Love My Husband, Reprise

At the beginning of this month, I wrote this nice little thought:

This month, I will work on loving my husband, without asterisks. Without fine print. Without inserting any "yeah, but..." comments....My new choice, then, is to not get bothered.

And then, on Valentine's Day (Valentine's Day! Of all days!), I typed out this gem:

It was nice to have a break from cooking - even if dinner was much later than I'd intended.

With shame, I must admit that the comment about the timing of dinner constitutes an asterisk, fine print, a negation of the previous positive words. Dang. I guess I'm not perfect after all.

To say that this month has been all lovey and roses (although there have been plenty of both - and more than usual) would be a blatant lie. Or I would be living on some other planet. Here on Earth, I live in Realityville and I know that I screw up. Often. And my husband sometimes makes mistakes. And my kids are not perfect.

In retrospect, my February goal was a good one. I did better on being less snarky and having fewer sarcastic thoughts. Not that I'm a terrible wife! At least, I don't think I am. But I do have room to improve. Don't we all?  My husbands's quirks don't bother me anywhere near as much as they used to.  I've been ever so much better at not depending on him for my happiness.  I give that one to the Lord, who helps me keep a more even keel (assuming my body is healthy and working properly).

 I want to love with everything I've got and have an amazing relationship and be one of those old grandmas who is still holding hands with her sweetheart while she is falling over.

And I'm getting closer to that. The loving part, not the falling over dead part. (Trent sighs, relieved)

Let Them Eat Fruit

I watched a documentary about food.  Anyone who eats food comfortably and wants to continue eating in comfort should probably never watch food documentaries.

It talks about - among lots of other things - all the chemicals that companies add to our food to make it taste better so we keep buying their food.  It makes me angry and scared - which is, I'm sure, the whole point of the film.

Afterwards, it was time to get Family Home Evening together.  Lesson, song, prayers, activity... treats.  How on earth can I make treats for my family that I can feel good about after I just watched THAT?

So after the short and sweet lesson, and singing some Primary song while Angel waved her arms to lead and Georgie banged an accompaniment on the piano, we combined the activity and treats portion of the evening. We went to the grocery store and bought fruit.  Exciting, no?

I told the kids, after the initial eye-roll, that they could pick out any fruit they wanted.  After looking around the produce section, they got into it.  Alec wanted a big grapefruit, Ben a large, tart Granny Smith apple.  Chris wanted to see what a mango was like, David snagged a bag of grapes, and Eddie was thrilled that he could get a pineapple.  A whole pineapple?  Yes, dear, and we can share.  Angel, having her daddy's genes, made a beeline for Golden Delicious apples; Freddy would not leave the banana display; and Georgie pointed emphatically at a plastic box of red, juicy "drawbwees".  We spent $25 on fruit, considerably more than I would spend on an ordinary FHE treat.  But it was fun and good for us!

We got home and cut everything up.  The boys were all super at sharing, and everyone got a taste of the different fruits.  It really did turn out to be fun.  And we bought enough fruit to have some left over for the next couple of days, too.

As I've been thinking of fruit (while munching on a juicy pineapple spear), I realized that I have been putting fresh fruit in the luxury category.  It's a treat that we have only occasionally.  Why?  I guess it's because fresh fruit is expensive, and we've been living very frugally for the past few years.  But I think I'll be buying more fruit now.  Probably not that much out-of-season fruit, but more than we have been.  And pass the pineapple.

Hoarders and Children

This made me laugh!  And laugh and laugh.  My kids are masters at this art.  I quickly sobered up when I examined the bottom picture more closely.  If the mom just cleaned this room and put everything into a bin, she thought it was clean.  When this happens at our house, we say the bins and drawers are throwing up.  You can't keep things in perpetual neatness when there is this much stuff!

You can't clean clutter, Mom.  Organizing this much stuff is only thoughtful hoarding.  And supporting the container store.  Reduce, reduce, reduce, and then clean.  Only then will it stay clean.

Hoarder Makeover

Hafta give a little bit of back story to yesterday's "finding a new home for baby clothes" post.

