Ice, Rice, and Things that Don’t End in “ice”

At the beginning of the summer I decided to start going to the gym again.  Living in a small town means choices for classes are limited and without delving into the strange and mysterious workings of my brain which would surely terrify any sane person, I will abbreviate this particularly long and boring part to the story by simply telling you my ultimate decision to take a particular class at our local YMCA referred to by the management at said local YMCA as Boot Camp.  (Did you notice my rather long winded and obnoxious “abbreviation”.  Did you, did you?  Yeah I’m just that clever!)

There were lots of factors in the decision, but time of day and friends in the class were the ultimate deciding factors.  That being said there is no way on this beautiful Earth that I ever thought I was going to even remotely keep up in that class.  Not even close.  Nope.  So on my first day as I introduced myself to the teacher I told him I know I can’t keep up, but if it is OK with him that I come, I promise to give it my very best.  And of course he promptly threw me out.

Ok, so no he didn’t throw me out.  He is in fact such a good motivator and even though the class is described as advanced he takes anybody.  He encourages and pushes everyone to do their best.  When I have 3 more reps to go and I just want to quit he stands right by me and tells me over and over “You got this, you got this.  You can do it, Almost there.”  When I slow down on the run because I HATE running  (and if there were a more emphatic way to type that word believe me I would because all caps does not fully and adequately describe my loathing of running.)  he runs right beside me, calling out the whole time, that I can finish strong and challenging me to beat him to the end.  In short this guy is in a perfect profession.  I cannot imagine a better trainer or excersize teacher.

The first day I came home so sore I teased my kids that he had tried to kill me.  A week later, and 3 more classes later I was just beginning to loose the soreness from my first class but there was plenty of new pains to make up for it.  There  were days I didn’t want to go to class.  There were days I felt I was so bad at it that I wanted to give up.  But 3 days a week, I got up, and went.  For 2 1/2 months I’ve been going.  The only days I missed were the 3 days I was out of town.

Slowly things have gotten a bit easier, a bit better.  I still don’t keep up, but sometimes I can get 10 push-ups in a row without stopping.  Yes they are girly push-ups and no I don’t go all the way down, but it is more than I have ever been able to do in my whole life.  I run faster and longer.  (I still hate it.)  I can do lunges.  And most of all I can sweat.  Every class I go in, and I give it all I have.  He calls out to try something new and I try, sometimes I can’t do it so I drop back to what I can do, but I try.  I come home and make friends with my ice pack and heated rice bag, and follow it up with stretching and go right back a few days later.

But it isn’t just the teacher who is so awesome.  My friends have been amazing.  No one in there had even made me feel like I didn’t belong.  Everyone compliments everyone else on a good work out.  When I am slow finishing a set they run an extra lap and wait for me.  Today was a really hard class but I wanted to finish 2 full sets.  It was hard.  And I was not at my best.  It has been a long week, and I was tired and stiff, but I wanted to finish.  To finish for myself, to finish what I started, to finish and KNOW I had given everything.  My teacher came around as everyone started their 3rd set to see where I was.  I told him, and I said I wanted to finish, even if they had to stretch without me, I would finish and stretch after I was done.  And as I struggled with each lap, each leg lift he was right there cheering me on.  My friends waited without complaint, and let me fight my way through each punch, each kick.  But I finished.

I’m siting on my bed writing this while I have a heated rice pack on a sore muscle, and realizing how much this class, these people have come to mean to me.  Yes, I have lost weight and yes that is awesome, but the amazing thing here is the people.  The people who take me as I am, but also help me be better than I ever have been before.

To those people – thank you.


Light the World

After writing my last post I had some fun reading through earlier posts.  Things I had written a couple years ago.  It’s funny how my posts changed from recipe centered to jokes and funny stories to almost more of a journal.  And then there were the few more somber posts.  Posts I wrote more for me than anyone else, except I felt a need to share them.  I’m not exactly sure why I feel like telling some of my most precious moments to a blank screen that I know will ever be read by a handful of friends but has the potential to be read by anyone in the world, but sometimes a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

And this is one of those days.  This is a post that I’ve written in my head a dozen times, but I just hadn’t gotten around to actually writing it.  And tonight was not going to be that night either.  I’ve got some Christmas presents to get made and shipped, and I have a nice quiet house to work in and the last Season of Sabrina the Teenage Witch to keep me company.

