that sometimes hurts so much it stops me in my tracks, leaving me unable to stand without support, and carpal tunnel that makes it really hard to do anything that requires a bit of a grip, like cutting with scissors, doing my hair or make-up, using a knife in food preparation, writing, etc. It's a trade-off that I'm happy to make considering I get an entire baby at the end of this thing, it just makes things a bit more challenging than usual right now. Which leads me to the other reasons I'm stretching and feeling some growing pains.

We've lived in this house for 11 months now, and still don't feel at home here. We love the house, we just don't have friends nearby which we have always had our whole married life. The kids have always had friends right outside the front door too. Not here. Noah is getting bigger and that's creating new challenges all the time. Jeremy's schedule is anything but regular, though he's working on several things at any given time. We are far away from family. That part is tough for me.

Our life is just not normal or in any way predictable and I'm realizing that's the way it's going to stay. So while part of me wonders how on earth we're going to manage with one more child, the other part of me is thinking, heck, let's adopt a couple more. We're already a zoo, we already have limitations on what we can do and where we can go, we already have to divide and conquer at church and everywhere else, we already have a necessary lack of spontaneity as a family, so what else are we doing? This. This is what we're doing. We hit crazy a long time ago, and you don't get more crazy. You're crazy. We're there.

I used to ask my mom with each pregnancy, "How do you go from one to two? (Or two to three?) We can barely manage where we are!". And she would wisely tell me that your abilities stretch and grow as your family does. It just happens. I haven't asked those questions in these last two pregnancies, because I've seen what she said work in my own life.

The other thing that's changing in me is the tendency to regret what we're missing due to our unusual life. There's no need for it. All I want is a happy family, to know that I'm following the path God would have me follow and doing the things He'd have me do, to be a good person, and beyond that? Just details and bonuses. And then, guess what? I'm not missing anything. I'm living precisely the life that I "should" have. Is it perfect? Far from it. There's still noise and impatience and tears and trial... but again it's that trade-off thing. I'll take the mess and chaos if it means having and associating with my amazing children. I will grow into being a mother of five. I'll be stretched beyond paper thin at times, but I'll have this family. Where much is given much is required. But much, much more is given.

For the Love of Pete (And Other Baby Boys)

2011-03-04T13:01:00.000-08:00

To the designers of baby boy clothes,

I do not want my baby boy wearing dump trucks, tractors, tow trucks, cement trucks, footballs, baseballs, dinosaurs, airplanes, rocket ships, bears dressed in fishing gear, bears dressed in jammies, cars, trains, jungle animals, anything indicating his future brattiness or troublemaking, anything stating how good looking either of his parents might be, dogs or motorcycles. And don't even get me started on tv/movie characters. Make a note of it. And stop it.

Sincerely,
A mom of (nearly) 4 boys who can't take it anymore. Seriously.

Sole Sister

2011-02-14T16:27:00.000-08:00

The rumours (like you've heard any) are true. There's another person crazy enough to be joining our family this coming June.
Unexpected? Pretty much.
Insane? Yes, yes it is.
Kind of awesome anyway? Absolutely.

With six prior pregnancies (4 with happy outcomes, 2 not so much), I am not one to be blase about the whole process. It's astonishing that anybody ever gets here with all that can go wrong. It blows me away every time, every ultrasound, birth, squinty wrinkly brand new face- there is nothing that I find more amazing, fascinating or wonderful.

I worry about those things that can go wrong. A lot. I try not to worry. It never works.

That's the reason I wait as long as humanly possible before letting anyone know what's going on. In some weird way, it lessens my stress, just not having to talk about it, answer questions, etc, when the whole time I'd just be thinking, "Yeah, we'll see...".

So here we are, 21 weeks in. I had an ultrasound today. On Valentine's Day, which historically has not been a good day for that. But today was happy. Baby looks great, healthy, active, and as 2-D as the picture was, awfully cute.

And we're going back to blue. That surprised everyone. Duncan is not thrilled about this latest development. He had staunchly maintained that he was having another sister, and today's news just would not do. He kept saying, "But why is it a boy?", and then would explain with great confidence that there will be another baby, and it will be a girl. I kept my thoughts about that to myself.

My one momentary pang of sadness comes from the fact that Marley won't have a sister. I know girls everywhere survive this every day, but it's hard for me to imagine. I have a sister. I love having a sister (it helps that mine is exceptionally awesome), and I so wanted that for my little girl. But she's meant to be dainty and dirty, pushing dolly strollers while making loud motor revving sounds, mingling Strawberry Shortcake dolls with trains. She'll probably be the coolest girl ever.

My to-do list is a little longer than it was this morning. This boy can't wear the flowery newborn gowns I have stored in a bin in the attic, and I gave away all my baby boy gear once Marley was here because we thought that was it, and someone else needed that stuff more than we did. The online searching and shopping begins. And I'd love it if he had a name. We've used so many boy names we really like already, I don't want to name him something lame because it was all we could come up with. (Ideas are welcome)

So Marley's the sole sister, and one more brother will surprise us with just how unique and amazing he is, even though he's the fourth one. And I get to sit and sniff one more heavenly baby head. Mmmm.

Moved to Tears at Church

2011-02-07T16:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I was at church. We were on time. That was a good start.

A prayer was started, we all sat quietly, listening.

A few words in, Noah leaned over against me. Aaw, I thought, he's snuggling his mom! A rare thing indeed.

That thought was gone in less than one second when he let rip the loudest toot I think I have ever heard, then quickly shifted and returned his left cheek to the chair.

At least somebody got their hallelujah moment.

Get This.

2011-01-27T20:00:00.000-08:00

If you know us, you know we're a strange family. Most of what we do is at least slightly off the beaten path. I have to plug, just briefly, one of our newly adopted loves.

We love real foods, natural products, you know, basic stuff. So when some dear friends of mine started a company selling the most natural of natural, green of green laundry product, I was excited to try it out. I'm especially interested in this kind of thing with my guy Noah in the family, as he is extremely sensitive to fumes, chemicals, and synthetic or harsh anything. We're talking seizures here, breath stopping, debilitating seizures, that at times have been caused by some of the junk listed above. And I figure, if it's better for him to get that stuff out of the house, it's better for all of us.

Soapberrysolutions.com is where you need to go to get the full scoop on what they're about, but I'm telling you, this stuff works, my clothes are clean. It stores for ages, is gentle on clothes and skin, is environmentally super friendly, and unlike certain other detergents, this doesn't knock you over the head with -ugh- a bunch of stinky fragrance that frankly, makes me a little woozy.

I am a repeat buyer on very few products, but I'm going for my third round on this stuff. And who doesn't want to support a small family business that is doing something good? So really, if you're a human being that likes clean clothes and other people, just give them a try. Seriously, go.

Green.

2011-01-14T14:59:00.000-08:00

I am slightly green. With envy.

My husband gets to go to Spain. I am in love with Europe. He got some random job and gets to go for a week next month. He will miss Valentine's Day, and his birthday. More importantly, he will have access to bread, cheese, and chocolate that trumps anything I have ever eaten on this continent. He's also in for an architectural feast like nothing he's ever experienced.

Sigh.

I'm happy for him.

Really.

'Round the Bend: Part 2

2011-01-04T11:50:00.000-08:00

We were supposed to leave my parents' house on the Thursday after Christmas. (I will say, Christmas was really good. The kids were a riot to watch, and sick or not, they had a ball with the grandparents and their uncle)

After a quick weather check, and much debate, we decided to wait an extra day because the weather forecasts were looking ominous along our whole route home. So off we went early Friday morning, half full of high hopes for a better trip, and half full of dread, knowing even the smoothest trip would still mean 18-19 hours in the car.

Duncan started asking how much longer until we'd be home, after 2 1/2 hours.

The first nine hours passed by fairly uneventfully, just some fatigue/sadness/grumpiness on everyone's parts. We were half way home, and starting to feel somewhat relieved. We were suddenly informed by a lit sign that the freeway was closed, and we were directed off at the next exit. This had happened on the trip up too, but after a slight detour, we had gotten back on the freeway and carried on. So we weren't worried, we simply looked for the nearest path back to the freeway where we could resume our trip.

Enter know-it-all transportation worker. He hopped out of his pick-up and flagged us down. We roll down a window. "You trying to get yourselves poisoned?" Um, no...? He went on, very condescendingly mind you, like somehow we were already supposed to know, explaining that there had been a huge train wreck just a bit south of where we were, with a chemical spill, and it would take at least 2 to 3 days to clean up, so our best bet was to head home. The Utah plates apparently didn't give him any clues as to where that might be. He told us that finding a hotel would be near impossible anywhere near there. And then for some reason, though we had said next to nothing to him and definitely had not been in any way rude, he goes off on this snide, "But you can do whatever you want. You're probably way smarter than average. Keep going, see what happens." tangent. We were too tired and baffled to come back with anything. I could not speak, for about 15 minutes. I was so tired, still not totally well, I was angry and in denial.

There was no other way to go south. We were nearly at the OR/ID border. We did not have 2 to 3 days to mill around Oregon, waiting for a freeway that may or may not open sometime soon. So we turned around, and started heading north again. North. We drove all the way to Spokane where we found a hotel to stay in overnight. For our 13 hours of driving on Friday, we had a net gain of 4 hours.

After a not-great night's sleep, we were off once again. But only after discovering that two pairs of pants that had been pottied through the day before were left in the van overnight. Both parents evidently thought the other had grabbed them and/or bagged them up. So I neatly packaged up the frozen-solid-potty-pants-sculptures, and we carried on.

Spokane is pretty. Coeur D'Alene was gorgeous. And then on to Montana.

Montana was cold. Our antifreeze froze. There were all these little tiny pockets of towns throughout the mountains, and we were trying to figure out how anyone could live in most of them. Apparently in this particular section of the state, there is no limit to the number of sheds one can have in a yard. Everywhere I looked, sheds. Different sizes, shapes, colours, scattered across yards with no clear plan or purpose. We also passed a yard with a huge collection of dollies in one part, and a huge army of traffic cones in the other. Someone else had abandoned 2 newish looking fire trucks on a median, where they sat, under about 2 feet of snow. I do not understand Montana.

We hit some snowy conditions (that were not forecasted) which slowed us down some more. The kids were punch drunk by Pocatello. I fed them French fries for dinner. Again, no one slept. Saturday ended as we pulled into our driveway at midnight, after another 14 hours on the road. Kids down, car unloaded, bed at 2 am. I woke up coming down with something else. I'm still unpacking. I will not drive anywhere more than 3 hours from my house, ever, so don't ask.

Public bathrooms.
27 hours.
In-car diaper changes.
Spills.
Screams.

You want to see us? We'll be at home.

Driving 'Round the Bend: Part 1

2011-01-03T09:00:00.000-08:00

We left home 2 days after I started on antibiotics for walking pneumonia. Dumb. I shouldn't have been going anywhere but my own bed.

The 18 hour drive took almost 25 hours. I was ready to turn around and come home when we hit Boise (6 hours in), where we stopped for some supplies. I was getting Marley out of the car so she could come inside with me and stretch her legs, and she promptly barfed all over both of us. In my very ill fog, I had not thought to put extra outfits for the kids or myself in the car, and all the clothes were in suitcases strapped down to the top of the van with cords, rope and tarps. There was no undoing and then re-doing all that in a very cold parking lot. We cleaned up as best we could, but little did I know we had 19 more hours to enjoy the faint smell of vomit floating about the car. (Where ever you think of it from here on out, insert a screaming child, some cup throwing, a few "He's touching meeeee!" 's, some over-tired crying, and many potty stops)

Me, still sick.

We hit some nasty weather, though not in the Snoqualme Pass, which was the stretch we had been most worried about. No, these patches came in other mountain passes, in the dark, boxed in by transport trucks on every side. We got stuck behind 2 separate accidents. The first, we sat for and hour and a half without moving an inch. The second accident had us sitting there for an hour and 45 minutes before we started creeping forward. And two of us had needed a bathroom stop well before that.

Me, so sick.

We finally got out of the second jam, though still drove carefully since it was alternating between snow and rain, and then some psychotic transport truck driver (FedEx needs those How's My Driving? numbers on the backs of their trucks) decided it would be fun, for no reason at all, to speed up, start wildly honking his horn, and then pass us, seriously maybe 2 inches from taking our side mirror off. We were not in his way (no one else was around), we were squarely in our lane the whole time, and the roads were anything but dry. It's good I wasn't driving because you mess with my kids, and it's over for you. I would have done something stupid.

Sick.

