You Never Know

My baby turned 7 yesterday. I can't believe that it's been 7 years since I popped out my last kid. I wonder if I would have appreciated the experience more if I would have known it was the last time I would go through the wonderfully horrendous experience we call labor? I wonder if I would have appreciated the late night feedings, diaper changes and other baby events more if I would have known that every one of them brought me closer to the end of that era in my life?

Who's to say? I do know, though, that about 3 years ago, I discovered that Doug was the end of the line and since then, I've been in much less of a hurry for him to grow up. Now every event with him seems somehow more significant to me. It's a good thing that he's such a great kid-- I could really spoil him rotten if he wasn't.

Brings me to the next subject, in a round about way-- how you never know what's coming at you from minute to minute. You might think that you've got it all figured out, and then life throws you a curve ball.

Let's say that you woke up one Thursday morning, went to your Spin class, went to work (with a shower in between there, of course), helped in your kids' classes, went to the grocery store, then walked in your house with the intent of running to see the lady that you visit teach really fast before your kids get home. Right as you open the door, however, let's say that your cell phone rings and you see that it's your daughter. When you answer, she might say something like this, through her sobs, that is: "Mom, I think I broke my foot."

You would probably jump in your car, nearly hit your neighbor's dog for the 4th time that day, and drive quickly to the school. You might find your poor daughter being pushed out to your car in a wheel chair by a teacher-- not her own teacher, mind you, because her own teacher told her to be tough, put her boot back on and head home. Nevermind that your daughter can't put any weight on the foot-- and even your untrained eye can see a noticeable deformity in the foot.

If all this happened to you, you would probably find yourself spending the rest of the afternoon at the instacare, where they would tell you that your daughter has a spiral fracture in her 4th metatarsal. Suddenly, all of the plans and routines you have established are out the window for the next little while, as your poor little princess will be on crutches and excused from school for 4 days until they can cast her foot. You realize that you will now be driving Princess to and from school every day for 4-6 weeks. It might occur to you that your plans for your son's birthday party on Saturday are going to need some re-vamping.

I'm just saying.... you never know what can happen in a minute or two!

Kim Can Run

I'm back.

Sort of.

I haven't made up my mind for sure yet, but quite honestly, I miss writing.

I haven't written anything since, well, probably my last post. No new Ensign articles or even Chicken Soup stuff. Not even a single cheesy Christmas poem this year.

It kind of feels like something is missing.

So here I am. Can't guarantee anything, but at least for today...

So my post today is about running. And how I've always HATED it. I remember the first time I had to run a mile in 7th grade. I'd never run that far before. I ran one lap hard, then had to walk. I felt like my lungs would explode. My heart pounded so hard, I'm sure that other people could hear it. I could taste that coppery (read blood) taste in my mouth. From that day on, running was my nemesis.

I have avoided running since that experience. When absolutely forced, I would run a little (until no one was looking) then walk. I will admit (and repent) that I've even been known to skip a lap. I know. Shocking.

Point being, I have never run a whole mile straight in my life.

Until this week.

In August, I decided to branch out from my nearly exclusive cycling routine and join the gym. I've been cross training. I do the elliptical machine. I lift weights. I've done spin and pump classes. And, I even started using a treadmill.

Yep, I run.

And, for the first time in my life, on Monday I ran a mile. My heart rate stayed around 155. I wasn't sucking wind. I COULD HAVE RUN longer, but I didn't have time.

It wasn't super fast. I'm sure it wasn't pretty. (Think more up and down than gazelle-like grace.) But, I did it. And it felt dang good.

I'd like to say that all of this work has made me a svelt size 6, but truth be told, it hasn't made too much of a difference weight/size wise. However, for the first time in a while, I feel STRONG.

And that's worth it.

Ramblings of the Sleep Deprived

It's the first day of summer. I know it's not the summer solstice yet, but I swear that this is the longest day of the year.

At least at my house.

We are remodeling our master bedroom / bath, as well as tiling the kids' bathroom, so as to prevent FURTHER water damage to the floor. (Yep, all that splashing has caused a problem.)

I have wanted to do this for 10 years or so. Besides the obvious expense, it has taken me that long to get up the courage to attack the floor to ceiling wallpaper.

Not to mention the idea of having no room or bathroom for 2 weeks.

