The Eyes Have It

Last night I was sitting around the table with my kids last night and I began to notice that they all have the same odd eye color - grey/green/yellow/blue/what the hell?

I took pictures to prove it.

Whaddya think?

I also think that I'm to blame for their weird color....could just be me.....

Faces and Bodies

I was at the beach yesterday (it was a scorching 80 degrees) with my kids. As I strolled up the beach to use the facilities, I glanced around me and pondered (as I am wont to do - seriously, someday I'd like to just have quiet time when my brain wasn't thinking anything; is that possible as a woman? Or is that called "sleep?"). I saw all these people from infants to the elderly in all different states of dress (although the wee children were the only ones who were completely naked) and they all looked beautiful: young girls with no curves; middle aged women with curves where there shouldn't have been any; chubby prepubescent boys getting ready to shoot up; grown men with muscles or beer bellies; and a few hot chicks in bikinis (yes, even in Alaska they are there at the beach, although decidedly less than Waikiki I'm sure).

My point, and I do have one, is that all these people looked wonderful too me. I didn't stop and criticize any of their shapes and faces; I didn't wonder, "Holy Hannah! Should she really be wearing that?!" And yet...and yet, when I look in my own mirror I see my stretchmarked belly that still looks like I have a nine month old baby inside. I see my chubby thighs through which no daylight can be seen. I see all my scars and my Relief Society arms. I see my zits and bad skin, my stretchmarked breasts with enormous (too big in my opinion) aureoles. I see my rosy cheeks that are always too big, regardless of my weight. I can't see my neck because it's short to begin with and is currently hidden by at least two chins. I see my sloping shoulders and my burns from the beach yesterday, my swollen hands that have too many lines and look too short and stubby when I wear rings or nail polish. I see my thin lips and my squinty eyes. I see my cellulite dimpled butt.

And I sigh.

I'm too fat, too short, not pretty enough, not this enough, too much that.

Why is it that I can look at the varied masses of humanity and see their individual beauty and then I look at myself and see nothing but flaws?

I think too that this applies to more than my body image; it applies as well to my vision of my inner self. I see all the strengths in others and nothing but my weakness.

I am determined to change this (not that I think I'm losing weight anytime soon). But I'm beautiful. I'm important. I'm loved.

And I will wear my swimsuit on the beach without a cover-up, damnit!

The Arm of God

It's odd to me, surely one of those God things, how when I'm really struggling with something, everything in my life seems to start coalescing around that issue.

Lately, shocking I know, I've been struggling with God and trials and this move to Alaska (though I am dearly grateful not to be in 100+ degree weather). The last two weeks our Gospel Doctrine lessons have been about trials and the comfort/chastisement God gives during these times.

I have been trying to "Let go and let God," for some time; usually, I snatch it back as soon as I can pray, "Dear Father...." While I've learned over the years that trusting in the arm of flesh, even my own (perhaps especially my own), leads to nothing but disappointment, I still want a fleshy arm of comfort. I know that God offers comfort and I do receive that when I pray but there is still, at times, the hollow emptiness of no flesh nearby. While I frequently imagine Him rocking me and holding me, it is often hard to receive the comfort from Him that I am used to receiving from my friends. However, it seems that the older I get, the less I am able to get the comfort I need from my friends. I know that this needs to come from God Himself but I am unsure as to how to bridge that gap....

Does this make any sense?

The Move and Our Current Situation

I woke up at 4:30am on the morning of the 6th to pack out last few items (those minor things like sleeping bags, my bed -you didn't think I would sleep on the floor did you?! - and our telephone). Of course, I'm not good at getting up at 4:30am so I woke up again at 4:40am. And 4:50am. And 5:00am. At which point I actually managed to get out of bed.

The boys left at 7am in a 26' U-haul truck with a 6'x12' trailer attached. I tried to go back to sleep but all I had was carpeted flooring, Lulu's pillow and her baby blanket. I wasn't tired enough for the set to work. Yet.

The drive went well but Robert had problems connecting with the movers at the dock in Seattle. Turns out they were sitting a few yards away from each other not knowing with whom they were supposed connect with. I had to call the movers' main office to figure everything out, meanwhile, all that time got wasted (about 1/2 hour) and we discovered that not only did we have to pay for the 4 hours worth of work but we have to pay for their drive time - another hour. Oh well, at this point, thousands of dollars spent on this *&#@$ move, what's another $100?

The boys barely got everything loaded in our containers on time - the place closed at 5pm and Robert put the last lock on at 5:05pm. Quinn worked his little tushy off hefting boxes that weighed as much as him. Rhys helped out too, just a bit less enthusiastically.

Meanwhile, Lulu and I cleaned house with the help of some dear friends, went to lunch with Pam who then took Lulu back to her house for one last play date with Becky while I ran around doing some errands and saying two last good byes and then it was time to go; the day had passed much more quickly than expected (particularly since I was cleaning and packing for most of the day).

My SIL Julie drove me to the airport. Would you believe that I managed all of this without crying? (I know. I am impressed too. Perhaps I should add this to my "Year of Miracles" list?)

I got to the ticket counter to discover that both our bags (one suitcase with clothes and a cooler with meat) were slightly overweight; the agent let it slide. However, we did have a third bag to check - some raspberry and rhubarb starts Robert picked for our Alaskan neighbor which were all packed in a styrofoam box. Turns out that styrofoam is not an acceptable container for checking goods on the airlines, something about being packed inappropriately. I totally felt like a hobo traveler:

"Do you have a knife or some scissors so I can open the container?" (It was sealed with hot pink duct tape because that's the only duct tape Safeway had, believe it or not. And of course, I didn't have any such items on my person as I would then be labeled, "DANGEROUS!!!")

"Oh, yeah, sure."

"Umm....do you have a bag that I can put the plants in?" (Rob had placed them in wet dirt and there was muddy water every where inside the styrofoam box.)

"Well, we only have really big bags..."

"Oh, that's okay."

She got me one of those really thick, really big plastic bags they use to wrap around car seats and other oddly shaped items.

I rolled the bag down do about half size, threw the starts in the back, repacked Lulu's and my carry-ons (which were by now HEAVY - it's a wonder the poor girl didn't fall over backwards when loaded up) and was left with an empty styrofoam container.

"Umm....can you throw this away for me?"

"Sure."

She took the container and another ticket agent looked at her with wide eyes, "You're not accepting that for loading are you?" Apparently she was quite concerned.

On the upside, the cat, due to a glitch in the computer, was only $86.73 instead of the $100 fee for taking her on the plane.

By the way, in order to get a cat through security, you have to take them out of her container, place the container on the belt to go throw the x-ray scanner and carry the cat through the metal detector. It's a good thing she doesn't have a metal plate or something in her skull. Between our carry-ons, the cat, my laptop and our shoes and coats we used about 6-7 of those plastic bins....I'm very grateful that there wasn't anyone in line behind us at the time as I'm sure that internally, they would have been calling us a lot of names.

The plane ride to Seattle went very smoothly. Jenny did not meow at all. In fact, as long as we ignored her, she would just lie there. It was rather surprising. (She's the chattiest cat I've ever met. She even caused me to google "de-meowing a cat.") Lulu was extraordinarily talkative. Can't imagine where she gets that from.... And I was tired. Where's the carpeted patch, pillow and baby blanket when you need them?

We hooked up with the boys at Sea-Tac. I was really hoping they would meet us at our arrival gate and help us lug everything to the next gate. No dice. I ended up hauling everything across the terminal (we arrived in the C concourse and had to walk to the D concourse) because Lulu was done hauling anything except her blanky and pillow. Picture it: backpack with raspberry plants poking out the top on my back; a laptop bag packed to the gills with computer and paper work on one shoulder; a live cat in her carrier on my other shoulder; a pink-plaid back pack with heavy items such as my camera, cat food and Lulu's precious items in my hand or on my forearm; and my coat dangling from my backpack straps. Not. fun. But I'm sure we drew a few stares.