We made it to the border eventually. Mind you, none of the kids have slept more than cat-naps at this point, about 23 and 1/2 hours in, but Noah was trying. The border agent had us take the blanket off of Noah's head so he could see that he matched his passport photo, and Noah flipped out. With a raised eyebrow and a bit of a scowl, the agent asked several questions, including whether Jeremy had ever been arrested, and why we were coming through the border at 4 am with a van full of kids. Yeah, that was our plan, border man, to get to the border at some insane hour after driving ALL DAY so that we could enjoy Christmas with our sick cranky kids. Yup. That was the plan.

Bleh. Duncan, Gabriel, Noah and Marley, coughing.

My parents' church starts at 9 am. We did not attend. This frustrated me because the Sunday before Christmas is one of my most favourite times to be at church. By Monday, the entire family was on antibiotics. I needed a good cry and 12 hours of sleep. I got neither.

That's that, I thought. The trip back will be better.

Sick of Being Sick

2010-12-17T11:21:00.000-08:00

This year has been great for me, health-wise. I've started to get sick a few times, but have warded it off each time with some combination of Zicam, Airborne, garlic, green drinks and sleep. December hit, and I'm thinking I'm pretty much in the clear for the year. Not so.

We are supposed to be nearly half-way to my parents' home by now, about 7 hours into the 18 or so hour drive. The whole family has been bouncing-off-the-walls excited to go see Grandma and Grandpa for Christmas. Monday night I felt a little run-down. Not surprising given the way the last 6 weeks have gone around here. Tuesday I knew I was fighting off some sort of bug. I was smug. I was confident. I don't get sick.

Tuesday night I could not sleep or breathe. Wednesday I pretty much thought this was the end. I'm a fairly tough girl I think, it takes a lot to knock me out. Yesterday I sounded like a man, and couldn't cross the room without flying into some wild horrific coughing fit that left me gasping for air. I went to the Doctor. He listened to me breathe. He heard me cough. He said "Wow. You are SICK.". Before I knew it I had nebulizer attached to me, and various prescriptions were being written out. Suddenly I was watching our travel plans get sucked into a black hole.

So far Gabriel and Marley seem to be alright. Noah and Duncan are coughing. I am bummed. Anything we do now will mess up something else. If we go tomorrow, there's no way we'll make church on Sunday. If we wait longer than that, we're getting into territory where the length of the stay might not be long enough to justify what is sure to be a very long and trying drive. The house is a mess. I hate leaving a messy house. Now I've got to food shop since I had perfectly metered out what we'd use before we left, and now we haven't left.

The oddest thing came to mind today. When I was a kid, I used to get sick a lot. I got it first, I got it the worst. The joke in our family was that we'd get to see the hospital anywhere we travelled thanks to me. My Grandma at one point gave me this great little book called The Sick of Being Sick Book. It had all kinds of ideas of things to do when you were sick and stuck at home and/or in bed. Some were serious, like making sure you were resting and drinking enough. Then there were some like: Collect all your dirty kleenexes. Wad them up. Paint them orange. Put them in a clear bowl. Pretend you have fish.

I read that book probably a hundred times. It made me laugh and gave me something to focus on besides how rotten I felt. At some point, I must have gotten rid of it. I tried a few times to see if I could find another copy, but didn't have any luck. Today I don't want to pack. I don't want to use my stinking inhaler. I just want my book.

And my Mom.

Thanksgiving Week: The Reviews Are In

2010-11-29T11:48:00.000-08:00

The Good
Being a part of one of my very best friend's labour and delivery, and Mom and baby being well
Time off of our regular schedule
Amazing food
Time with friends (though some of it was much too short)
Surviving Blizzard 2010
Time for movies
Snow
Now everybody else will join me in ramping up for Christmas

The Bad
The week-end went by way too quickly
I'm realizing how little time I have and how much I have to do before Christmas
My birthday is fast approaching and they're not all they're cracked up to be anymore
No one forecasted the actual snow storm and the "blizzard" was 15 minutes of snowfall that didn't stick
Haircuts, cleaning and organizing that didn't quite happen

The Ugly
Noah's worst seizure week since they started 2 and a 1/2 years ago
Very little sleep because of the above
Wishing far-away family and friends, well, weren't
I've been seriously considering a smack -down death match with Noah's neurologist's office

I hope your "Good" list from this last week is your longest list too.

Sushi, Sushi, Bo Bushi

2010-11-21T20:09:00.000-08:00

I found the best ever home made sushi recipe. Usually with ethnic foods, things I'd normally only ever get in a restaurant, when I try the home cooked version, it's a let down. Not this time. All you fish lovers need not read on, because this is a veggie recipe. I'm posting it here because so far 5 people have requested it, and if you tried it, you'd be asking for the recipe too.

Sushi Rice

4 C. short grain white rice

2 TB red quinoa

1/2 c. rice vinegar

3 TB sugar

3 tsp salt

Bring rinsed rice, quinoa, and 4 c water to a simmer in a large pot. Reduce heat to low, cover, and cook 15 minutes, or until water is absorbed. Remove from heat, and let stand, covered, 20 minutes.

Stir vinegar, sugar and salt together in a bowl until sugar and salt dissolve. Fluff rice with wooden spoon and then fold in vinegar mixture. Cover with a damp towel until ready to use.

Spicy Tofu

2 12 oz pkgs. extra firm tofu, drained and cut into 1/4 in. cubes

3 TB soy sauce (or Shoyu or Bragg's aminos)

2 TB sriracha (or other Asian hot sauce)
2 TB rice vinegar
1 TB maple syrup
2 tsp toasted sesame oil
4 green onions, thinly sliced (1/2 cup)
2 TB vegan mayonnaise (Vegenaise is the best one)

Heat non-stick skillet over medium high heat, and add tofu. Cook 10-12 minutes, or until cubes are golden, stirring occasionally.
Stir together soy sauce, sriracha, vinegar, maple syrup, sesame oil, and 2 TB water in a small bowl. Add mixture to tofu in the pan. Bring to a simmer, cook 2-3 minutes until most of the liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat, stir in green onions and mayonnaise. USe either warm or chilled.

USE:
24-ish nori sheets
assorted vegetables, sliced or julienned, such as carrots, cucumber, bell peppers, avocado, etc
wasabi (if desired)
pickled ginger (if desired, or I just add a little fresh grated ginger to the soy sauce you use for dipping later)
sushi mats if you have them, though mine turns out fine without.

On each nori sheet, spread a thin layer of sushi rice over the whole thing, leaving about a 1/2 inch of space at the bottom end.
At one end, lay some of the tofu, and 2 or so of the veggies (otherwise it can get too bulky and it won't roll as tightly) across it. Starting at the "food" end, roll it carefully and tightly until it is resting on the closing seem. Using a sharp knife, slice into about 5-6 pieces. Repeat, or store the rest, this makes a lot of sushi in one recipe and it's always better when it has just been freshly assembled. Serve with wasabi and soy sauce for dipping. I will be very shocked if this isn't one of the best things you've ever tried. :)

When I Grow Up

2010-11-16T11:50:00.000-08:00

Janey Cutler - Britain's Got Talent 2010 - Auditions Week 4 @ Yahoo! Video

I smiled through this whole thing, and may have shed a tear or two. Lovely.

Apple Time!

2010-10-28T08:38:00.000-07:00

Remember these?

I'm thinking ahead for Christmas this year, and hope some of you are too. I'm going to make these oh-so-good apples again this year, and will start taking orders right away. Here's what you need to know:

They will be $8.00 each.

I will need payment two weeks before the date you want them.

The last pick-up/drop off date will be December 16th.

I'm not set up for long distance delivery, so I'm afraid we're limited to Utah, within reasonable driving distance of my house.

There's still a choice between dark or milk chocolate, just specify how many of which when you order. I did a couple with white chocolate last year for some friends who don't love chocolate of the brown variety, and they were really happy with them, so I can do that too.

I tested a few apples last year, trying one after a week in the fridge, another after 2 weeks, another after 3 weeks, (I didn't test any longer than that) and after 3 weeks in the fridge, they are just as good. None had ever lasted longer than a week at our house before that, because everyone had devoured them, so I wanted to see how they held up. Turns out, pretty darn well.

Email or call me to order, if you don't have any of my info, leave me a message here or on Facebook, and I'll get it to you.

After such a great response last year (I sold 234 in the end), this year some of the money will go toward Christmas for my family, and some will go toward helping somebody else have a better Christmas, like so many of you helped us have last year. We want to pay it forward. :)

"Ooo-ooo" Went The Wind

2010-10-13T13:34:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else take issue with the words "Gourmet" and "Candy Corn" being used together? Gourmet high fructose corn syrup, gourmet artificial flavour and gourmet artificial colour. Mmmm.

When I think gourmet, I think of something so good, so decadent, that you kind of want to sneak into a closet to eat it, away from anyone who might try to make you share. The vast majority of Halloween candy does not fall into that category. Most of it is not even good.

My best years of trick-or-treating were between the ages of 12 and 17. That's right, I said 17. It's the only time my being short has been an advantage. Well then and for installing car seats. Luckily for me, my best friend during my teen years was also short, and we made the most of it. She and I would meet up at my house (she lived on a farm sort of in the boonies, so my neighbourhood was the more "mother-load-of-candy friendly" of the two), and decide what the quotas would be for that year. We'd determine how many of what kinds of candy we would acquire before calling it quits for the night. Usually near the top of the list were Kit Kats, with other kinds of candy coming and going from year to year, depending on our mood.

After a while, we got really good at singling out those houses that had "good" candy, and those that would always give out lousy stuff like those nasty beige/grey chewy things that you only hand out if you don't really like children. What were those things anyway? It wasn't toffee, or taffy, and had no distinctive flavour... just sticky, tooth decaying nothingness.

The problem was, not every house would give both of us the same candy, so a mini (friendly) competition would start between us to see who could hit their targets first. The night was always full of laughter, like the time my moustache fell off (I was an Arab Sheik, ok?) in a yard covered in knee-deep leaves. We got down on hands and knees, and searched for about 10 minutes before my friend declared, "We need to say a prayer." I launched into a massive laughing protest about how I was not praying over a moustache.

After we said "Amen", I put my hand down on the ground to balance myself to stand up, and there was my moustache. We were in tears. Not the kind you're usually in after an answered prayer.

But then there was another tradition we had, that wasn't just about fun. The owner of the company where my dad worked, and his wife lived on the street behind us. They were really nice people who for years let us come and swim in their pool in the summers. Most kids would run up, get their candy and run off. When we came to the door, we got invited inside. The lady of the house had MS, and couldn't come see the kids all dressed up. So we'd go in and say hello, and chat for a bit, let her ooo and ah over our costumes and it was one of the best parts of trick-or-treating for us.

Come to think of it, almost none of my best memories of Halloween had anything to do with the actual candy, (except for the favourite chocolate bars of 2 of my grandparents, which I would mail to them some years). Don't get me wrong, I was not above hiding and hoarding my candy after I got home, but that was just secondary to all the other stuff.

Maybe that's why Halloween candy mostly stinks, and no one cares. Gourmet Candy Corn. Please.

Who Are You?

2010-10-05T20:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wholeheartedly agree with one exasperated ancestor's sentiment: "This is the stupidest world I've ever lived on.". I've been in a sort of tornado of emotion and thought lately. Between the passing of my cousin (and not being able to attend her funeral due to ongoing passport issues), a bad patch of seizures for my boy, and some waves of controversy affecting people I care about, sadness, contention, worry, and frustration have all been wildly swirling around. I could very easily lock myself away and just hope for the clouds to pass.

But that's not me.

For those who don't share my faith, we believe that we were spirits who lived with God before we came here to earth. We believe that those spirits joined with bodies when we were born, and though we don't remember that time, while here on earth, we carry with us many of the traits and relationships that we had there. It is in most cases not until we pass on to the next life that we get to really "see" everybody again. Who they are, who they are to us, each person in their spirit form, no more weighted down by illness, age, hardship, deformity, or any other earthly care.

There were kids from 80+ countries in my high school, and most of my friends had either a different skin colour from me, or an accent of some sort. It wasn't until I left there and moved to a much more, um, homogenous area that I was even struck by that fact. I saw beautiful friends, not shades of skin. I heard laughter, comfort, and lively discussion, not accents. You can spot kindness or goodness just by looking at someone's face, and not even see what they look like. You know what I'm talking about. Or think of people that have grown more beautiful to you as you've gotten to know them, when really their physical form hasn't changed a bit. I think, in part, that's recognizing that heavenly spirit that's in there.

