On my crunchiness and ineptitude -- and my strengths!

I always thought it would be fun to be  outside of Utah for the election.  And not so much because a Utah vote for a republican president is somewhat inconsequential at best -- although true -- but more because I wanted to be a part of the conversation, a voice saying "Hey.  Mormons aren't all crazy.  Look at ...uh..." and I would finish that sentence with someone I didn't know very well in my new ward.

Because (it goes without saying) I really couldn't finish that statement with "me."

And while the things that make me, me, (I never know how to write that) are often tied into my personal religious philosophies, and I feel come from a very Mormon place in my heart, most of them are total humbug to everyone else, members especially.

Sometimes I wonder which came first: my ideas being different from mainstream, and then me just eventually getting comfortable with it, or me just being a person who has to live outside the norm, and eventually finding these ideas as my way of making a "hey-wait-I'm-totally-an-individual" statement.

Although, I guess, if you're going for accuracy, the way things really unfolded for me indicates it had way more to do with personal revelation I chose to accept in order to get pregnant.  And that light lead to further requests for light, which lead to further deviations from standard American culture.  And on it has gone.

This isn't to say I'm a zealot.  For lots of reasons.  Those who never touch table sugar, whose children have never had store-bought bread, who have raw diets and are vegan to the core -- I admire them.  But I'm not one of them.  And I have my reasons -- but that's for another day.

However, I know our lifestyle would still overwhelm some.  Yes, we hardly ever buy anything from a box or a bag.  Yes, I read the labels on everything.  And please don't get sick or I'll have you drinking tea and taking tinctures all. day. long.  (It works!)  That's okay.  Most things about the way other people live (like without seventeen loads of laundry to fold!  or whose floors are so clean vacuuming isn't just a dream! or who -- and this is beyond my comprehension -- put a few things on a to-do list and don't get distracted right after starting!) is totally overwhelming to me.

But here's what I've learned: Just because my skills are different, doesn't mean they don't exist.  And I don't do anyone any favors by dwelling on my can'ts and pretending I don't have any assets or strengths.  It serves no one.  It blesses no one.  Especially, especially, especially not my children.  How can I be so down on myself and expect them to grow up with any sort of understanding about where their own self-worth comes from?

Yeah, we don't want to be self-righteous and priggish.  And nobody likes a perpetual expert or a Prideful Polly.  (Pretend I didn't just make that up.  Pretend you hear it all the time and you read it without even blinking an eye.  Thank you.)  But I see so many of my wonderful sisters, whom I love so much, who are totally oblivious to their strengths, or who cannot look upon one of their gifts without insisting on seeing three shortcomings in the same instant.  And this is not what we want for our daughters, or our sons.  So why should God want it for us?

Nobody could say it better than Sister Hinckley.  I've really tried to let these words enter my heart, and change my heart.  To be different because of them.  It's a work in progress, but I'm surprised how much happier I am.  Heavenly Father made me just the way I am, and although there's plenty of work to do, he doesn't want me to spend all my time wishing I were someone else.  There's one other quote of hers I've loved and wanted to share here, too.

"As you create a home, don't get distracted with a lot of things that have no meaning for you or your family.  Don't dwell on your failures, but think of your successes."  She's giving me permission to thrive -- thrive now, not someday when the laundry is done or I've learned to sew.  Now.

Thank heavens.

the lame night that should have been cool

Most nights as parents tend to be lame, in that you can't go anywhere after the kids are asleep.  And you've been somewhat beaten into submission for so long you don't really want to go anywhere or do anything, anyway.  Waaaaay too much work.

But Friday -- Friday shouldn't have been that way.  (Aside: now, don't think we go out on dates every Friday night. We're not that cool, or in our case, rich.  Because when you take me out on a date, it's not exactly to Subway, mister.)

Friday, September 14 was the ten year anniversary of the day I met my husband.  And he impressed me from the very minute I met him -- after I got over the awkwardness of being totally checked out...  Man, I do kinda miss it when I think about how long it's been since that's happened.  I mean, by a stranger.  Wait, that sounds bad.  I didn't mean it like that.

Ahem.  I knew the date was coming up all summer long.  So I wanted to plan something special, something wonderful.  Something perfect.  And since I'm usually high-maintenance, this would have to be extra high maintenance.  Maybe I would even wear mascara.

Or not, because if he said something sweet and I teared up, it would hurt like the devil.

But instead, I just totally forgot about it.  We spent Friday night enduring my least-favorite-campout-of-all-time. (Avie, for the love of all that is good, I am not taking you on another one of those until you're thirty.) And Saturday, after the girls were put to bed, Scott went out to buy ice cream, and came home with bonus roses.  Sweet.  Somehow the conversation randomly took us to the supposedly-upcoming anniversary, only to find ...we'd spent it shivering in the great outdoors and playing mattress to Avie.

So we owe ourselves a date.  A really, really good one.

Raspberry picking

My favorite thing about this too-early-to-call-it-fall time is raspberry picking.

