giving thanks

So the hours between 4pm and 8pm are my least favorite of most days. Pulling together a kid-friendly dinner that is almost never what I feel like eating myself. Playing I-Spy to get one of us to eat (you can only guess the item after taking a bite of food.) Bathing two during a time in the evening I am ready for a martini. Then it's the amazing 'race' to get them into jammies, brush teeth and put toys away. How on earth does all of this require 4 hours of our day?

Sometimes I transform into a Mother Who Knows and I fit something fun into the middle of that time slot to make it more positive. Like a dance party or ice cream or something to look forward to that doesn't feel like I am the family dentist pulling teeth at every corner during this 4 hour block of time.

But in reality, I am really The Mother That's Ready for That Trip to Montana; even if it's winter. My snow white voice got hoarse over the playful encouragement to eat broccoli over an hour ago. So I begin to transform into Cruella DeVille, at least in my head. My body is screaming at me to put my feet up for a few minutes. But my mind is looking at the clock and longing for the process to be over with so I can put my feet up without jumping back onto them and pulling one or the other off the kitchen table. This is not exactly the best article I would choose to submit to The Ensign. But this is just how it goes sometimes.

The littlest tucked in by my desired time with even a few extra stories and songs. Then comes The Greatest Challenge of the Evening: the four year old. I take a deep breath and gently remind him for the 4th time what I asked him to do 30 minutes ago. I step away to sit down, which is never a good idea in this process. Because it is a process. Anything this boy is in need of doing requires hand holding and ample reminding whether I like it or not. Extra book time is the only collateral I have at this time of night and most nights it works to get him moving. Not tonight.

I calmly remind him of the consequences of not listening and suggest he kneel with me at the bed for prayers. He screams and shouts and scolds and pouts. I find snow white in my throat and convince him to kneel with me for prayer and through his clenched throat of anger with me he begins his prayer:

Dear Heabenly Father,

Thank you for this ebening, thank you for Jesus.
Jesus, please turn mommy into a pencil.

In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

****

Looks like this process isn't going well for more than just one of us. So I turn back to my former life and think of how I solved things. Back when it seemed like I knew what I was doing most of the time and had a more level head. I remember the role I had in creating or adjusting processes. And the importance of taking a step back and identifying what can change in the list of things to do from start to finish and what parts must remain the same. I am determined to make this part of each day better so we can all go to bed with the peace and calm I want to instill in my home as often as possible. And I also don't want Jesus to turn me into a pencil.

.

who knew having crabs was still so fun? crab grass, that is. still makes for happiness around here.

Traditional Sabbath Activity

bringing families together one note at a time

Every single person I have known to own or play rock band has told me how much fun it will be and easy for me because I already know how to play the drums. This made me excited to visit friends' homes in hopes of wowing them with my (albeit beginner) drum skillz.

Turns out, the drums on rock band are nothing like the drums in real life.

I sat down all confident, ready to rock out some Beastie Boys and needed more instruction than I expected. This is the part where I have to tell you my hand/ eye coordination is pretty much handicapped. I am sure if there was a possible way to evaluate this aspect of how I function, my test results would confirm: severely delayed. Rock band is like playing that 80's game Simon. Where you have to punch the lighted up buttons in the same sequence and it got faster and faster. I hated that game. I threw that game across the room.

Real life drumming, however, is a game of using your ears to learn the beats of each individual part of the drum kit. You first learn the pattern of the base with your ears, then listen and learn the snare, then hi hat, then toms. It's ear- hand coordination. As you try what you hear, you actually listen to see if you are finding the beats.

Rock Band seems impossible to learn how to play with ears. There is so much noise going on with the other people pressing the keys on the guitars, the live singer in your ear, the song playing regardless of what you are trying to make it do (it's not your noises, it's the song noises even if you aren't playing properly so you don't even really hear yourself like you do with an actual instrument), and then the game's audience cheering (but not for me cos I suck at this game). The sound of the drum parts in the song is so muffled I can't find a beat to follow in the thick of the sound surrounding me. So basically, you could be deaf and play Rock Band better than me any day of the week.

But it's been fun, don't get me wrong. Disappointing friends and self is always a bucket of laughs. And don't forget feeling like a fraud. 'No, really, I can play some songs on REAL drums!' So it's a good way to gather friends, spend family time together, and listen to music. I'll vote for one in my own home no problem. Even if it takes me a lot longer to figure it out, at least I can be a loser in the comfort of my own home!