I've slept in the same bed essentially since I was 14. My parents gave me a waterbed for Christmas that year, and, for lack of another bed, it came with me when we got married. (Along with a student loan-- it made for quite a dowry.) Layne ended up loving the waterbed, so (even though we've replaced the mattress with one of those really fancy waveless ones), on my trusty bed we still sleep.

The biggest problem with the waterbed is that it makes it really hard to sleep on any other bed. Let alone on a crummy air mattress in the basement.

For 2 weeks.

I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep last night. When I woke up, summer had sprung (all but the weather, that is) and I was left to face three kids home all day, the start of every-day swim team, not to mention rain which is keeping said kids (and their friends) inside of my torn-apart house.

I can't even hide in my room-- it's a war zone.

To top it all off, the contractor didn't even start today as promised. I "slept" on the air mattress for nothing last night.

I know, it will all be worth it.

Unless I kill someone before that it ever gets finished and I end up in jail.

Are sleep deprivation and really-long-cooped-up-summer-day-insanity valid pleas in a court of law?

My Own Book Club

Not even going to try to catch up. Not going to explain my absence either. Does that make me mysterious?

Just going to post about some stuff I've been reading lately.

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. Free book on Kindle, so why not? It is a little Gothic-- reminded me of Edgar Allen Poe. A little too descriptive in some areas, but very interesting premise-- a young man has his picture painted and makes a wish that he could stay the same forever and the picture would be the one to grow old and show the effects of life. I'll give it a B.

Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. A little disturbing, but very well written. Only problem for me is that the second book in the series, Catching Fire, is not on Kindle and the waiting list at the library is huge. Giving this one an A-.

The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson. Hilarious narrative about growing up in the 50s. I've read a couple of books by Bryson-- he's great at weaving facts in with his own quirky take on life. Loved the part about the Atomic Toilets. Giving this one an A- too.

The Prince of Mist by Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Bought this one on my Kindle on accident, but it was pretty good. Not as good as Shadow of the Wind by Zafon, but entertaining nonetheless. It's a scary story-- reminded me of my Stephen King and Dean Koontz days. I think that he seriously over-estimated the abilities of a 14 year old boy, though. Giving this one a B-.

Never did completely finish The Elegant Universe by Brian Greene. Stayed with him until he started talking about String Theory, then had the feeling that String Theory is bunk, so I stopped reading. I had a much better grasp of Einstein from what I read, though. Can't give this one a grade, as I didn't rightly finish it. Don't you get an "i" on your transcript for an incomplete?

Sprung!

I'm bored.

None of the things that usually entertain me are appealing. At all.

I don't want to read or surf the 'net. I am obviously ignoring my blog. I have no desire to cook or bake. I don't remember the last time that I got my camera out of its bag.

I actually spent two hours on the couch watching Jackass with my husband and boys (and yes, the fact that I let my boys watch Jackass is probably the most telling symptom of all). I did put my foot down when they showed someone squeezing the most disgusting blackhead I've ever seen. I literally started gagging, which Mike found hilarious.

What the heck is the matter with me?

Is this what they call spring fever? If so, consider me

SPRUNG...

(Can you take Advil for this fever???)

They say that gratitude is the best antidote to whining. I'm willing to try anything. Here goes my random list of things for which I'm grateful for on this blustery day in March.

• My cute little hyacinths and tulips peaking their way up through the cold ground. They can't wait for spring either.
• My nice, warm, comfy bed. I've spent 6 rough nights in hotel beds in the last month or so and I have to say, there's no place like your own bed.
• Old Navy. They had an awesome sale last week and Em and I got lots of bright colored clothes. They look kind of funny hanging next to my black, navy and brown blah winter wardrobe. Kohl's should be mentioned here for the great white jacket that I picked up for only $18.00!
• Eve. I ended up teaching last Sunday (always the peril of being the 1st counselor in the Relief Society) and had a chance to study in depth about the Mother of All Living. I learned SO much and got a hugely different perspective on her, the Garden of Eden, and the Fall. More than that, I remembered just how much I love to study and teach the gospel.
• My bike trainer. Yes, it's true. My time spent on this torturous beast during the winter allowed me to, well, kick my husband's trash on our first ride together this season. (Sorry, Honey.) It will only be this way for the next couple of weeks until he gets his form back, but I'll take it while I can get it.

There.

I do feel better. You can try my prescription too, if you'd like.