Before I started I did a quick scroll through Facebook.  Someone had posted something earlier that I hadn’t gotten a chance to look at.  And one thing let to another and I was watching the LDS Church’s #LightTheWorld video.

I got to the part in the video where it shows the Savior is healing the blind, and then there were several shots of Him helping people to stand.  Those who had been lame, those who were dead and those who were kneeling before him seeking forgiveness.  And that’s when I knew that before any projects got done tonight I would write this post.

I have had some rough patches this year, and the last few months have been a struggle.  Earlier this year I mentioned to my Doctor that I thought my Anxiety medicine was making me sleepy.  Like 3 hour naps a day sleepy.  And another 3 house in a fog and 8-10 hours of sleep at night.  So SLEEPY.  So we started trying new medicines.

6 new medicines to be exact.  I think the longest I lasted on any of them was a month.  One made me cry for 24 hours because my friend got something that I didn’t.  Yeah.  Can we say whiny at all?  Another made me numb inside and going off it made me crazy OCD.  And I mean CRAZY.  Another worked amazing and I lost 5 pounds, but broke out in hives with an allergic reaction.  Another was supposed to make me hyper and made me sleepy instead.  You get the picture.

Anyway, so not only have I been dealing with the Anxiety but all this different medicine in and out of my system, it has been hard.  Bluntly, I just haven’t been myself.  I was overwhelmed and moody and having different issues all the time and not finding good coping mechanisms.  It has not been pretty.

Then a couple of weeks ago I woke up and I was just in a mood.  I was starting to realize that my latest medicine was the culprit and that I would have to stop taking it.  I could so eloquently write all the things that made that day a bad day but the truth is, it wasn’t much.  I was just in a funk, and my brain wasn’t working right.  So here are the highlights.

Around 4:30 I  grabbed my coat and drove to run a quick errand I had been putting off all day.  I was grumpy and miserable. On my way home, I notice the van didn’t feel right, but it was a road I don’t frequently drive on so I thought maybe it was something about the road.  Then I noticed the dashboard wasn’t level. THEN I realized that I had a flat tire.  I pulled over and called Randall…… Who was not at his desk.  I fell apart.

So I started walking home.  As it was getting dark.  And the wind was blowing.  And it was about 20 degrees.  Trying with all my might not to loose it.  At least I had good walking shoes and my coat.  Sometimes when I’m running a quick errant I just grab a sweatshirt and crank up the heat in the van.

I thought of all the stories you hear about people needing help and their Home Teachers just show up.  Or a friend is prompted to make a call.  And I thought, OK this will be the time that I need someone and they will just be there.  So I put on a brave face and kept walking.  And cars drove past and I felt worse and worse and so very alone.  Finally I just kind of shut down.

About a half mile from my house a friend did see and gave me a ride the rest of the way home.  It was a blessing, but I couldn’t see it.  Randall had gotten my message and gone to find me, but I hadn’t heard my phone and we just missed each other.

Seth had a camp out that night so Randall loaded Seth’s gear into the truck and they headed off to the campsite.

I ordered Pizza for the other kids and then I just started falling apart.  I knew I needed to talk to someone but I just couldn’t make the call.  And my phone wasn’t magically ringing.  I felt so alone, so broken, so abandoned.  And with a silent prayer that really had no words I just took a leap of faith and texted a friend.  It was literally all I could do in that moment.

It wasn’t long until she was over at my house listening to me be crazy and irrational, letting me talk through everything and mostly just being there.

Then that night I got a message from my niece.  She’s been sending me a scripture each day.  And that day there was a scripture about prayer.  I just reread it and truthfully it isn’t a particularly comforting scripture but in that moment I was overcome with the knowledge that God is real and He loves me and He was taking care of me.  And when I couldn’t even raise my voice to pray, when I couldn’t even think a prayer I turned my heart to Him, and He heard me.

I stopped taking that medicine and my Doctor is now trying a different approach, and with my head clear I am so humbled, so grateful for the Lord’s tender mercies.  He did not send me what I wanted, or what I thought I needed, he sent me what I really needed.  It was perfect.