So how did it go with Rock Band Night One at my own house?

Liz on guitar, Mike on drums, Zane on vocals, Evan in his crib sleeping. Mike is still figuring out how use each controller to navigate and the plastic and cardboard are still laying at our feet. It's minutes out of the box. I enjoy seeing how giddy he is with our new toy. I am eager to improve and figure this out. At the end of every song you get a score like in school- a percentage out of 100 (based on how well you can play Simon). I imagine raging parties where I am the champion, scoring 100% on every song in any band member position selected. I will be a pro. I imagine opening my own Rock Band Competition Venue where people can win awards for being unbeatable. Like a Karaoke night, but better. The possibilities are endless.

My feet land me into reality again. No strobe lights. Just Zane getting scolded for trying to press all the buttons on a controller again. Each time his father tries to select a song he finds himself on a different screen and totally lost. We finally get a song selected and I need instructions again. 4 notes into the song the word FAILED flashes the screen and I am kicked out of the game. Mike and Zane continue and I am standing in the middle of the High School stadium during an assembly with my pants down.

I place the guitar down. Step over the boxes. Announce to the family that I am going to go fold laundry now and do something productive.

It's so rad to spend $199 to feel like a total asshole in your own living room.

An hour later I am cozy with my four year old on the couch as Mike puts all the gear away. He reassures me he will figure out how to turn off the 'failed' functionality. Zane declares across the room to his father 'We were really good at rock band!" He turns to me with a sly smile and points to his mommy with whom he is snuggling with under a soft, white, angelic blanket "But you weren't very good at it".

12 months in pictures

I picked one favorite photo from each month of 2008 with January on top and December on bottom. How did I just make a year-end nostalgia post sound like sex? I really need to be lesss awesome in 2009, it's killing me.







* that's a hard project because there is a natural draw to pictures of favorite moments or memories, but those aren't neccesarily great shots. It would be fun to do a monthly photo summary even with poor shots, just memory jogging images to help tell the month's story of events. Hrm something new to consider for this year.....

crush: volume 1

Sometimes I think back to how I conducted myself and managed my interest in crushes when I was a bunch younger and single. Most of these stories are ridiculous to me and essentially classified as what a normal person would call stalking.

I wanted to like a cute boy once who I heard worked at a sub shop. He never led me to believe in any way shape or form that he noticed my flirting glances. But that didn't stop me from jumping into his path as often as possible. Trying to get him to trip over me while I tap danced on top of his feet. Very typical Young Liz behavior. Oh, you don't like tap dancing, what about flame throwing?! I can juggle knives you know! Wait.... where are you going.... stop and see me looking at YOU!

I was not good at taking hints. Where was Oprah's friend who wrote the book 'He's Just Not That Into You'? I could have used his advice.

So the sub shop. I assumed he worked at the one near his home. I would go at all hours of different days to try and figure out his work schedule (limited to only once in a day- I did have my limits). I would always get the cheapest size of yogurt with my pocket change. Never could catch him in a shift.

What was I thinking? Who does that? I gave up on the whole idea within one month because it was too hard to track him down and btw he didn't even know my name. A mutual friend several months later mentioned him in a story that involved his job. I figured out he was at a totally different location like 10 miles away. I burst into psychotic (internal) laughter at my failed super sleuth antics that only led me to a giant month of wasted money eating that disgusting yogurt.

all i ask of myself

Sunday night I went to bed with a big, fat black heart. I had a grouchy attitude about all I am in charge of and felt an overall overwhelming feeling of not being enough for all I want and need to be. And I was slightly envious of the flight and solitude my companion would be departing with early in the morning. I envied the quiet, soft bed he would relax in as he watched ESPN during evening hours in a quiet and cozy hotel in Washington. I thought of the long week ahead of me alone and wondered if there was enough of me to keep my voice soft and repeat all the things I need to say over and over and over and over and over again to my oldest. And if my ear drums would avoid bursting from my littlest squawking mmmmMMMMMMMAW! for 9 hours of the day just because he knows it drives me insane. In light, you could say I was not looking forward to a husbandless adjustment this week after two weeks in tandem; all in all lacking a cheerful disposition.

