A Search for Another Good Show

It's been a while since I've blogged. Mostly I throw pictures and things my kids say onto Facebook and call it a day. But I'm in the mood. A few things:

1. The Search for a New Show. A few years ago my friend RaeAnne recommended the TV show Parenthood. I watched a few episodes, but at the time, I had a baby and an angry toddler, and wasn't in the mood for a drama. So I stopped watching it but kept it in my Netflix queue for another time. Fast forward to last fall, when my sister Emma broke her ankle and was stuck on a couch for a few months. She watched it, and raved about it as well. Then my mom told me I should watch it, and a few friends on Facebook were going on about the finale, and I finally thought I'd give it a try. And oh boy, were all those people right! It was the best show, hands down, that I've ever watched. As the title suggests, it's about different parents and their relationships with their children. What makes the show so amazing is that none of the characters are static. Each family goes through real challenges and the characters progress at a realistic pace. There's a family that deals with adoption and infertility, one that has a son with Aspergers, a single mom with a deadbeat ex-husband and two teenagers with anger issues, and a bachelor with commitment issues. The show manages to be dramatic and interesting without becoming melodramatic like a soap opera. My point: Watch this show. Also, now I can't find anything decent to watch because everything seems kind of stupid after this one. Any recommendations?

2. I'm Old. This Saturday is my 20-year high school reunion. I'm pretty sure that makes me old. I have spent the last week scouring the stores in my area for something cute to wear that will magically remove 15 pounds and 10 years. I had absolutely no luck. I couldn't even find a pair of shoes I liked. I'm pretty sure there are decent clothes out there somewhere, but they aren't here. I found about 20 different dresses and skirts that were floral with clingy cheap fabric in neon colors. So those weren't super flattering. Fortunately, my sister has impeccable taste and has mailed me some of her non-floral, made of real fabric skirts. But no matter what I wear, I'm 20 years older than I was when I graduated from high school. But everyone else will be just as old as me. So who cares what I'm wearing, right? 

3. The Office. Tim and I have been rewatching the first few seasons of The Office, and it reminds me that it was hilarious and clever at the beginning. What the heck happened at the end? It got ridiculously stupid in the second to last season, and it seems really weird in retrospect that they tried to continue the show after Steve Carrell left. It would have been the perfect end to the series. Which, by the way, was done perfectly on Parenthood. 

4. Back to Crafting. I used to cross stitch like crazy. I have a stack of completed cross stitches that just need frames. And then I had kids, more specifically, toddlers, who always have sticky hands and want to touch everything and also have endless demands. So the partially done kits got put into a drawer and forgotten. Then something miraculous happened. My youngest child got older. He started keeping his hands somewhat unsticky, and understands the concept of looking with your eyes and not your hands. He plays with his brothers and entertains himself. I have entered a new phase of life, one that involves finishing cross stitches, pulling out my card-making supplies, and possibly learning how to knit. And this has come just in time, because it got really hot outside, and I have no desire to go out and weed my garden. (Also, my almost 10-year-old can totally weed the garden.) It's exciting. I've already finished one kit that has sat unattended for about 9 years. My house is going to start looking like an old lady's, with the amount of needlework that's going to hang from the walls. 

Speaking of being old, it's my bedtime. Time to haul my aching joints up the stairs. 

Tender Mercies

As the title of this post suggests, I'm going to write for a minute about tender mercies. But first a quick update about my Netflix exercise program. So far so good, except this week, because my kids are sick and the second I leave the room they need something. I've also added 100 sit-ups a day, although that has also suffered this week, because, although I can do them in the presence of my sickies, I may as well be in a different room. If I'm not RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, I'm not doing enough. This actually leads me to the main topic of this post.

I pray every day. Multiple times. Even when I'm not kneeling by my bed or sitting at the table before a meal, prayers go through my head during difficult moments. If my 6-year-old can't find that perfect Lego, and I can see a meltdown coming, a prayer goes out from my heart that he and I can find it before the storm hits. I'm not saying I pray constantly, because a lot of the time it occurs to me after an ugly incident that prayer would probably have been a good idea. The point is, I believe in a loving God that wants me to succeed and is willing to help. I also believe that, while there are truly miraculous occurrences, like angels appearing to prophets, most of the time, His work is done through the people in our lives. I think we can see His hand in the tender mercies that happen from day to day.

