Repercussions

June. Seriously? It’s been since June? How depressing!

I really did get sucked in.

As it turns out, we discovered that we could qualify for a house sooner than we had expected. So the house hunting took on real meaning and I’ve wasted my summer away, looking, comparing, envisioning, researching, offering… offering… Offering… OFFERING.

Literally offering on 50 or more homes -- sometimes 6 a day.

And each week thinking surely – surely – this is the week we’ll get something. Then I can announce it on the blog and start writing again and life will be so dandy and wonderful.

But it just hasn’t happened. All those offers – those many many many, good, WAY-above-asking-price offers, for naught. Each one beat out by a cash investor. How are we to compete with that?

It’s been disheartening to say the least. Especially to see the types of homes we started our search looking at,  raise 20 -- 40 –- 60 THOUSAND dollars in value just in the last few months.

{sigh} 

{double sigh}

Zion has been coming home from school each day with drawings to show me. I take a glance at them, give a smile, and then toss them in the trash. I probably threw away a good dozen or more before I finally looked. Finally saw what it was that she was drawing.

 

Houses.

Sweet, little, colorful, houses with lots of doors because we need lots of rooms.

I hadn’t looked.

I hadn’t realized.

I had not considered the impact of my actions.

My desire to give my kids a better life has instead left them without one at all.

And these last few months have sadly gone undocumented. All the cute things they’ve said or done, have faded in the distance behind me as I’ve focused all my attention on a computer’s screen.

 

I hope to update at least some of the photographed memories and back date them for historical accuracy.

But for now, I’m shutting down the housing MLS portal.

               Stepping away from the keyboard.

                                           And going to make cookies with my beautiful, talented, little artist.

I think I’ll even plan a date with my husband for Friday night.

One that doesn’t involve walking through any empty houses.

Stone Age

Remember those pre-internet days?

{Are my kids going to think I’m a dinosaur for even being able to remember such a time?}

…that time when games used a board or cards, books had pages to turn, encyclopedias were a necessity, time wasn’t wasted, chores got done, phone calls were made, stories were told, dinner was planned, letters were hand written, and life just seemed. simpler?

We’ve been living without the modern convenience of Facebook, blogger, email, pinterest, google, etc. etc. for two weeks.

No Internet.

And they were annoying, yet lovely two weeks.

I got to know my kids better and spend uninterrupted time with them.

I actually kept up on my dishes and laundry and found spare minutes to sit down at the piano.

I turned to the scriptures to plan my Primary lessons, instead of the internet.

True. It was a little bit lonely.

I felt totally disconnected from the world.

But is that what I really want to feel connected to?

Admittedly, at times (at many times) – yes.

But ultimately – no.

Highlights from last 2 weeks

Last day of school

Swimming time at my sister’s

Memorial Day at Strawberry Cabin

One week of summer

Started boot camp

Summer school began for Evan

Making new friends and Barbecuing

Summer craigslist splurge

While it lasted

Well, it was nice while it lasted. But all good things must come to an end…

including Evan’s good behavior.

 

 

You can take a guess at what he did in class today that prompted

a phone call from the teacher,

the writing of an apology note when he got home,

and the writing out of sentences.

 

 

 

Sentences in which I just noticed he left off one of the most important words. :(

Special

Three out of our Four children are now in Special Ed.

Not sure why, but our kids struggle with proper articulation. 

My husband just got after me for writing that they are in Special Ed – saying they won’t appreciate me saying they’re dumb when they grow up.

I am in no way saying they are dumb. On the contrary – they are all extremely bright. Top marks in every area. They each perform way above their age level.

My actual intention with writing that they are in “special ed.” is to change the stereotype of that label. And to empower other parents to feel no shame in its placement on their child.

In our neighborhood in Utah, there was a sign at the entrance to our street. It read: “Deaf Child Playing”.

It was there long before we ever moved in. For what child, I never found out. But after Taryn was born with a hearing loss, I feared everyone would think that sign was for her.

But so what if it was.

Who cares what people think? That wouldn’t make her any different than the person she already is.

I have to admit that when we first received her diagnosis, I wanted pity. For a few months or more I wanted people’s sympathies. Woe was me for having an imperfect child.