We arrived at the next gate and, as I couldn't see Robert, I assumed he wasn't there yet and collapsed in the nearest chairs. Once I was sitting down and had unloaded all my baggage, Quinn comes running over, "Mom! We're over here."

"Dear Lord," I prayed....

The ride to Juneau went well. I was sitting by myself in an aisle, the boys were behind me in the aisle and middle seat sitting next to a woman whose shoes Lulu just adored and Robert and Lulu were sitting in a row of three to themselves as the third person had gotten up and moved to give them more space.

Lulu fell asleep, hard, in-flight and, of course, peed the seat. This time we cleaned up the mess ourselves and didn't say anything to the flight attendants. Coincidentally, there were no 30 min. "mechanical delays" for the next flight.

The cat didn't start meowing until we were standing ready to get off and which point all my fellow passengers began wondering, "Is there a cat?" "That sounds like a cat?" "Where's that noise coming from?" Turns out the gentleman in the seat in front of us whom Jenny was sitting under is terribly allergic to cats. Of course, he complained. Of course, I'm thought, "Dude, you weathered the flight without complaint and had no idea the cat was there, why start griping now?" And of course, all I said was, "Mmmm..." with a polite smile.

The short story: we arrived safe and sound with everyone and all limbs accounted for.

Our current situation:

Our Oregon house has not sold and we extended our contract with the realtor for two extra months, meaning that we can't rent it out until October. As we're still paying the mortgage on that house and the cost of living is so much higher (seriously! I can't look at prices when I grocery shop because I wouldn't buy ANYTHING!), we will be living with my dad indefinitely. I'm hoping we'll have our own place by next spring or fall at the latest but who knows?

Living with my dad has been pretty easy. He's mellow and lovely and easy to get along with. The kids have been fairly well behaved and I'm trying to whip them back into shape after 6 months of my tired single parenting (I SUCK as a single parent; if they whined long enough and hard enough, I would give them almost anything they wanted!).

The kids are almost daily at their cousin Ian's house (he lives less than a mile away and they can walk up by themselves). The shop is busy, busy, busy and I've already had lots of salmon (which for me is a good thing). So, overall it's good. I miss everyone from Oregon and I miss having a place of my own, but I'm trying to be patient (read: trying not to cry on a daily or hourly basis) and to look for the good here. It's all surreal for me and I feel like I'm just on summer vacation and not living here yet, but I'm sure that will change as I get to know people here and settle in.

So until then, I will keep my rose colored glasses firmly in place and believe that I am on a lovely cruise ship ride as opposed to my perspective which is that we are on the garbage barge headed to Staten Island.

Business Cards

The shop has not had new business cards since I was a wee child. The card is pure white with black lettering and the name is written in cursive, not quite appropriate, in my mind, for a business based in boat, outboards and repair work. It also bear the name of my parents, which could pose a problem for someone calling and looking for Janet.

This morning I began to look online for some business card designs.

I'm thinking that for a business with a predominately male clientele that this business card would be a sure success; they may not quite know what it is we do, but they'd probably pop in just to find out.

P.S. Don't forget to click on the link for the "back side" view.

P.P.S. Who would actually use these cards? I didn't think people in that kind of profession would need business cards....

Forbidden Fruit

Since I poured out my agony online, I have been feeling a bit better. But I'm still crying all the time. In fact tonight, as I lie down to sleep - my daughter curled up on the other end of my king bed, I started sobbing. I can't pray and not cry. It's the mixture of despair and "Why God?" and acceptance, however grudgingly rendered.

At the same time, I can't get rid of the thought, "What is the point to this life?" I believe that a huge reason for our human existence is to love other people with our whole hearts, selflessly, as God loves us. But that love is inextricably interwoven with pain and hurt and sorrow and grief. To which my glass-half-empty state of mind then reads, "The point of life is to be sad."

Following that thought, I stretch out to eternity and the next life....perhaps it will be better? But one of my deepest, darkest fears (and I've wondered about this since I was a teenager) is that the next life won't be any better. According to my beliefs, part of the next life is living life as my Father does and having spirit children who I will love, deeply. And they in turn, while rendering wonderful men and women as Daniel and Mary, will also yield Lucifer, Cain, Judas and Adolph Hitler. My fear, then, is that we never hear about Heavenly Mother because she spends eternity in her solar, sobbing. My fear, then, is that this is the destiny of my soul.

And I hate crying. Especially over things I can't change.

Overwhelmed

I wish, at times, that I could just plug a USB cable into my head and let all the posts I've written mentally pour out onto the screen.

We spent last week on the Oregon coast with my mother-in-law. It was an adventure, to say the least. I was following my sister-in-law on our way to the coast Monday afternoon when my car began to make a HORRIBLE noise coming directly from the engine block. I pulled over at the next gas station and began making calls (I finally have my very own cell phone - amazing what happens when your husband can't get a hold of you in an emergency). When Robert heard the noise (he's an automotive mechanic in case I never mentioned that), he said the van was T.O.A.S.T. I called a wrecking yard and they were willing to take the van in exchange for towing it to their yard for free. Good news: no large towing bill (did you know it costs $65-85 just to hook up?). Bad news: no vehicle.

We played at the coast and Robert and I began to figure out what to do. Sometimes I really hate being an adult.

The short story: I am still carless (I have some friends who have lent me vehicles as needed so I do have transportation, I just don't happen to actually have a vehicle of my very own) and so there was no need to take the ferry north (plus, how would I get to the ferry terminal?). The kids and I will now be flying to Alaska with Robert on July 6th (which is when we dump all of our household goods with the barge lines), which puts me leaving Oregon two weeks early than planned and getting into Alaska three weeks earlier than planned.

And this is the whole point of this post: I am so hopelessly overwhelmed. This week is my week to work on the shop's books so I can get everything together for our fiscal year end (June 30) and get the paperwork to the accountant. Next week Rob will be here to help pack up the house. Then I was to have a week at cub camp with the boys and a week to play and say good bye and another week to visit friends on my way up to Alaska before catching the ferry. Now that timetable has been collapsed into just two weeks. I'm stressed about work. I'm stressed about packing. I'm stressed about saying good bye.

This has been my home for the last 9 years. (And no, the house has not sold or even had an offer on it.) Rhys has lived here since he was less than one year old. Their friends are here, the places they know and love. My friends are here. I had finally relaxed and let go and decided that I would live in this town, in this home, forever. It was, seriously, about two months later when we decided (thanks, God) to move to my hometown.

I don't want to go.

I'm scared.

For me. For my kids.

I talked with a dear friend about all this this morning. She gave me much of the same ol' rhetoric about God's ways being better and higher than our own and how He has a plan for us.

I hear that. I can logically agree to that.

But I feel like He just keeps telling me no.

I believe that He is omnipotent and I know that He can't always say "yes" but can't He do so on occastion? He allowed my mom to die instead of healing her. And now we're leaving when I so desperately want to stay. I can't lose weight to save my life nor end my addiction to chocolate and food. It seems everytime something is big, I get told, "No." So what is the point of even asking?

I then I feel guilt on top of that for whining at these small things when there are so many others around the world who struggle with far greater problems than I will ever have to.

So I'm trying to work and trying not to cry all day (and yes, I am still taking my meds). And I'm trying not to think about everything we will be leaving behind. And I'm trying not to assume the worst about everything we are moving to. (No, we still don't have a home there.) And I'm trying not to freak out.

And in reality all I can think about is how much mortality sucks. I hate goodbyes. I hate loving people only to lose them. I hate how ephemeral everything is. I hate always feeling alone and lost.

