I talked to my cute Grandma on Saturday night because she called to thank us for the little birthday package we sent (a card and a little framed picture of the girls). She had spent the day celebrating her birthday with Grandpa and she said, "It's been a lovely day. Just lovely. Probably my best birthday ever." How cute is that?
She told me all about her day, how they went to this cute antique store, Annabelle's Attic, and Grandpa bought her a beautiful garnet ring (her birthstone). Then they went to try out the Claim Jumper restaurant that just opened in Tucson. They had a nice dinner and good service--birthday ice cream, even--and then found out that it was an employee day--kind of a "check ride" before the grand opening, so their meal was free. And the nice people at Claim Jumper never siad anything til the end--isn't that so nice? My grandparents are sooo cute, and it's just the best when grandma has fun. She's a hoot--I wish we had been there (and NOT just for a free Claim Jumper meal ;)).
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Too Funny
Sunday Night, 8pm-ish...
Addie: "What's in your mouth, mom?"
Me: "Asparagus. Want some?"
Addie: [thinking hard] "I think so."
[walk into kitchen; hand Addie an asparagus spear; she nibbles]
Addie: "Uuugghh! [wincing] I don't want this, mom. It's too funny!"
PS: We had asparagus left over from our yummy special Sunday Supper with Uncle Matt and Aunt Amie and Baby Jake who stopped by on their way home to Helena from the temple in Billings. We were so happy to see them! Jake is almost walking and making the cutest noises; he and Heidi did some laps speed crawling and had a few rolling wrestling matches (sorry; forgot to take pix). Cuties! Heidi is bigger than Jake now, I think--she's a tanker! Matt and Amie were floored when they saw her (she has gained almost 6 pounds and 2 inches since they saw her last, almost 3 months ago). Fun Sunday.
Addie: "What's in your mouth, mom?"
Me: "Asparagus. Want some?"
Addie: [thinking hard] "I think so."
[walk into kitchen; hand Addie an asparagus spear; she nibbles]
Addie: "Uuugghh! [wincing] I don't want this, mom. It's too funny!"
PS: We had asparagus left over from our yummy special Sunday Supper with Uncle Matt and Aunt Amie and Baby Jake who stopped by on their way home to Helena from the temple in Billings. We were so happy to see them! Jake is almost walking and making the cutest noises; he and Heidi did some laps speed crawling and had a few rolling wrestling matches (sorry; forgot to take pix). Cuties! Heidi is bigger than Jake now, I think--she's a tanker! Matt and Amie were floored when they saw her (she has gained almost 6 pounds and 2 inches since they saw her last, almost 3 months ago). Fun Sunday.
Mothers Be Good to Your Daughters
A combination of four things has reminded me of the enormous charge I have as a mom and the most important things I need to change (or work on changing—some of my worst weaknesses spring from scars so deep, I’ll be lucky to tame them before I have grandchildren).
It all started with the first thing (#1), my New Year’s mini-breakdown, when I realized that I was terribly angry at myself for my shortcomings, but the anger was spilling out all over my house, my kids, my husband—my most precious things—and creating yet another failure. I traced these feelings back to this multi-generational, mother-daughter history of OCD-like perfectionism and people-pleasing and self-loathing masquerading as humility. I stopped and listened to the “self-talk” soundtrack (please excuse this pop-psych slang—I hate it, but it’s the best term for the stuff you say to yourself all day, everyday, that makes you into who you are) playing in my head and it is so ugly. It’s full of things I would never, ever say to another being, but it’s ringing in my own ears.
Changing my self-talk was the primary goal in my little resolution to exercise and study on my own 3 days a week. Perhaps if I can read some scripture and meditate every morning, I can reprogram myself with some god-like, encouraging words. And if I am exercising maybe I will stop avoiding mirrors and crying when I have to look at myself in this sumo suit I’ve been wearing the past 3 years.