There is most definitely a legitimate period of grief when getting any kind of other-than-perfect news regarding a child. That is completely natural. But then, I kept getting people’s pity. Strangers would see the hearing aids on my beautiful little toddler, and say “Oh, that’s too bad.” And finally I would think, Shove it. You can keep your sympathies and your judgments and your pitiful remarks. I don’t need them any more. And she certainly doesn’t either.

Because she is perfect.

Each of my children are. All children are. Despite their limitations, or handicaps, or set backs. They are perfectly perfect spirits, in perhaps less than perfect bodies. It is simply a trial, be it large or small, to overcome; To look back on and think, No big deal.

Just because they are “different” doesn’t make them any less loved. Any less deserving.

I have three kids in Special Ed.

And I’m proud to say that.

Because I am proud to be their Mom.

Figuring it Out

Evan had an “Ah Hah Moment” yesterday.

Me: Evan I sure would love it if you would put the dishes away for me.

Evan: um… no thanks.

… time passes…

Evan: Mom, can I go play at Jonnie’s house?

Me: Sure, if you put the dishes away first.

Evan: What?! No, I have to do everything around here! Why do I have to do that?! whine whine whine!… whine whine whine!… whine whine whine!

… a good 30 minutes later …

Still whining, he goes into the kitchen.

Then he pops his head back into the family room.

Evan: Mom! If I just do it, then I can go to Jonnie’s house. I should stop complaining. And just do it. Then I can go.

Tah Dah!!!

My brilliant child!

Heat Stroke

His dad picked him up from a birthday party, where he had won an overflowing-arms-load of candy. They drove home and everyone exited the van. The kids left the sliding door open again, Greg thought as he pushed the button on the van’s key ring and went inside.

10. 15. maybe even 20 minutes pass.

Greg asks me, “Where’s Evan?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen him since you guys got home. Maybe he’s at the neighbor’s playing.”

Greg walks down the driveway, past the van, and over to the neighbor’s house.

No Evan.

It’s a hot day. 80 plus. So much for “winter”.

As Greg walks back, he sees a figure through the van’s tinted windows.

He pulls on the handle and the door slides open.

There is Evan. Dripping in sweat. Eyes wide with panic. His hands are holding up the bottom of his rolled up shirt – which is filled with his treasured candy booty.

Evan! Why didn’t you open the door and get out???!!!

“I couldn’t because my hands were full of candy.”

Oh dear, oh dear.

……………………

We’ve had multiple conversations with him since then about his life being much more important than a bunch of tootsie rolls.

Good thing it wasn’t 100 degrees outside! This is a much better lesson to learn in the Arizona “winter” rather than its summer.

Resolution Recap

If I’m finally going to jump back into blogland, I had better start with something light.

Last year I made a crazy resolution. Actually, it was a desperate one. Something I needed to attempt to prove to myself that I am in control. That my life is not willy nilly and I can make conscious, deliberate choices. Daily.

So No Chocolate for a Year was my goal.

It was hard. Definitely hard. At first. I had lots of chocolate laying around. Mostly for my piano students’ lessons - but that’s the candy jar I liked to sneak into after a long day or during a moment of stress.

Holidays were ridiculous! Especially when that first one came along – Easter. And I had to celebrate the glorious resurrection without any Cadbury mini-eggs. It felt blasphemous! :)

Special events became easier. I soon learned that nearly everyone offers chocolate desserts at social functions. Suddenly it felt like I was swearing off desserts all-together. No-thank-you-very-much. That’s not what I signed up for. So I would go home and make up for it with batches of oatmeal cookies and snickerdoodles and cheesecakes. {sigh} That was better, but somehow, not quite satisfying.

I am considering this year’s resolution completion a success. But I have to admit – there were a couple slips.

Like when Greg took me to a Mexican restaurant in Salt Lake. It was the Red Iguana, which is known for it’s mole (molay) enchilada sauce. So I got a dish with the signature sauce and dug in. Bleh!! It was disgustingly dark and probably too sophisticated for my taste. But as I was chugging my horchata to extinguish the taste, Greg suddenly looked at me with horror. “You’re going to be so mad at me.” “What? Why?” “Mole is made from dark chocolate!” …… “You’re kidding! Well that definitely doesn’t count. I didn’t know – and it was disgusting anyway!”