Years ago, I got sucked into the Extreme Home Makeover show.  Oh yeah.  We watched it from its opening episode, and then we were regular viewers.  You have to understand that this was the. only. television. we. watched.  Ever.  Our family of seven owned ONE TV, and it was a portable little thing with a 12 inch screen and it weighed half a ton.  It had a built-in VCR, and we stored it in the closet.  We only pulled it out when we had a thousand-mile road trip to go visit family... or to watch Extreme Home Makeover.

But every Sunday night, we'd haul the little gray box out of the closet, hook up the bunny ear antenna, and gather 'round.  We didn't seem to mind crowding all of us in front of that little screen.  It was a bonding experience, I'm sure.

We loved the show.  We loved the happy endings and feeling like we were helping to help people.  We may have even made a cheesy video to send in and have our house redone, but if we did I won't admit it.  

After a while, the feel-good didn't feel so good.  It seemed like the show became more about how wild and extravagant the new house could become and less about the helping.  And after I watched it, I'd look at my own house and feel discouraged.  No matter how hard I cleaned or organized our little 2,000 square foot house, it was somehow never as glitzy as what I had just seen on the TV.  My house seemed to get smaller and dingier and more dated.  I wasn't happy with my own home when it was in constant comparison with Hollywood.  I needed a show spotlighting homes in third-world countries.  Really.

So I quit watching.  It took some time, but my house got a little bit bigger.  Then Jay died and it was bigger still, and sometimes a bit too empty in places.  I moved out of the master bedroom and into the smallest room in the basement because I didn't want the blank spaces.

Years later, I married Trent and his stuff.  (Funny, I don't remember committing to his stuff during the wedding ceremony, but everyone comes with stuff.)  He needed an office (An entire room for yourself?  Why?), and the littlest bedroom was now too small for the two of us. Soon, the Angel appeared, and now the house really was too small.

We moved into a bigger house, and brought all of our combined stuff.  We may have even added to it some. Hey, we have a big family to support.

Recently, I decided (much to the embarrassment of a few of the big boys) to watch my first episode of Hoarders.  I thought that if the home makeover show made me feel bad about my home, then the pack rat show ought to make my house look amazing!

After the show, I looked around my house with anxious expectation... and I saw... junk!  I was so disappointed that I didn't look at my lovely home and feel good in how clean and inviting it felt.  Instead, I saw the little stack of books that live on the piano even though they aren't music books.  I saw the basket of laundry in front of the twin's dresser that seems to always be there.  I saw the picture frames I stuck in the bookshelf when I decided they didn't look right on that wall.  I saw the boxes of random building supplies in the corner of my bedroom even though our closet remodeling job was finished two years ago!

Sometimes these over-full corners and piles of things seem to disappear, and you don't see them anymore.  Although I was chagrined to not see better about my house, I am glad that I see places where I can do some work.  So now I'm decluttering.  And it feels good.  And it looks good.  Gotta go take another load to the thrift store!

Maybe some other time I'll write about the difficulties a minimalist (me) runs into when living with a collector (um... someone else).  But not today.

Anyone Having Twins?

I'm decluttering.  Feels great!

For some reason, I've held on to boxes and boxes of twin baby boy clothing.  Maybe it's because I'm done having babies and the having the clothes are a security blanket or something.  Maybe it's because they are just too darn cute to get rid of.  Maybe I don't know what to do with them.  Maybe I'm really a <gasp> hoarder!

But... onward they go.  And I'm looking for someone who is expecting boy twins.  I have a bunch of good things to pass along:  clothes, baby backpacks, blankets, baby car seat covers, double strollers...  It's an awful lot of gear for such tiny creatures, isn't it?

You know anyone who is "out to here" expecting double trouble of the boy variety?

The Atonement

I teach Relief Society, the women's organization at my church, and I love it.  It is the first time in a very, very long time that I haven't had a church calling as a music person.  Not that I don't also enjoy doing music, and I feel needed there (playing the organ is just not a skill on most people's resumes, and not many folks like to teach the children how to sing.).  But it has been nice to do something else for a change.  I love teaching the women in my ward, and I just love teaching.  But the main benefit of it is that I get to study - really study - principles of Christ's gospel.  These are the principles I use to base my life, to steady my course.  I so enjoy being able to immerse myself in the learning and examining and thinking and questioning that we all should be doing about the things we believe in - religious or not.