Oftentimes I am tempted to (and do) just react to hard situations, usually poorly, loudly, or sarcastically. But I have found that if I am still, if I wait... God will speak to me, and show me a little something that will change me, and my reaction. Frequently this happens in a split second. A flash of somebody's true intent, their innate goodness, the love that others have, or even God has, for them. In other words, the truth about who they are. Not how they're acting, not what they're saying, not what they look like, but who that spirit is that was put on this earth, disguised by flesh and bones, life, and gravity.

And then things change.

I want to respond with love. I want to understand more than be understood. I want to teach or exchange thoughts, not lecture. Compassion and generosity flow.

You never know who you're really dealing with. From your children to a crabby customer service person, anyone could be the grandest, most amazing spirit you'll meet. They should be treated that way. I pray I will be blessed to see people as they really are, much more clearly and frequently, especially when things get tough.

As it said on a little poster I had as kid, "God don't make no junk".

Amen.

In Case You Were Wondering...

2010-09-27T18:59:00.000-07:00

Some songs make me cry.

I spend time missing people who probably don't miss me.

I leave my house in my pajamas way more often than I should.

I like rainy days more than sunny days.

Wicker freaks me out.

Once you're my friend, once I love you, it is nearly impossible to change my mind about you.

I'm a bit of a stickler about spelling, and words like their/there/they're. Somebody once told me that "stickler" is just another word for "pain in the butt." I'm okay with that.

I studied theatrical make-up in college because I was too chicken to audition (as an actor) for shows until my last year of school.

I used to be completely fluent in French.

I hate cowboy boots.

I don't always volunteer my opinions, but just ask me. I have them. Lots of them.

I wish I was 5' 7".

I struggle with post-partum depression.

I'm not a snob. Except about chocolate.

I thought at some point I'd get on Oprah. No idea what for.

If I could pick a talent to be brilliant at, it would be singing.

I've given three people bloody noses in my life. If I had had my way, there would have been one more.

My favourite way to pray is alone, out loud, in my car.

I have only been in a police car once. It was not at all what I expected.

I typically like British humour way better than North American humour.

I will avoid being embarrassed at almost any cost.

Seafood makes me gag.

If you have seen Dead Poet's Society, you have pretty much seen my high school.

I come from one of the most normal families I've ever seen. And we're not that normal.

I have never drunk cola or alcohol on purpose.

My siblings are all people I would be friends with even if we weren't related.

I have been bored enough to search for and trim my own split ends. Though I can't believe I ever had time for that.

I can't stand Titanic.

I've had all my babies at home, and not because I was trying to prove anything.

I've been vegetarian for over 14 years.

Shopping makes me cranky.

My cat allergy once landed me in the hospital.

Fall is my absolute favourite season.

I don't get the whole ketchup on eggs thing.

I think gratitude is one of the most important attributes anyone can have.

There are people in my life I can probably never fully repay, but I will try.

Christmas music will likely start playing in October at my house.

What are some things that make you weird? I mean, you?

When Boy Genius Just Wants To Go To Recess

2010-09-22T15:22:00.000-07:00

Gabriel came home today with some of his school work from the past week, which I like to look through to see what he's learning, how he's doing, and where we might need to spend some extra time (which rarely happens since he's a really good student). He has been learning about writing lead-ins to stories, articles, etc. They are learning what to include so that people know right off what you're writing about and want to keep reading. So they were asked to pick a couple of topics and for each, write an interesting lead-in, and then a boring lead-in. Gabriel chose Lions for one topic, and Mandarin Oranges for his second. He wrote really good lead-ins for both, including some interesting facts and details. I turned the page to read his boring lead-in.

He wrote 18 lines.

He wrote the word "Blah" 72 times.

Catalog Living

2010-09-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

This is my new favourite website. Even if you don't think the first few are funny, just keep reading. If you don't end up shedding a few tears from laughter, there's something wrong with you.

Little Dude #3

2010-09-02T09:39:00.000-07:00

Duncan has his first soccer game ever, tonight. He has been wanting to play since last year when Gabriel played for his first time (we got going a little late with G).

We went to his first practice last week, and there was a lot of excitement. He got his own brand new ball, and his jersey and socks. We didn't know what colour the team would be, but of course, they're Duncan's most favourite colour, green. Things just seem to work out for that kid. And just FYI, don't ever let a team of 4 and 5 year olds decide on the team name. "And the Leprechauns sweep the play-offs!!" is not something you'll be hearing anytime soon.

Back to the practice. Duncan is the youngest one on the team, so rather than have anyone notice that he was the smallest, he did a lot of really dramatic wipe-outs, and threw out great advice to no one in particular about keeping your eye on the ball. He already thinks his coach is the bomb, and had to Skype the grandparents as soon as he got home to show them his new duds.

"The Dunk" has always been unbelievably coordinated and physical, so I'm not worried about him catching on and doing just fine, but tonight I expect to see a lot of 'mob ball', and kids picking grass and waving to their parents on the sidelines. I coached this age group one summer while I was home from college, and it was a riot. I have to admit, I signed Duncan up as much for my own entertainment as his desire to play. I'm predicting he'll be dressed in his uniform by lunch time, asking me for the 85th time what I think the post-game snacks will be...

A Little More Time. Please.

2010-08-18T08:26:00.000-07:00

I read something recently where a guy was talking about prioritizing and getting things accomplished. He said he couldn't stand it when people say there aren't enough hours in the day. He said that's a cop-out because if something matters enough to you, you'll get it done. I'm here to say, either he doesn't have kids, or he has never been the one to stay home with them.

Sleep matters to me. I have yet to get two consecutive nights of even 7 hours since the birth of my Marley 18 months ago. There have been days where I have vowed to not sit down (other than driving) and tackle my to-do list, not wasting a single minute of the day, and yet somehow the next day, the list is the same length, or even longer. I have been "working on" at least two books since last fall, yet not a word has been typed. I have not had time to get the words beyond my own head, as much as I want and need to get them going.

I do that thing where I think, "Oh, when school's out, I'll have more flexible time...", "Once school's back in, things will calm down...", "As soon as Marley is always sleeping through the night, then I'll have the time and energy to...". Yeah. No. There's always something unexpected, unplanned or unpredictable that throws things off. Those things are almost always kid-related and skew whatever plans of brilliance I had for any given day.

So, dude quoted in that article, you're wrong. There are not enough hours in the day. Not for me. And not for most moms who want to do anything beyond keeping their children alive and fairly clean.

When Big Brothers Get Bored...

2010-08-09T20:53:00.000-07:00

They tried adding just a few more...
The Princess was not amused.

(More pictures to come soon. Have to keep the far away family and friends up to date...)

Wonderfully Wrong

2010-08-02T07:22:00.001-07:00

Whether we want to or not, we generally get an impression of somebody within a moment of seeing or meeting them. Some first impressions might be more riddled with harsh judgements than others, but to whatever degree, some sort of opinion is formed. This is one area of life where sometimes, I love being wrong.

On one of my many trips home from school while attending college, I was seated, on a quickly-filling airplane. It was Christmas time and everyone seemed to be in a big hurry to get where they were going. I had no one next to me, and was silently hoping it would stay that way. There was one of those airplane bottlenecks forming, a cramped line-up of people all trying to peer down the aisle to spot their seats. In this line, I spotted a guy that I prayed would not be sitting next to me. I was probably 19, traveling alone, and I wasn't big on talking to strangers. This particular stranger was probably late 20's, large, and covered in tattoos. Cov-ered. He had some facial hardware, longish scruffy hair, and apparently wherever he was from, they only sold clothing fashioned from denim and leather. And he looked, well, he didn't look happy to be there. And when he found his seat, next to a 5'1" college student just full of first impressions, neither did she.

I had a magazine that suddenly became much more fascinating as he climbed over me and plunked himself down in his seat (I normally would have gotten up to let him in, but there was no room to move by then). We sat, from Salt Lake to approaching Chicago, in complete silence. We had left Salt Lake a bit late, and had hit some weather along the way, and now it was snowing in Chicago. It became evident as we got close to beginning our descent that there was no way I was going to make my next flight. I took out the map of the airport as they announced all the gate numbers of connecting flights over the loudspeaker, and saw my gate, on the opposite end of the airport from where we'd be arriving. I had 2 rather heavy carry-ons, and knowing how crowded the airport would be, I must have started to look a bit concerned. I knew the flight to Buffalo I was trying to make was the last one of the night, and I would be stranded alone in Chicago.

Tattooed guy said "Are you going to make your flight?". I told him I didn't think so. He said "Me neither."

"Where's your gate?" he asked. Great, I thought, now I'm going to be stuck here with a stalker. I told him, and he showed me his gate on the airport map, almost as far from where we were landing as mine was, but in the exact opposite direction.

We didn't say another word. We landed, wrestled our way into the overhead compartments to retrieve our bags, and eventually exited the plane, tired and cranky. We got just inside the airport, and I heard tattooed guy behind me say "Here, give me your bags." and honestly I had a moment of panic. Until I turned and saw him smiling. He said simply, "If one of is is going to be stuck here overnight, I'd rather it was me than you. How fast can you run?"

And with that, he took my heavier bag along with his own, and we ran. We tore through the Chicago airport, and may well have taken some people out as we passed by. I'm sure I would have been laughing at many points along the way at how comical we must have looked, but I was carrying a very heavy backpack, wearing a winter coat and sprinting, totally out of breath. He was quite a bit taller than me, and pretty fast too, I was thanking my lucky stars for all my years of soccer by then.

We got to my gate, breathless, sweaty, and the two of us together must have been a sight. The lone flight attendant was picking up her coat to get on the plane, the waiting area completely empty. I must have managed to say something about getting on this flight, because she smiled, and checked my ticket. I made it. Barely. I think I must have thanked tattooed guy about 10 times in the meantime, as he stood there, waiting to make sure they let me on. We said good-bye as I walked toward the gangway and then I saw him pick his bags up and just saunter away, looking as tattooed and intimidating as the first moment I saw him, yet looking totally different to me. I have never forgotten him.

The other thing I've never forgotten is that people look how they look and act how they act because that's the story of how they got here, wherever 'here' is. Everyone has flaws. Everyone has beauty in them. Some of our life's lessons and challenges and triumphs show on the outside. Some bits of wonderful are hidden, but that never means they're not there. Don't be so quick to see the things about somebody that you don't like, that you'd never do, that you immediately shun, because if you had walked through each step of their life, exactly, who's to say that you would be doing anything differently or better than they are?

I've learned not to instantly believe my first impressions of people, and definitely not anybody else's take on anyone. That way, every person is kind of a gift that I can look at and piece together, and find all the best parts. I love finding a true friend where I first thought there was nothing in common. I love finding a guardian angel in a wrapper that would suggest something else entirely. I love finding a soft heart trying to find its way, out of a crass or obnoxious veneer. I love friends who though on paper it would appear we should argue and be enemies, are able to see all the good in me and I in them.

And I continue to love being wrong.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

2010-07-28T11:40:00.000-07:00

would... be... something else.

Names matter. I've made a hobby of learning about names- origins, meanings, you name it, I know it (or can at least look it up in one of my, ahem, six name books). I've used naming my own children as an excuse to continue looking up and pairing up names that I don't need and won't ever use. You don't have to tell me it's weird, I know.

There's one baby name site, where people post polls for names they're trying to choose between, or to request help finding a good middle name to go with what they've chosen for a first. I frequently post suggestions, and I cannot tell you the joy it brings me when the next poll someone posts is to choose between two names I've suggested. I'm naming babies of total strangers, folks. Again, weird, I know.

It always fascinates me what people name their kids. There are so many great names to choose from. I love originality, but sentimentality is wonderful too. And then, sometimes I'm horrified when it's obvious someone didn't think through what the initials would spell, or the vile nicknames that are inevitable (hello, middle school), or even the meaning of their child's name. Wouldn't you want to know if you were naming your kid "muddy ditch" or "crooked nose" or something far worse?

I think the name thing started for me as a kid. My siblings are Craig, Kelly and Chris, and then there's me. The lone W sound. I never thought I was a Wendy. I went through a stage of telling my mom I would be changing my name once I turned 18. But I never could settle on a name that I thought was me. Then in grade six I attended a little private school, where there were names I had never encountered. Kaede (kai-day), Tinka, Khione, Haven and Zinnat were just a few, and then in high school, Marika, Ganga (gung-guh), Pia and Zoran... I had to know where they came from, what they meant, and the obsession grew.

Some name choices, I admit, I don't get. Naming your kid after a brand, like Lexus or Chanel, for instance. Or after a soap opera character, which may be the lowest form of baby naming. A quick perusing of an online list brings us little gems like Cricket, Babe, Boobsie (you think I'm kidding) and Seabone. That, friends, is all kinds of wrong.