My undergrad thesis was on Pascal's wager. I couldn't, at the time, see why someone would not accept the risk and wager that there is indeed a God, as they had nothing to lose. I later understood that even risking nothing, we are still risking ourselves, our hearts, our beliefs, our choices, everything that makes us US; our "ousia," if you will. That's how I feel about this move. And instead of jumping in and trusting my all to His tender care, I'm sticking out my arms and claws and digging in and howling at the moon about having to leave. I don't want to surrender everything. It hurts too much. And bad things always seem to follow. People get baptized and then hardships inevitably follow. Moms die instead of being healed. Homes get broken up. It hurts. Mortality sucks.

Isms

(Yes, I know that this is less than stellar - again with cleaning the drafty folder.)

Rob and I have been married for the last 11.5 years, longer than some, far shorter than others. Over that time, I have acquired from him a lovely group of pithy sayings: "I'm off like a prom dress at midnight;" "Ain't nothin' but a g-string....and there ain't much to one of those;" "Don't sweat the petty, pet the sweaty."

There's a common theme, wouldn't you say?

And yet I do use them, quite often, without even thinking (much to the shock of some of my more upright Mormon friends).

His favorite (and, coincidentally, my least) is to quote Andrew Dice Clay (that great example of manhood) and say, "Hickory Dickory Dock...." That's all he usually has to say to ensure he gets a good dope slap or "ROBERT!!" Occasionally he'll get as far as "A mouse ran up..." after which I remind him of small children in the area.

He has a particular Robert-ism that he shares with my dear sister-in-law Mia, "Son of a biscuit eater."

Now I'm sure, since the two of them use it with great frequency, that this must be a much used phrase of the South (by which I mean Lower 48), although I've never heard anyone else use it.

Which brings me to the real point of this post (as much as I love my husband): Mia-isms.

My SIL is an amazing cook, home school mother and woman. But best of all, she can turn a phrase. Our conversations are quite entertaining.

When stumbling upon something shocking, "What the hey-diddley-do wop?" I'm sure you can see the Simpsons influence upon her vocab.

When she's frustrated: "I swear to Buddha," (I keep telling her that she's going to offend a devout Buddhist someday) or "Poop on my head," (which I remind her would be rather thoroughly unpleasant).

When she's angry at my brother (which, surprisingly, is not daily), "I don't care what you do, think or say."

When she's pleased with something, "Hot dog!" (Mickey Mouse's first words ever) or "Praise the bum!" (Yeah, I've got nothing for that one.)

When something is disappointing, "Dude bomber."

But when she has to pee, she reminds me that she is no ordinary girl, "I've got to pee like a banshee." Do banshees actually pee? One has to wonder if the supernatural must condescend to bodily functions like us mere mortals. In Mia's world, though, they do and apparently it's more than a racehorse.

So in a cheeky homage to these two dear people in my life, enjoy their frequently used isms and I encourage you to go out and use one today.

Double points if you can meld them together.....

Perhaps you'll have to "Be off like a prom dress at midnight," because you've got to "pee like a banshee."

The possibilities are simply endless.

In Memoriam

A blog has passed. It was a great blog, full of pithy Latin phrases, angst and comments on becoming a crone suffering from Crohn's disease.

Zillah's easy way of scratching items of her to-do lists filled me with envy as my own to-do lists stared at me with haunting eyes, reminding me of all I was ignoring.

Her beautiful house, the entries on man-sized bugs, brilliant essays on women and drinking gin....all will be missed.

So while I appreciate that it was just time for this blog to go, Z, you will be missed greatly.

Then again....it could just be all those spanking pictures.

Perhaps I'll just have to come out of the closet and start looking for my own.

If I Had A Million Dollars....

...which is really code for, "If I had so much money I could never spend it all," because we all know that million dollars, particularly after taxes, ain't going to get you very far in this day and age.

It's also one of my favorite Barenaked Ladies songs but I digress.

I'm not really sure I'd be all that inventive with the money actually. (Hence why I've never posted this entry.)

I would do boring things:

1. Pay off debts
2. Own at least two houses outright - one here and one in Alaska. Another house in Seattle with a car for Mia and the kids when they visit Children's.
   
3. Give money to family members.
4. Set up trusts for my children.
5. Sock money away for Rob and I.

And yeah, that's it.

Seriously.

Okay, I'd go a little shopping happy and buy books - so many books - and maybe have some built-in book shelves (because I love those too) installed so that I could store all those books. Or maybe build a library like the one in Beauty and the Beast because I've been in love with that room since I saw the movie.

I'd give lots of money away too. Maybe set up my own charitable organization. (Because we're talking about more than a million dollars otherwise I'd have been broke after #2.)

Hmmmm....I'd travel. Forget really cool indoor playgrounds and all that, I'd get passports for us all and see the world. I would really love to live for months or a year in different countries to learn more about the people and their culture. Oh, I would so love that.

Can you buy your way on to MoTab? Cause I'd love to sing in the choir. And maybe they'd wave the "living in Utah" requirement and just let me commute from another state, seeing as I'd have my own plane and all.

What about sleeping in the Lincoln bedroom? Would Obama go for that? Maybe I'll have to vote for Hilary in a few years so that can happen....

Seriously, I think that's it.

Maybe I'd take a class on expanding my creativity, apparently I need some help.

What would you do? (I figure I can get some great ideas or be comforted by the fact that everyone else is just as dull as I am.)

The Birds and The Bees

(returning back to my quest to clear out my drafts folder)

I've been telling myself for quite some time that I need to have "the talk" with Rhys. He'll be ten in, oh, just a few more days and at some point this year, his class will be discussing same sex development. Next year, supposing that Alaskan schools keep to the same time table as Oregon ones, they will be discussing opposite sex development in class. I have always publicly stated that I would much rather teach my children about this stuff at home or, at the very least, introduce the subject at home. I would very much like for all of my children to be comfortable discussing sex and relationships with me rather than constantly turning to their peers for information, as savvy as teenagers can be.

So, time to bite the bullet.

Yeah. Right. I've been saying that since last spring! This is definitely one moment where I'm stronger in theory than in reality.

Robert and I decided that we would be talking with Rhys before summer was over. We would even mention it to him and ask him questions every now in then. He would just give us an enigmatic smile.

The talk never happened this summer.

I talked with Mia about our need to have the conversation and how it kept not happening. She told me she had some fabulous books that she would send me to help me with the discussion.

We waited, but nothing came. (Not that I minded. I'm a procrastinator anyway and this particular event didn't encourage me to be other.)

Finally, we decided that Rhys and we needed to have the talk. Happily the books arrived to help. (No, there were no copies of "You Were Smaller Than a Dot.")

Rhys was so NOT excited to be sitting next to me in my bedroom with a book stretched out before us. He hemmed and hawed and wanted to avoid this at all costs. "Can't we just work on cub scouts?" I asked him what he knew and he professed complete. (Yeah. Right.)

So, we plunged in.

I had glanced over the book previously and it seemed to cover all the subjects necessary (puberty - male and female as well as human reproduction - intercourse and baby development) and had two characters: a bird who was pleased as punch to learn all about this and a bee who didn't want to know anything.

I thought I'd have some sort of funny punch line to end with but, yeah, I've got nothing.

The talk went well. There was one little snag. As we were reading, we came to a section that was talking about all different kinds of love: parent/child, friends, parents for each other, etc. I began to get that knot in my stomach and wondered what the page turn would bring. (Yes, in hindsight I should have thoroughly read the whole book.) And the page turn brought what I was afraid it would bring, a discussion on homosexuality.

Now, I do think I need to start having these conversations with Rhys, but being so uncertain myself it's hard to know what to teach my children. I must admit that I went the safe route; I didn't condemn homosexuality (in all reality I didn't say a whole lot about it other than to define it) and I stressed, as emphatically as I could, that regardless of orientation we needed to treat everyone the same. I told Rhys is he didn't like someone, he didn't have to like them just because they were gay. But I told him that if he had a friend who said he was gay, it was no reason to stop being his/her friend. (I confess that I stopped short of introducing the option that he could be gay; I just couldn't go there.)

He seemed completely unperturbed.

I love kids.