The second motivator (#2) was that one of my dearest friends is going through a similar thing, but her thing is linked to a depression which is linked to an unhealthy relationship with her mom (i.e., her mom is a constant stream of criticism and negativity—the kind of thing you’d cut out of your life, except for her, it’s her mom—there’s no cutting out). I told her about how I had to hash out all this stuff with my mom and how we got to this place where we just—are. Still different, not always agreeing, but not taking everything personally. I was reminded of how long it took to get here, and –sadly—how some of the wounds and the “muscle memory,” for lack of a better term, just never go away. It’s almost unfair how things a mom might say in frustration or a depression-induced haze are etched indelibly into our minds and hearts, forming our self image (and planting the seeds of self-doubt and plain old sadness).
And then that reminded me of this chain of thoughts I have occasionally—if my sadness and inability to cope with certain things comes from how I was (inadvertently) taught to feel about myself, then what am I doing to my own girls? I am all they get. This is it. I, in turn, am their basket-case mother, etching all kinds of things on to their hearts and minds and the cycle will just go on. That is, unless I stop it right here, right now. But what do I do different? How do I keep my own cup full so I can give generously to them, without taking too much time and attention away? How do I balance all the opportunities to serve outside of my family—in church, the community, our build, etc, plus the housekeeping and wife things, and be a better mother? How so I keep my girls from being thirty-something, and finding themselves paralyzed and deflated from an inexplicable broken heart? I mean, my heart is mostly NOT broken—God knows I have the best of everything now—the best husband, hometown, in-laws, family of origin, children, little daily comforts, etc. But sometimes I just crumple up and feel like a scared little five-year-old and why? Why is that tiny little crack in my heart still there???
So thing #3 happened today. I was still thinking about this whole breaking-of-the-cycle when I lay down and read a story today in the Ensign. It was about a mother who could barely handle her little girl and prayed for help. Then her grandmother came to her in a dream and told her to play with her children. You’ve forgotten how to play. Now, I didn’t know how to play as a child, but Heavenly Father let me learn how in college. So I need to remember that. And I also love all the things the Gordon B. and Marjorie Hinckley said about parenting in their biographies. Get to know your kids. Earn their respect and respect them. Listen. Play and Work together. Always try to find a way to say yes. I know my kids are different from their kids and I am not nearly as patient, but it’s good advice, you know? And, if you saw Marjorie Hinckley’s funeral, you know it definitely worked.
So I pondered on that article and drifted off to a nap and when I woke up, the last 40 minutes or so of “The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” was on TBS. I saw this movie with 6 of my sisters in the theatre and we almost died laughing. All of us (except my very youngest sister) could relate all too well. The consensus was, “At least mom didn’t drink!” I remembered I loved the movie, but couldn’t remember exactly why, so I watched it. It reminded me that the mother–daughter thing happens a lot. It also reminded me of what my mom said in one of our ‘resolution’ conversations, about me. In the movie, at the end, when the mom and daughter talk on the porch swing, the mom talks about all the years she prayed for God to make her better, to make her more, etc. and then she realized she got her answer. She says to the daughter, “My answer is you. All I wanted to be, all my dreams came through me in you.” That scene kills me. And it kills me even more now because when I first saw it, I could only see it as a daughter. This time, I could see both sides.
And the mother side is sad, too. I think the tragic flaw is that the mother doesn’t realize what her personal demons are doing to her kids. And the daughter doesn’t realize that mothers have personal demons (don’t you remember at some point thinking that your mother existed solely for you, as a mother, and nothing else?). The mom doesn’t comprehend the enormous weight of her words and actions as a mother, and the daughter doesn’t realize that it’s not her fault—that the sadness her mom feels came from decades ago (from her own mother, mostly—interestingly—ugh! The cycle!). I did all the things that Sidda does in the movie—avoided marriage, avoided motherhood (avoided even real closeness) for fear of passing all of the pain around. But I got past the fears, then encountered them again as I try not to pulverize my daughters’ psyches.
