This is me, Owning it.

I have never had writer's block (I use that term quite loosely, obviously, not being any sort of writer) like I did on this entry.  But I was determined to write it.  And I'm a better person for it.  At first, I had all these qualifiers on every one of these, like, "if everything is going well," or "if you don't look too close," but I decided to get rid of them.  Yeah, I'm not perfect.  But I have strengths, and this is me.  Owning it.

Breakfast.  My kids' breakfast is always healthy.  It's usually some pastured, organic eggs, but lately the girls 

have been obsessed with homemade french toast.  (Me too.)  We put raw honey on top, and I'm telling you, my mornings have been ten times better for them.

Betsy is a reader.  I've used a great book, so my investment in teaching her was seriously less than fifteen dollars.  We're on about lesson 75, and she can read things like Little Bear on an instructional level.  It's probably one of the things that I've felt the most successful about lately.  I've thought about taking on a preschool student here or there to tutor, but that's kind-of lame since I use such a lay-parent-friendly approach.

I'm not afraid to read children's books with voices.

I can make a mean tincture.

I know how to read a BBT chart better than anybody I know.

Sometimes I take cute pictures.  And my LR edits aren't too shabby.

I've sewn a few quilts.

I can listen to you, and you will feel heard.

I feel too much empathy for people I don't even know and usually end up somehow finding every sad blog in the world and sobbing about one night every month.

I have awesome taste in music.



That was hard.  But I know what qualities I hope my girls will have as they grow into beautiful adults, and I've been thinking lately about how often that person is different than who I am.  So this was good for me.

Anybody else think they can do it?

Embracing the Mediocrity

...Some days, you just gotta.

I mean, we all set standards for ourselves.  (Yours probably include a degree of cleanliness I never reach.  But hey, my girls have a hot breakfast almost every day.  So that's something.  Right?)

But no matter what those standards are, some days you just have to let go of them, and, as my roommate used to say, "embrace the suckiness."  It took me a long time to be willing to let go of my standards for a day.  Especially because my struggles, while significant to me, would have been nothing to somebody else.  They'd never understand what my holdup was.

Doesn't matter.  It's real to me.  So it's real.  And when I can't give the day my best, I should accept what I can give it, be grateful for that, and move along cheerfully.  I think the worst thing I can do is berate myself to the point where I'm falling short of my usual self and being what our family calls "a big grumpster" to boot.

So that's what I'm going to do today.  Peace out.  Here's hoping for a better tomorrow.

If you google "Grumpster" you can find this guy.  Isn't he perfect?  And also a little scary.

I Like Provo.

So, Scott, as you know, is a transportation engineer.  And he's been working on the I-15 Core project, but the thing is, it's almost done.  Finis.  No more engineers needed.  So things are going to be changing in the very near future.  We have a few watched pots we're trying to get to boil/choose between, and when everything is done-and-done, we'll fill you in.  A long-distance move seems highly likely.  In the mean time, I have something to say:

I like Provo.

Now, I know what assumptions everyone makes about Provo, and not all of them are wrong.  But not all of them are right, either.  In most ways, residential (non-student) Provo is pretty much akin to any of the other bedroom communities between here and Ogden.

But it's better.  It has plenty of authentic food joints that thrive with the RMs anxious for a taste from their other home.  BYU has the MOA, tons of music programs, (I missed seeing Mandy Patinkin due to my brothers' wedding.  Is it normal to still be crying about that?) a wonderful genealogy library, Education Week, some really cool special exhibits, and a great dose of nostalgic charm dating back to 2002/2003, when Scott and I spent the year studying each other far more than anything else.

And here's the stuff I like that's really, really pivotal to me that nobody else cares about: it's really easy to get raw milk.  There's two separate but well-staffed health food stores nearby.  There's Sprouts, which has great produce, very affordably priced, with a great organic selection, too.  I have Jeff, my "egg man" who sells me pastured eggs for $3/dozen and doesn't balk when I tell him I want seven dozen.  The Farmer's Market is just across the street from our house, and it's my favorite thing to do on a Saturday morning.  I have a great source for grass-fed beef and even organ meats.  Dr. Christopher's herb shop is just in the next town, and it's one of the few places to get bulk herbs for a decent price without going online and having to pay shipping.  I can even buy a gallon of my extra-virgin, cold-pressed organic coconut oil at a local store instead of paying an extra $15 to get it shipped here.