Here I was, tied in knots, unsure what to say, and he had the attitude of, "Cool."

Overall, I must say it was anticlimatic.

I'm thinking of taking on Quinn next (I waited far too long with Rhys and Quinn keeps wanting to read those cool books Aunt Mia bought).

I'm also thinking about talking to Lulu about it. Yes, I know she's only 5 but the girl's been obsessed with nipples since she was two; she wants to know why I put pads in my underwear and why I have hair in certain places. In fact, just yesterday, she came running up to me, "Mom! I'm getting hair on my vulva!"

Not likely.

But I'm thinking she would want some further information and clarification.

Je Suis Madame Mystérieuse....

Now that the morbidity is out of the way, on to the good news!

Robert is pretty amazing; he has supernatural powers of deduction. For Christmas a few years ago, I walked up to him and said, "I know what your parents are getting you for Christmas." He glanced up and said, "A gun safe." Not too impressive, he had guns, Rhys was almost 1, time to make sure everything is locked up.

I, however, did not want to be outdone. "Well I know what else they're getting you for Christmas...."

Seriously. He looked at me, thought for a moment and said, "Sweatpants."

He was dead on.

Seriously.

I mean, are the two even related? Do people normally buy sweatpants and a gun safe? Do stores have promotions, "Buy a gun safe, get a free set of sweats!" Is it a guy thing - guns and sweats?

I. don't. know.

I just know he nailed it and he's been doing the same thing for the last 9 years.

This year, however, I decided to surprise him. In a big way.

Robert visited at the beginning of May (he had a conference in Seattle and extended the trip south a few miles). It was fabulous and short and we talked about me flying up in June, by myself, to visit, see all the work being done and just be with him.

I decided that I should go, but I had an extra trick up my sleeve.

Rob's birthday was May 18th (and, coincidentally, so is my father's and yes, I do know what Freud would say about that). Robert puts a lot in store by birthdays and by our being together on said days. And I love to plot surprises (imagine my disappointment over the last several years).

So, I bought tickets to fly north for the weekend but told him (and everyone else in Alaska - sorry Mia) that I was coming in June. A friend picked me up from the airport and at 10:30 ADT, I was blessed to see my husband, slack jawed, wide-eyed saying something along the lines of "What.....?"

Seriously.

It was amazing. All that I could of dreamed of. (The weekend was really fun too.)

In hindsight, Robert realized he should have seen it coming a mile away from all the clues and hints I dropped but he's been so distracted by work and a ruptured ear drum that he didn't.

Me, I don't care what the cause or how it happened, I'm just glad that no only did I get to spend time with him,but that I surprised him. I'll be surprised if I can ever do that again, as long as we both shall live.

On Death and Dying

You'd think after all these episodes with Grey's Anatomy, the nights sobbing over deaths of imagined people, that I would give up watching the show, but I seem to be addicted, addicted to the characters, my "friends," their lives and choices and the certainty that we are all going to die.

Perhaps it's the impending anniversary of my mom's death, or really just the fact that she died at all, that gives these episodes extra import (then again, I am a drama queen), but I can't help but cry over every death and ponder, with every death, the meaning of life.

I have my faith, but there are moments when I wonder if all of this is worth it; if the moments of joy and happiness and love are really worth all the moments of tears and pain and anguish. Moments like now, as I watch Izzie sign a DNR and convince her husband that it's necessary and I remember the moment my mom told me she had signed a DNR and the moment I understood that that was the reason the ambulance didn't race her to the hospital with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Death is inevitable, as certain as birth, perhaps even more so. And while I believe, with all my heart, that eternity lies in death, that birth into "real life," I also know, with all my heart, that the goodbye of death is painful and the separation of death between the living and dead is enormous.

I just can't wrap my head around death and life and what it means to be immortal beings living mortal lives.

Current Happenings

OK - so this is not an oldie but unshared goodie but I'm trying to get this blog active again. (Do two buts in a sentence constitute a run-on?)

Today was C.R.A.Z.Y.

I got a call last night that someone wanted to come see my house today at 9:30am. I was up until 9:30 pm cleaning and then up this morning and cleaning by 7:30. I came home for lunch, ready for a nap as this week has been exhausting only to have another realtor call me wanting to show my house at 5pm AND 6pm.

Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that people are coming to look at the house but managing 3 children of my own plus two extras for most the day AND having a clean house AND helping my kids get their work done while having to be out of the house so that they can show the house?

Yeah. No fun.

On the upside, the kids LOVE takeout but were disappointed that I refused to take them to McDonald's.

On the double upside, have I mentioned that Robert is flying in for the weekend tomorrow?

Can you see my grin?

I think the space shuttle can!

That's my day, focusing on the silver lining.

I'll let you know if any offers come my way. ****fingers crossed & prayers said****

Current Postings

In an attempt to clear out all my drafts, I will be publishing them despite any imperfections. Really my CDO (OCD in alphabetical order, as it should be) can't stand all these drafts just lying about. I hope you enjoy them but honestly, I think you should just be happier knowing my soul is at peace.

Why I Love Language

I love words. I love their liquiescence and how they can flow, trippingly off the tongue.

I love puns and double meanings.

I love a good turn of phrase. Amnesiac exile. Duality of emotion. Verbal hemophilia.

I love finding a good $10 word that can take the place of 15 $1 words - it's just good value.

I love what language tells us about a culture: the French with their Academie Francaise guarding over the purity of their language; the Germans with words that seem to be increasingly spliced together to describe new things; the Americans where slang is becoming a more and more a part of "speaking good English," and adverbs are disappearing almost entirely.

I love the power of language. I have been working on teaching my children to say, "I forgive you," rather than, "That's okay," when someone apologizes, even over small things. It's amazing how freeing it is, for both parties, to hear those three little words.

Easter Lessons

Easter was odd this year. Robert and I, while planning our unwanted separation, failed to consider the fact that we would be apart during a major holiday. Ironically, Rob and my dad were trying to get me to fly up for the weekend to see all the remodeling my husband has done to the shop. I was about ready to book my ticket when a dear agnostic/atheist friend said, "Don't you guys celebrate Easter?"

*LIGHT BULB FLASH*

"Um, yeah, we do. Crap." I replied.

I then began to carry forth on all our family traditions and good times. I bought eggs for dying and the dye kits (that was easy - I even let the kids pick them out instead of just buying the cheapest one). The goodies were a little harder to get (what with trying to lie and propagate the myth of the Easter Bunny) but I finally managed to pawn my kids of on Lizzie and go to the store. (The Saturday morning before Easter Sunday, mind you.)

Then we went to an Easter Egg Hunt at a park. We came home (after 3 hours of waiting, hunting, bounce housing and winning raffles) and I was exhausted. I collapsed and took a nap. We had take out and then dyed eggs. It was 9pm by the time the kids were in bed. Then I had to make the basket (I only did one this year) and wrote up clues for a treasure hunt. It was well after midnight by the time I picked up the house and went to bed.

The kids were up bright and early! Egads. I surfaced at about 7am and we did the hunt. After we found the basket, I realized that not once this whole weekend (Good Friday was the Cub Scout Pinewood Derby) had we discussed Jesus. Not once. So I made a mention but then it was time to get ready for church.

I somehow made it through sacrament, went out to the comfy chairs in the lobby and slept through Sunday School and then slept in Relief Society. When we got home, it was off to Grandpa's house for the family egg hunt and lunner.

By the time we got home, 6pm, I was so exhausted I told the kids, "You know your bedtimes, get ready for bed, watch a movie and go to bed at the right time," and then I went to sleep. I slept straight through until 7am.

SO....

the point of this very long tale?

Being a single parent SUCKS! I have no idea how people do this year after year, holiday after holiday. I will say, in hindsight, I have learned that prioritizing is a must. I was so dismayed to find that my children and I had talked very little about the atonement, cruxifiction and resurrection. I know they got some of that in church but I view church lessons as supplemental not primary. (HA! Pun not intended.) I was also dismayed that I was so exhausted that Easter Sunday became more something I had to get through instead of something I could enjoy.