I'll just bill Obama-Care.

You're welcome. :-)

Holes In The Knees

It's been a while. I know.

I'd like to say I have a good excuse, but I really don't. The best thing I can come up with is that my brain has holes in the knees of its pants.

Yep. Holes.

I will explain my weirdness.

In folding my laundry the other day, I realized that every pair of my boys' jeans-- the same jeans that were perfect and new in August-- now has at least one hole in the knees.

Herein lies my dilemma. I like my kids to look nice. I buy them relatively nice clothes. I don't let them wear stained t-shirts or even t-shirts with cartoon characters on the front to school. (Well, except for Doug's Mario shirt that I let him wear as a bribe on the days he balks at going.)

And now, they are the kids with holes in their knees. (Consolation: they aren't the only ones.)

My options are to buy new pants (which they will wear for about a month before their uniform changes from jeans and hoodies to basketball shorts and t-shirts), or to just pretend I can't see the holes until it shorts-time.

I'm leaning toward the latter.

This whole attitude is what I mean by holes in my brain-pants.

I'm just done. With. Everything.

I have reached that point where something has to give soon because I'm half-passed thread-bare. There has been too much work, church stuff, sickness, messes, school crap and cold. I have reached the limit.

My friends think I've become a hermit. My kids are tip-toeing around me. My husband sent me flowers in an attempt to cheer me up.

I'm ready for a good spring clean and fixer-up. I'm not talking about patching the holes.

I'm talking about throwing out the brain-pants for a brand new pair of Capris. Or maybe some Nike cycling shorts.

Bring on the flippin' sun already!!!

Cheerleaders vs. Maleficent

Four days is a lot of days to spend at Disneyland.

I love Disneyland. I love taking my kids there and just living in an unreal world for however long our funds hold out.

But we've never done four days before.

Two was not enough. Three seemed just right. But, four let us experience D-land in a way that we never had before.

On day 4, we spent most of the day doing things that we never thought we had time for before. We saw the Muppet 3-D show. (Better than I expected.) We toured the sour-dough and tortilla factories. We tried to see Aladdin, but the National Cheerleader Association had ALL of the tickets reserved for the whole day.

Side note about that: I hate cheerleaders. Especially cutsie pre-teen ones with crazy hair dos and glittery make-up on their faces. I 'SPECIALLY loathe the ones who were staying in our hotel and who were playing tag up and down the halls until two in the morning. My hugest bad feelings, however are reserved for their mothers who were walking around in jackets with their names on them and "cheer mom" written beneath them-- packing cans of hair spray and tubes of lip gloss and trying to live vicariously through their shallow little daughters.

Did I mention that they took up all of the Aladdin tickets? (I know-- tell you how I really feel?) My 10 and 12 year old nephews did NOT share my sentiments. If they thought that Disneyland was the happiest place on earth before, then Disneyland flooded with teenie-bopper cheerleaders had transformed into absolute heaven.

But I digress.

One of the attractions in California Adventure is an area where you can learn to draw cartoons, talk to an animated figure from Finding Nemo, and take a test to see what Disney character is most like you.

Both of my boys were Tarzan and Emalee was Jane. Pretty apt, I'd say. Layne was Jiminy Cricket from Pinnochio. I thought that was pretty funny until I got mine.

Any guesses?

Anyone?

I was thinking something along the lines of Mulan-- strong but beautiful, or maybe Elasti-girl from the Incredibles.

It told me that I am most like:

Maleficent.

Are. You. Freakin'. Kidding. Me???

It said that I can put people to sleep. (Spinning wheel, anyone?) It said that I eat people for lunch. It said that I like things my own way.

On second thought. Does Maleficent eat cheerleaders???

Middle Child Mania

My last post was number 300.

300.

Can you believe I've had that much to say?

Don't answer. I know. You probably can't believe it's only been 300.

But I digress. There are more important things to write today.

For instance, I could write about our FANTASTIC trip to Disneyland, but that might just make you jealous. I could write about the hilarious experience of traveling with 8 children. (I may still do that.) I could write about all of the nice email messages and comments I received from my last post-- I'll have you know that I've done very well with those resolutions, by the way.

Instead I'm going to write a belated birthday message about my wonderful son Michael.

Michael is the perfect middle child. He rarely makes waves. He's always content. He doesn't ask for much-- and because of that, sometimes he doesn't get the attention he deserves.