And I know my reasons are mine and mine alone -- after all, who else cares if they can buy their astragalus or raspberry leaf for a good price? -- but it really drives me nuts these days to hear people act like Provo's only identity is as a community with a problem.  Of course, it's absolutely true that when you get a lot of people who have the same religious background, that's going to skew things.  And distort things.  But that's worth working through, worth helping people understand.  It's an opportunity to be a missionary not necessarily to spread and sound the gospel, but to at least share a few gospel ideas they may not be fully understanding.  

It's not perfect.  I know.  Maybe that's why I'm comfortable here: I do get the vibe that most people are busy trying.  Imperfectly trying, with each of us failing in our own unique ways, but all trying together.  And we all have a common goal that unites us -- a very elevated, divine goal... one I can always support my neighbors in.*

I am gonna miss it here.

The end.

*This whole essay has had the undertones of "Everybody in Provo is Mormon!"  Totally not true.  Totally didn't have time to properly address that.  Lots of people are, and it is definitely perceived as being that way, so I just kind of went with it.

That Time I Ate The Object Lesson

So, I don't have many friends who are girls.  It takes work, that whole social thing, and sometimes I'm just lazy.  And there was this girl in my old ward... she was older than me, and single, and so so so cool -- in a geeky way that made her all the cooler.  I didn't really know her, I'd just listened to her make a comment here or there in church.  And the comments were spunky, insightful, independent, and quirky.  I liked her.  I wanted her to be my friend.  But the only way you know how awkward I can be is if you've witnessed it.  Which, if you're reading this blog, you probably have.

So we're sitting next to each other in Relief Society for the first time, kinda chatting a bit through the opening exercises and a bit into the lesson.  It's going well.  She likes me!  Okay, she might like me.  I should be clever.  And also insightful.  This is my moment.

And in the middle of my moment, she hands me this open tin.  It's about the size of her palm, and it's got things that look like beautiful, translucent little rocks in it.

Now, if I'd been paying attention to the lesson, I'd have known that this was a visual aid, to help us really get into the lesson I'd been ignoring.  My job was to look politely, and pass it along.

But I just thought it was some fancy mint she was sharing  just with me, because we're new best pals, and as soon as someone offers you a mint, you also instinctively worry, "I must have the breath of a gorilla" so I took a few and popped them in my mouth.

Chomp.

Um, these are rocks.  Not mints.  I spit them out and I'm laughing.  Laughing hard.  Quietly, but my whole body is shaking and I'm taking these sharp breaths that are a dead giveaway.  It is not an appropriate kind of laughter, even if it is quiet.  And it's probably going to get very loud, very soon.

I have sticky yellow stuff in my hands, I'm shaking violently and practically hyperventilating, and this poor really cool sister has to take me out into the hall so I don't cause a scene.

"What IS that stuff you gave me?" I ask.
"Weren't you listening?"
(No, I was busy thinking about how you liked that thing that I'd said...)
"It had gold, myrrh, and ...I think you ate the frankincense."

Ah.

And amazingly, she stayed my friend.

Because I am A Closet Foodie

The very, very best meal I've ever eaten was at Tuscany in Salt Like.  The pasta made me re-think life on earth.  Seriously, if food can be that amazing, (and yet it usually isn't), what else can be knocked out of this world in a way I haven't even yet fathomed?  Pasta has far greater power than I'd ever believed -- and I'm sure it's not the only thing that I've underestimated.

If you're a local, you must must must do it.  For lunch, so you can still afford to pay rent.  Now, I know everybody thinks La Caille is todiefor, and technically, I've never eaten there.  But I have my reasons -- and we'll leave it at that.

But go.  Scott and I shared an appetizer, each had a salad and an entree for about $50.  That was a year ago, and now it's going on the "Utah Bucket List" we may or may not be creating.  (More on that later.)  The ambiance is transportative (It's a real word.  Sorta.) and you will leave determined to plan a trip to Italy.  Because if food in Utah can be this divine, imagine how good it's gonna be over there.

Really, we don't eat out very often.  (And you can see why.) Besides, Scott makes such a killer cheesecake, I'm left feeling a little let down even when we go to Cheesecake factory.  And one of his best cheesecakes to date is this one:

Godiva Chocolate Cheesecake.

Scott made it for my last birthday and I still haven't recovered.  And he even made it with real Godiva chocolate.  It is every bit the wonder-cake that it looks like.  The bad news is, Buster: I have another birthday coming next year.  And now you've set a presidence.