God willing I will never have to go this alone again. But, if I do, I think I would cut out more of the secular and let things fall by the wayside and opt for more spiritual lessons and more sleep for Mom.

My kids were happy; they got loads of candy and good stuff and at this point in their lives, that seems to be the best part of Easter. And I think that's why my lack of presenting the other side to this holiday bothers me; as a parent, I don't think I will ever stop worrying about my children's spiritual development and wanting to do all I can to help it.

Self-Delusional

Did you notice I didn't post yesterday? I didn't on purpose; I was afraid my inner devil might come out and I might do something crazy, which would then make me feel guilty and the vicious cycle would just continue.

So, I abstained. It took some doing (duct taping my hands to my butt) but I did it!

The kids and I recently had the joy (no sarcasm here) of tending a friend's farm animals while she was out of town. We loved it! There were three lambs, a llama, 3 rams, a bunch of bottomless pit, I'm always so damn hungry goats and sheep and a few large dogs disguised as cows.

And of course, we HAD to take pictures.

I don't know about you, but I have a vision of myself in my head. Said vision, does not look like this:

or this:

But when you see yourself in all your 2-D glory, it hits you, BAM!!! Maybe that darn Wii Fit was right and I really am obese with a horribly high BMI.

And maybe, just maybe, I don't really look like this:

Ok. So I'm not quite THAT delusional.

But still.



And then, to add insult to serious injury, I get this email:

Hi Maraiya, cute picture! It's sure fun being back in Alaska... do you miss being here? I thought I heard a rumor that maybe your family is moving to Alaska? Is that right? I'm convinced that Alaska is our home ... and I love it!

My focus for 2009 is regaining my health! I kind of lost track of myself for a number of years ... but I've found myself again! Yeah! Check out my webiste: XXX.isagenix.com. I'd love to have you join my team! :)

Now, I realize that my friend (who hasn't said boo to me since we hooked up on facebook) is just looking for more people on her downline. I know that! But internally? This is my dialogue:

Holy Hannah! I'm fat! I'm so fat that people I don't know very well are calling me and saying,"Hey Maraiya! You look like you could lose some weight and you look fat enough that you look desperate to lose weight. So desperate that you will be willing to buy my uber expensive product and sell it to all your friends, because you know, after using my uber expensive product, you will be trim and svelte!"

Crikey.

What did I do to get over this terribly travesty?

Well.....

I laid down for a bit.

Ate some chocolate.

And taped this to the mirror:

so I could slip back into my nice safe delusion

AND - I vowed never to let my children use my camera again!

Spring Sunshine

I have been far too gloomy.

Today the sun is shining, trees are in blossom, my generic Zyrtec is working wonderfully, my children are playing at their cousins and my house is sparkling clean and I feel like dancing! And I have. Danced. Twirled. Sang. Played my piano.

Life is good.

But as I'm sitting here, body full of endorphins, I'm reminded of all the wonderful things I've seen and experienced of late that seem to get covered up by my stress.

A week ago, I was walking to my car from Safeway and noticed a man, not a Safeway employee, just a regular Joe, pushing about 10 carts from the lot into the store. How kind is that?

Yesterday I took my children to the library. As we were entering, Rhys noticed a man exiting with a walker. Rhys thoughtfully held the door for him. I didn't even notice the guy and wouldn't have remembered my social niceties until it was too late, but my 10 year old caught it all and acted kindly. I was so pleased.

I turned on my music player today, set it on random and my favorite *favorite* songs came up right away. Love that.

This last weekend I was completely melting down under the weight of single-parenthood. Sunday afternoon, Jennifer took my kids just after church and kept them until bedtime and even sent some leftover dinner home with me. Monday night my father-in-law took the boys overnight and then took them fishing the next morning. Wednesday Kristie had both boys spend the night at her house and last night, Julie, my sister-in-law, had all three over and they've still yet to return. Yesterday I got a phone call from Lee and Sylvia wanting to take my children out to a movie. I HAD TO TURN THEM DOWN!!! because my children were already engaged elsewhere.

I still need to learn how to cope with having all three children but wow! God is good. I was at the end of my rope and offer after offer came rolling in. I am feeling overwhelmed at the care of God and my friends and family.

And really, I'm posting this for myself more than anything else; I need something to read the next time I feel myself falling apart to remind myself that goodness often springs up in the middle of a desert.

SERENITY NOW!!

I am still suffering from a lack of inspiration (in case you couldn't tell).

Seriously, I'm just trying to get by without doing anything desperate, like, oh, locking my kids in a cage.

Sunday was bad. I ended up calling a friend and she took all three children for the afternoon.

It was bliss.

The problem is, just like when I get a massage, I was all happy and relaxed and thinking, "Bring it on!" and then they did and then I could feel myself tensing right back up, nerves escalating and then I can't see anything but red.

*sigh*

Any other single moms? Does it get any better?

Which Great Philosopher Are You?

A friend of mine took the above mentioned quiz on Facebook. His answer was a dismal, "Kant." Blech. But I found the whole idea so entertaining that I couldn't wait to take it myself.

I thoughtfully read through all the questions (I think someone had a great deal of fun writing this quiz) and was thoroughly pleased with the results:

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard

Søren Aabye Kierkegaard (5 May 1813 – 11 November 1855) was a prolific 19th century Danish philosopher and theologian. Kierkegaard strongly criticized both the Hegelianism of his time, and what he saw as the empty formalities of the Danish church. Much of his work deals with religious themes such as faith in God, the institution of the Christian Church, Christian ethics and theology, and the emotions and feelings of individuals when faced with life choices. His early work was written under various pseudonyms who present their own distinctive viewpoints in a complex dialogue. Kierkegaard left the task of discovering the meaning of his works to the reader, because "the task must be made difficult, for only the difficult inspires the noble-hearted". Scholars have interpreted Kierkegaard variously as an existentialist, neo-orthodoxist, postmodernist, humanist, and as an individualist. Crossing the boundaries of philosophy, theology, psychology, and literature, he is an influential figure in contemporary thought.

I loved Kierkegaard in college. Perhaps it's the slash throught O in Soren - so sexy. Perhaps it's his anti-Hegelianism (in my mind, I burned the Phenomenology of Spirit over and over again and laughed with sadistic pleasure). Perhaps it's the fact that he talked about God as it was something intelligent to talk about and not just greater than anything which we can conceive.

This test was the bright spot in my day and I just had to share.

My favorite question and possible answer on this whole 8 - 10 question quiz? "Is there a God?" "Yes and he is probably quite brilliant and German." After reading Hegel and Nietzsche and Kant, that was my suspicion as well.

What to Say

Recently, while loading in the van to go somewhere, Lulu hit Quinn. I don't remember the reason or where she hurt him, but I know she whapped him a good one.

I spoke to her, sternly, and then told her to apologize.

"I'm sorry Quinn," she said in her sweet little girl voice.

Silence prevailed.

I looked in the rear view mirror at Quinn, "Well Quinn, aren't you going to respond?"

He looked straight ahead, not quite at me and said, "Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious."

"What?" I asked.

"Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. It's what you say when you don't quite know what to say."

He said it with a bland face and then looked out the window.

I drove and stared straight ahead, muffling my laugh, with no idea what to say in return.

How could I fault him when he was so clearly right?

Hiatus

I know.

It's been awhile.

I'd like to say that I have a valid excuse.

I'd like to blame it all on my current Facebook addition with the games Mafia and Fashion Wars. And while they have sucked up a great deal of my time (who knew it would take so much effort just to click a few buttons?), I would still have time to blog. So that's not it.

I'd like to blame it on my single-mother status with three children: school; lice checks; PTO; church; choir (not that I've made it to that even once this year!); laundry; dishes; laundry; dishes; laundry; dishes; laundry....well, you get the point. But no, clearly I have time even after all that or maybe because some of it (cough- laundry) I only do when the whining of "I have no clean socks," just gets to be too much. So that's not it.