My girlfriend and I used to call that feeling a Thelma and Louise moment. Just where you feel you are at your wit's end and somewhere along the journey of life you ended up on this strange planet where you are no longer a person but you don't really remember signing up for all that it involved. I think Dooce summed it up well once by explaining her desire to get into the car and drive to Montana.

Not everyone feels this way. In fact, maybe even few mothers experience the mild and temporary breaking point moments. Maybe they are more like Christ than me. Maybe they were blessed with a different, stronger internal threshold of patience when they were born. Maybe they just have different things to learn on this earth than I do. Or perhaps it's my hormones hamming it all up a bit in my head. Regardless, it's still my job even on days when I remember how much easier it was to drive to an office and push buttons on a keyboard and stare at a computer screen. In fact, my hardest week ever at work was not nearly as demanding and endless as a typical week as a mother (with or without a traveling husband). So I went to bed Sunday and told myself: Montana will have to wait, this is my job and tomorrow will just have to be better.

Monday morning I read an email about a mother at church who delivered a still born baby last week. I checked the blog of a friend who lost her baby boy on Christmas, delivering him still born at 20 weeks young. My thoughts have turned to these mothers often and I wish comfort for them. Each time I think of them time freezes and my black heart is jolted. But apparently not as much as it needed to be.

*

As I prepare for my doctor's appointment I find myself appreciating my job and the precious pairs of baby blue eyes greeting me in the morning. The day is already better and I am finding my peace again. I briefly consider that there could be bad news waiting for me as I slip on my shoes and round up the boys. There is nothing I can do about it either way crosses my mind as we get into the car. I am eager to hear her heartbeat, I smile as we race out of the empty neighborhood.

It's 10:10am as we arrive. We cram, all of us plus this massive stroller, into a tiny room and wait. The boys do very well and we play I Spy. She arrives, shakes my hand and I think she said her name was Emily. Strange for a doctor to go by her first name. She begins with her summary about my ultra sound report saying: 'Everything looks generally good'. Generally. What does that mean? I have mental checkmarks happening in the sky while she speaks of all the baby's basics. What is the generally she is holding on to. What is the wild card? Don't smile while you hold it, just get to the important part. She doesn't speak fast enough.

The children are getting restless. I snap for them to quiet and wish I handled stress better. Zane is pulling out a huge bag of candy from my diaper bag and trying to hand me a Hershey kiss while talking 30 decibels too loud as Evan begins to climb out of the stroller with that squawking again. Raisins are all over the floor and falling out of his mouth. The room is spinning and I wish there was a fun train ride heading to Montana for these two just for 15 minutes so I can hear what she is saying. Her mouth is moving and she is still smiling, so we must not be at the punch line yet.

The boys might have simmered, I don't remember. Something about my placenta being low, but the baby is fine. The baby is fine keeps ringing in my ears like every single Christmas present I have ever received in my entire life, only bigger than the sun. It's the friggin Rockefeller Center Tree in my living room. We're on the Polar Express and I BELIEVE and the hot chocolate cups are in our hands and it tastes so good. And then she hits me with two words: Bed Rest. We talk about that for a long time in great detail as I let some tears fall and reply with 'but my husband travels'. As if that's going to make her switch charts and fix it all better. Like that matters to her. Or to me. Or to the placenta that's not in the right spot. Or this little baby girl that needs to grow inside this misplaced sac.

Calls and tears later I get home and begin a list frenzy to figure out how exactly you replace yourself and what that kind of schedule looks like and how many people that requires. I know I wished for that drive to Montana, but I wanted it on my terms. With a daddy home on vacation and some girlfriends putting together a snack bag and mixed CDs and a plan! It was like a lesson in what happens when mama lets her heart get black. But I went into hyper drive and immediately began making notes of neighbor schedules and agreeing to call for help and working on a calendar to keep this baby safe. I was told the more I was on my feet, the more dangerous it was for the baby and to keep off my feet for a month until we do another ultra sound.

Later in the afternoon I get another call. I can't quite make out the name, I think it was Emily again, and all of a sudden there was another opinion on my records and there is no need for bed rest, after all. Simple as that. Click. I work at getting a doctor to call back. I find out Emily is a nurse practitioner. Not a doctor. Emily was completely wrong in all she explained to me. That won't happen again. The doctor calls during dinner time, confirms that regular life is perfectly fine and she feels my placenta will be where it needs to be within 3-4 weeks when we check again. She takes a lot of time explaining what low lying placenta is and calms the heightened nerves of a whole lot of people waiting on stand by to jump in and help.