It's always entertaining to me to see which names suddenly jump up or on to the "most popular" lists after celebrities use them. Vivienne, which is really a beautiful name (properly pronounced in French, it's 2 syllables, viv-yen, with the emphasis on the second syllable), was nowhere to be seen in the top 1000 names for years, then miraculously after Brangelina chose it for one of their brood, it debuted at #532 in 2009. I'm willing to bet we'll see a lot more Harlow's and Honor's in the next few years too. And Twilight-ers, do you think it's a coincidence that Isabella has held the number one or two spot for the last 3 years?

Names can be ruined or improved by association. If you've known someone really awful or weird, chances are you'd never use their name for one of your own kids, no matter how great a name it might be on its own. If you've only ever known beautiful Laurens and heavy Melissas, it will probably influence how you feel about those names. Names of spouses' exes are off-limits. Even pushy family members may feel the need to weigh in when they have strong feelings about someone they knew once with the name you're considering.

The bottom line is, kids are stuck with what we choose. They have no input in the choice of their name. And what seemed like a brilliant name for a baby may not sound so hot on a 55 year old.

Everyone will not love your name or your kids' names, and ultimately that doesn't matter. You'll be the one saying them thousands of times throughout your life. But a little research into the matter can't hurt. Seriously. Please.

http://babynamegenie.com
http://www.ssa.gov/OACT/babynames/

http://nameberry.com

Melancholy Much?

2010-07-24T22:26:00.000-07:00

Pensive reflection or contemplation, sadness, gloom.

Places I've been, things I've done, people I've loved, people I've lost, hard things I've overcome, oppourtunities I've missed, joyful times I don't get to do over... I really don't have time to reflect or be pensive about any of these things, but I must say I'm guilty, I've rounded the bases of the melancholic many a day.

Not a big wallower, I spend a good deal of time going back over fun, hilarious things from my life too. But you must admit, there's something about hearing a certain song, while it's raining outside and there's no one around to interrupt your thoughts... or seeing old pictures and feeling that little bit of sadness welling up underneath the smile those same pictures put on your face. As I've experienced some of those things lately, I've wondered, what's the point? What is the use of this seemingly useless state of mind?

I tend to be a big thinker anyway. I don't usually say a lot of what comes to mind, even when I probably should ( which is improvement from my younger days, when more often the opposite was true). So maybe feeling a bit melancholy is a bi-product of thinking too much...? Sometimes, for me, I think it's a way of taking stock of mistakes, successes, and those things or people I hope to revisit one day, whether in this life or the next, and sorting through it all, searching for the memories worth keeping.

This contemplation, whether pensive or sad, is something I'm sure we all have in common. We have all lived, after all, so I think there's no avoiding it. And why would we want to? I know I've got some great moments and a fabulous soundtrack so far, and I'm nowhere near done yet.

I Don't Get It: Why Some Bad Words Are Bad

2010-07-20T20:50:00.000-07:00

Don't be afraid, I'm not going to go on a cursing tirade here. I am a person who loves words. And names. But we'll get into my name obsession some other time. I love it when I hear new-to-me words, I love words that have tons of different meanings, I love words that just sound cool, language fascinates me.

What I don't get, is how some words become bad words, or even offensive. One of those words is "douche". This one's at the forefront of my mind after last night's episode of the Bachelorette. Even if you take the word douche at its worst meaning, it is just a feminine cleansing product. How is that bad? It cleans. Would it not be more pointedly rude to call someone, say, itch cream? "Douche" is also the French word for "shower". I like showers. "Hey, that guy just called me a shower-bag!". Wow, you told him.

And who decided, for instance, that another word starting with "p" is somehow much worse than being "ticked' off at someone?
They mean the same thing, don't they?

I wonder, are you closer to heaven because you called someone a frickin' anything? Everyone knows what you meant.

English word for cigarette and innocent little pansy flower, when did you become derogatory names for a gay man?

I love the word "jackass". I love saying it, I love hearing other people say it, and yet I hesitate to say it (depending on who is around), which is ridiculous since I have never once hesitated to use the word "donkey" around anyone, ever.

Who decides which words become off-limits? When is that pivotal moment that it goes from a noun or adjective minding its own business to something so taboo you can't even say it out loud to your kids to teach them what not to say? Now that the chicken and egg question has been answered for once and for all, I'd like somebody to get back to me on this whole thing.

Little Dude #2

2010-07-12T17:32:00.000-07:00

I've been pondering Noah lately. He had a rough day today. Nothing huge, a few little seizures, but it was obvious with all the screaming, shrieking, throwing things, and swings he took at a few of us that he was feeling a little off. It's hard to know what causes days like this, whether it's pain, frustration or something else completely, because he can't tell us. Sometimes he gets like this when seizures are brewing, but not always. And sometimes he has big seizures with no warning or fanfare at all. That's what happened a few weeks ago.

Noah had 9 seizures in about 26 hours. More, actually, if I were to count the small-by-comparison tremors he had in between, but 9 full blown, everything else stops seizures. The shortest was a minute, the longest just over 3 minutes. Do you know how long 3 minutes is, when someone you love is suffering, and there's not a lot you can do? It's an absolute eternity. All of these were really pretty violent. His little body is just limp, totally spent afterwards. Often he throws up during the seizures or after. There are a lot of details that have become just a part of our lives that I won't go into here. But one thing I hate, that I absolutely hate, are the thoughts I am forced to think as this little boy's mom.

At times, I feel like there must be something wrong with me, that I am crazy at best, and morbid at worst. When I watch him in that state, I wonder sometimes, do you even want to be here, little boy? He just looks at me with this look that says, you have no idea, mom, no idea at all. When he sleeps too long sometimes, I have the fleeting thought, is this it? Is this the day he had a seizure I didn't hear, and he has choked, and... I shake it off and go check on him to be sure. But the pit in my stomach tends to stay around. We almost lost him once already, and a couple of other times, it was some persistent angels keeping one of us awake when we otherwise would have been asleep, and lo and behold, some giant seizure where he's choking, or gets wedged between the bed and the wall and seems to be struggling to breathe... It is no joke, this regularly having my child's mortality thrown in my face. I cannot describe the way it feels, and doubt I would want to even if I could.

Noah isn't here for himself. He's here for the rest of us morons that haven't figured things out yet. At times, part of me wants to learn the lessons of Noah so that he can be freed of this body that galls him so. Part of me wants to claim ignorance or stupidity for life because I can't bear the thought of life without this little, inadequately wrapped bit of perfection that is my son.

And then I see him soaring through the air on a swing, or jumping gleefully on the trampoline, or cracking himself up with whatever random thing he finds funny that day, and I am grateful. Maybe he'll be convinced to stay a while.

Shave This.

2010-07-07T10:47:00.000-07:00

I'd like to find, yell at, and then slap around the first woman who shaved her legs. Why, lady? Why would you do a thing like that?

Men need to shave their faces (just FYI, I always dated/liked smooth-faced guys, even before BYU where it was mandated, unless you were in the theatre department and sporting a beard card with your facial scruff). Guys need to keep the facial area clear for eating, breathing, maintaining honesty about how big their double chin really is... plus facial hair could actually grow long and wild enough to house birds or other woodland creatures. Men also like to kiss women, and most women appreciate not having scraped up, rashy lips or faces. As for me, I can't remember the last time anyone made out with my calf or knee, or the last time I found a stray bit of food caught in my leg hair.

No one ever would have been the wiser if no woman had ever shaved her legs. We're already much less hairy than men, and I'm confident that would have been enough to keep both sides happy. Leave well enough alone, I say!

But now it's too late. The expectation is total smoothness. If anyone should shave their legs, it's men. If anyone should be disgusted by hairiness on the opposite sex, it's women. But no, we women, along with the time-stealing hair and make-up routines, have to shave our legs, that, when most of us first started this pointless little exercise, probably had nothing more than fine, light, barely visible hair on them.

And then, why legs? Why stop there? Wax your toes, shave your arms, heck, get rid of those disgusting hairy things above your eyes.

It only has to seem like a good idea to one woman and maybe a handful of men, ladies, and it's total hairlessness for all of us.

Love Smart Humour...

2010-06-30T10:56:00.000-07:00

I hope this is still as funny today, it made me cry last night.

I Don't Get It: The Bachelor/Bachelorette

2010-06-08T17:11:00.000-07:00

...but I still watch. Cheesy? Yes. Predictable? For sure. Pure brainless fluff? Big fat yes. That doesn't, however, explain how this show has survived for the many years it has. For all their efforts to be new and fresh every cycle, how many "most dramatic rose ceremony yet" 's can we possibly be forced to anticipate and then be let down by when they fall woefully short? I'm all for happy endings, but it's not like the show has a great success rate for forming lasting relationships, let alone marriages. I have predicted the final 2 or 3 guys/girls standing with nearly 100% accuracy every time, and have been nearly as successful at predicting who would be broken up within 6 months or before the show even airs (sorry Melissa). I have managed, on an intimate yet completely shallow level to form strong opinions on people I really have no investment in. But then that's the show. Intimate yet shallow. Why do I and so many others waste the time?

This season, there's Ali. She's fine. She wasn't my first choice to be the Bachelorette (shout out to Gia), but there have been far more blondes on this show than brunettes, so I'm not surprised.

So 25 guys, blah, blah, blah... I don't care about seeing all of them in their shirtless glory. I'm looking for the weirdest of the weird, maybe a Canadian to route for, and the most normal 1 or 2 guys there. The cocky or meat head guys that are there for the exposure or drama, (ie, the ones acting like catty girls) walking around with their chests puffed out, tail feathers a-swaying, they're basically white noise to me.

So this time around, here's my take:
Justin, Canadian boy, I think genuine but clueless and (to some, not me) cute, will be gone shortly.
(I sort of wanted cartoon-villain-hair Canadian Craig to stick around and have a most dramatic hot tub fight scene ever, but no luck there).
Jonathan, aka weatherman, gay, or at least undecided. You heard it here first.
Frank, a little too attached too soon, destined for the friend zone.
Ty... Guitar serenade? Seriously?
Jesse, the lights are on, but alas, I fear no one is home.
Kasey, sounds like a frog with porridge caught in his throat, and Ali would be begging him to never speak again, inside of 3 months.
It's going to boil down to Roberto and Chris L. in the end. Roberto has the best smile there, and seems real and cool. Cape Cod Chris was my first pick right out of the limo, normal, understated, tall and subtly smart-funny. I may or may not have a teeny crush on him. VO Chris Harrison: "It's a Bachelorette first!". No, really, it is.

Think what you will, I'll be watching, right to the sappy, tearful, contrived end. Still not a clue why.
Meh.

A Banner Week

2010-06-08T08:44:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I wonder what exactly I am doing here. The last three days, I have heard my eldest son, a very innocent 9 year-old, say the F-word twice (to be fair, one of them was after I said "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY???"), my 4 year-old inform me "Mom, I have been telling you to get your butt down here.", and my 7 year-old repeatedly tell himself to "SIT down, Noah." only he decided for the morning, all of his s's would be pronounced "sh".

I vacuumed the house exactly 6 times yesterday, and this morning, it looks like I haven't touched it for a week. Good thing I couldn't be bothered to put the vacuum away last night.

We did have a really fun water day yesterday, playing in the neighbour's irrigation water that flows through his yard once a week and over to the orchard that divides our houses, using the slip 'n slide, jumping on the trampoline with the sprinkler going underneath, water fights with some make-shift squirt guns, it was a good day. Except that we all got torched to a crisp... SPF 15 apparently works more like deep fry oil on me, and SPF 30, waterproof, doesn't have a placebo effect or any other effect on the kids. Except for the baby. Though I suspect her mid-day nap saved her.

By 10 am today, baby was in her 3rd outfit, Noah was banished to his room for the second time, Duncan had had his trains taken away, and Gabriel was hiding out in his room, smart boy that he is.

At times, I think, someone else could step in here and the kids would hardly notice as long as they were fed. I am almost certain there are times I am actually invisible. But, I'm not going anywhere, heaven help us all. I love these kids, bless their hearts. Their cursing, messy, sunburnt hearts.

Utterly Shameless Promotion

2010-05-12T10:48:00.000-07:00

"Rise Up" from "The Tea Party Movie" - Jeremy Hoop

You don't have to love it or him or even me, but just watch it. :)

All Present and Accounted For..?

2010-04-28T17:01:00.000-07:00

So, if your family is complete, how did you know you were done?

I am up to my eyeballs in crazy. I am so tired, I'm working on a new word for what I am. I have vowed right after delivering each baby that we are done. I am pretty much terrified at the thought of another pregnancy, delivery, and post-partum stretch.