We decided to make him a rock star for his birthday-- so along with my sister's family of 7, we all flew off to Disneyland to celebrate.

Before we get to his cute pictures, let me tell you just a little bit about how incredible this kid is.

At least 3 or 4 times a week, he runs up after breakfast to make my bed because he knows how much I like having a nicely made bed. He has a fan-club of little girls who love him not just because he's killer-cute, but because he has the ability to make even little people feel important. He had a goal to read the Book of Mormon before he got baptized and he finished a week before his birthday.

This story explains Michael more than any, though.

Mike and Doug were trying to earn as much money as possible to take to Disneyland. They cleaned and worked. Mike even wiggled and wiggled an only slightly-loose tooth the night before we left and pulled it out just in time to get a buck from the tooth fairy.

He kept that dollar in his pocket at the airport. He kept thinking about buying something from the vending machines, but decided to save it for the big D-land.

That is, until the walk over.

On the corner across from the entrance to the park was a homeless lady with two dogs that every one of us ignored or didn't even notice.

Except for Mike.

Mike walked over to her, pulled out the dollar he earned literally with his own blood, and gave it to the poor soul. He petted her dogs and smiled and told her he hoped that she had a good night.

She joined the Michael fan club too.

It's getting bigger all of the time.

Happy Birthday, Buddy! You are my shining example and I can't believe that something so good could come from me. I love you!!!

Mike and crew outside of their favorite roller coaster.

My kids at Mike's birthday party.

Mike and his $15 birthday cupcake. The smile on his face was priceless.

Disneyland is a great place to have a birthday-- every where we went, the Disney employees told him Happy Birthday. One of them even got Mickey Mouse on the phone to sing Happy Birthday to him!

The Universe knew that everyone needs one perfect birthday. Mike got picked to dance in the Main Street parade and also to be a Padawan at Jedi Training. The look on his face says it all...

Man, I love that kid!

Fixing 10 Years

I've been thinking about this post all week long and trying to decide whether or not to put something this personal on the web. When it comes right down to it, though, the only people who even read this are people that I care about and I think that some of you may experience the same issues that I have had.

I've had some concern lately about my daughter. She is like me in that she is tall and strong. She's hitting that age in school where kids start pointing out differences in others and someone has pointed out to her that she's bigger than most of the kids in her class.

She came home devastated and worried that she is "fat."

She broke my heart and opened up my greatest nightmare.

I grew up thinking that I was fat. Someone close to me who should have known better continually reinforced that to me from the time I was about 6. My wonderful mom and dad tried to contain the damage, but that kind of stuff affects you for a long, long time. (I'll let you know when it's done raking me over.)

I would give anything to keep my daughter from fighting the same battle for her whole life. However, with this conversation last week, I realized that I have already done 10 years worth of damage to her with the bad example that I have set. She has grown up hearing the words "fat, lose weight, calories, etc."

How do you scrub out 10 years of bad example?

In thinking about all of this, I received a crucial and very uncomfortable insight. My weight is not the real problem. My obsession with my weight is. What I have realized is this: even if I weighed exactly what I want to, I would still be obsessed with it. Hitting 145 would not bring me ultimate happiness.

What that also leads me to believe is that I have used my weight as an excuse for every failure I've ever had.

Scary thought: What if it's not? Am I arrogant enough to believe that, if my weight was perfect, that I would be a perfect person? That every problem I have would be gone?

I know that seems stupid, but I think that's where I've ended up.

So, even though I've never liked myself enough to do it, I do LOVE my daughter enough to give it up. I'm done. You will no longer hear me comment about losing weight, diets, or anything like it. (And if I forget, please call me on it. It's REALLY important.)

My new self-constitution is as follows:

• I will take care of my body and teach my children to do the same SOLELY for the purpose of being healthy and being good stewards of the bodies with which we are blessed.
• I will exercise because it makes me feel good and because it is good for my body, not because it burns calories.
• I will make good food choices and teach my children to love and be grateful for healthy food. I will not freak out when we feel like eating a candy bar, but conversely I will try not to use food as incentives or rewards.
• I will not say negative things about my body or allow my children to make negative comments about their bodies.
• I will build up my children and myself with positive comments about all of the good qualities that I notice.
• I will talk freely with my daughter (and sons if necessary) about the fact that different is not bad and that there are advantages in being tall and strong.