I don't know why.  Your legs get scraped and the sun beats down and they're just so small.

But when we're done, and I finally get both girls strapped in the car, and the berries ride up front with me, and half of them are gone before we've even driven back -- maybe that's why I like it.

Last time we went, Betsy was obsessively dedicated to picking and got almost as many as me.  They even charged me for hers, because the bucket wasn't full of white berries, leaves, and assorted rocks.  This time?  She fed the tame deer who live on the other side of the fence the whole time.  Which was really sweet and endearing... until she tantrumed when it was time to leave because she knew at home, she only gets to  eat what she picks -- and of course, she only had a small cupful.

Don't judge.  I have my reasons.  I want to eat the rest myself.  And I'm sure it's teaching some awesome work-hard moral, kinda like the one with the ants and the grasshopper.

P.S. I'll take pictures next time we go and add some.  You've got to see this cute little place we go.

Every Nativity Needs an Elephant.

Betsy's preschool put on the original Christmas story, modified slightly to accomodate a more modest cast size of four. Then the angel's relunctance won out, leaving us with only three. All the same, it was super; is there anything like watching your children play make-believe?

Joseph entered first. That cutie in the background was our shy little angel who

took the day off. I think even watching the performance may have been traumatic for her.

Mary followed, and dropped the Babe in his little manger. Betsy peeked her head out, leading with the classic "Hi, Momma!" line all shepherds used in salutations. In a daring move, she chose to break with tradition, carrying an elephant instead of the tired, cliche sheep.

Mary watches over baby Jesus. I may or may not tear

up every time I see this picture.

Understandably, she seemed a bit apprehensive about admitting a

certain shepherd with an elephant in tow.

Betsy loses some patience waiting for the recitation of the story to

wrap up. Or me taking pictures, who call really tell?

Joseph, looking deep in character but actually waiting

for his mother to finish taking pictures.

After my eccentric little shepherd needed some costume

adjustments, Mary insisted on the same.

About ten seconds after this picture was taken, the elephant and our Lord and Savior bunked together. As near as we can tell, Jesus was happy to share. Check out Joseph's smile, too.

Merry Christmas from our cuties to yours!

(the other cutie)

feeling appy?

So I might have a small obsession with phone apps. Yes. And because not only am I obsessed, but I believe I can be so dang helpful to everybody else, I'll disclose my favorites. Which, I should mention, are free. Everybody knows I'm a cheapskate, so you probably already guessed that, but still. Consider yourself informed.

1. Voice Recorder (by Google) I know most phones come with this app already, but the one on my Samsung Galaxy was abysmal. So I downloaded this one, which for a dollar upgrade, can convert the files to mp3s. I read books to Avie or have conversations with Betsy on said recorder. I can send them easily to a million different places (gmail, texts, evernote, bluetooth, etc.) and turn them into ring tones. These recordings are ridiculously sweet, sickeningly sentimental, and when Avie doesn't want to take a nap, I play these for her and she listens calmly until I thinks she's ready for the crib.

2. Citation Index This app makes my phone worth however much Scott paid for it, all by itself. I could never do it justice, so just check it out and spare yourself the superlatives. Until you start using it yourself, then heaven help us, you'll be using them too.

3. LDS Tools Because it makes my calling ten times easier. It's like having the ward stake list on speed dial without actually having to sift through all the numbers in your phonebook. You can organize said lists by calling, and there's even an option to have all the numbers in the stake available to your caller ID.

4. DLR Lines/MouseWait It's the rides at Disneyland, not the wait that I want to remember. I guess I lied when I said all my apps were free; DLR lines is $1/week or $7/year, but the data on park busy-ness levels and the amount of statistical data that has gone into this makes it more than worth it. It tells you how long the lines are, how long they'll be in 15, 30, and 45 minutes, and when they'll peak during the day.

5. Evernote I like to make myself think I'm organized, and this is a big key to a successful fake-out. Seriously. It's got lots of bells and whistles and deserves a post all by itself, although it will never get one. So just check it out on your own, then sing my praises for a week.

6. Savings Cents with Cents I haven't had this app long, but it already saved me $50 on Avie's carseat, so take that, spending-hours-researching-everything-on-Amazon-and-getting-totally-sidetracked-so-that-it-takes-me-three-days-to-complete-said-research.

7. Kids Learn to Read/All IntelliJoy Apps They're delightful for the kids, and they really are teaching skills. And Betsy thinks she's died and gone to heaven when she gets to play with one of these after finishing her homeschooling. Which, okay, is really just a reading lesson, but I like to make it sound like I'm more amazing than that.

8. Photoshop Mobile I like pretty pictures, not scary ones that look like they were processed by a blind man.

9. I'd say Google Maps, but I still get lost. I have faith one day we'll work together in some united way instead of the constantly argumentative relationship we currently have. I'm reminded of my Grandma and Grandpa and how they were when we'd drive to yard sales. Sitting in the back seat with the two of them arguing over which way to turn -- we still laugh about it, and they died a decade ago! Funny the stuff you miss. Although I doubt I'll miss Google Maps when I find something better. Or have a car with GPS.