But I don't really feel like everybody is here.

I am hoping maybe that means there's a fortuitous adoption in our future.

But it might not.

I'd love to have a few years to think about it, but time ain't exactly on my side, if you know what I'm sayin'.

The problem, that is not really a problem considering my current career path, is that I adore my kids. I love babies, I feel like I can start them off in life knowing they are loved, secure and so very wanted. I know whenever I am on the other side of this growing-the-family phase, I will be sad. So am I just not wanting that part of life to end, or to have ended already? Am I always going to feel like there's someone missing because of our baby girl we lost when I was 18 weeks along? Or am I sensing that there really is somebody else, waiting to join in on the bedlam?

Part of me thinks, life is so insane, what's one more?

Well for one thing, it's one more.

I know better than to over-romanticize the whole baby thing. I've been knocked on my fanny by them more times than I care to remember. I also know better than to think I can be blase about looking back on my life, and potentially, realizing that we missed somebody, because we were too busy, or too scared, or too tired...

And Gabriel thinks Marley needs a sister.

And Duncan told me we need 2 more babies. But then, his imaginary friends Ellie and Loss may have planted that idea.

And did I mention how being over-tired can make you delusional? Maybe a few months of actual all-night sleep and an occasional B-12 shot will clear this whole thing up.

Or a whole lot of prayer.

A Little Something Awesome...

2010-04-09T18:48:00.000-07:00

I'm not usually a big "link"-er, but a friend of mine posted these on her blog recently, and I just love them. They were created by a friend of the previously mentioned friend who is obviously super talented. I think there's something everyone will like. I, for one, will be saving my pennies to get the entire collection. You can find out where and how to get them here. Meanwhile, I'm trying to figure out where I'm going to hang them all...

Chicken Beans, That's What

2010-03-26T15:38:00.000-07:00

Duncan and I spend a lot of time together in the kitchen. He, rummaging through the pantry for something to eat. Me, cooking, sweeping, loading the dishwasher. Sometimes he "helps" me make meals. He's a cooking commentator, really. He tells me what I'm doing, what I'm going to do next, and announces what a great job I'm doing mixing or chopping or whatever the case may be. If there's chocolate involved, he's also chief pourer and taster. Sometimes, he spots an ingredient he's not familiar with, which always surprises me from a kid who has asked for avocados, mangos and agave since he was barely old enough to talk. Such was the case with Garbanzo beans. I tried to explain that they have two names, Garbanzo beans or Chickpeas. He could never remember either name, and so decided they would henceforth be called Chicken Beans. It has completely caught on. At our house, at least.

Super high in protein and fiber, and really versatile, I'll try pretty much any recipe that includes the lauded bean. Here is one we've made for years, great for those who like chicken beans but maybe don't love the strong taste of hummus. Mmm, hummus. Anyway, use this concoction like you would egg or tuna salad, or even as a dip.

1 1-lb can garbanzo beans, drained
1/3 c. chopped celery
1 TB minced green onion
2 TB relish (dill tastes better than sweet in this)
3 TB mayonnaise, Miracle Whip or Vegenaise
1 tsp mustard (I like dijon, but any kind works)
dash of garlic powder or minced garlic, to taste

Combine all of it in a food processor, and blend to desired consistency, chunkier for a sandwich, smoother for a dip. Keep it in the fridge. YUM.

Proof

2010-03-15T15:15:00.000-07:00

...that I've lost my mind. I have never wanted a dog, or any indoor pet bigger than a goldfish. I'm an animal lover from a distance (I do love horses, but then they don't live in your house). Dogs are fine, but they're stinky, hairy, loud and just in the way a lot of the time. Watching my parents trying to live with an insane Wheaton Terrier in their early empty nest days was enough to solidify my "no inside pets" policy for good. The dog would regularly do his business outside only to come back indoors with a few nearly-camouflaged poop ornaments still adorning his behind. And then he'd sit on the carpet. The same carpet my kids were crawling around on. {{Shiver}} Plus, as I mentioned, the dog had some screws loose, something my parents could not have known when they brought home an impossibly cute little puppy.

My life is nuts. Four kids. One baby. One son with special needs who requires a lot of energy. I am cross-eyed-dizzy loony-bin-ready pretty much all day every day. But here's where the dog thing starts to make some sense. I say, several times a week how much it stresses me that I can't be by Noah's side every minute. You never know when a seizure is coming. You never know how bad it's going to be. You never know when he'll figure out a knob or lock or handle or latch for the first time that lets him cut himself loose and run. And run. When he gets free, he has no sense of danger or direction and he doesn't answer to his name when you call him. He has only escaped a few times, but it was terrifying each time. Enter Service Doggy.

A lab or retriever, trained in search and rescue and in reading other cues or issues in a boy like Noah may actually allow me to breathe. No more guessing which way Noah went. No more wondering if, out of sight a few minutes too long, he's seizing and choking on something life threatening.

Questions remain. Can I deal with even more poop in my life? Can I handle more appointments for a 4-legged family member? Can my gag reflex be desensitized to, among other things, hot steamy dog-food-laced breath in my face? I don't know. Maybe. There may be a dog out there, getting ready to stand by Noah when nobody else can. But maybe a well-placed micro chip and several surveillance cameras are much less hairy solutions.

I Am Woman, Hear Me Snore...

2010-03-03T10:32:00.000-08:00

I'm tired. So very, very tired. I have this baby who, although she just turned one, still has no interest in sleeping through the night. I'm coming up on 400 straight nights of getting up anywhere between 1 and 4 times. I find myself at my wit's end too early in the day most days, my patience and energy running out way before the daylight does. I start to complain sometimes, but I'm stopped in my tracks.

You see, I am a woman. In many ways I admit I've seen us as having gotten the short end of the stick. Between PMS, childbirth, post-partum blues, maintenance of the outward appearance, and many other things that come with being a woman, there's a lot to complain about. But there are blessings that no man can fully understand. Of six pregnancies, I've managed to grow and give birth to four amazing children. I've been able to give birth to all of them within the walls of my own home, and to experience the work that made their arrivals the sweetest bliss of my life. Something out of this world happens when you've felt the whole thing, every pang, stretch, burn and pain. There's a floating-above-the-earth euphoria that engulfs you the moment that baby arrives. For me, that is the closest to God and the closest to God-like that I've ever felt.

I am a woman, and so my friends are my sisters (and brothers) whom I love and to whom I am loyal right down to the last helpful thing I can say or give to them, even when distance or time may separate us.

I am a woman, and so although I face challenges imperfectly, I will, even crawling, keep moving forward.

I am a woman, and so when you suffer, I feel it with you.

I am a woman, and I am the glue of my family, past, present and future.

I am woman, and I believe I have not only a Father, but also a Mother in Heaven, who like most mothers, quietly and lovingly guides me, especially in those areas where women have stewardship.

I am a woman and I am tired. I'm busy and I'm a mess. But on the inside, I feel like this...

...and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I Don't Get It: Men's Figure Skating Wardrobes

2010-02-18T19:02:00.000-08:00

I can appreciate athleticism, strength, grace, speed and some wicked loops and lutz's. I can sort of appreciate that there are men who want to skate/dance around on the ice in a non-hockey sort of way. I in no way begin to understand what some of those men wear.

I am assuming male figure skaters have a say in what is worn while performing on the ice, that their costumes are not being strapped or zipped onto them against their will. I don't think their coaches use the skaters' potential outfits as punishment for a few bad practices... but then the questions remains, wha-a-a?

You'd think skaters would be concerned with aerodynamics, and practicalities like not having fluffy bits blowing into their faces while they fly down the ice sideways. And you'd think at least half of these guys' mothers would just throw down a mommish "You are not leaving the house in that.". Instead, I'm seeing vinyl, spandex, tulle, lace, sequins, and polyester, in odd configurations, with ties, puffy sleeves, high layered collars, and other parts for which there are no names, but for which I'm demanding an explanation.

Hot pink bungee cords. Wide bands of black feathers. Patches of leather in the strangest of places. Shirts open to the navel over chests that are winter-in-London-white or at best, pale pink... this stuff is not winning anyone any medals. An actual costume, that goes with a theme or story that allows skate-ability without being distracting, okay. An ensemble that looks like it was decoupaged on by a pack of hyper three year-old girls, not so much.

Double axel and salchow your hearts out, boys. Maybe just grab something to wear from Target.

Having a Moment

2010-02-15T16:42:00.000-08:00

Being the mom of a special needs child means ups and downs enough to give you whiplash. Here's an up and a down all mixed in one:

I was putting a video on for Noah, and he was looking at me, super present, smiling. You have to grab these moments with a kid like Noah because a lot of the time he keeps to himself or does his own thing.

Me: "Guess what?"

Noah: "Guess what?" back to me, looking me right in the eye, which doesn't always happen. A sweet, rare Mother-Son moment with my boy, I was thinking.

Me: "I love you so much, Noey."

Noah: "WOMBAT???"

Yup. That was our moment.

Mr. DeMille, I'm Ready For My Tantrum

2010-02-03T11:09:00.000-08:00

This morning I wondered if I had somehow accidentally wandered into the same hole Alice fell down where she met all those crazy people. But then I thought no, no, this is much much worse.

My sweet Duncan, who was a perfect 2 year old that did nothing but make me laugh, has morphed into a 3 year old Godzilla of the scaleless variety. He is still hilarious and sweet, he's just taken that up part-time of late.

Without getting into all the gory, sweaty, tear-filled details, there was a tantrum in Costco this morning, the likes of which will rarely ever be seen again. Duncan took off behind something where I could not see him, for the second time in as many stores. The first time, he was met with an immediate consequence, scooped up, put back into the cart and a firm but calm reminder was given about why that's not ok. He understood. The child is beyond bright. Genius verging on diabolical. But then he did it again.

He was scooped up, placed in the much roomier Costco cart, and again I started to explain why and what was going to happen (an extended stay in his room once we were home). But that was when he cracked.

See, when we go to any store, he knows there's the possibility of some kind of snack being a part of the trip (a blessing and a curse at Target where little kids can get a free cookie from the bakery on every visit, and he knows it), and at Costco, often we luck out and he gets a few free samples. On occasion, on particularly storybook errand days, there's the possibility of a churro or some pizza. Well today, as it turns out, he had been silently gunning for a churro, something I was let in on once he was screaming bloody murder and wildly shaking the cart like it had something to do with his misfortune. The rest of the shoppers were also duly informed. That is if they could understand Tantrum Kidese, where everything's loud, but none of the words are quite finished: "AAAAAAAAH WAAAAAAAAAAH A CHUUUU-RRO!" (you'll have to imagine the volume, brain-piercing.).

I kept shopping, ignoring him. Marley sat in petrified silence. He went for nearly 25 minutes, from start to finish. I might have been impressed if I wasn't so embarrassed and mad.

It was in the car that he finally realized it was over. Churro-less and with his mommy no longer speaking to him, he dissolved. He asked me to help him buckle his car seat, in a little voice, lip quivering, remorseful tears welling up over the angry ones. We used the drive home to recover. He still had to go to his room (but not for the original 3 days I had been planning on), and now is happily playing with trains in the kitchen.

I guess I should have known this day was coming. Tantrums are sort of a right of passage. It was just never supposed to happen with my kids. And guessing by the looks from some people while going through the checkout line, it never did happen with their kids. Uh-huh.

Ah, Agave...

2010-01-27T14:36:00.000-08:00

Agave nectar (ah-gaw-vay) should be in your pantry. I never thought I'd be using anything from any kind of cactus besides aloe vera gel, but this stuff tops my list of "must have" ingredients. It is sweeter than sugar, and works anywhere you'd use honey or syrup or other sweeteners. It is recommended for diabetics or those at risk for diabetes because it's said to not cause the spike in blood sugar that regular sugars do. For more detailed information, go here. You can find it in any health food type stores, and Costco even carries it sometimes. It does cost more than honey, but in my view, food is part of your health insurance, so spend money on things that will positively impact your health and life.

Here's one recipe I'm making often these days that includes agave. It has eggs in it, but is dairy free if you use milkless chocolate chips. Cookies I don't mind my kids sneaking. And your house will smell heavenly while they're baking.

Chocolate Oatmeal Cookie Bites

1/2 c. unsweetened applesauce

1/2 c. sucanat (Now don't freak out, it's just the fancy name for evaporated cane juice crystals, find it cheapest in the bulk food section of your local health food store. It's brown and grainy looking.)