After almost 13 years of marriage, my husband knows that telling me to improve something in a direct way is completely ineffective, and usually lands him in the dog house. He's become much more subtle. His Family Home Evening lessons are usually about something he knows I could improve, and a few weeks ago his lesson was about being happy by seeking out the positive each day instead of focusing on disappointments. I'm not sure if he was actually aiming the lesson at me, but it was a much needed reminder that I needed to stop being so darn negative. We made a plan to write down three positive things each day so we could end the day on a positive note. When you're home all day with small children, it's easy to get to the end of the day and feel like a failure, to wish you'd been nicer, to see how dirty your house is. Yesterday, after taking care of sick kids for a week, I sat down with my journal and started to realize that Heavenly Father had surrounded me with loving friends and family, who have blessed me daily. Here are just a few tender mercies I've seen this week:

1. A trip to California. The week before everyone got sick, I was filling my nearly empty mommy bucket in sunny California with my old roommate, Rachel Knecht. (Or, the Tall Rachel, as she was called in our Moon Apartments days.) This trip was planned months in advance, and I flew out (first time on a plane in 8 years, by the way) and traipsed around LA with Rachel in the 85 degree sunshine, eating taquitos and meandering through cool old buildings. I didn't know I'd be coming home to a week of sick kids, but without that break, I'm pretty sure I would be huddled in a corner, eating my hair and swatting invisible flies right now.

Me at the beach. I could probably spend an entire week sitting on the beach and listening to the ocean.

2. Really good visiting teachers. I've had great visiting teachers in the past. And when I haven't had any, I was okay. I have a fairly drama free life, most of the time. But right now I have fantastic visiting teachers, that saw my pathetic posts on Facebook about how I was trapped in my house with barfing children, and they showed up with dinner, including dessert. And it was on a day that I had slept for maybe 3 hours and had been on my feet, taking care of a very needy 6-year-old all day. I don't know if they knew just how helpful their appearance at my door with food was going to be, but I may have cried a few tears in gratitude after they left. 

3. Good friends. Really great ladies. I car pool with one of my dear friends, and she's been pulling all the weight this week. And she's being so cheerful and nice about it. She has little kids, one of whom has a napping schedule, and she's not complaining at all about jumping in the car with her little kids and picking the kids up so I don't have to. She's amazing. And I got to get together with her and some other friends earlier this week for a girls' night, where they patiently let me whine about the smells at my house and helped me escape for a few hours. 

4. Tim. He stayed home all morning yesterday so I could put some earplugs in and catch up on lost sleep. He didn't have to do it, but he knew how tired I was (and he was tired too, and still managed to function while I slept). I'm pretty sure if I hadn't gotten that sleep (earplugs are the best, by the way), yesterday would have been really ugly. And I already mentioned the FHE lesson, where he reminded me gently that seeking the positive makes us happier. And here I am, 7 days in, much happier than I'd have been without his positive influence.

I hope this doesn't sound like a laundry list of things to brag about. That's not the intent. This is my way of illustrating God's hand in our lives. I truly believe that, if we take the time to look around us, we will find tender mercies, lifting us above the difficulties we may face. My week of sick kids can't even compare to the challenges people face every day. But we all have days that are hard, weeks that feel long, and trials that seem impossible to overcome. God's hand in our lives may not rid us of the challenges we face, but these tender mercies can smooth the path a little.

Jurassic Park, My Ego, the Netflix Exercise Plan

3 months ago I posted about random stuff. That seems to be the only way I ever blog these days. The reasons are these: 

1. I forget sometimes that I have a blog because I get distracted my my iPad and phone and Facebook. 

2. It takes me 3 months to come up with the right word for what I'm feeling or thinking. Yes, I said "word." So imagine how hard it is for me to come up with an entire post full of words. 

3. Ennui. It's winter, and I find myself struck with a sense of blah and nothing to say. 

So by the time I get back onto my blog and feel like posting something, I've got 3 or 4 unrelated topics to mention (all of which strike me at once, and not one at a time, because of the aforementioned ennui). Thus, the lack of focus on my blog. Now that I've explained myself to my (possibly) one reader, I will post about 3 or 4 unrelated topics.