Man, does it ever go away? Do we bury our mothers wishing we could have been more and done more for them? Or that they could have loved the way we turned out? Can we ever shut off the soundtrack that keep telling us we’re not cute enough or fun enough or nice enough or athletic enough or clean enough or righteous enough? I think I know the answer to that, and I will find the off switch soon. And I will play with my girls and tell them with my actions and my words that they are the smartest, most beautiful, capable girls God ever made and they can do anything. I’ll let them figure out their limitations instead of creating them.
[PS: Happy 74th Birthday to my beautiful grandmother; thank you for all you have taught me and for your example of patience and love for your children]
It all started with the first thing (#1), my New Year’s mini-breakdown, when I realized that I was terribly angry at myself for my shortcomings, but the anger was spilling out all over my house, my kids, my husband—my most precious things—and creating yet another failure. I traced these feelings back to this multi-generational, mother-daughter history of OCD-like perfectionism and people-pleasing and self-loathing masquerading as humility. I stopped and listened to the “self-talk” soundtrack (please excuse this pop-psych slang—I hate it, but it’s the best term for the stuff you say to yourself all day, everyday, that makes you into who you are) playing in my head and it is so ugly. It’s full of things I would never, ever say to another being, but it’s ringing in my own ears.
Changing my self-talk was the primary goal in my little resolution to exercise and study on my own 3 days a week. Perhaps if I can read some scripture and meditate every morning, I can reprogram myself with some god-like, encouraging words. And if I am exercising maybe I will stop avoiding mirrors and crying when I have to look at myself in this sumo suit I’ve been wearing the past 3 years.
The second motivator (#2) was that one of my dearest friends is going through a similar thing, but her thing is linked to a depression which is linked to an unhealthy relationship with her mom (i.e., her mom is a constant stream of criticism and negativity—the kind of thing you’d cut out of your life, except for her, it’s her mom—there’s no cutting out). I told her about how I had to hash out all this stuff with my mom and how we got to this place where we just—are. Still different, not always agreeing, but not taking everything personally. I was reminded of how long it took to get here, and –sadly—how some of the wounds and the “muscle memory,” for lack of a better term, just never go away. It’s almost unfair how things a mom might say in frustration or a depression-induced haze are etched indelibly into our minds and hearts, forming our self image (and planting the seeds of self-doubt and plain old sadness).
And then that reminded me of this chain of thoughts I have occasionally—if my sadness and inability to cope with certain things comes from how I was (inadvertently) taught to feel about myself, then what am I doing to my own girls? I am all they get. This is it. I, in turn, am their basket-case mother, etching all kinds of things on to their hearts and minds and the cycle will just go on. That is, unless I stop it right here, right now. But what do I do different? How do I keep my own cup full so I can give generously to them, without taking too much time and attention away? How do I balance all the opportunities to serve outside of my family—in church, the community, our build, etc, plus the housekeeping and wife things, and be a better mother? How so I keep my girls from being thirty-something, and finding themselves paralyzed and deflated from an inexplicable broken heart? I mean, my heart is mostly NOT broken—God knows I have the best of everything now—the best husband, hometown, in-laws, family of origin, children, little daily comforts, etc. But sometimes I just crumple up and feel like a scared little five-year-old and why? Why is that tiny little crack in my heart still there???
So thing #3 happened today. I was still thinking about this whole breaking-of-the-cycle when I lay down and read a story today in the Ensign. It was about a mother who could barely handle her little girl and prayed for help. Then her grandmother came to her in a dream and told her to play with her children. You’ve forgotten how to play. Now, I didn’t know how to play as a child, but Heavenly Father let me learn how in college. So I need to remember that. And I also love all the things the Gordon B. and Marjorie Hinckley said about parenting in their biographies. Get to know your kids. Earn their respect and respect them. Listen. Play and Work together. Always try to find a way to say yes. I know my kids are different from their kids and I am not nearly as patient, but it’s good advice, you know? And, if you saw Marjorie Hinckley’s funeral, you know it definitely worked.