I'm not expecting things to change overnight, but I am more committed to this change than I have ever been in my life.

I have to be.

She's that important.

Before I Was a Mom

A friend of mine sent this to me. I don't know who wrote it, but I loved it and thought that I'd share:

"Before I was a Mom"

Before I was a Mom ,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom ,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on.
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom ,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom ,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt.
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom .

Before I was a Mom ,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom ,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom ...
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom .

Namaste

I learned the coolest thing the other day.

In India, when they greet each other, they bow and say "Namaste". This means, "I bow to the divinity inherent within you."

How cool is that? What a great way to think of every person that you meet. Wouldn't that be the ultimate super-power-- to see the spark of divinity within each person and to be able to treat them accordingly?

Kind of gets you thinking, what traits have I and the people around me inherited from Heavenly Parents?

I know people who are compassionate, who bring out the best in others, who have faith to move mountains. I see sparks of divinity in my own children who are smart, kind and intuitive to the needs of others.

I see divinity inherent in my wonderful husband who I married 12 years ago today (Happy Anniversary, Honey!) He is strong, faithful, loyal, smart and very perceptive-- to name a few.

In short, I am surrounded by divinity-- thank you to all of you-- husband, children, parents, sisters, and friends-- and to each one of you, I bow and say

Namaste!

My Fool Proof Workout Program

I got back on my bike last night-- one last ditch effort at fitness before I slithered away into the realms of the Couch Potato universe again.

I must be feeling better because it didn't suck.

It could also be my new training program

Because I am a Sharefish, I'll let you in on my newly developed exercise regimen. You won't even have to pay $19.99. Unless you'd like to donate to my Kim-needs-new-bike-shorts-and-is-spoiled-and-wants-the-really-expensive-ones fund.

It's called the Kindle-Olympic Gut Buster.

I did it on my bike, but I imagine it would work equally as well on a treadmill or an elliptical. It is NOT recommended while you're swimming.

The point of this whole thing is distraction and mental imagery. Never leave yourself with a minute to realize that your muscles are burning and your breathing is labored.

You must perform this workout when there is something competitive going on during the Olympics. Skiing, speed skating, that cool snowboard-cross event works well. Figure skating, not so much.

Here's where it gets tricky. When there are commercials on, you pedal lightly and read whatever's on your Kindle. (Or other book or magazine if your husband is not as cool as mine.)

When the Olympics come back on, ramp up your efforts a little, and then when a race actually starts, pretend it's you and pedal your guts out for your gold medal. (You might want to wear a heart monitor for this workout-- a couple of times I found myself just past the red zone into the zone I like to call Almost-Dead.)

Now granted, to be effective, this workout does require a little imagination, but it was pretty gratifying to enjoy my podium moment last night. (It was a little bit of a downer when they played O Canada instead of the Star Spangled Banner, but I have been known to say "eh" a little, so I can see how they made the mistake.)

They always play commercials after those intense racing moments, so cool down a little and read another chapter or two of James Rollins or a vampire book or something.

Then repeat a few times and Voila! You're done.

By the time my workout was over, I had done 4 or 5 kick-butt intervals, but most of all, I wasn't quite ready to get off.

Anything that can make you want to stay on the trainer has got to be good, right?

My only problem is what to do when the Olympics end in two weeks???

Not Fun.

I've been sick since I got back from St. George.

That little gift from the Universe settled itself into my lungs and refuses to leave. Either that or those disgusting green things from the Mucinex commercial have taken up residence.

Either way, not good.

Consequently, I haven't exercised for 11 days.

That's the longest I've gone without exercising since I had my gallbladder out over two years ago.

The psycho thing is that I have REALLY missed it and had to FORCE myself to stay off my bike. My mind knew that my body needed rest, but I felt that same weird compulsion that makes me eat a bag of peanut M&M's when I know they're not good for me too.

I stayed off until today, but this morning I could stand it no longer.

Guess what? It WASN'T fun.

Apparently, you can lose a lot of fitness in 2 weeks. Not to mention that all those green Mucinex guys in my lungs make it hard to breathe. 10 miles has never seemed so long.

What's worse is that afterward, I didn't have that cool endorphin high that I craved. My lungs were on fire and I felt like I'd been running.

RUNNING! I HATE RUNNING!