Dinosaurs. I have three boys, and for some reason we have yet to experience a dinosaur obsession. It seems weird to me. Is it unusual to make it this far with no dino facts being spouted at me incessantly? I think the superhero craze going on right now is partially to blame. That plus Doctor Who. My 9-year-old can tell you EVERY DETAIL about EVERY EPISODE he's seen. But he doesn't know a thing about dinosaurs. You may be wondering at this point what made me think about dinosaurs at all, since my kids aren't thinking about them. I was looking for something winter-friendly to read. You know, light, exciting, not too realistic or depressing. I came across our copy of "Jurassic Park" on the book shelf, and thought I'd read it. I think the last time I read it, the technology they use in the book was still futuristic and not obsolete. (There was an explanation of what CD-ROM meant. I may have snickered.) It was pure coincidence that there is yet another Jurassic Park movie being released soon. I will probably see it. It has Chris Pratt in it. Win. So I read the book, and then I started thinking about the movie (the original that was good, not the lame sequels), and it made me want to watch it. Then I wished my oldest son was old enough to watch it with me, but I'm pretty sure he'd mistake the furnace sounds at night for velociraptors and refuse to sleep in his basement bedroom. But I added it to my cart on Amazon anyway, because I'm old enough to watch it. And that is when I realized how sad and strange it is that my kids have no interest in dinosaurs. I think we need to take advantage of one of these warm days and head over to the Dinosaur Park. 

Piccolo Ego. I mentioned in my last post that I am playing in a Wind Symphony. (It's called the Salt Lake Symphonic Winds. Come to our next concert.) I eased in for the first concert playing 2nd flute. For my non-music friends, that means playing background and harmony, but rarely the melody. And you're with 5 other flutists, so your job is to blend and play in tune. The next concert came around, and it was discovered that I owned a piccolo and had played it in college. So I was put on the piccolo part for our December concert. The piccolo is that tiny flutey looking thing that does the part in "Stars and Stripes Forever" that's high and loud and recognizable. It's not meant to be a blending instrument, nor is it meant for background. It's the frosting at the top of the group. This means when you miss a note, EVERYONE KNOWS. Having had a 14-year break from playing piccolo, I was terrified. I had forgotten how exposed you are. And I slowly remembered that, in order to be successful on piccolo, you have to develop what I'd like to call "a Piccolo Ego." This means you WANT everyone to hear every brilliant note you have in your part. There's no shying away from it. This means that you KNOW you're in tune. Which means you have to be in tune. Which is hard, since you're blowing a huge amount of air across a straw-sized hole and playing far above the rest of the group. I have a tuner that has become my best friend. It has a special pocket in my flute bag and everything. In order to develop your Piccolo Ego, you have to practice a lot. Have you ever been within 5 feet of a piccolo that's playing high and loud? It'll melt your face off. Think of what it's like when you're actually playing the thing. But, by our December concert, I felt sufficiently egotistical, and the concert went well. So they asked me to play it again. On harder music. So I'm going to be melting my own face off daily until early March.

Netflix and How it's Going to Help Me Fit into My Pants. The classic TV show "Friends" (It's a classic. The '90s were a while ago) is on Netflix. My bike is hooked up to my bike trainer in my basement. If I put the two of these things together, I have an exercise plan. I can tolerate riding my bike on a trainer for about 25 minutes. One "Friends" episode happens to be just about that long! There are 24 episodes per season, so if I can manage an episode a day, then maybe by the end of Season One all those cute jeans I bought last spring will fit again! (I may have had an ice cream problem over the summer...) If I get in good enough shape, maybe I'll be able to bump it up to an entire "Gilmore Girls" episode. I'm only allowing myself to watch "Friends" if I'm on my bike, so right now, my plan is working. If they'll put Season 6 of Drop Dead Diva on Netflix already, the pounds will be flying off my midsection. (Does anyone have an in with Netflix? I'm going to California in 3 weeks, and I'd really like my pants to fit sooner rather than later.)