So when I was watching the Light the World video tonight and I saw the people rising I just had to share.  He has not healed me of blindness or lameness,or any physical infirmity.  But Spiritually He holds out his hands and with his help I can put one step forward each day.  I do not deserve His love and yet he gives it so fully anyway.  He is my Savior, my personal Redeemer, and with His help I will not ever give up.  I will keep fighting and doing my best in this world.  And someday I will see Him again and He will pick me up, and maybe then I will find the words to say Thank You.  For now I want to share that feeling, that knowledge.

#LightThe World


I have decided that I should not wait for another 6 months, or a severe case of hives to post again.  Mainly because that makes for a boring blog to follow, but also I hope for the later to never happen again.    Ugh!

That being said I don’t actually have something I particularly want to write about, so this could be interesting.  I’m just going to start typing and see what comes out and hopefully it won’t be to boring, or incoherent.

So, I just finished one of my biggest projects ever this week.  I vinyled approximately 50 shirts for Kirsten’s preschool.  The teachers wanted to have matching costumes for the Grandparent’s Day Halloween costume parade.  They saw this super cute idea to be crayons.  Everyone just wears black leggings and a solid colored shirt.  On the shirt is the solid black line with the squiggle running through it on op and bottom, and the black oval with the word “crayon” knocked out.  So cute.  Really.  SO…… they asked if I would be willing to cut and apply the vinyl.

Let’s be honest here for just a second.  50 shirts is a lot.  Yes it is.  And while the design is simple, 50 shirts is a lot.  And the vinyl it would take to do the design is a lot.  And of course GLITTER vinyl makes it even cuter, but is more expensive.  Times 50 shirts.  And if anyone should bring in a black shirt glow in the dark white vinyl is the only answer.  Which does cost a little more.  But as much work and money as it is all put together, you have to balance that with the thrill of making matching costumes for 50 of the most awesome educators in the whole world, who will love them and tell you how awesome you are.  So of course I said “yes” in a heartbeat.

My daughter’s preschool is really awesome, and I always feel like I don’t give enough of my time to them.  Honestly as a Mom of 5 kids there is only so much of me to go around and I have chosen to focus what free time I have at the Elementary School.  There it is.  I had to make a choice.  But our preschool is awesome.

I first sent Joel there because at 4 he had a rather sever speech problem.  I tried working with him at home, but for whatever reason he just couldn’t do it.  My friend who worked at the school suggested I take him to get tested.  This preschool focuses on kids with some type of disability.  They take all ranges.  They also take some “typical” students to fill in the classrooms.  It is about a 50/50 mix.  Within 3 months we saw the biggest difference in Joel.  I couldn’t believe it.  He graduated preschool with no speech problems and was even beginning to read.  People would comment to me on his reading skills and I never take credit.  It was all his preschool.  They were awesome.

Kaylene attended the following year.  I had her go through the screening process because she was a very difficult toddler and I was concerned maybe something was going on.  And there was.  She is by nature a very stubborn child, but that’s not surprising given who her parents are.  But to add to it at the age of 3 she was scoring like a 5 year old on a lot of the metrics, they explained that basically she was at a disconnect between what her brain was thinking and her body could do.  So if she wanted juice and I said no, she would just go get it herself.  I thought preschool would be good for her, for structure, and learning to follow rules.  I was worried when she went to Kindergarten that she would melt down.  It turned out that she loved school so much, and she never had a problem.  I shouldn’t say never.  There was one day she was a little ornery, and that was the day I was visiting.  I realized that for somethings, Kaylene needed to not have me around.

And that leaves us to why Kirsten is in preschool.  She does not have a speech problem.  Other than being crazy cute when she says ridiculously large words.  She does not have a behavior problem other than the usual fighting with siblings of computer time.  So why would I send her to preschool?  Because I am selfish.  I have spent 13 years with kids at home.  13 years of every time I need to run an errand, getting kids dressed, in coats, with socks and shoes, buckled into car seats, then reversing the process to run the errand (minus the coats and shoes process.  Sometimes.)  and doing it all over again to get home.  My house is only ever quiet late at night when everyone is asleep, and even that is no guarantee.  I wanted a few hours, just a few all to myself.  So off to preschool it was.  Of course Kirsten was ready, and between you and me she could have gone to Kindergarten and been just fine.  She is smart, and is used to doing everything Kaylene does.  She WANTED to go to school.