Or when I went to a neighbor’s baby shower and upon entering, was handed a plate of delicious “pumpkin-themed” goodies. I sat down and began nibbling while chatting and oohing and ahhing over the sweet baby gifts that looked equally as delicious. Suddenly my plate was empty, and I went into the kitchen to snatch seconds. Upon sitting down and taking a bite from the moist cookie, I looked at my plate in horror. Pumpkin Chocolate Chip!!!! Ahhh!!! A few of my friends who knew of my resolution were amongst the guests. “Look what I just did!!” “Oh, it’s okay – it was just one bite.” “No! This is my SECOND cookie!!” …… Oh well. That one doesn’t count either, because I did not consciously pick and choose that first plate of refreshments and was therefore not accountable for its contents. Right? :)

Fast Forward to New Year’s Eve Day. One day left. The final leg on this long journey. Easy peasy, right?! Well, we went hiking. We decided to get the kids out of the house and take them to the Superstition mountains. I grabbed a few snacks to use on them as energy-boosters or bribes or both. M&M’s was among them. We stopped for a break and “nandy” was requested by my littlest. I had a couple chocolate pieces in my hand to give her when suddenly she fell and I needed to free my hands to help her up. In the frantic chaos, most of the M&Ms tumbled to the ground, but one, which I slipped into my mouth to get it out of my hand. I helped Taryn up and then realized what after-taste was still on my tongue. Aaarrrrgggghhh!! Are you kidding me? On the last day?! Bah! …… Well, that doesn’t count, because I was saving my daughter and gosh-darn-it, this is the last day anyway! :)

The year wasn’t perfect. Actually – that’s an understatement for the year if ever I heard one. The resolution’s completion was not perfect. But it’s complete.

And I am pretty darn proud of myself.

Now, excuse me while I go and savor a Lindor milk-chocolate Truffle as it melts in my mouth.

Announcement and How NOT to tell the kids

 

 

In case you missed the last post, then here is the official announcement.

Palmer Baby #4!

Making “its” debut near Leap Day

 

I had wanted to do something cute and creative to announce the exciting news to the older siblings. Maybe something like my sister did. But I have had neither the energy nor talent to put a cute surprise together for them.

So this is what I did instead, and will remember to never do again:

With ultrasound picture in hand, I sat the kids down and said, “ You know how Mom has been super sick? Well, I have a picture here of inside my tummy and it shows what is in there making me so sick.”

Evan said in a concerned manner, “Is it chocolate?” [because he knows that I have not been eating chocolate this year and is very diligent in helping me with my goal].

I laughed and said no.

Then I pulled out the ultrasound and pointed to different features.

First I said, “This is what is making me sick. Look, here is a nose…”

Evan’s face immediately wrinkled up…

“Here is an eye, and a mouth…”

“An Eye! eeeeYUCK!!”

“No, Evan. I didn’t eat an Eye. Look, here is a head and here is a body…”

With each feature I pointed to, Zion started to get more and more excited, but I think Evan’s responses were confusing her. And Taryn? Well Taryn twirled around and around in her summer dress and giggled.

“Do you know what it is?”

“A body!???!” Evan’s nose was still wrinkled in disgust.

Finally, I helped them out and said, “No silly. It’s a BABY! Mommy has a baby in her tummy. Did you think I ate a body? That would be so silly.”

Zion’s eyes lit right up. Evan’s face relaxed from its contortments and broke into a smile. And Taryn? Well she stopped twirling long enough to yell “BABY!” and then twirl some more.

Now I’m just worried that they think cannibalism is the way to conceive a child. Oh well. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

Ticking

Well. Darn.

The summer is gone.

My kindergartner starts school tomorrow.

I’ve been about as productive as a solar panel at night (Greg’s analogy for myself – not mine. Yeah, he keeps it real).

No summer tan.

No elaborate projects.

No adventurous day trips.

No making my children’s summer something special or memorable or especially memorable.

I’ll probably cry tomorrow when Evan goes into school, not because he’s a great big kindergartner now and I’m going to miss him, but because I’ll be grieving the time I’ve lost – time I’ve wasted – watching him grow up so fast and not doing everything I could have, or should have, to enjoy the process.