I'm sure you can, in some convoluted way, find a common thread between my 3 random topics. But my brain power is spent. (I blame the piccolo for part of this. I'm sure I lose brain cells due to lack of oxygen every time I try to hit a high B.) So, until next time, which, if my pattern holds, will be in April, happy winter to you!

TV and other stuff

Remember a few months ago when I was all determined to blog regularly again? Yeah, well, things kind of got away from me. So I'm just going to blog about a few things that have been rattling around in my head for a few months.

1. Is anyone else totally disgusted with what has happened with Dancing with the Stars? Remember a few years ago when it was a fun family show with B-list celebrities that were trying to boost their careers, and only a few of the professional dancers ever got a bit scandalous with their costumes? (I'm looking at you, Karina Smirnoff and Julianne Hough.) And Tom Bergeron would shoot the breeze with the camera in between dances, and Bruno had a teensy bit of scruples with his comments and their sexual overtones? I admit I still watch the show, but boy howdy has it changed. For one thing, there are the dances in between the celebrities' numbers. They call them the "troupe," but that's just a fancy name for "kind-of-trashy-almost-exotic dancers." They wear next to nothing and everything is ultra suggestive and sexy. Not cute or fun. Trashy. And my heart broke more than a little a few weeks ago when Julianne Hough, who is now a regular judge on the show, did a special number with all the male dancers, and ended up in what I hesitate to call a costume, because what it really was was a nude body sock with tiny, strategically placed scraps of red lace. Gross. Bruno's comments are outright raunchy now, and you can see the discomfort on the pros' faces as well as their partners' faces. Also gross. I am watching it anyway because Carlton from The Fresh Prince is on there. And he's fantastic. The celebrities' dances haven't actually changed that much. They're still fun, although the female pros have gotten more revealing in the costume department, like everyone else in the show. Len has taken a few weeks off to judge in England, but maybe he's trying to break off from the show. He seems like a traditional old chap that sees it as a real ballroom competition, and I'm guessing this isn't what he signed up for.

2.  I made it into a wind ensemble a few months ago. I had forgotten how exhilarating it is to be in a room full of musicians, all working for the same goal. I had also forgotten how exhausting it is to sit through a 2-hour rehearsal. I'm pretty sure it wasn't that hard for me 15 years ago when I was doing it at BYU. The first rehearsal back in September just about finished me. I was sweating profusely, my contacts had fused to my eyes due to lack of blinking, and my right arm was starting to go numb. I've gotten more in shape now, rehearsal wise, and I'm enjoying rehearsals more and more. And earlier this week, I played in my first concert in almost 12 years. It was fantastic. There's something amazing about being blasted by 20 brass instruments from the back, feeling the floor vibrate with the bassoons and bass clarinets as they hit a low note, and feeling your fingers fly over the keys, followed by enthusiastic applause. I have found my people.

3.  Tomorrow is my son's last soccer game of the season. I'm super glad about that. I'm always relieved when soccer season is over. Does that make me a bad mom? I don't think it does. I think it means we can finally go on a family bike ride on Saturday mornings. I'm just grateful that I only have one kid who wants to do soccer. And by want I mean he asked me to sign him up back in May, and now he tells me before every practice and game that he doesn't want to go. Another reason to celebrate after tomorrow morning. November is sports free (besides BYU football, of course), and I think it's going to be good.

That's it. My brain is now empty. I'm going to go take a shower so I can go meet up with my old Wind Symphony friends from BYU. More of my people.

A Little Spot of Sunshine

The last few weeks were kind of brutal. School started. This is a great occurrence, as anyone who's dealt with bickering siblings for months at a time can tell you. (Unless you're a teacher. Then it's probably dread and horror. Except that teachers are amazing and actually seem to look forward to having my kids come to school and spend all day with them.) But I digress. The problem with my oldest starting school is that my kindergartner didn't get to start for another week. So I got to hear the injustice of his situation for hours at a time every day. And he is unfortunate enough to have an October birthday, which puts most of his friends a year ahead of him in school, so when he was waiting for school to start, most of his friends were already in school and unavailable to play with him. There was a lot of whining. So the first week of school wasn't ideal.