Of course all that free time I thought I had has been eaten up by all my volunteering the the Elementary school, but I have squeezed in a few fun shopping trips.  And I have even worked on house work on occasion.  And it has been great.  She LOVES school.  Even using all of my great writing skills I can not over emphasize how much she loves it.  She is so sad on Fridays when they don’t have it.  And she is learning so much.  One of my favorite things is, that even though she is not a student with a disability they have a specific goal for her to reach.  And they have a plan for how to get there, and they work with her to be the best she can.  It is everything a Mom could want for her child.

So when this awesome school asked if I would help make 50 crayon shirts, I didn’t even have to think.  The answer was yes.

Of course with any big project comes a stress.  And not all stress is bad.  And it doesn’t help that I am a bit of a procrastinator,  So the teachers started sending in shirts and I did a mock up to make sure what I was doing was what they wanted.  I took it in one day and they showed it around to all the teachers.  I could hear everyone whispering and saying how they loved it.  Let me just say if you ever want to feel amazing about yourself, that experience will do it every time.

So I started cutting and quickly realized that every shirt is slightly different a medium in one brand will not have the same measurements as another.  So to make sure everything turned out right I decided I needed to measure each shirt as I went.  This slowed me down a lot since I couldn’t just set one to cut and go do some cleaning then set another, and then take a stack with me to weed while I was waiting in the carpool lane at school pickup.  (Weeding is when you take the vinyl that is cut and pull off all the stuff you don’t want.  I just wanted to clarify since with all my typos it could easily be confused as one.)  I did finally come up with a system to lay out 4 shirts on my table.  I took a post it note and measured each one.  I cut out the stripes ordering from largest to smallest and did the weeding while the next was cutting.  Then I measured the height between the lines just to make sure I didn’t need to make adjustments.  Then I would stack all 4 shirts and take them to the kitchen to iron.  By the end I could get 4 shirts done in a little over an hour.

Now, I know my Dad has just done the math.  Probably instantaneously without even realizing it.  50 shirts divided by 4 is 12.5.  12.5 times a little over an hour (let’s just round to 1 hour for simplification) is still 12 1/2 hours.  That’s a lot of time, but wait, I said by the end I could go that fast, so in the beginning I was NOT that fast so a better estimate would be 12.5 times 1 1/2 hours to account for the average time it took.  That makes this project would take me about 18 hours and 45 min.  Approximately.

That is not a little project.

But the crazy thing is, I would do it again in a heartbeat.  In fact I KNOW I will do something just as crazy, because it is who I am.  I love cutting vinyl and making things  that take your breath away.  I love helping people, especially people who have given so much to me.  I love that feeling I get when I give something to someone and they love it.

I love service of all kinds.

I guess most of you know (since pretty much everyone who reads this has shared a last name with me at some point) that I have struggled with self esteem and depression and anxiety.  And while I need medicine to help an equally important part of my “treatment” is service.  Serving someone can make a bad day, good.  It is so hard to put into words (which is kind of bad for a blog) but service just makes everything better.

I don’t often venture into my faith or my religion in this blog, but truthfully it is so much a part of me.  And I think of the Savior’s life on this earth.  What we know, what was recorded of his life, was mostly His acts of service.  He is the perfect example for us, and he spent his life and even His death serving others.  There was nothing too small and nothing too big.  He gave us His everything.  And I am so grateful.

So I guess that’s about it, and I think I’ve figured out a title for this post.  I just want to end by saying……..

What kind of crazy person agrees to design and vinyl 50 shirts?!!!!!!   – Me, that’s who.  And I LOVED it.

4 hours

It’s 5 AM on a Saturday morning.  My one day a week that I give myself to sleep in as long, and I mean as loooooooooong as I want, and I’m up writing my first blog post in, like, a year.  What on Earth could be so important, so urgent that I would sacrifice my sleep to tell you?!?  Nothing, that’s it, Nothing.

See I’m not awake at 5 on a Saturday morning TO write a blog post, I am writing a blob post BECAUSE I am up at 5 on a Saturday Morning.  And the reason I am up at 5 on a Saturday morning is….. Well now that’s a story.