So I pondered on that article and drifted off to a nap and when I woke up, the last 40 minutes or so of “The Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood” was on TBS. I saw this movie with 6 of my sisters in the theatre and we almost died laughing. All of us (except my very youngest sister) could relate all too well. The consensus was, “At least mom didn’t drink!” I remembered I loved the movie, but couldn’t remember exactly why, so I watched it. It reminded me that the mother–daughter thing happens a lot. It also reminded me of what my mom said in one of our ‘resolution’ conversations, about me. In the movie, at the end, when the mom and daughter talk on the porch swing, the mom talks about all the years she prayed for God to make her better, to make her more, etc. and then she realized she got her answer. She says to the daughter, “My answer is you. All I wanted to be, all my dreams came through me in you.” That scene kills me. And it kills me even more now because when I first saw it, I could only see it as a daughter. This time, I could see both sides.
And the mother side is sad, too. I think the tragic flaw is that the mother doesn’t realize what her personal demons are doing to her kids. And the daughter doesn’t realize that mothers have personal demons (don’t you remember at some point thinking that your mother existed solely for you, as a mother, and nothing else?). The mom doesn’t comprehend the enormous weight of her words and actions as a mother, and the daughter doesn’t realize that it’s not her fault—that the sadness her mom feels came from decades ago (from her own mother, mostly—interestingly—ugh! The cycle!). I did all the things that Sidda does in the movie—avoided marriage, avoided motherhood (avoided even real closeness) for fear of passing all of the pain around. But I got past the fears, then encountered them again as I try not to pulverize my daughters’ psyches.
Man, does it ever go away? Do we bury our mothers wishing we could have been more and done more for them? Or that they could have loved the way we turned out? Can we ever shut off the soundtrack that keep telling us we’re not cute enough or fun enough or nice enough or athletic enough or clean enough or righteous enough? I think I know the answer to that, and I will find the off switch soon. And I will play with my girls and tell them with my actions and my words that they are the smartest, most beautiful, capable girls God ever made and they can do anything. I’ll let them figure out their limitations instead of creating them.
[PS: Happy 74th Birthday to my beautiful grandmother; thank you for all you have taught me and for your example of patience and love for your children]
Friday, January 21, 2005
The Power of the Pen (or keyboard)
I have received a few questions about our housing progress, so let me give you the update.
We are still working mostly on finishing our own house, but have committed to help 4 (yep, only four) other families finish their homes by the end of March (that is our official do-or-die deadline). We found out that we have to have little porches and steps out of every door in order to pass our framing inspection and start dry walling, so we are working furiously on that. Porches, steps and siding. It will all be done this Saturday (including the fascia and soffit—the stuff that covers the eaves). Then we can pass inspection and start all the finish work. Our cabinets have already arrived, we ordered carpet, Pergo, and light fixtures last week, and I have even bought a couple of cans of paint. It won’t be long now, as long as everybody does his or her best. We will be moved in before we go to SLC for conference in April.
So yeah—the building group got split into 2 phases. The poky little puppies have until summer to finish their houses and we have until March. This split is partially due to an email I happened to send the very day the USDA came to review our progress (or lack thereof) and they felt sorry for me. Even though it was a rant that I was kind of embarrassed about (I sent an apology a short time later), it got something done and I am proud of that. See, channeling your rage into writing can occasionally make things happen.
So soon our “Acacia” siding will be all done, our Almond crunch (or whatever it’s called) light “Frieze” carpet and honey oak laminate floors will be installed, then our natural oak cabinets and speckly counters and Corian “Tahiti Sand” sink, but not before we paint the walls colors like “Basic Beige”, “Soft Suede,” “Scrubs” (sea green), “Tea Rose,” and “Cayenne.” One of these days.
Of course I will take pictures and post them here, so keep your eyes peeled, then come see it for yourself!!!