Hmmm...could it be that I've been sick? No, I've actually finally recovered from my bronchitis and mucous overload; I can hear fairly well and have excellent bladder control. My children have even been healthy. (Please, God, that's not meant as a challenge!) So that's not it.

I'd like to blame it on the fact that my new super fast and sleek lap top got a virus and has been very sick requiring two visits to her doctor and now, she'll have to be completely redone. Having to work on our old dinosaur (a whole 6 years old) is so S.L.O.W. and tedious but still, the work does get done. So that's not it.

I'd like to say that it's because February has ended and sweeps are over and the ad dollars are accounted for (I didn't get any) and all new programming will be delayed until May when I may possibly rake in some of those big bucks. But we all know that's not going to happen and really, I didn't post all that much in February any way. So that's not it.

I'd like to say that it's because I've been in an overwhelming funk requiring more of my anti-depressant medication as the black hole of February sucked me into it's numbing depths. True, all too true, but nonetheless, I managed to mail Rob's package without a grand mal seizure so you'd think I could rattle of a blurb or two now and then. So that's not it.

I'd like to say that it's because of the trauma of doing my taxes, having them rejected because I got one digit in my son's ssn wrong and then thinking I'd refiled them (we were counting on the money to fill in the gaps while Robert builds the business up north; you know, for silly things like our mortgage payment) only to find out that I didn't really refile them and then finally getting them refiled and accepted last week. But really, I forgot all about my taxes until I suddenly remembered, "Hey - where's that money that's supposed to be helping us?" So that's not it.

Really, the reason is that I have no brilliant ideas. I'm FULL of them while I'm in the shower or otherwise unavailable to type: scathing rants; hilarious anecdotes; and insightful comments on our lives and society.

But when the time comes to type it all on the blank screen...





Yeah.




Nada.




So, I've been on a hiatus of sorts. A brain melting, non-thinking, "How the heck did it end up being March 15 already?" kind of hiatus.

Here's to getting some brain function back.

Cheers!

The Shocking Revelation

I went to my OB today...and I DIDN'T SWEAT!! I'm so excited.

Now apparently, much to my amazement, not all women out there will understand that last statement. Normally when I have to do the naked thing for my OB, I get all nervous and start sweating EVERYWHERE and blushing (which is no good because I'm terribly fair skinned and it all shows) and getting nervous that I'm going to fart while the OB is down there.

But today - none of that. I just laid there calmly, chatting about our move and my happy pills. No sweating. No odiferous bombs below. It was FABULOUS!

Well, as fabulous as those appointments can be.....

Oh...what's that?

Oh, you mean you were expecting me to tell you the cost of shipping the package to my husband?

The package that I was supposed to send priority mail but turns out, because of the size, they wouldn't ship it priority mail and I had to send it Parcel Post which is cheaper but takes longer?

Okay, Jillybean, Lizzie and Lola (since you're the three who bothered to guess) it was......
.
.
.
drumroll please
.
.
.
$89.24.

I am so NOT kidding.

If I'm reading this receipt right, the weight alone (5lbs 10.6oz) was $10.11 but the size, THE SIZE, cost me $79.13. Seriously.

Ugh.

Anyway, I guess Lola wins (1,583 bonus points! Way to go! Only 43,097,982 left until you get your prize!) as she was the closest with her bid of $60; I was only thinking $50.

This is why we're packing everything on a barge, because at these postal rates, 30 cents per pound is butt cheap.

And for those who don't read comments (cough - Mia), the box is full of fishing rods (no reels).

Sunday Quick Takes

Because I've got a lot of little bits to share but nothing that requires a whole blog post unto itself.

I'm addicted to the ads for the new ABC show "Cupid." I generally watch my tv shows online (ideally when I'm folding laundry but that doesn't always happen). The song they play during this ad is so bouncy and fun, I just start to dance. Then again, I am a sucker for all things Italian.

*****

I think I finally get the parable of the 10 Virgins; it's only taken me 33 years but supposedly it's better late than never. I have always hated, *hated*, this parable as it seemed so horribly selfish. Yeah, yeah, I know the whole "but the oil can't be shared" stuff but it's always bothered me. Today was ward conference and our stake RS presidency chose to have the Stake President give us a talk (which I thought was incredibly clever of them - next time I'm called to teach a class, I'm just going to keep having guest speakers -- "Bro Soandso, I just felt so inspired to have you come talk to the girls. The lesson is #23, I've copied it all out for you. Have a great time; I'm heading to Hawaii.") The talk was on the importance of taking care of yourself and how this is of prime importance for each of us. Something seriously clicked (I think I even heard it). The 10 Virgins is all about the need for each of us to secure our own salvation, to experience our own life, to connect with God and fill our lamps with our relationship with Him. Yes I realize that this is along the lines of the blah blah blah I've heard before (just slightly reworded) but for some reason it suddenly clicked in my heart and not just my head.

******

And speaking of taking years to figure things out, I've been carrying around heavy bags and children's coats through all three hours of church for the last, oh, 10 years. Today, today I finally figured out that, HEY!, I could drop off the stuff in the car. Wow. And then I could just carry the stuff I need around for the next two hours. Wow! Who woulda thought?

******
You know how we are encouraged to welcome and introduce ourselves to new people in the ward whether they be investigators, people who have just moved it or one day visitors. This is very hard for me; I like to hang by in my safe place but I work on forcing myself to be more congenial. Today I walked up to a lovely couple of women and introduced myself; thy are, I thought at first, new members of the ward. Ha!

I learned their names and one of the last names rang a bell, I asked, "Oh, are you related to the other Whatserfaces in the ward?"

There was that pregnant pause and she replied, "As far as I know, the only otheWhatserface in the ward in my husband."

Oh.

Crap.

I looked at her and, of course, made matters worse. "Really? Because you don't look familiar?"

The daughter (I think - see how well this stayed in my head) tried to save me, "Maybe it's just because her hair is pulled back."

Yeah. Time to cut and run.

"Oh sorry, I'm just a flake, not a brain cell in my head. Gotta go."

I think I'm going to go back to my safe place.

******

I have discovered Mafia Wars in Facebook and for some reason, this really appeals to me. Could again just be the whole, "I'm a sucker for all things Italian" even cheesy Americanized Italian.

Why I Love Sundays

Every other day of the week I bemoan the fact that my children are growing so fast and that they are almost as tall as me.

On Sunday, I put on 3" heels and WHOA!! They shrink. They're incredibly small.

And I am tall and beautifully svelte.

I love it.

So why, you ask, don't I wear heels all week?

Because they &^&!#@$)* hurt!!!

And on Sunday, I spend most of my time sitting.

*sigh* I just love Sundays.

My Husband Left Me Something...

looong and hard.










Can you guess what it is?





















Or, the real challenge, can you guess how much this will cost me to ship it to him in Alaska? I will be shipping it via USPS Priority Mail.

BIG points to be awarded to the winner.

You know, the kind of points that they used to award on "Who's Line Is It Anyway?"

Because I'm cheap.

Poor Ish Is Dead

I know. Ish doesn't rhyme with Judd at all but I thought it was clever.

Hey - I haven't slept much in last few days!

Anyway, we came home from Quinn's baptism last night to find Ish gasping his last little fishy breaths. Rob aerated his water. I mashed up some peas and placed them in the water (because I've read in several places that it helps in situations like these). He tried to swim sideways (because he was pretty much belly up already) to get some fish food but I don't think he ever did.

This morning, he was at the bottom of the tank and not moving.

And so passes the great Ish, won at a pre-school carnival, lovingly tended for 2.5 years as he lived in his 1 gal ice cream bucket (really, it was so the opaque plastic would give him privacy - that's what it was! Would you want to live in a glass house?). He will be mourned by my children and by our cat Jenny whom I'm sure is thinking, "Damn, I coulda had a good meal too!"