It actually started over 17 years ago.  I know that’s an impressive back flash but as one of my favorite authors pointed out beginnings are often hard to define.  A little over 17 years ago I was finishing my first year at college.  I found myself with an ear infection and went to the Dr who gave me a penicillin based antibiotic.  I proceeded to move out of my dorm over the next couple of days and I went to spend a week with my sister who lived nearby.  After taking my last dose of the antibiotic I noticed several red itchy spots which over the day grew and became itchier and itchier.  I ended up back at the Dr’s only to discover I was now allergic to penicillin.  SO all the medicine in my blood from having taking it for a week was now going to produce big red itch welts.  They grew until I was effectively 1 itchy blotch.

The next few days were miserable,  Nothing relieved the itch.  The antihistamine they gave me was supposed to be really strong and the Dr warned me it would make me very sleepy, and sleepy I was but no sleep for me.  I tried oatmeal baths which would sooth things temporarily but not for long.

The only sleep I could get was to watch old movies that I was very familiar with.  The movie would distract me from the itch enough to relax and because I knew the story I could close my eyes.   And we all know Relaxation + Closed Eyes = Sleep.  Of course the drawback was that 17 years ago there weren’t these things called DVD’s.  At least we didn’t have one.  And if you remember the good old VHS’s then your know that if you play a movie until the end.  Eventually the movie ends and you get static, which of course is jolting and would wake me up and require me to start the movie all over again.

You may have noticed that I have suspiciously omitted the particular movie I watched.  You may be thinking I don’t remember because it was so long ago or that it really isn’t pertinent to the story.  But really have either of those things ever stopped me before?  No.  What is stopping me however is the reaction I know that each of you will have when you find out.  For those who know me really well you will laugh and nod your head and move on because it is a classic Gwenish movie and not surprising at all since as an Adult I have made a point of collecting every episode I can.  For those who don’t know as well you will read the name and question my sanity and wonder “what a minute how old is she now?”  and you may even loose all respect from be and never read anything I write ever again.  But to that I say “Too bad for you.”  Because really it was one of the greatest shows ever written.  What other cartoon can casually and effortlessly use the word “plethora” multiple time in 1 episode, or have terrible puns like “Candied (candid) Camera”, or have heroes so gullible that when they see a short fat man with a mustache and a tall thin woman both speaking with heavy accents they fail to recognize them as the same man and woman they’ve seen hundreds of times who are always up to something, and yet the heroes STILL win.  Yes the show that got me through the hives was “The adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle.”

Isn’t that a great story.  I mean Rocky and Bulwinkle, it doesn’t get much better.  But as awesome as they are, it’s not the reason for my 5 AM blog post.  No the reason for my 5 AM blog post is hives.

A couple of weeks ago I stared a new medicine to help control my anxiety.  I have been trying several medicines in hopes of finding one that will work, not make me sleepy and not make me depressed.  Yeah it’s been so much fun.  You’ve no idea.  So far this new medicine seemed to be working.  The anxiety was under control and I was feeling good.  I could still have a bad day or moment but it would pass and I would be fine.  I was really hopeful.  Yep, was.  It turns out that it is not uncommon in people under the age of 40 who have had previous issues with hives to have delayed onset hives when taking this medicine.  So I have 2 weeks worth of medicine running through my body that is making red welts pop up all over.  Fun!

I tried watching a movie but this time so far no luck.  And of=f course I tried to relieve the actual itch as my empty tube of benedryl cream can attest.  But when you basically need benedryl to be a body lotion I think it’s safe to say you’re in trouble.  So here I sit with ice packs trying desperate to relieve some of the itch.  And trying to not scratch my skin off patiently waiting for that magical hour of 9 AM when our After Hours Clinic will open.  And does anyone have a guess as to who their first patient will be?!  MEEEEEE!

Oh goody it’s 6 AM now.  Only 3 hours to go.  Only 3 hours.

Oh wait now it’s 2 hours and 59 minutes.  I can so do this.

Of Mice and Men

I know, it’s Thanksgiving day and since my Blog has the word “thanks” in it, it is time for the obligatory mushy, warm fuzzy post about what I’m thankful for.


Not gonna do it.

I refuse.