The following week started with Tim departing for the next 8 days. His dad needed help getting a large piece of land ready to sell, and there was a lot of physical labor that needed to be done. Tim needed to help him. It was the right thing to do. But it didn't mean being at home without him was super fun or easy. I'm not going to describe every day of that entire 8 days, but I will say that there was not a lot of sleep on my part. There was a lot of yelling on my part, though. I'm not proud of it. I never pictured myself as that mom that's snapping at her kids all day, throwing adult tantrums because she's not getting her way. But I was that mom. It was horrible. Some highlights of the week include the following:

My 37th birthday. The boys fed me breakfast in bed. It was amazing. I fed the boys Eggos for dinner and ate ice cream and better than sex cake for dinner (I made it for myself. I am always looking for excuses to make that cake). My friend came over that night and we watched Austenland, which totally saved the evening for me. It was a much better day than I'd anticipated. (Also, my friends kept giving me chocolate all week in the name of my birthday, which made the horrible week a lot better.)

 My 5-year-old's first day of kindergarten, where I had a mini-meltdown outside the classroom after dropping him off (I was really stressed and even more tired). He emerged from the school with a huge smile on his face, and told me he loved his teacher and school in general. I almost melted down again from relief.

I had a little break in the middle of the week when my friends took me out for dinner and shopping. That, plus all the chocolate I was given, saved my kids from more mama drama than they'd have gotten. I should have them make thank you notes for all my friends.

The low point was Thursday, my 5-year-old's second day of school, when I moved his bike from its original parking spot at the school so it would be closer to the kindergarten's meeting spot, resulting in a huge panic attack from him when his bike was missing, me running around the school to find him (after a very long bike ride), then running back around when I just missed him, then walking him around one more time so we knew what we were going to do every day. This was followed by a bike ride home with me listening to him scream insults and threats at me. The rest of the afternoon went pretty much the same way. I had promised my oldest a movie night that night, and, after a harrowing hour of getting the younger two kids in bed, I came into the living room to start the movie. This is what I found, along with a bag of mini-Oreos and a box of Mike and Ikes:

  And when I flipped it over:

(Blogger won't orient the picture right, no matter what I try. You'll have to read it sideways.)

"I love you more than Oreos and Mike and Ikes!"

My week wasn't much easier after that, but it didn't seem to matter anymore.

Last weekend Tim had to go out of town again for an 11-year-old Scout camp out. Once again I had promised a movie night to the 9-year-old. Once again, I ended up yelling at everyone after an exhausting evening with very little cooperation. My poor kids looked beaten down. I felt like the worst mom ever. So I sat down and explained that I was tired and it was really hard not to have dad's help, so I needed their help, and I'd try to stop yelling so much. Bedtime happened, and this time, when I came downstairs, there was a tall glass of chocolate milk and this:

I did not deserve it. But I enjoyed it, and I enjoyed hanging out with him and watching a movie together. He is my little spot of sunshine.

Looking at Retirement Homes

On Sunday, my 2-year-old fell asleep on my lap during church. He weighs 35 pounds, and half of that is his head. Which was resting on my forearm. I was holding extremely still, because, as uncomfortable as a dead-weight sleeping toddler is, an awake toddler that's already been to two hours of church is much much worse. So I held as still as my body would allow, and successfully kept him asleep for the entire hour of Sacrament Meeting. I didn't think much about it, and came home and went about the rest of my day. The next morning, though, oy, did I feel it. You know in the cartoons, when they hit the ground and end up in a body-shaped hole in the ground? There was a Rachel-shaped hole in my mattress, and I was 3 inches inside it. And I was pretty sure the Hulk had just thrown me around a few times then slammed me into the ground. After lifting my head three or four times and giving up, I decided the best move would be to swing my legs out of the hole and onto the floor, then ease the rest of myself out of bed one vertebra at a time. Crack, crackle, CRACK. And I'm up. After limping downstairs and getting going for the morning, I figured I'd limber up. But halfway through a shopping trip to Walmart, which was taking a painfully long time due to my excruciatingly slow pace (you try pushing a cart with 2 stout boys and a load of groceries while sporting a backache), I still felt like a fragile old woman. I came to the conclusion that I AM GETTING OLD.