I hope that it doesn't take as long to get my fitness level back up as it did to get it there in the first place.

Any more workouts like this and I might have to just revert to my old couch potato ways...

A Mushy Post About Love And Stuff

I've always put Valentine's Day in the same category as Halloween-- the category I call "Ridiculous, Meaningless Holidays Meant to Put Five Pounds On My Hips."

I'm feeling differently about Valentine's Day this year, though.

During the last week, I've seen some tremendous, heart-wrenching displays of real love-- the kind of love that should be celebrated and have it's very own holiday.

Last week, we had a patient come into our office who is normally a very upbeat, happy guy. He was very downcast and sullen, and when we asked him what was wrong, he told us that his beautiful wife had died of a massive heart attack two weeks ago. He talked so lovingly about her and obviously missed her so much-- he was devastated to be at the end of a lifetime of love and joy shared with his wife.

Yesterday we had another patient come in who has become the caretaker for his now-invalid wife. I've wondered about this guy-- he often comes in in wrinkled clothing, looking a little disheveled. He brought his wife in because she was the reason he was wanting hearing aids-- her voice is so soft since she became ill that he can't hear her. He brought her in so that we could specifically program the aids to her voice.

I watched him care for her so tenderly-- he fixed her hair that had fallen out of place and he talked so lovingly to her. I bet that she was the one who had taken care of him for many years-- and now he barely knows how to care for his clothing and other details that she always managed for him. Still, he obviously knew how to care for this one, most important thing in his life.

Sometimes men are portrayed as womanizing idiots who have to be tricked into commitment. I don't think that's true at all. After watching these two men, as well as my own father painting my mother's toe nails, or my father-in-law fixing the back of my mother-in-law's hair, or my own husband as he works so hard to make sure that I'm happy, I am convinced that men can be at least as good at love as women-- if not better.

Thank you to all of the wonderful examples of TRUE love I see around me every day. May you all live happily ever after!

More Deep Thoughts by Doug

Conversation with Doug:

Me: "What do you think would make you be a good missionary when you get older?"

Doug: "If I stay on Jesus' side."

Me: "Good answer, Bud! Why do you think that?"

Doug: "Because Satan is really crappy. Who'd want to be on his side?"

How much would I pay to get inside this kid's head and see how he thinks?

Too Much Time On My Hands

Can you define "time?"

Can you do it without using the word "time" as part of the definition?

I've been reading a lot lately about space and time and their relationship to us. When it comes right down to it, "time" is the interval measured by clocks. Which got me thinking-- if I have NO way to measure time (not even a sunrise/ sunset, no moon or other 28 day cycles), would time exist?

I know that measured time is at "times" a disadvantage. How much of your life have you spent looking at a clock?

A while ago, a very wise man challenged me (and every other member of the church) to take off our watches when we attend the temple. This was initially difficult for me-- I felt like I lost control somehow. The irony wasn't entirely lost on me-- how can you "lose control" of the one thing that you have absolutely no control over? The fact that I couldn't tell what time it was didn't make it pass any slower or quicker than it would have, had I been wearing a watch. What it did do is make me quit worrying about how much time I had before whatever was next on my agenda. I gave up measuring time and gained a serious increase in the quality of the time I was spending.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that living without a watch wouldn't make me live any longer or shorter (how would I know anyway?) What I am starting to realize, though, is that time is less of a measured interval than it is an unknown currency. We are all busy spending this currency like unmarried men-- never knowing how much is in our account until we come up short. Crazy thing about it is that we can't save it and you can't earn interest on it-- about all you can do is enjoy what you spend it on because who knows when you hit the red?

I think that I've gotten way too deep here.

I've got to stop reading physics books.

Anyone got a nice vampire story I could borrow?

Payback.

I am still reading The Elegant Universe. It is getting harder and harder to understand. Guess that's what happens when you finish the introduction.

I'm having my own experiences with the Universe. I have decided that, not only is it Elegant, it also has a dang good love of irony.

The definition of "irony" is "a technique of indicating an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated. "

I think that irony, when applied to the Universe as a whole, is beyond that and has more to do with balance in opposites-- yin and yang and all that.

Take for instance the fact that I had a great weekend. I had too much fun, and while I was having fun, my husband and kids scrubbed my entire house. Not only that, but they washed AND folded AND put away ALL of the laundry! Not to mention the fact that, while I was shopping, I found not just one, but TWO pair of awesome jeans-- for less than $20 a piece!