Not because I don’t have a million things to be thankful for, or because I don’t have that feeling of gratitude today.  But because for the first time in almost a month I am downstairs at night, alone and while I am still freaking out inside I’m here.  Obviously there is a story behind that rather odd sentence, and that story is why I’m writing tonight.  That is unless I lose my nerve and crash the computer and run upstairs and hide under my bed.  I make no promises that it won’t happen.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.  I wish I knew that story better so I could parody a little more than the first sentence but the first sentence will do.  About a month ago Randall announced to the family in his half laughing manner that we finally had gotten a pet.  I was stunned and knew that it had to be a trick and a trick I wasn’t going to like.  The kids fell for it and were all excited.  He then told us while he had been using the computer the night before he had seen a mouse.

I completely wigged out.  I don’t do animals in my house.  I can barely tolerate bugs and only that because I can squish them.  Mice.  No way.  They are fast, they have that crazy wiggly tale, they scurry and just no, I don’t do mice.  Randall purchased a live trap, and proceeded to name the mouse Johnathan.  As in Johnathan Frisby from Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nihm.  Johnathan stayed in the house for a few days before he was lured into the trap by some peanut butter.  Randall took the trap to a large wooded area in town and released Johnanthan.  We said good-bye and hoped that he would remember to make his home in the lee of the stone.  And we were done.

Until we saw Matthias of Redwall.  Randall was at work and there was no school and he ran behind the trash can.  He startled me and I screamed. I didn’t yell, I didn’t shriek, I screamed.  I’m surprised he didn’t have a heart attack.  He attempted a second run and I screamed again.  I will admit I scared the kids pretty bad.  Eventually I calmed down enough to think a little bit and I left him alone to find a better hiding spot for the day.  Later I sent Seth in to inspect and see if he had gone.

We named him Matthias because Randall laughed at my story and my description, which may or may not have been exaggerated my fear and panic.  He said it definitely sounded like a warrior, so it must be Matthias.

It took a few more days for Matthias to find his way into the trap.  I will admit to getting a little impatient and purchasing a couple more traps.  When he climbed the backside of my cabinets and got on my counter I thought my heart would stop.  But like I said eventually we trapped him, only in the mean time we had spotted yet another mouse.  And when we caught Matthias, well he didn’t look like my decription of a big scary mouse so it was decided that Mathias wasn’t the one in the trap, it was Chloe.

Now if you’re looking for some reference to a mouse character pop culture, good luck.  Chloe got her name because Kaylene was around.  Her best friend is Chloe and if you ask her to name ANYTHING, she will name it Chloe.

So Chloe was take off to the woods and released.  But we still had Matthias.  By this time I had had it.  I was afraid of my kitchen, I was afraid of the trash, I was afraid of the counters, I was afraid of the computer desk.  I was afraid to clean any piles that might house a mi=ouse for fear the thing would run out.  So I went and bought killing traps.

In addition to our three live traps I set three more killing traps.  I used a variety of baits, and I went to be knowing that in the morning Matthias would be dead.  That night in my sleep I heard all three traps go off, and I smiled to myself a very smug smile.

In the morning, however I got up to find that I dreamed that the traps had gone off.  Matthias was still free.  Over the next week Matthias avoided all the traps and we discovered that he was joined by the Rescuers, Bernard and Bianca. ( We believe that Mathias did get caught but Bernard and Bianca rescued him.)

So back to the store I go and I purchase 4 for killing traps and 2 more live traps.  (Yes, I’m aware that this may perhaps be overkill.  And yes I am aware of the really bad pun.  I live with Randall, what do you expect.)  One mouse seemed to like chewing on my sponge so I cut it up and used it for bait.  I also added wheat as bait to some of the traps.  I put them in every conceivable place.  And that night we caught and killed Matthias.

Now before I have every treehugger boycotting my blog (I’m not sure how that would work since last time I checked I have about 5 people reading this, but whatever.) I do not enjoy killing mice.  But it is difficult to overstate my fear of mice.  And they are in my house.  My personal space.  They are in, MY kitchen, MY Dining Room, MY stuff, MY house.  For almost 2 weeks we tried to catch these mice in nice humane live traps.  Ultimately they need to be out of my house, one way or another.

So, back to the saga.  We were left with Bernard and Bianca.  Every night I would go to bed thinking that this would be the night and every morning the traps would be empty.  One night during scripture one of them made a brief appearance in the living room, sending kids screaming and crying everywhere.  Aryel was curled up in my arms shaking from crying so much.  Then they all ran upstairs and insisted on finishing family scripture time up there.  After a few days of that we tried to return to our normal place of reading scriptures in the living room.  Aryel Joel, Kaylene and Kirsten would huddle on the landing of the stairs and refused to come down any further.  By 8 PM none of them would come down stairs at all.