1 large egg

1 tsp. vanilla

1 TB agave (use honey if you must)

1 TB olive oil

1 c. whole wheat flour

1 & 1/2 c. rolled oats

1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1 TB cinnamon

3/4 c. dark or semi-sweet chocolate chips (my kids like the miniature chips in these)

Oven 350 degrees

Mix applesauce and sucanat until creamy

Add egg, vanilla, agave, and olive oil, mix well

Add all dry ingredients until just combined

Add chocolate chips

Bake about 10-12 minutes (taste test the first batch to see if they're dry or just right once they've cooled, and then adjust the baking time if necessary)

With fiber, protein, healthy fats, and no post-snack high then crash, these are more filling than regular cookies, which will keep everyone from eating their normal dozen or so. Don't expect the taste and mouth feel of regular chocolate chip cookies, call them something else if that helps, but these are sooo good, and there's not a guilty moment from shopping to last bite.

I Don't Get It: Diet Food Ads Featuring Already Skinny People

2010-01-22T19:39:00.000-08:00

Special K cereal may well help you lose weight if you eat it twice a day then eat a sensible dinner. I'm not bored enough to try to find out. But these ladies they feature in their ads that can't do up the buttons on their shirts or are horrified when they look at the scale (um, try removing your giant 3XL robe before weighing yourself), I'm pretty sure are somewhere between regular skinny and bone scary skinny when they set foot in the real world. They look scrawny on tv. That's skinny. If you're going to show a "before" or someone who desperately needs your weight-reducing cereal or yogurt, show someone who actually has some excess fat to lose.

This is when I hate television. In their freak show world, tv and film folks are out of touch with real people, including those who are at and maintain a normal, healthy weight through normal, healthy means. And they're convincing the masses that what is on tv is real, and worse, right.

Back pre-kids when I was auditioning for tv and film stuff on a regular basis, I got a little bit sucked into the weight-obsessed vortex that is the entertainment industry. I, at the time, was hovering right around 100 lbs, which at 5 foot 1 is little but not skinny. My thighs still touched, and my Nordic ancestry still gave me some extra, uh, energy storage in the tummy area. But I'd go to auditions, about a size 4 or sometimes a 2, and be the biggest one there. I actually thought I was chubby. Now I find that both hilarious and a little bit sad. I was at a healthy weight for my height. I was not operating in the real world though, and I realize that, especially when I pay attention to what I'm seeing on tv now.

Don't tell me, lady with collar bones I could cut myself on, that you need any weight loss product. Give me a break, woman who's ribs I can count through her shirt, that the holidays caused you to pack on some extra weight. A little perspective and reality would go a long way with the people peddling diet foods. Skinny people don't need to lose weight. And I don't need to have my pants precariously perched on my jutting hip bones to be happy. I'm all for healthy weight loss, don't get me wrong. But can we shoot for health, wellness and peace of mind? I might actually watch the commercials selling that. Heck, I'd audition for 'em too.

Vegetari-raw-vegan-lacto-kindahealthyarians...?

2010-01-14T19:40:00.000-08:00

Ah, forget it. We eat weird. Vegetarian, yes. Sometimes vegan (no dairy or animal products at all), nearly entirely raw foodists for about a year, no deep-fried stuff, no high-fructose corn syrup, no hydrogenated oil, carbonated drinks maybe a few times a year, no bleached flour... we've experimented with a lot of different kinds of eating, for health, and sometimes pure curiosity. I'm sure we're not through with trying different ways of eating and hopefully improving our health and well-being. That's not to say we are pillars of health and health food, we ate lots of unhealthy stuff over Christmas, especially, but we do try.

I get asked questions about the things I do all the time, because let's face it, we're a little off the beaten path in more ways than one over here. But far and away, the question I get asked most is "So what do you guys eat?". So my question is this, would anyone care to know? Recipes, individual ingredients that you might not know about or know how to use... not that I'm wanting to do a "food blog", but I could include posts about it since food is kind of a big part of every day life. Tell me what you think, friends. I'm hungry.

M-y-y-y-y-y Fridge! Busted.

2010-01-11T18:26:00.000-08:00

I can't decide if I used to have better luck choosing great long lasting high quality things to buy, or if people just make junk nowadays. Here's a list of a few of the things that don't work/are broken/need repairing in my home right now:

Fridge- leaks water mostly out of the freezer side, I regularly defrost as suggested by the THREE repair guys that have charged me a fortune to tell me that little tidbit of info. Apparently there's nothing wrong with it that their crack investigative skills could find in the 3 minutes they each spent shining flashlights onto the suspect parts of my freezer. Now the flooring underneath the fridge is buckled, and probably starting a nice layer of mold. (If you aren't familiar with my love of mold, go back to the very beginning of my blog.)

Dishwasher- makes creepy, nearly vulgar sounds as it half-way cleans my dishes. Sometimes it withholds cleaning altogether. It just takes days off. It won't turn on until it's good and ready.

Dryer- the piping at the back will not stay attached to the dryer. Duct tape, fancy attachments and swearing at it have not worked (Mormon swear words, of which my non-Mormon readers can request samples). If there is a single smidgen of lint in the lint trap, it will not dry in less than 2 cycles. It's awesome.

Garage Door Opener- it is currently only functioning as a blood pressure raiser. It opens with all buttons, but does not close with the car buttons, and only with the wall one if you stand there and hold it down. I have smashed all records for backing out, turning off the car, locking the kids in, running into the garage, holding down the *#!O~# button, shutting the house door, sprinting to the front door, locking it behind me and diving for the car as I unlock it remotely. It has been this way since August.

Van- did you notice how I said car all through that last bit? I'm still in denial about the whole van thing. And this van, I hate with a white hot passion. It works ok, I just had to get that out there. I digress...

Vacuum- I shouldn't even waste the electricity. I spend half the time vacuuming over stuff and the other half picking up the crud it leaves behind, by hand. The bags get changed regularly, the filter is clean... I'd say it sucks, but it really, really doesn't.

My Mom had the same waffle iron for 40 years. She had this one mixer that worked for ages. I used to get birthday presents that wouldn't break the first time I played with them, something my kids experience less and less often. Is it just me? Am I just a really really unwise or unlucky consumer? I want things to work, and to last. Well, except for the companies that made all this junk.

Happy New Tuesday!

2010-01-03T12:24:00.000-08:00

I've never been a big "New Year's" person. Sometimes I go to bed before midnight. Sometimes I don't make any resolutions. Next Tuesday is still just next Tuesday, and life doesn't change because I hang a new calendar on my wall. I guess I used to think maybe a new year brought something new with it besides a number change in the date, but really, it doesn't. The year matters in terms of births, and other historic events, but ups and downs happen, regardless of the year and what you set out to do or decided ought to occur.

For instance, at the start of 2008, I'm sure I had some things in mind that I wanted to accomplish. By mid-February, all of that had melted away, and all I wanted to do was make it through the day. By the end of March, I just wanted my kids to stay alive. By summer, I wanted somewhere to call home. Any notion I had had of doing something great with the year was entirely vapor by then. You don't know what you are going to be called on to do in any given year. 2008 was particularly rough for me, for our family. 2009 was hard and wonderful in totally different ways, just not as outwardly dramatic. I have hopes for this year, but mostly I just hope to be the person I know I can and should be through whatever is thrown my way. And it would be fine with me if what's thrown my way is solid gold bricks. You know, just for a change of pace.

I Believe.

2009-12-23T19:25:00.000-08:00

Christmas. Easily my favourite time of year. This year, it looked to be a scary time of year as we looked at our situation and wondered how we would find a way to avoid seeing disappointed little faces on Christmas morning. So I decided to sell apples. I figured I could at least try something. It went well. I was satisfied that we could at least keep a little bit of magic alive with what I earned. I was (and am) exhausted, and under the weather, but it was totally worth it. I believe in hope and hard work. I believe they pay off.

But then there were still many things, written in childish letters, and wished for from sweet little lips, that we didn't have and could not provide. I assured myself that it would not matter, that all would be well. I have literally done all I could do this Christmas. But then a knock at the door... bags of gifts and two plain envelopes, and 2 faces with sly, no, merry grins that we did not recognize, only identifying themselves as Santa's helpers. Presents, some that were precisely those yet-unfulfilled wishes, and much more... we, humbled parents, sat and cried. And cried. There are times there are just no words. How did they know? How could they have known? Who could have done this? Was it one person or a group of people? Questions hung in the air, but were in the shadows of the gratitude we were feeling. Money donated toward Noah's tuition... they could not fully know- that's like breath to our son's lungs. I believe in angels. I believe in goodness for goodness' sake.

There have been cards, offering extra help. There have been friends, stretching themselves to relieve my stress. And not one bit of it has gone unnoticed or unappreciated. In fact, there has been amazement, momentary disbelief, there have been prayers of thanks, many tears... and strengthened faith. It's not even my birthday or anything. It's Jesus' birthday. I always tell my kids that we get to have presents at Christmas because Jesus loves us and shares His birthday, and His presents with us. Santa Claus is just Jesus' delivery guy, as far as they know. It turns out, Jesus sent out a few more beautiful "delivery guys" this year. I believe in the Christmas Spirit. I believe that Jesus Christ will always find ways to show us that He is still there, and that Christmas is still His day. I believe one day I will help to make somebody else's Christmas as profoundly full of His love as you Christmas angels, known and anonymous, have done for us.

Somewhere, A Fat Lady Sings

2009-12-17T18:09:00.000-08:00

That's it. 22o apples ordered, and I'm calling it good. I guess it's kind of like women say about having kids, you just know when you're done. What I should have anticipated, and didn't, is that most people would want their apples in the week or so before Christmas, and as a result, I have scarcely left my kitchen for the last week, and won't for the next five days. My original goal was to sell at least 200, so having slightly exceeded that, I'm content to close up shop (five days from now), and cram a month's worth of Christmas shopping and preparations into a couple of days. But at least now I can do the cramming, which didn't seem likely or even possible about a month ago.

I am so grateful for everyone who supported me and who ordered, I've been pleasantly surprised at the response, really. I wish I was talented at something less messy and less fattening (for all of you, I doubt these apples will look appealing to me for quite some time), but nobody wants anything I could fashion from yarn or paper or I don't know, vinyl. I'm also oddly relieved that I can start filling my blog with all the randomness I've been pondering alone the last month and a half. So Merry Christmas, everyone. And, note to Barbara Streisand, "Favorite Things" is not a Christmas song.

Read While Hungry

2009-11-05T21:35:00.000-08:00

Christmas is coming. You knew that. Some of my friends have received one of my super-delicious-made-with-love-but-more-importantly-awesome-ingredients-apples as Christmas gifts in the past. Don't you think everyone you know should receive one this year, or at least the people you like? Caramel, chocolate, roasted almonds... aaaw, yeah.

Yeah, I have officially lost my mind. As if I don't have enough to do, I am going to attempt selling apples this year. As in, taking orders and staying up all night covered in almond dust and cellophane bags. There's a reason not everyone I know gets an apple every year. They take some serious time and effort to make!

Why are you doing this, Wendy? Um, Christmas is coming. My kids might want a few things. I'm poor. That's right, I said it. P-O-O-R. I'm not crafty. I make food. That's one thing I'm fairly good at. So if you have co-workers, teachers, neighbours, etc, that you need to bless with a unique Christmas gift, or if you just need to kiss up to somebody, help a craft-impaired girl out. I realize a sales pitch on a blog is super lame, but whatever, it's my blog.

Here's the nitty gritty:

*Apples are $7.50 each, or $6.00 each if you order three or more.

*They come in individual cellophane bags, tied with pretty ribbon, which you are free to change if you hate what I pick.

*You can choose milk or dark chocolate (I use good chocolate, no cheap waxy stuff here)

*They last a good 7-10 days in the fridge uncut.

*I need at least 3 days' notice if you need them for a certain date, especially for larger quantities, ie, more than 8.

*I can't ship them as they require refrigeration.

So there you go. Fancy Schmancy Apples. Made by me. Yum.

I Don't Get It: Baths

2009-10-27T20:12:00.000-07:00

This is the first of what I'm sure will become a series of posts about things I just don't get.

I don't get baths. Relaxing, soothing, blah, blah, blah. They're not any of those things. Explain to me why, any reasonable grown person, why would you want to sit in a tub of your own funk? There you sit, marinating in a hot steaming tub of all the grime most people are aiming to clean off when they take a shower. Well what about swimming pools, you ask? That's why pool water is treated. And it's not hot water. And it is still just a little bit gross.

Soaking in hot water is fine for a pinto bean, but I'm fairly certain people aren't meant to. You come out sweaty (yes you are, you just can't tell because you're wet), more wrinkled than when you got in, and you still need a shower.