10. You can't end a list at 9. No wait, you can. If that's all you've got. I guess I could add Kindle (not even going to link, that's absurd) and Gospel Library, but that's kind of a given. I like the Scripture Mastery app, but also kind of a given.

Not Quite the Trip I Had in Mind...

A couple of months ago, Scott told me I needed to get the girls out of his hair so he could tackle remodeling the bathroom.

Ahem. Finishing the remodeling that started a year ago. Possibly two. With things like this, it's best for the marriage if I don't really keep track. (For the record, he is even more kind. He never keeps track of how much laundry or cleaning he does. That's how I know I married up.)

So, I pack up the girls and our clothes and a bunch of car snacks and prepare to go see Memaw and Poppa. It's only a 1o or 12 hour drive. And I so have never done anything remotely like this. But whatev.

Just before leaving, Scott asks me to drive him to his work truck, which was parked in Springville. So he hops in the car too, and I figure we'll just say our goodbyes in a couple of miles when I drop him off.

And that's when the coolest thing ever happened. A surprise vacation. That sweet man got a week off work, had made crazy intense arrangements, extra packing, purchased necessary foodstuffs (Larabar, how I love thee) and managed to have absolutely everyone in on the secret. And we were heading down together. To go to Disneyland. Well, and other places. But what else matters? Disneyland is everything.

P.S. Surprise vacations rock.

Waiting for a show at Sea World. Which was totally created by tired parents who just wanted to sit down for 30 minutes and recover.

When we went last February, we found this awesome Indiana Jones hat and decided to pimp it out with ears. I'm crazy about it. So is he. (Scott. Indiana Jones is busy.)

Check out that castle!

Waiting for Small World

All decked out for Halloween!

The girls' hats are simple and matching. No frills. I think it's actually their vintage style circa maybe 1960s? I love seeing them!

Holding his girls. Or at least the little ones.

I think we all know how cute this is.

Betsy feeding the goat.

Avie shows warranted caution about the sheep.

Oh, let's NEVER do that again.

When the girls were sent home from the ER on April 5, I thought it meant everything must be more or less okay. By that evening, my natropath took one look at them and insisted we travel immediately to Primary Children's Hospital. Even though we'd pass easily half a dozen other hospitals on our way, he said that's where they'd need to be. He was right.

Within an hour of our arrival, Avie was sedated and intubated, then wheeled up to a crib in room 2325 of the pediatric intensive care unit. I pumped every 3-5 hours, slept either by her side or in the hospital's PICU parent dorms, survived on snacks in the PICU nutrition room, and rushed between the third floor and the second as I tried to keep up with both girls' needs. (And just because a child is in a state of chemically induced sedation does not mean she doesn't need her Momma!)

She maintained her looooooong nap for a week, during which time her nurses dolled her up with cute accessories (blankets and bows.) Only in retrospect can I talk about an event as traumatic as intubation with any cheery words like accessories and long naps. I have never been so busy, so sleep deprived, so full of we-will-do-this-thing-drive. I watched Avie's PIP and PEEP numbers incessantly, monitored each breath with her machines, sobbed when the PEEP went up and tried not to get too elated when it went down. You just couldn't trust that it would stay down. One would think there's nothing like losing your power, your role, your duties as a parent, and handing them over to a nurse.

And they would be right. But during that intubation, it was I who spoke to her. And miraculously, she heard me. Then she spoke to me, and I heard her. And that dialogue is a mother's job more than anything else. We kept each other going. She learned things in that PICU, things about truth and light and discernment. And me! I did too! Truth is truth, so there's no point in getting yourself in a dither if you know everything will be all right in the end. You just might have to remind yourself of that fact from moment to anguishing moment.

When they extubated her, the joy I felt was almost like giving birth again. Seeing those eyes -- open, aware, and anxiously looking for me -- I was Momma again! It would be my hands changing her diapers, my arms holding her, my breasts feeding her, and once again my shirt sleeves stained with baby food. Hallelujah!

Betsy was taken to the children's ward, where she would spend the next 6 days watching every Disney movie known to man, rejecting disgusting hospital food (except ice cream) every few hours, and coloring, coloring, coloring. And screaming every time the nurses came for her albuteral treatment. She's a Daddy's girl, and Avie can't live without her Momma, so I'm afraid I didn't get to spend much time with Betsy to begin with. Only when Avie was in a pretty stable place, and Daddy was back at work, did I really venture down to Betsy's room with short trips to the PICU instead of the other way around.

Betsy's trip ended up being a week, and Avie's was 11 days, 8 of which were in the PICU. I'm still decompressing and trying to learn all the lessons I believe I can from this experience. Primary Children's was the perfect place. Our nurses were the kind that were truly called to their profession. What a blessing it was to be in such nurturing, capable, skilled hands.