I should probably give myself a little more credit.

I mean he is a smart, good kid, so I must have done something a little right.

But there have been days - Entire days - when I probably spent no more than 30 minutes face time with him. With any of my kids for that matter. Maybe even less. Who knows. They probably don’t. But I do.

I do.

Our firsts are our guinea pigs. Poor pigs. They endure a lot of experimentation. And they don’t often get compensated for their time spent in research. Hopefully their siblings will pay them back for us some day.

Middle Child Syndrome

I feel so sorry for Zion. I know middle children often complain about getting the short-end of the stick when it comes to attention. She’s not even old enough to complain yet.

So I am complaining for her. I can do that.

Because I yearn to give it to her and find myself failing time after time.

Take last night for instance.

It was Mother/Daughter Night for Relief Society.

I was so looking forward to this night – until I pictured myself with both my girls.

Don’t get me wrong. I certainly LOVE them both. But one definitely requires more of my attention than the other. In fact, she sucks it from the other one.

And that makes me feel guilty.

As did the fact that I did not want to bring that little one with me.

Super guilty.

But Greg was taking Evan to a minor-league baseball game and didn’t want to deal with our “Taryn-monster” either. He said he was certain she would run away and get lost in the crowd. Nevermind the stroller with straps excuse I gave him.

So I rolled my eyes and conceded.   

It was a Mother/Daughter night after all. It certainly wouldn’t be complete without both my girls.

But, as I predicted, it was in fact miserable with the Tarynator. She is just too busy. Too curious. Too active to sit quietly in a stroller and too quick to not run around wildly while out of one. And as a consequence – poor little Zion suffered. I didn’t have the time to do “Sparkle Toes” on her like I would have liked; I didn’t get to help her make her popsicle stick bracelet super “girly” like a 3-year-old’s bracelet should be; I didn’t get to hold her hand while we waited in line for pictures, or sit next to her during refreshments, or even stay long enough to play the games.

I’m so sorry Zion. I wish I were better at managing my time with you children. You each deserve all of me. And I’m afraid you’ve gotten the very least of me during your short little life.

Thank you Zion for being so patient. I will get this mothering-thing right just yet. {Hopefully, before you figure out how cheated you’ve been and lash out at me.}

Maybe, until then, let’s you and I go get an icecream sundae.

A Few Reasons to lock the Door

I grew up on a safe/secluded street where the only people that drove by were neighbors or foreigners who took a wrong turn. Because of the security we felt living there, the lesson of home security was never really taught to us. Obviously, we would lock the door at night, but never during the day. The following are anecdotes resulting from that attitude.

*****

9:00 pm circa 1986

While sitting on her toilet, in the back corner of her house, my mother was suddenly startled by the neighbor boy, Baby Steve, popping his head into the bathroom and asking if my sister and I could play. Isn’t that what every woman wants to see while sitting on the toilet late at night?

*****

One Summer Saturday 2002

My little nephew got a hold of the phone and in so doing, he dialed 911. We talked to the operator and told her everything was A-okay and then we went out to the backyard to enjoy the slip-n-slide and pool. A while later I ran back into the house to get something and as I walked in the back door I heard a shout. “Police! Is anyone hurt?! Police!” I was very puzzled and went into the entry way where sure enough, an officer in full regalia was radioing over his shoulder for backup. I gave him a tour of the house and backyard to ease any suspicions of foul play. His final words as he left the house were, “Lock your doors.”

*****

Today 3:00 pm

The house is silent and all heads are laying on pillows and eyelids are soundly closed – including my own. When suddenly I hear a loud “Hello.” Followed by another “Hello” “Hello” “Hello”. He--llo! What is going on here!? Who in the world is in my house yelling Hello? and whomever it is better not wake my kids up! (There is nothing that irks me more than my kids being woken from their naps before I am ready for them to). I leave my bedroom and look over the railing to our front door. There stand two of my son’s sweet, little friends, having entered our home with nary a knock, looking for a playmate. I shush them out the door and tell them we can play after nap time. Luckily, to the well-being of all involved, my children remained undisturbed by this disruption and I went back to my bed with a silly smile on my face.