Is it bad that upon noting his death, my first thought was, "If I flush him down the toilet now, I can put the ice cream bucket on the curb for the recyclers to pick up!" And I did. No sense keeping more trash evidence of his demise around to torment my children.

As a side note, which I will not be confessing to my children, I'm thinking that he died from not being fed. These last few days have been crazy and little things have slipped through the cracks. (And you thought this blog was the only thing I was ignoring!)

Or, as I will tell the children, he was faking his death because, "all drains lead to the ocean." And now he is a free fish swimming in the vast Pacific Ocean. Heck, Nemo's his best friend.

That's the official story anyway and I'm sticking to it.

Happy Days Are Here Again

Forget happy pills, all I need is Robert.

We picked him up from the airport yesterday (he'll be here for the next three days for Quinn's birthday - today - and baptism - Thursday) and I haven't stopped smiling.

I'm so happy that after so many years, we've finally arrived at a place where we have considerably more good days than bad; a place where I am happy to call him my husband and he genuinely makes every day better just by existing.

Of course, his existing somewhere where I can actually touch him is a big plus!

Twice the Mom I'll Ever Be

I watched the Secret Life of Bees last night which was wonderful and uplifting in a strange and depressing way. As a way to distract myself from my moroseness (which, shockingly, is a word), I picked up a trashy romance novel.

This authoress has several books all devoted to one family so she thoughtfully provided a family tree so I can keep the characters straight. There are several asterisks on the page. At the bottom, it tells me that each asterisk denotes twins.

Twins.

Which got me to thinking, "What is it with twins these days?"

Everyone is having them (at least all the celebrities). They are so vogue, so hip, so in, so stylish.

Heck, ordinary moms aren't even doing the twin thing anymore. They've got to go for more than just two at a time. (Eight is enough has a whole new meaning these days.)

Which all leaves me feeling like we're trying to ramp up what it means to be a mom.

Again.

First we couldn't just stay at home and eat bon bons and watch soaps.

Nope, we have to have ambition.

But, lest any random company be embarrassed by racing striped underwear strewn all over our house, we still have to be immaculate housekeepers.

Now, it's not enough to be the perfect CEO of a major corporation and run a tight ship at home....

No. I have to have twins.

Singletons are just not enough.

Seriously?

Grrrr....I'm going back to my bon bons and soaps.

And sending my kids off to school where someone else will raise them.

And heck, the racing stripe underwear? I'll leave it on the piano bench so you can see it first thing when you walk in my door.

ANTM Hits the Nest

I learned in college that when life hits crisis mode, it's time to change the hair.

I started my freshman year with waist length hair and ended up bobbing the whole thing shortly after my year began.

Several times since I have chopped my hair to cope with life's changes or to waken myself to something new. (Notice I've never dyed it or permed it - quite frankly I'm a little too vain to want to damage it to the extent that would be required to change my dark, dark, DARK brown color and I've done the perming thing; it is so not attractive on me!)

However, perming and dying aside, I have currently made a vow to let my locks grow as a gift to my hubby (who continually bemoans the loss of my long tresses). So right now, what's a girl to do?

Blog makeover.

Oh, whoops. That should be said with lots of exclamation marks.

BLOG MAKEOVER!!!! (Imagine some hearts, girls shrieking and giggling as well.)

Not nearly as effective in creating a life change but good for an evening's distraction and a smile on my face!

And unlike hair, I can do this nightly without any long term effects.

Hormones Shmormones

I suppose this is what happens with hubris; I was feeling so pleased with myself last month when I was sad over Rob leaving, cried it out and awoke reborn - I was thinking I had this depression stuff licked or at least better understood.

Whatever.

Yeah, my period showed up and so did my tears, my black funk and blue fog. I spent yesterday escaping into work (volunteering at a school function) or into lalaland (I watched a few new episodes of my favorite TV shows).

This morning I finished reading the third book in the Uglies series. Once the book came to an end, the sadness descended.

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate this aspect of my personality? Z described it as being a wind swept moor as opposed to a sunny, tropical beach. But there are days when I am tired of the darkness, the emotions and the drama. I just want to be flatline, still and at peace with everything around me. Sometimes numbness seems like such a welcome relief from the onslaught of drama.

When I'm depressed, everything just seems to grow to gargantuan proportions and I shrink away into nothing; I become a meaningless non-entity and I wonder at being allowed to exist at all. The dishes and laundry and children and need to worship God all become so, so heavy until I can't do them at all and I lie in bed overwhelmed with enormity of it all.

Like I said, drama.

And I revert to a two-year old. "I want my mom! I want my Robert!" which all only serves to make me sadder. As if their presences would solve anything.

And then I think of all the people in the world who have real problems and not artificially induced sadness and I feel guilt.

More drama.

So today I'm back to wondering why it would be such a bad thing really for a 33yo to have a radical hysterectomy and live without any female hormones at all.

But in the back of my mind is my real fear, that all of this would keep going on even without my hormones.

I Think My Days as a Defective Typewriter Are Ending

I'm blue today. I was blue yesterday but I blamed on a lack of sleep (5 hours as opposed to 8/9).

Now I'm wondering if my hormones are swinging and I'm going to finally get that period that my body has been putting off for the last 3 weeks.

See? This is why I didn't rush out to buy a really expensive pregnancy test (although I've heard the ones from the Dollar Store are quite effective).

Blech. This just means that this next week is going to be harder than I planned with mood swings inevitable and a desperate need to keep taking my happy pills.

I'll try to post something more uplifting soon.

I Am A Wicked Stepmother

(Side note: does anyone know when or when not to capitalize in a title? I wasn't going to capitalize the "a" but it looked dumb being the only non-capital in the phrase.)

My daughter had a friend over yesterday. Hailey dressed as Snow White and Emmalouise was Cinderella (although they said that they were both Cinderella) and I was the wicked stepmother. I had to talk meanly to them and order them about.

"Sweep the hearth."

They did.

"Sweep under the table."

They didn't but they did wipe down the tub and the sink in the bathroom with water dampened washcloths.

"Can we do they dishes?" they asked.

"Um...sure...er, DO THE DISHES!"

They did.

Not clean enough to put away but enough to load into the dishwasher. This kept them busy for two hours.

Seriously.

Maybe I should become a wicked stepmother to my kids; I visualize a lot more getting done.

Learned Something Unexpected

So I had a good cry last night (the kind where you can't breathe and you get a sinus headache) and feel remarkably restored. I'm hoping I only go up from here.

I was surprised today to find myself not missing Robert but our furry, four-legged companion instead.

I dropped some lunch on the floor and Carbon did not come running. The kids spill food, bits fly while I make dinner and I actually have to bend down and pick it up!!

I don't know if I can go on like this for the next six months....

Robert's Gone

And I'm sad. Very, very sad.

I know I shouldn't be; we are still happily married, I'm going to see him again in a month and we'll be together come July, which really isn't all that far away.

But...



His side of the closet is empty.

His truck is missing from our driveway.

His dirty socks and wet towels aren't on the floor.

His laugh isn't in this house.



I miss him terribly and it's hasn't even been 12 hours since he left.


I was hoping I wouldn't be this sad.

But I am.

Shamelessly Trying to Win Something

Because that's what I do at 2:30am when I can't sleep.

Pour my soul out to random strangers and look for free stuff.

Yup, at least I'm not maxing out my credit cards shopping online.

But hey, maybe I'll start that at 3:30am....


Anywho, MormonMommyBlogs is having a free giveaway. (That's redundant but it is 2:30am.) All you have to do is comment. I left a comment about stinky socks and they may still have to give me a prize!! It's easy. You can do it in your sleep or in your insomnia. Just do it!

Or don't. I might win if you don't.

Yeah, just ignore this whole post.

I Don't Understand My Man

I am emotionally high maintenance.