My kids take baths because you can't make 'em stand in the shower when they can't even stand yet, and they love to play in the water. But at my house they do not get rinsed with the water they've just been sitting in, nor is the water overly hot.

Adults tend to take hot baths. Hot water removes gunk. That's why you wash dishes in it, that's why you sterilize things in it. You would not wash your hands with that dish water after the dishes were done and call it good. A hot bath is really the only way that something from your armpit can come in contact with the space between your toes. Oh and that's just one example. Don't even get me started on all the places your toe jam could end up migrating in that lovely jetted tub. Dim lights and a 2-foot layer of sweet-smelling bubbles floating on top does not change the fact that you're sitting in what is, in effect, body backwash.

Maybe I'm missing the boat on one of life's great joys, I don't know. You can keep your hot tubs and bathtubs. De-funkification will be shower-centered at my house.

Tuck Me In and Go Get Me Some Water

2009-10-05T16:10:00.000-07:00

Why do kids get all the good stuff? They have the best blankets, all the silkiest, cushiest softest blankets there are. What makes blanket manufacturers think that I want wool or not-soft cotton, just because I'm a grown up now? I want a silky on one side, plush on the other side blanket in king size, thank-you very much.

Shoes with velcro, I'm just sayin', some mornings, would come in very handy for me. And speaking of shoes, why can't I find a pair with Jude Law on them?

Not once after watching Law and Order has anyone on there told me how smart I am at the end for following the clues and solving the mystery. But kids shows, you get kudos all the time for helping or guessing or tapping out a rhythm correctly... I can totally do all that stuff, but no one cares.

Where's the Root Canal Fairy? I could have used some money under my pillow that night, let me tell you. If for nothing else than to help me pay for the darn thing.

I covet so many of my kids' toys, I don't know where to begin. The Bilibo is probably the one for which I most want to not exceed the weight limit. Is it a stool? Is it a chair? Is it a super awesome spinning ball of breath-taking fun? I think so. I'll never know unless someone decides to make a much bigger one.

Sometimes I might want to colour a little bit while I wait for my food to come in a restaurant, but does anyone offer me crayons or even slightly more grown-up pastels? No. Maybe a little toy ipod with my meal? Nope.

I wouldn't mind, if every so often, one of my books had a pop-up, or a picture that changes when I move the page back and forth.

Their cereal has cute bright pictures all over the box, puzzles, and mazes... Adult cereal? Twigs. Ingredient lists that highlight fiber. Brown. Beige. I ask you, who needs bright colours and mind awakening puzzles in the morning? Me, having been up 3 times at night with a baby, stumbling into the kitchen with 4 kids in need of service? Or the kids, who wake up bouncing off the walls, thrilled that the sun finally came up so they could come out of their rooms? Where's my cereal with a prize inside, maybe a scratch-off lottery card?

Well, I'm off. Off to brush my teeth with non-sparkly toothpaste, put on my boring cotton non-footy pajamas. Kids have no idea how good they have it. They won't know until they aren't kids anymore. Of course, I wouldn't want it any other way for them, I just wish it all lasted a few decades longer.

Lying Liars.

2009-08-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

It's not you. It's me.

I'm fine.

It looks great!

I'm just tired, that's all.

That's ok.

Nothing.

How many times a day do you lie without even batting an eye? The lady behind you in line who just rammed her cart into your ankle for the second time in 30 seconds is fine, is she? It's ok that your friend didn't call you once all week after swearing she would? That's ok? Really?

Your kid broke an arm, you haven't slept for days, your marriage has been rocky for years, you are nearly completely broke, you are so lonely you've named the pit in your stomach so that you feel like you have company, you have red eyes today from crying last night over something no one even knows about, not from allergies, your friend's new haircut, not exactly flattering, you are haunted daily by mistakes you made decades ago, you have an ex-spouse who's still trying to run your life, you're questioning things that used to be so basic to you, you haven't eaten for days, you've been eating enough for 4 people lately...

Maybe you really are fine.

Maybe it really is nothing.

Maybe you really are just tired.

It could be you and not them.

Or maybe we all struggle sometimes, sometimes with really big things, and we should be able to say so. Why do those seemingly small lies slide so easily off of our tongues? Every time I say I'm fine, and I know it's not true, is that virtuous because I'm not complaining, and not worrying anyone around me, or am I just a big liar who might be denying someone an oppourtunity to help me?

Some people I know tell me how it really is for them, but most people don't. I'm guessing that most lie most of the time. Why? I get being optimistic, and being grateful, and not griping constantly, but I also get that we don't live on earth one at a time. We aren't here alone, because we need each other. The earth will not spin right off of its axis if you tell me the truth when I ask you how you are doing. The world will not stop and stare if you say out loud sometimes that things are not wonderful.

I may not have answers for you, some things may be nobody's business, but for the love of Pete, can we stop lying? I know you and your life are not perfect, you KNOW I'm not perfect, we're not fooling anyone. Well, we might be fooling some folks some of the time. But let me listen, or help, or pray, or support, because you probably need it. And so do I. That's the truth.

Did You Know...

2009-07-13T20:51:00.001-07:00

... you may be the truest friend I've ever had?

... you came to my door with something I wished I had earlier that same day?

... you made me laugh so hard I cried and my face muscles were actually sore the next day?

... you make me happy because you think I'm funny too?

... I couldn't have made it through one of the worst times of my life without you?

... your generosity toward me has moved me to tears more than once?

... you reminded me of who I was, that I was great, and that maybe I still am?

... I love that you wanted my advice?

... you probably saved my son's life?

... I still cannot get over that amazing gift of your talents and time, that I did absolutely nothing to deserve?

... I trusted you when I was so shaken I felt like I couldn't trust anyone?

... you were literally an angel to me, with that one tiny gesture?

... your note came in the mail on a day when I could not have needed it more?

... that you're way too far away from me and that I miss you?

... that you brought over that food right when I was wondering how we were going to be able to buy any?

... you said exactly what I needed to hear, you weren't even nice about it, but that you were right, and I wouldn't have listened if you were nice?

... I wish I had valued you the way I do now, much sooner?

... your combination of honesty and dry humour is refreshing to me?

... it's possible that no one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you?

Did you know? Well, now you do.

Music- It's A Love/Hate Thing

2009-05-30T08:27:00.000-07:00

Music, most music is really geared toward a certain phase of life, late teens/early twenties when the possibilities seem endless, you just want to go dancing, and you're maybe just naive enough to believe that song lyrics are true to life. Rod Stewart, you realize as you get older, really had no business singing "If you want my body and you think I'm sexy..." but when you're 20, you're like, hey, why not? It's kind of ironic and I can totally lip sync to it while I get ready to go out. And Howard Jones, he was kind of a liar when he slow danced us all into believing that "No One Is To Blame". Oh, there's someone to blame alright.

As you get into the more sensible settled 30's, music you sang your little heart out to only 5 or 10 years earlier can suddenly come back to bite you in the proverbial behind. It bites to realize that even though you're a girl, you can't just have fun. Thanks, Cyndi Lauper. It's just not nice for someone to look back and see that "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel misled you for years- there's no heat in your eyes, except maybe what's brought on by allergies or insomnia. I just heard "If You Could See Me Now" by Celine Dion and thought what a pretty song, until I really listened to the lyrics, and thought how awful a song it could be for someone who had actually dumped the love of their life and realized it too late. It would be enough to make you want to drive your car into a tree.

Not that sad songs don't have their place, they can make you feel like someone understands how cruddy you feel, and I suppose that helps somehow. But oh, it can just stink when songs you had been almost self-righteously singing along to for years, directed at whatever jerk had most recently crossed your path, take on a whole new meaning when you're looking backward and see the number of people that sang along and probably thought of you. ("Who Will You Run To?" by Heart or maybe "Thorn In My Side" by the Eurythmics?)

Or there is the music you've listened to for years, sang along with, enjoyed, and then with more years and experience under your belt, you are horrified at the lyrics' meanings and implications... yes, I mean you, Alison Moyet, you and your "Love Resurrection". No more blasting you in the car, especially with the kids around.

I enjoy not knowing the real lyrics to songs, sometimes it's best to make up your own because the real ones are just dumb, dirty or depressing. But I have the unfortunate gift of lyric recall. I can hear a song a couple of times and know the words before I even realize I do. There are songs I wish I could forget... there are Milli Vanilli and Backstreet Boys songs I never wanted in my head in the first place that I can still sing start to finish. Back when "Ice, Ice Baby" was on the radio all the time, I was caught more than once rapping/singing it as I assembled Christmas gift baskets at my job at the time. Humiliating.

What I want are some songs that speak truth. Songs that speak to where I am in my life right now. Where are the dance tunes that bemoan being knee-deep in diapers and spit up? The songs that talk about my love affair with my favourite pair of jeans that still almost look cute on me post- baby? Songs that give me hope for a blissful rainy day full of chick flicks and maybe even a nap. What about one titled "Baby Go Bankrupt With Me"? I need concrete, real stuff nowadays.

I love Colbie Caillat and Josh Groban for almost making me believe in "Magic" and that maybe I really am a "Machine", even if their catchy tunes are making my head a bit foggy and out of touch with reality, temporarily. I love my lesser known favourites that are like my little secret like Mike Oldfield, October Project, John McVey, Loreena McKennitt and others. I love love the songs that have gotten me through rough times- that liar Howard Jones did a lot of that for me in the 80's and 90's. And Natalie Grant's "Held" was one of the only things that gave me some peace for myself and in thinking about my amazing sister following the death of my sweet brother-in-law nearly four years ago. Of course I had to pull the car off the road every time it came on, cry, and then try to drive again, but that music said everything I was feeling and hoping better than I ever could have myself.

Over all I know music is a good thing, and I do love it. I'm not discouraging listening to it. But if you suspect it is giving you angst, sadness, false hope, unrealistic expectations, fewer brain cells, ugly thoughts or a need to dance at really inappropriate times or places, you really should just turn it off.

I've got to leave it at that... I think I'm Bleeding Love.

Eh For Dummies

2009-05-17T19:14:00.001-07:00

I've found that there is a lot of confusion in the United States about the proper use of the Canadian word "eh". Sometimes I find it funny when people attempt to use it, and other times I want to yell, "Please STOOOOOOOP!! I'm begging you, use it the right way, or don't use it at all." So I give to you now, "EH: A Tutorial".

Contrary to popular belief, "eh" is not just thrown on at the end of any and every sentence. Nor is it used in the way the Fonz made it famous (Henry Winkler, incidentally, is a very nice guy).

Eh can be used to assess the continued interest or agreement of the person being addressed, as in, "The guy just flew by me, eh, and I didn't even see him!" to which the listener might respond with a nod or a "yeah?".

Eh can also be used at the end of a declarative sentence to turn it into a question, as in "Nice day, eh?" or "That was the worst game ever, eh?" or "You're a real snob, eh?", or "So you left last week, eh?". So here it means things like "right?", or "don't you think?", "aren't you?", "isn't it?".

Eh is used to emphasize agreement, like, "I know, eh?"

Eh is used as an exclamation, as in "What a game, eh?!"

Eh is used a bit like "y'know" or "right" or "see", as an unconscious pause mid-sentence.

So that is pretty much all you need to know in order to use "eh" with some level of confidence and accuracy around picky Canadians like myself. Sorry, but we get a little territorial about things that are strictly Canadian. I can supply you with a list if you're interested.

Oh Canada! Great country, eh? :)

Somebody Stole My Liahona

2009-05-13T19:22:00.001-07:00

Why is there no rewind button on life? I cannot even begin to list the number of times I've wished I could go back and say or do something differently. I'm not an overflowing bucket of regret, but sometimes I think we should be allowed a do-over here or there.

There are so many roads you could wind up on, and just based on the seemingly tiniest of decisions, the entire course of life is altered for good. Ever seen the movie Sliding Doors? I love it and hate it because it illustrates that idea so well. I'm not one that buys into "the one" or the "meant to be" stuff. Of course there are exceptions where God has other plans, but we're not beholden to some predetermined destiny thing. Over all I think there are many different lives we could lead and be happy. Maybe to different degrees, but happy. Different people you could end up with. Different challenges you could face. Different experiences that change you for better or worse. All because of choices we make.

Of course, there are some of those choices that lead to regret. And others that may have been bad choices, but ultimately got you where you needed to be, some that were initially good, but didn't take you where you'd hoped in the end, and then choices that led you somewhere better than you imagined.