*****

Obviously, after posting this security/character flaw for the world to see –

I will be locking my doors from now on!

Privacy Policy

Teaching the concept of “Privacy” to my children is a herculean task.

For instance, my 5-year-old will yell at his sisters to get out of his room when he is getting dressed.

But if he wets his pants, to the tiniest degree, he will strip down to his birthday suit and streak through the house at a tortoise’ pace, even past company, without a care in the world of the indecent exposure, until he gets to his room where he shuts the door.

*sigh*

He has been getting better at not entering his parent’s bedroom if the door is closed. I have to give him props for that. But yesterday morning, just as I was stepping out of the shower, he burst into the bathroom with my phone in hand.

“The phone is waiting for you,” he pants - as he had obviously been sprinting up the stairs to deliver it to me in a heroic fashion.

Instead of reaching for the phone, I tried to quickly wrap a towel around myself.

But it was too late.

“Whoah! Those are BIG!” he belts.

I hoped he was talking about my mascara-dripping eyes and I cringed at the thought that whomever was on the phone knew exactly what he was was talking about.

 

Lesson Learned: Always lock the bathroom door, no matter how “trained” you believe your children to be.

Class is in Session

POP QUIZ

1. How many glasses of water should you drink each day?
2. Which President established the emancipation proclamation?
3. In what month should you plant onions?
4. Which household product is most effective at cleaning countertops?
1. Bleach
2. Vinegar
3. Ammonia
4. Baking soda
5. The line “To be or not to be” comes from which play?
1. King Lear
2. Romeo and Juliet
3. Macbeth
4. Hamlet
6. What are the two sections of the Spirit World called?
7. Who won American Idol last night?
8. T or F A Senator can serve only two terms?
9. If your child’s temperature is 101 degrees F, you should
1. put him in a warm bath
2. call the doctor
3. rush him to the hospital
4. give him ibuprofen
10. What is the law of inertia?
1. E=mc²
2. amount of resistance to change in velocity
3. two or more things functioning together to produce a result not independently obtainable
4. a² + b² = c²

^{I had to give a lesson at Enrichment tonight about the importance of education. Not necessarily a formal education that results in a fraying tassel and a dust-collecting diploma – but a CONTINUAL education. And while this is something I am definitely not personally very good at, it is something I want to be. {like learning how to form my sentences in a grammatically correct manner – you caught that right}.}

^{So here’s some food for thought: If…}

Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life,

will rise with us in the resurrection

And if a person gains

more knowledge and intelligence

in this life through his diligence and obedience than another,

he will have

so much the advantage in the world to come

D&C 130:18-19

Then…

What intelligence do you want to rise with you???

Bad Parenting 101

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I took him to school any way.

We had been looking forward to it for weeks.

I made arrangements for my girls so I could chaperone. So I could witness his first field trip and first bus ride.

We weren’t about to let a little croup stop us.

Poor little thing tried his hardest to have a good time.

I could see it in his eyes.

But overshadowing that spark was overwhelming exhaustion and drowsiness

and a torrent of coughing.

 

But at least he can say he has ridden a school bus!

 

I wonder what the team t-ball pictures will look like tomorrow…

Keeping it Real

I don’t know what my deal is.

I go in these waves.

Waves where I ache for validation.

Yearn for recognition.

Demand appreciation.

 

Even though I know. Even though I am fully confident that I am where I need to be – it doesn’t make it less challenging. And the funny thing is, it’s not even all that hard. I mean, who complains about a full-time job that allows daily naps, making cookies, never wearing a bra if you don’t want to, going to the park, reading a book, pajama days, watching movies, sneaking snacks, and playing games? Really, how selfish am I?! It’s not so much the physical aspects of being a SAHM that are so draining, as it is the mental and emotional challenges.

There is nothing glamorous about not wearing a bra. There is nothing dignified in crawling around on the floor. Nothing rewarding about scrubbing vomit from the carpet or poop from baby clothing.

And yet it’s what I chose. What I wanted… What I want. 

My Grandpa says I’m smart - says I could be a millionaire if I stopped having kids. I don’t pretend to claim that is true. But sometimes it makes me think. And then I feel stuck. And resentful. And useless.