The lesson I've been working on is a talk given by Linda Burton at last fall's Women's Conference:  Is Faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ Written in Our Hearts?  Wonderful, wonderful.  She is the general president of the whole Relief Society, which actually is the largest women's organization in the world.  He job is, to me, un-envy-able.  But she pulls it off so well!

So I've been studying the Atonement as I've gone over (and over and over) her talk.  Here are the main ideas:

I am so grateful that I've been knee-deep in the edifying principles of the Atonement this week, because I was blind-sided by some really, really difficult situations.  I've been hurt in a spot that was already wounded, and caught off-guard by something I never wanted to see.  But I've made it through, by relying on these principles.

I worked and organized and wrote and planned and spent a lot of time preparing this lesson.  And then, literally moments before I was to stand up and start talking, I found out that I prepared from the wrong Conference address.  The wrong one!  Noooooooo!

Life happens that way sometimes.  And with His help, we can still make it through (and even laugh about it later).

Roles of a Mother

This morning, I woke up as a princess, as David and Eddie brought me breakfast in bed!  It wasn't Mother's Day or my birthday or anything.  What sweeties they are (can I say that about boys?  I just did.).

The royal feeling didn't last long, as I found myself in the kitchen as a combination short-order cook and waitress, trying to make a suitable breakfast for the little ones.  I don't make different breakfasts to accommodate differing tastes.  I just don't.  But breakfast with two two-and-a-half-year-olds and a four-year old has an awful lot of "more toast, please," and can I have some honey?" and "I want a straw!" and "No, I get the pink cup," and "Oh, I spilled!" that keeps a mom hopping.  Then I was the bus boy, clearing the dishes off the bar (and not finding any tips, I might add.).

Then I became an anger management coach, working with Freddie who had a sour face.  "Are you sad?" I prodded.  "No!" he growled, "I mad!"  We had to work through that with him before he threw something.  He's into throwing things.

I got a wild spell (maybe it was an onslaught of PMS?) and decided to move the red rug from the living room into the family room.  Interior decorators do that all the time.

But before I could actually move the rug, I had to call in the maid to give it a good vacuuming (don't want to carry dust from one end of the house to the other.  Tremendously unsanitary.).  And then the moving guy had to come and actually roll up said rug and heft it into the other room.  Real interior decorators can't get their fingernails chipped, you know.

Georgie came into the room, and I morphed into a linguistics expert as he excitedly yelled, "Mommy so nuddah wup?"  Turns out that he wanted to show me "another rug" that he had found in front of the kitchen sink.  I guess he is following in my <ahem> interior decorator footsteps.

I wasn't being a very good child care worker while the interior decorator was working, so I had to become a grief counselor to deal with the aftermath of the twins getting into Angel's no-longer-hidden stash of Valentine conversation hearts.  He hearts were stolen and eaten, and her real hear was just about broken.  At least that's the story I got.

I was a sanitation engineer and took out the garbage.  Then the recreation manager in me helped three little ones to find warm weather gear, encouraged outdoor play, and suggested snowman-building.  Success!  And momentary quiet.

It didn't last, long, as they came rushing back in with cold toes and frosty fingers.  I was a mediator, trying to settle the warm dispute about who got to sit where in front of the fireplace.

I became an alarm clock, waking all three of the teenagers up.  I know, I used to sleep in on Saturdays when I was a teenager, too.  But that doesn't mean that, as the parent, I have to let them sleep all day.  So there. (sticking out tongue)

I tuned into my motivational speaker wavelength to encourage David and Eddie to get their bedroom clean and finished.  They are almost there - it has been quite a job and they have something to be proud of.

I even operated as a home health aid, offering dressing and toileting assistance.  There may have been some runny noses in there, too, but I can't discuss details due to HIPAA privacy policies.

All before 11 o'clock in the morning.  And if you'll excuse me, now I need a nap.