I guess what bothers me, is that so often we aren't making informed decisions. Sometimes we're permitted to go with our best guess. Sometimes our best guess is, well, crappy. It's then that we should get to go back, revisit and rethink, and take some other road that takes us somewhere better. Something akin to stopping and asking a local for directions. We're not commanded in all things, which I'm grateful for, but does that mean that some decision made in haste or under stress or without all the facts or with rose-coloured glasses on should be allowed to skew the entire path of our lives?

That is why I'm grateful for the idea of gratitude. No matter where we are or how we got there, if there is something, anything that we're grateful for, we will be okay. Then that path is a good one. It may be better or worse than we thought, it may have different scenery than we'd hoped for, but I suppose as long as it's heading in the right general direction, we're doing alright.

Now, where the heck am I? Didn't I already pass that tree?

My Boy

2009-04-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

I know people mean well. But my son is not autistic.

He has autism. There are plenty of parents who refer to their own child as autistic, and so you are free to do that too. But there are many more parents who shudder every time you say that about their child. I'm one of those parents.

I have this little boy. My little boy. He is funny, a great singer, has perfect rhythm, a smile that covers his whole face, he's got amazing recall of song lyrics, he loves wind chimes and swimming and lights, and saying prayers that are only about what he is grateful for, he does this dance we call the elbow dance that is hilarious, he adores the rain and snow, he's the only person I know that looks good in every single colour. And he has autism.

What if your child has cancer? After you leave a room, do people lean over to their neighbours and explain, "He's cancerous.", to which the response is a collective "Ooooh.", as though the child's entire being has just been explained? My boy is a lot of things, but HE is not a condition or disease. That is not who he is. That is not all he is.

You may think I'm nit picky or too PC, but I'm his Mom. I carried him for 9 months, gave birth to him, have loved him every moment since, and always will. I also had a mourning period where I lost the little boy I thought I'd had. I have worked, researching and trying to find anything to help him. I have celebrated every little bit of progress he has made. I have cried knowing there will be people who will never see him the way they should. I have taken the brunt of most of his "bad days". His bad days are not like your typical kids' bad days. We're talking sometimes hours of screaming, throwing things, hitting himself or others, my own nose has been bloodied more than once...

I'm not trying to get sympathy. I have a child who I know is perfect in all the ways that matter. I'm trying to tell you that I (and other parents of special needs kids) have earned the right to decide how you will refer to my child. At least in front of me. Listen to how parents describe or refer to their child and then follow their lead.

No person is any one adjective. My boy certainly isn't. He HAS autism. And little feet. And a sudden appetite for animal crackers. And the best cowlicks that give him the coolest hair. And an infectious laugh...

Have you seen my boy? Have you seen the angels around him? They see Noah. Really see Noah. A perfect being that's here to teach us a thing or two about what we lack, what we need to learn. That's who he is.

Because It Makes Me Laugh. Hard.

2009-04-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

My name is Wendy, and I'm An Addict

2009-02-27T12:57:00.001-08:00

A few friends and some family are aware of my addiction. Some have helped feed it in the past. I've gotten other people addicted. I'm not proud of it, but there it is. Every winter, as Easter very slowly approaches, out come the Cadbury Mini Eggs, the dark purple packaging easy to spot from aisles away. Every year, I might as well hook up an I.V. I don't have a problem with over eating in general, in fact, several friends are mildly freaked out by how healthfully we try to eat at our house, but the problem with mini eggs is they come out once a year, for maybe a month or two, and then they disappear. This creates a sort of desperation in addicts like myself, because you know they will sell out weeks before Easter, and if you miss the boat, that's it for a year. Plus it's Cadbury chocolate, which is pretty much the only chocolate in North America worth eating (my apologies to Hershey's fans, but I cannot stomach the stuff).

This year is different. I just had a baby, and I'm still pretty much house bound. Knowing the mini eggs are out there, and not having easy access to them is enough to bring on anxiety, shaking, and a little bit of panic. And then today, my friend Sharon dropped by, mini eggs in hand, and suddenly the world seemed a little brighter. I've gotten maybe 4 hours of sleep in the last 48, so I'm thinking a little sugar and caffeine is not an entirely bad idea. I may actually survive the next 48 hours now. This same friend was informed the other day that some lady had come in to Albertsons, and bought out all the mini eggs they had. I had to stop for a minute and make sure it wasn't me. But alas, I had no mini eggs. Some other poor soul out there is as addicted as I am.

I may miss out this year- no stocking up for Easter, no stashing for the dark days ahead when they disappear again. It may throw off my whole year, I can't say for sure. As for the rest of you mobile, rested folk, grab a bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs and think of me. And of course, I'll be accepting any left overs.

MARLEY ASHLYN!

2009-02-19T12:03:00.000-08:00

I'm new to the whole posting pictures thing, so sorry these are not in chronological order. If not for my awesome friend Mindy, there would still be no pictures here, so out of order is better than nothing, right?

Marley's first full bath- Tuesday Feb. 17th

Above is just from yesterday, on our way to see Suzanne, our midwife for the 2 week check-up. She has already gained 5 oz from her birth weight!

Daddy cutting the cord, only about 10 minutes after she was born.

Miss Cheeks on her first day of life.

Sleeping Beauty. She is a really calm baby so far.

Oh Baby!

2009-02-06T08:20:00.000-08:00

This will be short and sweet for now- pictures to come...

We had our baby!!! Feb. 5 at 4:28 am, we welcomed a beautiful baby girl, which shocked us. I had to have my midwife double check and reassure us that it really was a girl! She's 9 lbs, 3 oz and 21 inches long. Not the easiest birth since she decided to turn posterior sometime between my water breaking and pushing. Can I just say, "Ouch"? Thank heaven for water birth, a supportive and loving husband and an awesome midwife. So she's here, she's healthy, and we couldn't be happier! We named her Marley. No middle name yet. :)

Why Two is Not Terrible

2009-01-17T19:46:00.000-08:00

This is one of my conversations with Duncan from this past week (keeping in mind that all his r's and l's still sound like w's):

D: Mommy, Duncan need change my diaper!
W: Let's change you then.
D: I need cream for my bum.
W: Ok then, go and get it.
D: (looking all serious and concerned as he walks back to me, cream in hand) It has a crack!!
W: What has a crack?
D: My bum!!
W: It's ok, everbody's bums have cracks, there's nothing to be alarmed about!
D: (very skeptical) Noah's bum have a crack?

And then he had to ask about pretty much everyone else he knows. Two is my favourite age. I'll take a few screaming fits to have conversations like these any time.

Yeah, I've Got Nothing...

2008-12-16T14:16:00.000-08:00

We aren't finding out what we're having this time. It was a decision we agreed on and we feel pretty good about it. I'm thinking we're having another boy, and Duncan says so too, every time we ask him. It would be weird to never have a girl, and I'd be sad about never getting to do that, but that doesn't mean I'd be disappointed with a boy. I love boys. But we can't come up with a name that works. We've used the names we like on the first three boys. Here are some we've come up with and the reasons they don't work:

Graham- we like this one a lot, we love Gray for short, but I've noticed in Utah most people pronounce it like "gram". It's a two-syllable name!! Then our friends from Australia kindly pointed out that calling someone "such a Graham" in Australia is saying they're a really big dweeby nerd. Super.

Reuben- we both really like this one too. When I was a kid, we had our cousins from Norway come visit one summer, and the younger boy was named Reuben. I remember him being really excited about bubble gum, and stuffing an entire package into his mouth at once. If our last name is pronounced correctly, it sounds fine. If it's pronounced how it looks, however, the two names together sound really dumb.

Milo- we have tossed this one around for quite a while, and can't decide if it's cool or a bit nerdy. I think it's a really great name, but again, sounds a little odd with our last name (?).

Merek- I've had this one on my list for years, like before Gabriel was even born. There have been a couple of hockey players with this name, and I really like it a lot. It sounds out of place with the other boys' names.

And then there are those that have come up, but not as seriously:

Theo

Maddoc

Asher

Grady

I don't know. Aren't you supposed to be a little excited about your baby's name? Shouldn't it sound good with your last name? What if he ends up working in Australia? What then??

The same Australian friends are having a baby a week before us, a boy, and are naming him Willoughby. We could never get away with that! Say it with an Australian accent though, and suddenly it sounds really cool. If I were British, for instance, we could have a Charlie or a Desmond. Here? Nope.

Anyway, feel free to weigh in. If you're secretly appalled at the name we choose in the end, boy or girl, sorry. Gabriel and I were looking in name books a while back, and found some doozies, so just be glad we didn't call our kid Frick.

Oy Vay.

2008-10-27T14:32:00.000-07:00

So I'm in the underworld of emergency preparedness. Not because I'm not doing it. Not because we don't have anything. Because I have a very zealous husband who nearly has me convinced that the world as we know it may end in the next year.

We have not had a single day in over a month where we have not had some kind of list making or review or brainstorming session. Somehow I got roped into spending 2 hours at Cabela's on Saturday, comparing cots, looking at portable "shower" stalls, and enduring every grown man that came into the store gleefully testing out the duck and goose callers. Every other time Jer comes home, he has bags in hand, with more gear. Hand warmers, snow pants, a tent, freeze-dried fruit... I am grateful that he's serious about getting us the rest of the way prepared, but sometimes I just long for a day where we chat about the day, watch some mindless TV, and go to bed laughing about something. Instead I'm having nightmares about my family freezing/starving/dying, and even dreams about some of my friends not having what they need, and then I'm panicking about them, too.

Then there's the problem of husbands buying the kids' clothes. He's concerned with function. Fine. And warmth. Great. My only real quibble is that I'd like the clothes to be the right size, and cute doesn't hurt. One pair of boots that were meant for Gabriel were big enough for me. The coats are huge. "They'll grow into it." I guess the kids will at least be warm while they roll around on the snow, trying to find a way to stand up.

The problem with delving in to all of this is that you find you're never going to be done. Fourteen foot tent? Have more kids, you need a bigger one. Sleeping bags that work up to 20 below? You should have the ones that go to 40 below. Storing water? Super, it's just that you really should have barrels, wooden crates to put them on, and a filter that can do at least 13,000 gallons. And then with us, you throw in the unique add-ons like a 5 year old that can't yet eat solids and is still in diapers, the fact that we're vegetarian but realize that we have to have means to change that if our lives depend on it, and oh, did I mention that same 5 year old is on seizure medication that I'm pretty sure we aren't going to find in freeze-dried form so that we can store a year of it? Oh yeah, and I can't even make bread.

I do, however, plan on adding basic birth kits to the pile, so if the world is ending, you're pregnant and going into labour, come find me. I'll be the one with my kids tethered together with some combination of bungee cords, duct tape and tarps, dragging them behind me through the snow, traces of dehydrated spinach frozen to my face.

Noah's Favourite Song...

2008-10-12T14:12:00.000-07:00

This song is making us very happy at our house right now. You have to see Noah dancing and singing at the top of his lungs to get the full effect, but you'll enjoy it just the same. Happy Sunday.

Some People...

2008-09-09T18:28:00.000-07:00

I love good people. Real, genuine good people.

People who offer themselves rather than trite words.

People who are somehow there for you even when they're miles and miles away.

People who "get" my boy with special needs and treat him like the awesome person he is.

People who leave notes of support when you're suffering, and they don't even really know you.

People who appear out of nowhere right when you're pretty sure you'll shortly lose your mind.

People who offer help no one else can, and don't care one bit if anyone else ever knows about it.

People who almost effortlessly gain the undying love of my kids.

People who have a laugh and a huge smile for Duncan as he jogs through Target, hair flying in all directions, saying "Otay, Mummy!" to every direction I give him.

People who know when and how to laugh with you, and know when to weep with you, too.

People who are raising more good people.

People who keep in touch even when you're having a stretch of not being so good at it.

People who you know won't talk about you behind your back when you leave the room.

People who remember days or events that matter to you, even some of the time.

People who still rejoice when a baby is born, even in Utah where that happens a lot.

This has been on my mind lately, as this has been a very rough year for us. I'm glad I've shed tears over people's goodness so often this year, not just over the bad stuff. I learned from my best visiting teacher ever, to just offer what you can give. Instead of "Call if you need anything.", it was "I can do A or B on any of these days, what would help the most?". There are no small or useless offers when you're offering yourself in any way. A former teacher of Noah's gets him, thinks he's hilarious and entirely lovable, and probably has no idea how much I love and enjoy how much she loves and enjoys him. It makes my day. Noah's too. I am sooo not as talented at some things as other people I know, but I'm good at other stuff. That "other stuff" might be just what someone else needs. I wish I could adequately thank all the good people in my life (hopefully you all know who you are), but mostly I plan to just spread all that good stuff around. Yup.