And… well… I don’t like any of that.

So instead, I look for validation. And find it in the most unlikely of places. And cry, while reading to my boy, as we ditch church, because he’s sick, and puking, while both in our pajamas - a lovely story from a children’s magazine.

A validating one.

What Would You Do?

If John Quinones would have been there, I’m sure I would have failed.

Scenario:

You arrive at the park for a morning of fun with your two young, impressionable girls only to step out of the van into a bombardment of profanity -- Not aimed at you, but screamed at another for the world to hear. Two individuals (a husband and wife) are under the pavilion, yards away from the playground, having it out - dropping the “F” bomb as frequently as the word *the*, mixed with a fine assortment of other colorful vulgarities. Your children race off to the slides.

What would you do?

a. immediately leave, despite the inevitable tantrum that will erupt from your kids

b. assume that the presence of other humans, especially kids, will bring awareness to the individuals and result in, at least, a quieter argument

c. ask the couple to tone it down and try to diffuse the situation

d. let the kids play – they’re oblivious anyway

Scenario Twist:

Now, what would you do if upon glancing at the couple you discover that it is a woman you know hurling all of those “F” bombs. An acquaintance. A mother of a child in your son’s class. A mother you see every day – two times a day – as you wait in line to sign your children in and out of school. And she has her other two children in tow. Children the same age as your innocent, impressionable, little girls. Children caught in the middle of the battling brigade. Children obviously bothered by the tension. Children whose presence did not yield a calmer tone or more civilized language, and neither did the presence of your own.

What would you do?

a. still get your kids the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of there

b. risk daily embarrassment, perhaps on both sides, by asking the couple to tone it down

c. stay and try to create a diversion for the children caught in the middle – for their sakes

d. secretly hope the argument will erupt into physical violence, because then the answer would be clear

What did I do?

Well, I’m still not sure what the best response would have been. Because what I wanted to do, and what I did do were different things. And that is always difficult to look back on.

What I wanted to do originally, was option *a*. I wanted to leave as soon as I opened the car door. But I knew my kids wouldn’t go without a fight. I’m sure their screams wouldn’t have been heard over the others’ anyway, but I let them stay. I naturally believed that *b* would be a viable option. Seriously, who doesn’t stop or at least tone their arguments down in front of strangers and especially kids? Still baffled by that one. And *c*, well I probably would have had the courage for *c* if I hadn’t have been thrown off by the twist.

So, we played. I tried to keep a conversation going with my girls. Tried to drown-out the overwhelming noise behind us. Tried to plug my ears mentally. And as much as I wanted to get my kids out of there, I wanted equally as much to get their kids out as well. So when their 3-year-old walked a few yards into the grass to blow on dandelions, I seized the opportunity to invite him to play with us. His younger brother naturally followed and I felt a sense of relief. Surely this argument won’t last long. Who has the lung capacity to keep that up?

Well, apparently they do!

I tried to keep their boys occupied with slides and ladders and raining rubber chips and tunnels and peek-a-boos and airplanes and lots and lots of dandelions. But 40 minutes later, my ears and heart had had enough. I scooped my girls up and headed toward the pavilion, straight for the assailants.

The arguing stopped. I gave the mother a smile of recognition. Then I told her how darling her two little boys are. How far apart are they? Wow, only 12 months? You sure have your hands full. That’s amazing. It’s nice when they get older and can entertain each other. I love their names. Evan sure likes your little girl in class. The weather is so beautiful. Winter is always so hard. Well, I better get my kids in the car. See you later!

phew! Small talk. Small talk is wonderful.

We left. Who knows how long they continued to hash it out. All morning I couldn’t stop thinking about them. What they needed was a mediator. But I was too scared to be one. The root of their argument was actually so simple. He felt worthless as a provider because he didn’t have a job and she felt unappreciated and stuck as the care-taker of their children. I could relate on both sides. I guess the distasteful language is what took up all the seconds on the clock.