We are still working mostly on finishing our own house, but have committed to help 4 (yep, only four) other families finish their homes by the end of March (that is our official do-or-die deadline). We found out that we have to have little porches and steps out of every door in order to pass our framing inspection and start dry walling, so we are working furiously on that. Porches, steps and siding. It will all be done this Saturday (including the fascia and soffit—the stuff that covers the eaves). Then we can pass inspection and start all the finish work. Our cabinets have already arrived, we ordered carpet, Pergo, and light fixtures last week, and I have even bought a couple of cans of paint. It won’t be long now, as long as everybody does his or her best. We will be moved in before we go to SLC for conference in April.
So yeah—the building group got split into 2 phases. The poky little puppies have until summer to finish their houses and we have until March. This split is partially due to an email I happened to send the very day the USDA came to review our progress (or lack thereof) and they felt sorry for me. Even though it was a rant that I was kind of embarrassed about (I sent an apology a short time later), it got something done and I am proud of that. See, channeling your rage into writing can occasionally make things happen.
So soon our “Acacia” siding will be all done, our Almond crunch (or whatever it’s called) light “Frieze” carpet and honey oak laminate floors will be installed, then our natural oak cabinets and speckly counters and Corian “Tahiti Sand” sink, but not before we paint the walls colors like “Basic Beige”, “Soft Suede,” “Scrubs” (sea green), “Tea Rose,” and “Cayenne.” One of these days.
Of course I will take pictures and post them here, so keep your eyes peeled, then come see it for yourself!!!
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Superfluity of Naughtiness
Yesterday Addie cut a chunk out of her hair right between her bangs and her longer hair. I took her to the stylist to get her hair cut today and she got a lecture there, too. The stylist showed Addie her license and said only people with a license or mommy can cut your hair and Addie said, "Sorry."
By the way, the title of this entry actually comes from scripture--no joke. James 1:21. I love James.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Highly Mobile Baby
At the age of nine months and two days, Heidi Lynn has decided to crawl! She went from the Soldier Scoot to Speed Crawling over the weekend (in honor of Uncle Drew's birthday). These two photos were taken of her this morning while she was crawling AND singing at the same time--the girl is talented!
The Roads and The Weather
Remember in Sense and Sensiblity when they say that the only polite topics of conversation are the roads and the weather? So they kep talking about the roads and the weather, when they really want to scream, "I love you and I want you to love me back!!!"
Well, I 'm not trying to be polite, but man, I just keep writing incessantly about the weather. Seriously--it hardly got over 20 degrees ALL week last week and this week--it's in the FIFTIES! Five-oh. As in ARIZONA winter. What the freak? Today's forecast from weather.com, zip code 59047:
Well, I 'm not trying to be polite, but man, I just keep writing incessantly about the weather. Seriously--it hardly got over 20 degrees ALL week last week and this week--it's in the FIFTIES! Five-oh. As in ARIZONA winter. What the freak? Today's forecast from weather.com, zip code 59047:
Windy with mostly cloudy skies. High 54F. Winds WSW at 25 to 35 mph. Winds could occasionally gust over 50 mph.
I suppose I should just be glad but I fear my rejoicing will only bring the wrath of the Alberta Clip and freeze us all up again.
I Am Not A Terrorist
I've heard conflicting reports about the high temperature on Saturday--some say it was 20, some say 15, others say less. All I know is that is was cold and I will never, ever work on my house for 8 hours in below-freezing weather again (it's the equivalent of siding a house in Phoenix in July). I really COULDN'T feel my legs, and when I tried to thaw them in warm water, they stung and got all red and splotchy. Poor little desert girl in her fleecy burqa, oppressed by Old Man Winter.
Favorite Things
Here are Addie and Heidi playing with the stuff Uncle Mikey got them for Christmas--Heidi got the big Lego boat and Addie got the Strawberry Shortcake blanket. What a great Uncle--seriously, he's got his finger on the pulse of the kiddies.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Girl Songs
Last week while I was driving in my minivan ALONE (so rare) to Enrichment meeting, I decided to play an old tape (aside: the van was given to us by my inlaws when they bought our beloved black Subaru Outback wagon from us in December; they've had the van paid off for years and, although it is still in great condition, it has 220K miles on it and has no CD player--hence the digging up of old audio cassettes).