I get that.

And really, I've never claimed to be other. While Robert and I were still dating, before there was even a ring in his pocket, I warned him that I was emotionally high maintenance. He didn't believe me.

But now, after all these years, you'd think that he would understand me a bit and realize that I wasn't joking in the slightest when I warned him. In fact, I was probably underestimating my needs. Still, I would think that by now, particularly after these last three grueling years, he would believe me.

I think the man still hopes that one day I'll be less needy.

Last night, as I was agonizing over Robert being gone and needing validation and assurance that I am loved. (I know, I'm one of those women.)

I asked him, "Are you really going to miss me?"

To which Robert scoffed and answered with another question, something along the lines of "Are you going to miss me?"

Finally, after much wheedling and back and forth he said that he would miss me.

I asked the clincher, "Why?"

I think Robert was starting to think he wouldn't miss me quite so much.

He got quite annoyed and wouldn't answer the question and then I got annoyed and what I meant to be a sweet, simple conversation validating our relationship became a bit of an argument.

So he asked me why I would miss him.

I paused to think and he totally thought he won.

Then I said, "I will miss your presence in the home and being able to hug you and kiss you. I will miss talking with you and pawning the kids off on you whenever you get home from work."

Finally he gave me an answer and it was sweet. (I'm his best friend.)

But here's what I don't get, what's the big deal with me asking the "Why will you miss me?" or "Why do you love me?" questions every once in a while. If I asked every night, I could see how that would be greatly annoying.

But every once in awhile?

Isn't that part of being in a relationship, taking time to validate each other and reassure each other of our commitment and love? I look it at as saying "I love you" in essay form. Every once in a while, how could that not be a good thing?

Because every now and then, I do need to hear the answers. I need to know why he would want to be with such a crazy, emotionally high maintenance flaky girl.

Maybe it's just me but I don't get why it's such a big deal.

And yes, I am so emailing this to Robert.

Simply Satisfying Sabbath

Have you ever had a Sunday when everything seemed tailored to your needs? When the messages and speakers just touched your heart and you wanted to stand up and yell, "God really does live and He hears my prayers?" Today was such a Sunday for me.

I've been struggling with Robert leaving. It's one thing to talk about it and plan for it but it's another thing when that day looms ever closer. I find myself smothering him, holding him close trying to memorize the feel and smell of him, trying to imprint myself on his cells and vice versa; as if somehow, if I imprint enough, I won't feel it when he's gone; I'll just take the memories and kisses and love out of my pocket and it will be just like Robert were still here.

Then I flip to the other side: if he's leaving, I might as well just consider him gone and stop needing him, relying on him now. If we're both annoyed with each other when he leaves, then we won't miss each other so much.

It's been hard.

So today, I sat in Sacrament Meeting and my children were crazy and nosy and uncontrollable. I sat there trying to meditate during the Sacrament and I was just overloaded and done. Done, done, done - so done. And then I felt God and heard Him talk to me. He just told me I was great and my offerings were enough and I just needed to rest in Him. So I took a few minutes and sat on His lap and felt Him brush my hair.

The first talk was on hope. The choir sang "There is no other name," and the concluding speaker spoke on faith. Everything reminding me that God is always there. He doesn't leave me for 6 months and He's always online, ready to talk. Everything reminding me who this God is that I believe in and to trust in His hand; we are trying to live the gospel, trying to follow personal revelation and despite all worldly knowledge to the contrary, we are making good choices in this move and trusting God. God will sustain me through these next few months. He will hold me when I'm sad and lonely and overwhelmed. He will cheer me when I manage to get the house clean. He has given me lovely friends, a fabulous ward and great in-laws to help me. All will be well and my faith will grow. If God is who I believe He is, all of this is true.

I need to remember Nephi,

"Nevertheless, I know in whom I have trusted. My God hath been my support; he hath led me through mine afflictions in the wilderness; and he hath preserved me upon the waters of the great deep. He hath filled me with his love, even unto the consuming of my flesh....if the Lord in his condescension unto the children of men hath visited men in so much mercy, why should my heart weep and my soul linger in the valley of sorrow, and my flesh waste away, and my strength slacken, because of mine afflictions?"(2 Ne 4:19-26)

So I was renewed and encouraged by this and loved the feeling of God being behind me and at my side.

Gospel Doctrine was a wonderful lesson on the restoration and the First Vision. I have been struggling with my testimony for the last few years (someday I'll blog about all that). I can't explain the moment but suffice it to say that the spirit bore witness to me that all of this did in reality happen and that I need to stand up and choose and be strong in that choice. I'm a Mormon and I'm happy to be so. I don't need to fit in with the prevailing religious theories that surround me; it's okay to be peculiar and different and, sometimes, lonely. But again, as above, I am with God and He is with me and all else is...extra (for lack of a better word).

I am feeling a bit stronger and bit more ready to watch my husband drive away with his truck loaded for bear. I am ready to face being a single parent. I am ready.

Especially now that I've written all this down and I can reread this on those days when I'm feeling not quite so ready.

My First Post

I did it!! I ripped that band-aid off and, for better or worse, exposed my gospel knowledge to the world. I dared to make myself equal - or share the same blog space - someone I HUGELY admire and respect.

I hope the post is well received (read: I hope they don't kick me out of their club).

If you're LDS, drop by and comment. An "atta girl" is always a good idea.

*whew* Here's hoping this gets easier from here on out.

Missing Unknown Friends

Have you ever noticed that once you get attached to certain blogs/bloggers, even though you've never met them, you begin to worry?

Why haven't they posted yet?

Are they okay?

Are they stranded somewhere on the side of a snowy mountain road desperately surviving on forgotten french fries found in between the seats?

Are they sick?

Have their children been captured by aliens necessitating them to go on an intergalactic mission to rescue them?

Did someone start stalking them? To death?

Seriously.

I worry.

It's what I do.

It's God's plan to teach my husband patience.

But, you all know who you are, please, blog something, even if it's just a signal flare, a "Hello Maraiya, all is well, more news to follow,"

Because I miss you.

*sniff*

Recently Heard At Our House

Lulu was looking at a picture of herself making a snow angel.

Lulu: Angels don't have butts.
Me: Why don't angels have butts?
Lulu: Well, Jesus doesn't have a butt.
Me: Why doesn't Jesus have a butt?
Lulu: Because someone took His butt away; He has a different kind of body.

5yo girls are vastly entertaining.

The Bad News Is I'm Not Dying

I have been sick.

Sicker than a dog, sickety sick sick sick.

It started with laryngitis, lots of whispering and quiet moments at my house.

Then came the occasionally productive cough.

Then came the fevers.

I dreamed of my husband taking my children to church and giving me three hours of silent bliss.

Unfortunately, he got sick too.

So we were all home.

Monday I stumbled to the doctor's office and begged for antibiotics; he gave them to me (God bless that man!).

I took them all last week.

Wednesday I was feeling better, sort of. I got up, showered and went back to bed. I got up, washed the dishes and went back to bed. I had to conserve energy to start a dinner that my husband eventually had to finish. I canceled all sorts of appointments including my crossing-guard duty the first day back at school after break.

So today I was certain that despite the lingering bronchitis and its accompanying cough, I was well enough to live life.

I worked out (which only led to many coughing fits - you know, the kind where you cross your legs tight and pray with all your might that you don't somehow end up peeing yourself?) and I took Lulu to playgroup.

I then had to take a nap.

Then I volunteered at the school and I've made dinner and now I'm ready for bed.

But I have to go back to the school.

Will someone please convince the nice bronchitis virus that I'm really not a good host and he should go infest someone else?

Like a mosquito....

I think that would be a fabulous pairing, win/win as far as I'm concerned.

Anyway, the point of all of this? I think I will be blogging again.

Soon.

If nothing else, I'll start whining after the 22nd about how I'm lonely and how it sucks to be a single parent.

Six months of whining....aren't you stoked?!