I feel like I pulled a four alarm fire when it was really just a sweet little mulberry candle that was lit.

There aren't words to pull together well enough to explain all the emotional ups and downs and ups I have personally felt today. All I know is that if the sky is falling you want my friends, our family members, and my neighbors to be on your team to hold it up because they will do it at any expense. I love them all and they make this little girl even more special to know how willing so many people are/ were willing to help me keep her safe in a moment's notice. That doesn't even cover all the feelings of how happy I am to be able-bodied to tend to these little ones' needs. I am so glad I get to refill your sippy cup, Evan. And clean up the toys. And lift you into your crib. And help you look for your rocket ship parts, Zane. You guys ARE a Montana trip. I just have to roll down the window sometimes cos it gets a little stuffy in here. Then I am able to see the beautiful mountains a little better and breathe the crisp air.

Thank you, God, for giving me children. I am glad for this lesson in appreciation and capability.

consensus

Sometime when I stop to look around me I feel rather spoiled. I think of the ways I have become more frugal (and other ways not so much) and imagine how much money I would have had available to give to someone else if I always lived this way. And how much more would be available if I tried harder to find other ways to use less. Need less. Do without. If everyone did this how maybe there wouldn't be so many that are hungry. Or homeless. Or without a cure.

I think of my friend who came to visit AZ from NY once and commented on how funny it was that she saw pretty tiles embeded in the cement around community trees. She thought it was interesting they didn't get stolen. I find it interesting when I see things like that now how much money the little extra bling must have cost. And how necessary it really was.

I sit in my car, taking in the aroma of the fresh leather scent that only lasts so long in a new car. I think of my children safely buckled in with full tummies. And I count the luxuries in my life around me. I think of all the toys that I sort, clean clothing I stuff into drawers, and food crammed into my pantry. The softest carpet my toes have landed on. The local shops where I have various selections for various kinds of food. I have a really good life. Too good, perhaps?

I think of the way I have spent my time and energy this week and the worries that crept into my mind. And I really find it sickening that there are other people in the world, like in Gaza, really hoping their family doesn't get blown up tonight.

Sometimes I think we were scattered throughout the earth to see if we make sure our brothers across the water are doing okay. And when they are not, we are watched to see what we do about it. It's not supposed to be easy. It's part of the grandest test. Now what?

ripped from cookie

Stealing from Cookie Nesting Blog's top ten homes of the year, I want to point out the little details I love about some of the pictures in the homes. They are giving me good ideas about my slow moving plans for many of the rooms in my own home. Isn't this how people figure things out and get ideas?

1) We could use a rack like this next to our bed for novels, some kid books and magazines that gets rotated out often.


2) I enjoy the crisp and clean feeling of the simple decorations in this kitchen.



3) I adore this old skool rope used to hang art work. Very creative and playful.

4) It's important for me to remember what while planning our office space, shelves for items besides books will be important. I like how organized, uniform and attractive this display is.

5) The laundry hampers. Beautiful. It would be fun to add a funky (laminated) tag to each for DARKS and WHITES and BRIGHTS to help kids know where to put the soiled clothing. Attached with thick twine or a giant wooden clothes pin.

6) This display reminds me of the importance of being aware of what my kids' interests are and showing support by finding creative ways to display their goods. Be it rocks, dinos, caps, or action figures.

7) This bench rocks. We have a great space in our foyer carved out for a nice bench like this, perhaps one padded with dark brown leather or stained wood a darker color?

8) Brown + Blue = True Love Always

Note: Various photographers took these photos and are credited on the Cookie Nesting site linked above.

picture pages

Is it just me, or does Isaac Brock of Modest Mouse look a lot like Vince Vaughn. And my brother-in-law Richard?

And on a completely unrelated note.....

Can someone please give this man a respectable hair cut already? If your face is on CNN every other day you should have some sort of hairdo that doesn't look like an out of control bush of groin hair.

On another completely unrelated note......

I love this picture of us. Not only because we are standing in front of the building were we met as important credit card collectors over 10 years ago. The picture was taken while I was wiping my nose, but it looks like I am about to peel the skin off my face. As in: you THINK Liz is the monster that the gang was after, but once she is caught she rips the mask off and you find it it's really someone else. What? You don't watch Scooby Doo movies every week?