The tape I put in had "Eat Your Eighties" from Tucson's KFMA station (an all-request lunch hour show hosted by Chuck Roast) circa 1996 on one side, and Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing on the other side. Now, I own about 5 Sarah CDs but I haven't listened to them in YEARS. So the KFMA side flips over to Sarah and I am so struck by the SADNESS of the music. I can remember every word--I even performed some of these songs--but I can't believe how melancholy they sound! And this is the music I listened to, everyday , for YEARS. Girl Songs. Anthems of Young Single Women. Although I still find them lovely, they don't stir my soul like they used to. I mean, I was FEELING Sarah on this album when it came out--oh, the drama, the soul-searching, the lovesickness, the passion. Married life has said good bye to all that, surprisingly.
But I was reminded of one cool thing while listening to that album that I thought I should share. We were listening to it in my apartment on Ft. Lowell in Tucson back in 1999--we, meaning me and my roommate, Laura, who had recently gone from crazy sorority girl to less-crazy Mormon girl by being baptized. When "Sweet Surrender" came on, she said, "This song perfectly describes my conversion." I was like, "HUH?" cuz that's not quite what I got out of it. But then she said, "No, really--listen to it that way..." So I did and now that song is a beautiful religious thing for me. Here are the lyrics:
it doesn't mean much--it doesn't mean anything at all
the life I've left behind me is a cold room
I've crossed the last line from where I can't return
back where every step I took in faith betrayed me
and led me from my home
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give
you [meaning jesus/the spirit/whatever] take me in--no questions asked
you strip away the uglinessthat surrounds me
are you an angel? am I already that gone?
I only hope that I won't disappoint you
when I'm down here on my knees
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give
I don't understand
by the touch of your hand
I would be the one to fall
I miss the little things
oh I miss everything about you
it doesn't mean much--it doesn't mean anything at all
the life I left behind me is a cold room
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give.
The tape I put in had "Eat Your Eighties" from Tucson's KFMA station (an all-request lunch hour show hosted by Chuck Roast) circa 1996 on one side, and Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing on the other side. Now, I own about 5 Sarah CDs but I haven't listened to them in YEARS. So the KFMA side flips over to Sarah and I am so struck by the SADNESS of the music. I can remember every word--I even performed some of these songs--but I can't believe how melancholy they sound! And this is the music I listened to, everyday , for YEARS. Girl Songs. Anthems of Young Single Women. Although I still find them lovely, they don't stir my soul like they used to. I mean, I was FEELING Sarah on this album when it came out--oh, the drama, the soul-searching, the lovesickness, the passion. Married life has said good bye to all that, surprisingly.
But I was reminded of one cool thing while listening to that album that I thought I should share. We were listening to it in my apartment on Ft. Lowell in Tucson back in 1999--we, meaning me and my roommate, Laura, who had recently gone from crazy sorority girl to less-crazy Mormon girl by being baptized. When "Sweet Surrender" came on, she said, "This song perfectly describes my conversion." I was like, "HUH?" cuz that's not quite what I got out of it. But then she said, "No, really--listen to it that way..." So I did and now that song is a beautiful religious thing for me. Here are the lyrics:
it doesn't mean much--it doesn't mean anything at all
the life I've left behind me is a cold room
I've crossed the last line from where I can't return
back where every step I took in faith betrayed me
and led me from my home
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give
you [meaning jesus/the spirit/whatever] take me in--no questions asked
you strip away the uglinessthat surrounds me
are you an angel? am I already that gone?
I only hope that I won't disappoint you
when I'm down here on my knees
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give
I don't understand
by the touch of your hand
I would be the one to fall
I miss the little things
oh I miss everything about you
it doesn't mean much--it doesn't mean anything at all
the life I left behind me is a cold room
and sweet surrender is all that I have to give.
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