Randall and Seth thought it was hilarious.  I was traumatized.  One afternoon while sitting at the computer Bernard ran behind the desk.  I sat shaking but decided enough was enough.  I kept him cornered and called a friend with a cat to come over.  For 30 minutes I battled Bernard but he escaped before the cat got here.

I checked our traps and some of them the bait was gone, but they had never been triggered.  So I went through and got rid of some and re-baited others.  And every morning I would ask Randall if we had caught any and every morning he would shake his head.  This morning I almost didn’t even check them.  I think a part of me had lost hope.  I was preoccupied with making rolls and messing them up.  So I got into th kitchen and got our Thanksgiving meal preparations underway and before noon we were out the door to celebrate this holiday of gratitude.  We came home and promptly got back to the work of cleaning and running a home.  Later I decided to make the last of the cookie dough I had in the freezer.  I had baited a few traps earlier in the week with blue cheese and it obviously wasn’t working.  I thought maybe fresh-baked cookies would work.  So I began cleaning and re-baiting some of the traps.  I went to pick up one in the dining room and I notice it had been triggered.  At first I thought it had just gone off on its own.  We’ve had that happen a few times, but the indicator wasn’t pointing to the not set position.  It was just barely in the caught position.

I should mention the killing traps I bought were contained units.  Once it catches the mouse, you can’t see it or and gruesome bits.  It’s also safe for pets and kids.

I couldn’t believe it.  We caught Bernard.  I was elated.  Again I’m sorry we killed him, but I now only have 1 mouse in my house.  I was so excited I thought I’ll stay up tonight and brave the downstairs at night and finally use the computer.  But as I was tucking other kids into bed, Seth saw Bianca.  And I will admit I almost curled up inside my bed and waited out the night.  But I decided to come down here.  I have flinched a dozen times and seen things out of the corners of my eyes constantly.

I will proofread this and then run upstairs and possibly leave too many lights on because I will be afraid to turn them off.

But I did it.  I am down here.  And best of all there is only one mouse left.  Only 1.  Thank you, mouse traps.  Thank you.

Thankful to be a Mommy

What seems like half a million years ago I taught Primary (our children’s class at church) for the first time here in Ohio.  I had the 11-year-old girls.  That’s the age just before they move into the teen program.  Those were and still are My Girls.  I taught them only for a few months, but then later I took the to camp for a couple of years, and eventually taught them in the teen program.  They will forever be My Girls and they are very much mine.  I will share but each one was special to me.

They have since grown, gone to college, served missions, gotten married and begun their own families.  Some have stayed in the area and some have not.  Some I keep in touch with more and others less, but I can name them all.  They are MINE.

This past week as I was scrolling through my Facebook feed I saw a post from one of My Girls.  She commented that “Motherhood had kicked her butt today, and she loved it.”  She talked about fighting kids and fussy baby and laundry that wasn’t done, but that she was a Mommy and that was more important than anything.  Now, in my all too frequent vain moments I’d like to think that I taught these girls something.  That they felt all my love and somehow I meant something to them, but that post humbled me.

When was the last time I was GLAD that I was a mother?  When had I been thankful for my kids even though that were driving me bananas?  Motherhood quite regularly “kicks my butt.” but am I happy about it?  Not usually.

And then I thought about my recent trip with my family.  Out of the 7 of us kids we live in 5 States and 2 Countries, and My Dad is in a different State.  Needless to say we don’t often get together, but somehow the stars aligned and we were able to descend on helpless Washington DC.  I did not take my kids on this trip.  In the 12 years I’ve been a Mommy this is the 3rd time I’ve left them overnight.  That being said I now have joined the real world and have a cell phone with unlimited talked so they could call me.  The first day my 9-year-old daughter called.  The other days they all passed the phone around.  (Except for my 12-year-old Son who thinks he doesn’t need a Mommy.)

As soon as I said “Hello” I heard a change in my voice.  It was softer, happier.  I don’t know the right words, but the love I felt for my kiddos was amazing.  Now, I have a lot of faults.  Oh yes, it’s true.  And I probably won’t win any Mother of the Year awards anytime soon, but I realized on that trip that I love my kids, and if I do nothing else right I love them soooo much and they know it.  I say it 50 Million times a day.  And that isn’t much of an exaggeration.