That left me one up on the Universe.

The Universe can't leave a horrific imbalance like that floating around. Too much good Karma might actually cause the earth to spin the wrong way or something. No worries-- there's nothing the Universe does better than even out too much of a good thing.

Wham!

And yesterday morning, I wake up with a heinous cold sore on my top lip. I've never had one before-- it felt like my lip was in that uncomfortable stage of waking up from Novocaine all day long. Not to mention that my lip looked like a Botox treatment done by a 6 year old.

Got to love an affliction that is not only painful, but repulsively humiliating.

However, my weekend was SOO good, that a horrendous blight on my face was not quite enough to even things out.

I didn't want to leave the house. Ever again. However, we had business associates coming in for dinner all the way from Washington. I had no choice.

I tried to cover it up. I wore a HUGE silver necklace to try and draw attention away from my disfigurement. I kept my head down a little bit.

Just when I think I'm doing all right and going to make it through the night, I realize that one of the waiters looks a lot like a guy I used to know.

A guy from Brazil who I only half teased my mom I was going back to Brazil to marry. A guy that I haven't seen in 15 years since I was a hot, tan, 23 year old missionary.

Fan-dam-tastic.

He hugged me and said, "you look great!" I know what he was really thinking-- "What the heck is that monstrosity growing on your face? Man I'm glad I didn't marry you and became a waiter in a foreign country instead!"

Layne got a kick out of the whole thing.

Seriously. What are the chances of running into someone from the other side of the world and the other side of your life on any given night-- let alone on a night when I have the first cold sore of my life?

I hope that the Universe is happy now. I'm pretty sure that balance has been achieved.

On second thought, maybe I'd better just stay in the house for a while.

I think that the Universe might charge interest. . .

"But I'm Still Little"

Today Doug was looking at our old scripture readers and asking me why we don't use them anymore to read scriptures. Without thinking, I answered, "Because you guys got bigger and now we read the real Book of Mormon together."

To which he answered,

"But Mom, I'm still little."

Talk about rip your heart out.

I've been thinking about it all day. My baby son, of course you're still little. You probably always will be to me-- even when you're six foot three. You've always acted like you were just one of the big kids-- and I've treated you all the same. You seemed to want it that way and it assuaged my own guilt for lumping you all in together and maybe missing the "little-ness" of my baby.

And I thought this:

Snapshots

You only hold my hand
When the Big Kids are at school.
We walk, you reach up;
Your small hand is exquisite
In miniature perfection.

I see you growing
With nearly every step.
Each day changing,
Evolving, becoming
What will you be?

My dreams for you
Involve perfection—
I know it is not fair.
And yet, each day
You provide me
With countless perfect moments.

The smile you flash
When you think that
What you just did, I did not see;
Your arms wrapped around my neck
In a thoughtless, priceless embrace;
The way your eyelashes
Nestle on your still
Slightly-chubby cheek;
And the quiet sigh you breathe
As you lay curled and sleeping.

The pleasure of my motherhood
Is found in these small moments,
Their poignant beauty captured
On the film of my heart.
To be kept and pondered upon
When someday you grow too big
To ever hold my hand.

The Elegant Universe

I've never been good in a group.

I'm good one on one, or even one on two. Oddly enough, I have no problem being in front of a large group either. What intimidates the heck out of me is a group of about 4-10. Especially 4-10 other women.

I think I'll chalk it up to a slight attention deficit disorder.

It's the same reason that I don't like to play Phase 10. By the time it's my turn, I've totally lost interest.

In my defense, I do have some pretty interesting stuff kicking around in my head lately. Ever since Layne gave me a Kindle, I've been reading like mad. On my sister's recommendation, I started reading some James Rollins books-- kind of like Dan Brown, but he combines a lot of science in with history and action.

These books triggered a desire to learn more about physics, and, thanks to my magic Kindle (and Layne's Amazon account), Ta-Da! suddenly I'm learning all about quantum theory, relativity and superstring theory.

It reminds me of reading in Portuguese.

Instead of reading 2-3 pages a minute like usual, I am now trying to understand The Elegant Universe by Briane Greene. Luckily, Kindle has a dictionary built in, so when I don't understand a word (such as quixotic, gluon, or tau-neutrino), I just highlight it and presto! Definition at my fingertips.