Technically, it's more of a problem for me than it is for him.  I haven't even figured out the art of a simple homemade cake.  (Okay, even box cakes present their problems!)  ...And meanwhile, my spouse pulls out a culinary wonder ready for the harshest food critic.  I hate it when my husband's a better wife than I am.

Time I spent needlessly bitter (but beautifully blessed) in Provo

Of the ten years Scott and I have been dating/married, we've spent all but 15 months residing in Provo, Utah.  This is not what we had planned.

Scott getting his undergrad took a while.  I think he worked at least 20 hours every single semester, and sometimes had an internship on top of that.  And he pushed through to get three minors.  Then there was grad school... which came with its own set of challenges, ninety percent of which were a professor who, at times, would hold Scott's thesis in his hands for an entire semester before giving it one set of revisions.  (This professor considered a master's thesis to need at least a dozen revisions.)  So that took longer than it needed to.

Then we spent about a year looking for a job.  And when he got one, it was right on the I-15 Core project!  He'd commute all of 20 minutes from home for the first year, and about 10 for the second.  These past two years on the project have been dreamy.  But there were some pretty dark days getting there.  And that's kinda what I wanted to talk about.

In that time, I've been the "goodbye committee" for countless friends.  I've waved off friends to California, New Mexico, the east coast, Oregon, Texas, Hawaii, and countless other places.  Even when many of these friends were temporarily moving back in with their parents, I was still jealous.

Staying in Provo meant being stuck, meant not moving on.  And I hated that.  I really, really did.  I whined a lot, and I moped even more.  My thinking was pessimistic, painful, and I was just not much fun to be with.

I can't say when it was (probably waaaay later than it should have been), but one day, I woke up and I realized how selfish I'd been.  Most of my friends were living, day in, day out, in their parents' homes.  They were looking for jobs, too.  They were struggling, too.  But I had my own home, and there wasn't a doubt in my mind it had been a generous, sweet mercy from the God who loves me.

Wait.  I can say when it was.  I looked at pictures of these starving children in Somolia.  Pictures like that have always had a profound impact on me, and I thought about what it would be like to be a mother, terrified of how to feed your children their next meal, and praying and pleading for the drought to end.  God loved them just as much as he loved me, but I had blessings their minds could not even conceive of.   I thought about what they'd say if they knew about my fridge with the water dispenser in it.  About my tub.  And the sprinkling system for my lawn.  I realized my problems were ridiculous.  Spoiled.  Self-centered and prideful.  Children were literally dying in their parents' arms, and I was whining because I thought we'd worked so hard we deserved everything in an instant.

I think I remember reading that this baby was over two years old and only 13 lbs. 

I had everything I needed, and then some. 

And while that didn't make everything change during that year of underemployment, it made things much better.  God truly does love me, and throughout that year he provided multiple profound, simple acts of grace that left me in no doubt of his watchfulness.  And I'd rather be in poor circumstances, whatever they may be, and yet in his care, than have all the money and wealth in the world but devoid of his attentions.

Does that make any sense?  What do you do, when you're struggling to get through those really hard times?  Although I'm not worried about Scott's future employment, there could be a few dark days ahead with challenges of a different kind, and I'd like some fresh ideas.

Reality is optional

Sometimes, I'd rather remember things the way I wish they were than the way they really happened.

• That time when Betsy found some really old nasty bacon behind the trash can, and I had no idea till after she'd eaten it and she came into my bedroom, beaming and proudly announcing, "That was the last piece of bacon!"
• The time I invited our neighbors over to dinner right before they moved and everything tasted so bad, even I didn't want to eat it.  So I ate the only good part and they had to fend for themselves.
• The way I hated dress socks so I used to wear athletic socks to work... with black pants and heels.  Every day.
• That time I wasn't paying attention to the lesson and thought the visual aid in Relief Society was a box of mints... so I totally ate one.  (It wasn't even food.  I spit it out and started laughing so hard I was hyperventilating.)
• How, as a kid, I used to proudly announce that I lived in a mortuary as a baby... and I'm pretty sure it freaked lots of kids out... some of whom could have been my friend had I not been so busy enjoying their odd looks that I started giving details about said residence.
• My hair in 8th grade.  Perhaps no one's is that great in 8th grade, but, ah, few pictures remain to prove my point.  I think this was an act of mercy on my parents' part.