I made her a card. Told her I thought she could a use a little pick-me-up. Told her I’m sorry things are so hard right now. Told her it will get better. Told her that her children are adorable. Told her she is an amazing mother. Told her she should be proud. Told her she is not alone. Told her my phone number. Then I stuck in a Cold Stone gift card I had and some homemade caramels I made last night and took it to school –-- where I saw her as we stood in line for our children –-- and handed it to her.

She called me later in tears and said *Thank You*.

I still don’t know what the best option would have been while at the park.

But I am confident the right decision was made in the end.

And I’m glad I stayed.

Bloom Where You are Planted

 

Once Upon a Time we moved from Arizona to Utah where all Four Seasons come and go with confident beauty. And as a result, the fruits of your Fall labors will magically appear in Spring splendor after a long, cold winter. I love to look at tulips, daffodils, lilies, or bulbs of any kind popping out of people’s yards. And so, on a whim our first fall here, I decided to buy myself one of those big bags of onion-looking things and started digging.

But what do I know about planting tulips? In the desert, we know very little about bulbs – unless its the bulb of a black light used in searching for scorpions around your yard late at night. So while placing the balls into the dirt, I thought of a carrot whose pointed end was the root. And I put those pointed ends deepest into the mud, covered the bulbs up, and waited anxiously for spring.

I remember telling my Mom how excited I was to have tulips. She then related a comical story about her friend who spent hours one fall planting bulbs, only to realize afterward that she had put them all in upside-down. What a silly thing to do, I thought.

Months into spring, a few thick green leaves finally poked themselves up through the dirt and stretched their rubbery skins. But that spring’s harvest was very disappointing and only a hand-full of bulbs actually bloomed. What a waste.

It wasn’t until the following Spring that I noticed one of the bulbs had become uncovered. Upon further exploration I was astonished to find the stem of the flower had done a complete 1-80 and wrapped itself around the bulb in order to push up toward the sunlight. {Oops! I guess I’m sillier than I thought. Wish I could call Mom and tell her about this.}

Now, every spring I look at my multi-colored, tulip-lined back planter with awe. I never did replant those bulbs. Instead, I ponder with amazement how much strength and determination those little plants have to muster, in order to bloom where they are planted.

It’s a reminder to me. That no matter the rocky soil; no matter the long, harsh winters; no matter if someone picked you up and dropped you on your head; no matter if circumstances are less than ideal and ideals are left to circumstance – I can bloom.

In radiant, colorful splendor – I can thrive.

Rated "R" for Repentance

In my hand was a ticket to a rated "R" movie.

I was 17. I had never seen an "R" movie and had commited to myself that I never would. There are some commandments that were concrete. Easy to avoid. Easy to say no to. For me, they were drugs, alcohol, and rated "R" movies.

But my date bought it for me. And it was to a show I certainly wanted to see... for its historical value - Saving Private Ryan.

I sat down in the theater with the other kids in my group, completely uneasy. I felt sick to my stomach and the movie hadn't even started yet.

We had only been there a minute or less and I turned to my date. He quickly discerned the panic in my eyes and to my HUGE relief suggested we go see a different show.

Moral crisis averted.


And that was my experience with rated "R" movies...

until the other night.

Occasionally our satellite provider offers free upgrade channels for a month as a trial. To lure you in. Well, being the cheap-skates that we are, we definitely take advantage of these opportunites and currently have about 20 hours of recorded movies on our DVR. I recorded one show I had heard great things about for its social/political/environmental commentaries and pushed play.

Within the first 2 minutes, I immediately realized this "R" rated movie was not Edited as the "F bomb" was dropped with an overwhelming explosion in my ears.

hmm.... but I began to rationalize with myself....

This is an unedited rated "R" movie. But I have a remote in my hand. And it can skip forward. I am a good judge of inappropriate scenes and won't hesitate to use that button. I will just edit this movie myself. It will be just like it is edited for tv - probably even better. I shouldn't feel bad about watching this.

So I continued watching. 5 minutes. 10 minutes. 20 minutes. My finger lay on the trigger of that skip forward button. Problem is, I was planning on using it for inappropriate "scenes". Scenes that I could easily foresee and pull the trigger on. But I quickly found that my weapon of defense was useless against inappropriate language. Language that was impossible to anticipate. Language so vulgar I cringed with each utterance. Within those first 20 minutes, the "F" word was used at least as many times combined with a laundry list of other foul words. But the story line was so engaging. I soldiered on. Finally, it became too much. I pulled the trigger. The delete button.