FYI-- quixotic is a very cool word which means "exceedingly idealistic, unrealistic and impractical." I.e. My plan to lose 25 pounds in 3 months is a quixotic dream.)

Back to the group thing. I found myself sitting around recently with a bunch of 7 or 8 friends. Sometimes there were 2 or 3 conversations going at the same time, and sometimes everyone was talking about the same thing. It was all hard for me to follow.

And then all of the gluons and neutrinos and muons and such started dancing around in my brain and I swear I had an out of body experience. In watching the complex ebbs and flows of the group dynamic, I think I came up with my own Unified Theory of Everything. Well, not of everything. Just of women.

Everyone wanted to be heard. Everyone wanted to be understood. This force, like the strong force that keeps particles united into molecules, kept everyone tied together. Just like with particles, there were also certain emotional forces, not unlike electromagnetism, which repel us from each other and try to push us apart. However, the over-arching, Holy Grail is string theory-- which essentially says that everything is made up of strings-- and the resonant pattern of the string's vibrations determine what it is-- be it part of a bar of gold, part of a brain cell, or part of a supernova star.

In other words, at the core, we are all made of the same stuff-- just vibrating in different frequencies. To simplify even further, we are more alike than we are different.

I don't know why that mattered to me-- but when I re-entered reality and applied the idea to the conversations I heard going on around me-- you know the ones all groups of women will eventually revert to such as child birth, mothers-in-law, and shoe shopping-- I realized that we are all the same.

Our experiences may be different, but at the core, what we really need (if not want) is to feel peace, love and acceptance. Our methods of seeking that nirvana are all different, but somehow sitting around talking about everything and nothing at once validates us all.

To my friends, I hope that me sitting in the corner didn't come off arrogant or like I was mad. I apologize for retreating into my own crazy head-- Little did you know that the conversation you were having was providing me with my own little glimpse of the Elegant Universe.

Of women, that is.

The One Good Thing In January

January sucks.


There's just nothing for it. The news reported the other day that psychiatrists have declared that this week is officially the most depressing week of the year. Your Christmas bills are all here (and you're regretting them.) Your New Year's Resolutions have resolved as failures. And, it seems like winter will never end.


I believe it.


So, in an effort to thwart the blahs, I made-over my blog. (BTW, I lost my blog list, so if you fell off my list, it's because I couldn't remember your URL-- send it and I'll get it fixed.)


The one good thing that has ever happened to me in January turns 6 years old tomorrow.


Six years ago tonight, I was the mother of two, with a wiggly thing in my belly. I was being induced the next day, so we dropped the kids off at my mother's and came home to get one last good night's sleep.


Yeah, right.


By the time all of the finishing touches were complete, it was well after midnight before we went to bed. I slept for an hour or two, then woke up and realized I could hear something that wasn't quite right. That something turned out to be a drip. From our waterbed. Onto the carpet. (No, my water DIDN'T break-- the BED did.)


Goodbye good night's sleep.


The rest of the night was full of frozen hoses, holes burned in carpet (trying to defrost said hoses), wet carpet, and a sad hour or so spent trying to sleep in Mike's toddler bed. Morning came way too soon.


They started me at 7:00 and Doug was born a little after 1 p.m. I was exhausted-- as much from the bad night as from the labor-- but all of that disappeared when they put my darling little son into my arms.


Doug has been such a blessing for me. He was an easy, contented baby. His big eyes and wonderful smile always warm my heart. He has been my little buddy since his brother and sister went to school-- I don't know what I'll do when he starts first grade!


More than all of that, Doug is a wonderful juxtaposition of complimentary qualities. He is a relentless tease-- he uses considerable energy to carry out practical jokes on people. And yet, he can turn around and show a deep side and out of the blue ask, "Was it part of Jesus' plan to hang on the cross, or did it just happen to Him?" He loves to be wild and crazy with the big boys, and yet he has a fan club of little kids who love him because he always includes them in his play. He yells "chicka-chicka-wah-wah" in the microphone after his talk in primary, but he says prayers that reduce me to tears.


Doug is unpredictable, crazy, sweet, tender, smart and kind.


Happy birthday, Little Man. You are definitely my Sunbeam in this frozen hell we call January. Thank you for always melting away my icicles...