Actually, that whole day was just a confirmation of a suspicion that has been growing since our trip to Lagoon last week. As a teenager and young adult, I'd hop on the spinny rides without a second thought, ride them four times in a row, and happily skip to the next twirling ride. Roller coasters didn't phase me once I stopped being afraid of them. They were just another way to find excitement and hang out with friends. Last week, I went on the Colossus (a roller coaster with 2 loops and a few twists) once with my 9-year-old, and had to hold onto the fence and regain my equilibrium so I wouldn't vomit into the zinnias. And that's a classic ride! I would go on that ride 5 times in a row without so much as a twinge when I was in my twenties. The Wild Mouse made me feel like my neck was going to crack. When Jacob suggested we go on Wicked, a much more exciting roller coaster than the Colossus or Wild Mouse, I knew I couldn't do it. I wanted to ride it. A much younger part of my soul was shouting "DO IT!" at me. But my weary, dizzy, older self said no. We met back up with Tim, whose birthday we were celebrating (I'm not telling you which birthday, but I will tell you this is his last year in his thirties), and I suggested that he take Jacob on Wicked. He said, "Honey, I'm getting old. I can't handle these rides anymore." That's when the thought occurred to me that perhaps I haven't gotten wimpier, just older. My body doesn't have the stamina to endure being pulled in 5 directions over the course of 30 seconds. My inner ear is losing its grip.

So I'm getting old. I understand now why, when I ask my mom to come along to Lagoon with us, she cheerfully declines. I understand why Tim wanted to invest in a pricey air mattress for camping instead of using the older, thinner one. Our bodies just aren't what they used to be.

HOWEVER, my parents have given me hope. They still go mountain biking, backpacking, play tennis and racquetball, ride horses, and go camping. So tomorrow, If I can peel myself out of my bed, I'll hop on my bike and haul the kids up and down some hills and try to feel less than eighty years old.

Remember when...

Remember once upon a time when I actually posted regularly on this blog? I vaguely remember it, but it's been so long it's just a fuzzy and distant hint of a memory. I felt like I had interesting and funny things to blog about, and then, for a while, I had absolutely nothing to say. Funny or otherwise. I have my own personal theories as to why that happened, but the point is that I'm going to make one last effort to get my lazy bum in gear and write a post more than once a year.

Today, I'd like to discuss ice cream. And chocolate. And chocolate ice cream. And treats in general. I was super duper healthy and fit about 3 months ago. I had awesome self control when it came to my dessert eating habits. I was eating veggies and chicken breasts and exercising EVERY DAY. I felt amazing! Then something happened. School got out. We went on a 2-week long road trip with a 2-year-old. It got so hot outside that my extremely calloused bare feet couldn't even touch the porch, which meant no bike rides, no long walks, and no tennis. Which brings me to ice cream. Did you know you can buy a giant box of Nestle ice cream treats at Costco? This box includes Drumsticks, ice cream sandwiches, and Crunch ice cream bars. This is a fact. What is also a fact is that if you lose one habit it is generally replaced by another habit. So I have spent this summer eating ice cream instead of riding my bike. And now I'm sporting a muffin top and can't seem to give up the ice cream. Yesterday, I ate the bottom of my chocolate Drumstick, you know, the part that's solid Nestle chocolate, and suddenly found myself unwrapping a caramel Drumstick. I looked down at my hands and went, "What? Huh. Oh well." Chomp chomp chomp.

Now, I'm sure there's an essential oil that could cure me of my ice cream addiction. I'm sure there are a million quinoa "dessert" recipes that could replace the ice cream. And I've even begun cutting up a bunch of fruit and sticking it in my fridge as a substitute for that second ice cream cone (because I'm still going to have the first one, no matter how tight my pants are). I have even eaten some of that fruit, then congratulated my healthy snack by eating a Crunch bar.

My solution is this: Just like I've replaced my bike riding and tennis with ice cream, I can replace eating ice cream with buying shoes. Bam. Problem solved. (Shoe Carnival is having a buy one get one half off sale right now. Also, I saw some fabulous pink sparkly shoes for ten bucks today while buying the boys their school shoes.)