It's been two days now.
I can't get those words out of my head.
My ears still ring with them.

You see. Besides having never watched a rated "R" movie, I have also never said a swear word. I've thought them. Oh believe me. And as my kids get older and their disobedience becomes more criminal, I think them aplenty. But I have still never let one fall from my lips. Not even the biblical ones. Just thinking them as often as I do, dirties me enough. And to add this new filth to my already vulgar thoughts has been draining. I'll be scrubbing their imprint off my brain for a long time.

I grew up around sailor language. My mom was a swearer. Which I thought was funny, because she always said:

"A person who swears simply lacks the vocabulary to express themselves appropriately."

I always hated hearing those unbecoming words come from her well-educated lips. Mostly because when those words were hurled by her, they were usually aimed in my direction. And that made them even harder to hear.

So I use lots of euphamisms instead. Euphamisms that still make me cringe whenever I hear my innocent children repeat them. But they are better than the alternative I suppose. My vocabulary is obviously not as extensive as it should be when I'm presented with certain situations.

------------------
I'm not exactly sure how to wrap this post up, other than to say the experience I had this weekend has strengthened the resolve I made as a young child to never watch a rated "R" movie. Our leaders give directives for a purpose. To keep us clean. To keep us happy. To lead us in the direction we should go to end at the destination we desire. Why shouldn't I try my darndest to do what they say?

TMI? - Probably

I call it the Mamita Factor.

Every mother dreams of her son going on a mission, working hard, strengthening their testimony, and learning life skills. You know the life skills I'm talking about - some of those domestic ones that inherently come with living on your own. Cooking - even if it is just tuna mac, cleaning, ironing, picking up after yourself. Things like that. Right? Am I wrong here?

Well, imagine a mission where all of those things were done for you. Glorious right?

Maybe for the missionary. But not for the future wife! The repercussions of this are dreadful for the wife-to-be.

On Greg's mission in Chile the missionaries live with "Mamitas". They are usually single or widowed older ladies who open their homes to the missionaries. They get room and board, someone to cook them all their meals, do their laundry, iron their shirts (and even their garments!), wash their dishes, clean up their messes... you get the idea. {sigh} Wouldn't that be something!!?

Needless to say, from that experience, Greg lacked growth in those skills. So I am still trying to cultivate him to some degree.

He has one weekly chore at our house. Granted, he helps willingly in other areas when he is asked. But I hate having to ask and I especially hate being a nag. So the one chore that is assigned to him, I try to bite my tongue about when I see weeks of neglect go by. The one chore you ask? Garbage. Yes, garbage. And weeks go by? Yes and Yuck! Especially when the leftovers of that lovely time of the month sit and sit and sit in the bathroom waste basket.

I know I know. I should just take care of it.

Especially since something like that is my mess.

I know.

But I'm trying to teach a lesson here. Right? Or am I the only one getting the point of that lesson?

The other day I found Taryn walking around with something in her mouth and hand. Something that looked like it did not belong in either.

"Taryn, what do you have?"

She bolts, like she always does.

I catch up to her.

What do I find?

An old and used, wrapped up maxi pad!

******************

Time to give in?

Nah!

Christmas List Makeover

I think it's good timing to have Thanksgiving come right before Christmas. It's good to be reminded of how blessed and fortunate we are before we start writing our wish lists that suddenly become two pages long, and opening [let me count... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven ...] eight web browsers of supposed "cyber monday" deals and filling online shopping carts with unnecessary, yet seemingly necessary items. Reminds me of the conversation I had with Evan today.

Me: Are you cold at school when you go out to recess?
Evan: No, I'm warm.
Me: Okay, but let me know. Because if you start getting cold we can bundle you up with warmer clothes. Like a snow hat or we can buy you a scarf.
Evan: A scarf? Thomas has a scarf. Everyone has a scarf. Yeah, I want a scarf.
Me: Is a scarf something that you want, or something that you actually need?
Evan: It's something that I NEED because everyone has one!

hm...

I'm going to go ahead and close all those web browsers now.