So I am thankful to be a Mommy.  To have my 5 crazy little ones.  I’m thankful for all I learn from them and for all the love they give me.  I’m thankful for the bad days and the good.  I’m thankful for My Girls.  The ones in the past and my new ones.  And My Boys I’ve taught.  I’m thankful for the love I have for them, for that connection.  I’m thankful for Miss Andrea (yep I’m calling you out by name) and for her wise post.  I wish I could claim credit for her wisdom but it is really because of her amazing Mom and Dad.  And I’m thankful for my parents.  How they raised us 7 I will never figure out, but even after all the things I did they still love me.  And ultimately I am thankful for my Savior.  I am sure there are days that He wants to send me to time out and send me to bed early, (There are days I would LOVE to go to time out and go to bed early.) but He loves me all the same.

And I’m thankful to be a Mommy.

Now, is it bedtime yet?


Last week on the way to school, we had barely gotten a block away when I knew there was a problem.  I drive and old beat up minivan that probably has more things wrong with it than right with it, but there was a noise.  It was subtle, but instantly I knew it was new, and bad.

So I pulled over and sure enough I had a flat tire.  So my mind jumped into that problem solving mode.  I had 4 kids in the van and I was a block away from home on the side of a busy road.  2 kids could walk to school.  If they walked quickly they should make it before the tardy bell.  Not as early as they like, but they can make it.  1 kid needed to go to preschool, but that was too far to walk.  But we carpool, so the other Mom might be able to cover for me, but I need to call her right away.  That leave me and the 3 year old in a van with a flat tire.  We are only a block, so I turn around and drive home to get the van out of traffic’s way and just figure Randall will fix it when he comes home.

My friend arrived to pick up the preschooler and she said “Hey, after I drop these guys off do you want me to come over and help you change the tire?”

uhhhhhhhhh, what now?

Randall had insisted on teaching me how to rotate and change tires when were dateing, but to be honest I only agreed because I was twitterpated and I really didn’t pay attention.  It’s just not my thing.  I’m not a fixer upper.

I told her to stop back by and let me think on it.  I found the car manuel and called Randall and he laughed.  When I told my friend that he laughed the gloves came off.  So into the chilly damp morning we go to change a tire on my van.

And we did it.  We really did it.  We got the old tire off, took it in, had to buy a new one not repair it, but we got a new one, and took it home and put it on.  We fixed it, all by ourselves.  It was AWESOME!  And really cathardic.  I mean, I’ve just gotten into a rut about what I do and what Randall does.  And that’s great, we work together, but Knowing I COULD do something on his “list” and do it well…… it was an amazing confidence boost.

It made me realize that there was something I had wanted to write about for a long time, that I just hadn’t been able too.  In fact I had sat down once or twice to write it, but I just couldn’t.  But now, now I can do anything.  I can change a tire.

I am not worthless.

I am not one giant mistake.

I am not always a day late and a dollar short.

I am not a horrible person.

I am not a failure.

A few moths ago I called the same friend who helped me change the tire.  And I just cried and cried.  I couldn’t see any good in me.  All I could see was how much I messed everything up and how I always fell short.  She was stunned, because she doesn’t see me that way.  And for a while I thought that was because I was a good liar.  I lied about being a good person.  I did good things to cover up for all my mistakes, not because I was good person.  But then I tried to see me from her perspective.  She talked me through my worries 1 by 1.  Showing me that in each area of my life I was doing a good job.That I was not just a good person but an amazing person.

Nothing actually changed.  I still yell at my kids more than I should and heaven, my house will NEVER be clean, but I also see that I am great at hugging them and making them feel loved and I have never quit trying to be better.  I suppose I will always struggle with self-esteem, but if many small ways I’m trying to see myself the way I see my friends.  So tonight I’m the lady who changed a flat tire., the  crazy person who is vinyling the backsplashes of the water fountains at school.  I’m the Mom who is never to busy for a hug, kiss, and snuggle.  I’m the friend who is always there.  I’m the one who shows up with a random plate of cookies or a pie, just because.

I am me, and that is more than enough, that is The Best.