In Defence of Insanity

I spent last weekend in St. George. Every March, in order for Brad to maintain his Utah law/bar license he has to attend some classes, go golfing or something of the sort, which conveniently for the golf, takes place in St. George. Once in a blue moon we all take the trip with him and 2011 seemed to be a blue moon so there I was on a Friday afternoon cruising the red rocks of southern Utah with Rosemary while Brad took the three older children to a community aquatic center. I wasn't feeling in the mood to put on a swimsuit in public. I haven't quite come to terms with my aging body, it's on my to-do list but it's behind washing baseboards and dusting crown molding. Plus, I have serious issues with pools. I think it's because I grew up swimming in large bodies of water, you know, like the great lakes. Pools are just a touch too creepy for me, it feels as if I've embraced a "let's all get naked and cram together in a giant bathtub" attitude. I know you are thinking that I may be neurotic, but that is my only "thing". Pools and chicken. Have you ever prepared raw chicken while pregnant? Seriously.

So Rosemary and I pull into the parking lot of Target and I spy a Great Clips. I've never had a hair cut at Great Clips. I barely get hair cuts. But here's the thing: I live in an incredibly homogeneous microcosm. I'm not knocking my neighborhood, I really do love the women I live around. The problem is, and maybe someone else shares this problem, if something is trendy or popular I don't do it, or wear it, or say it. For instance, when "awesome" became a trendy word, I refused to use it. Now it's the foundation of my vocabulary but whatever. Remember overalls and how people would wear one strap down?! But that's not a good example because that truly was ridiculous. I know you are thinking: Martha had a pair of overalls? I did and I wish I still had them. I just refuse to wear the strap down.

Pegging your pants. I didn't do that. The neck cut out of a sweatshirt and hanging off of one shoulder? I totally did that but that was cool.

Lots of chunky jewelry, or lots of jewelry at all, I can't do it. Leggings with a skirt over them, no way.

So back to my point. My neighborhood. We all have long hair. Not only is it long, it has those soft contrived waves that are wrapped around the curling iron but not clipped in. Well mine, not so much, it's wavy all right, but minus the curling iron and add some serious frizz. Sacrament meeting is like a Stepford wives gathering. We could totally give the women of Colorado City a run for their money if you know what I mean.

So I see the Great Clips and I just can't take it anymore. I walk in and ask the lady to cut 4 inches off. She stares at me and asks: What will your husband say? I let out a Pfftt, which is french for: he won't even notice. She starts cutting. She calls the woman next to her over saying: look at her hair, she wants to cut 4 inches off, would you cut 4 inches off if you had her hair? I mutter something about them not understanding the pressure I am under. Rosemary sits in the next chair pushing button after button on my iphone.

Finally, it is done. I pay and walk out waiting until I find a mirror in Target to asses the damage. I find one and am confronted by what would be an almost perfectly cut frizzy triangle if it weren't for the two straggly strands which hang longer than the rest. I am reminded of Suzanna Hoffs in "Walk like an Egyptian" or better yet, Selma Bouvier, Marge Simpson's sister (I only know the name because of my brother in-law who is a Simpson die hard). She has some awesomely beautiful hair.

But it doesn't matter. At least I am free from the pack.

You added another neurosis to the list didn't you?

I'll probably grow it out.




(Totally self-conscience head tilt)

"Of" The Week

I would rather be picking flowers but I suppose these stories won't wait.

Speaking of flowers, the weather has reached perfection in my book. When it hits 60-70 degrees I sing hallelujah. Beautiful.

Have I mentioned that my two oldest daughters are a handful? Things are actually not too shabby at school, the question is will I go insane or contract permanent brain damage during the process of trying to hold it all together.



Norah's parent teacher conference revealed that she is an outstanding creative writer. I knew she reminded me of my brother Nate who coincidentally, graduated with a masters from Columbia in theatrical writing. Norah is always off in another place, another time, and another land. As her mother I appreciate this, but the big vein in my forehead is starting to throb and will soon explode unless she learns how to channel her creativity more productively and appropriately. Food needs to be eaten and shoes must be put on.



Lulu is a super-reader. Challenger usually sends students home with 1-2 readers but Lulu receives 5 and devours them. Last week she read me The Friend. One of Lulu's challenges is volume control. Serenity Now!




Abram is a sensitive boy. He is sensitive to food, noise, texture, touch, you name it. I am the type of person who likes to think, Abram is the person that likes to talk, and talk. That boy does not have a thought enter his head that does not exit his mouth. I am working on becoming the mom that enjoys this insight into a 3, almost 4 years old's mind. But thank heaven he still takes a nap.

He attends school twice a week and loves it. He has all the letters memorized along with their sounds, including the long and short vowel sounds. He calls himself awesome. Awesome Abram.



All of this leads me to appreciate my soft, cuddly child. Sure, she throws tantrums and is often stubborn, but she actually gets her shoes when I ask her to. And she loves to be held. Every mother should have a baby that throws her arms around her mother's neck and won't let go. Rosemary is that baby.



Remember when I hit that bus? This is my surreptitious photo during traffic school where I learned so much about seat belts and disobedient citizens who obviously love to spend time at the police station on a Saturday morning because they won't stop talking about themselves. Sorry, that was uncharitable, but so true. I will never speed or hit a bus again.



I made these for a baby shower, all from my own garden. I like to talk about myself too.



This was my dress-up of the week. Although, I took it off as soon as I got home from church and put on jeans and a t-shirt.

What Conference taught me:

I've been a bit cranky this past month. I think I just let myself get run down by all that is expected of me as a mother and homemaker, all that is expected of me as a YW president, and all that is expected of me as a sister in the Relief Society. As meetings and doctor's appointments and responsibilities that seemed to be solely mine
piled on I realized that I needed to be more and I was slightly resentful because sometimes I don't feel like being more, sometimes I feel like being less. You know?

And I wasn't keeping it to myself, I was starting to complain. Instead of helping others feel better about themselves, I was a rain cloud. In fact, I think I said something along the lines of: If this is the way the Celestial Kingdom is going to be (serving all the time), I don't want to go. One of my better moments for sure.

And then I heard President Monson speak last Saturday, and then this Saturday, and again and again. And I realized I needed to repent. President Monson is the perfect example of how well service can be woven into the daily tasks of life. It's not separate "service" time stealing from "my task" time, the two are complimentary.



These somewhat, we will call them extra-special children, are mine because I need them and they need me so that all of us together can become like Jesus Christ. When faced with some of my children's problems I think "darn genetics", but really, are these burdens not gifts? I know, most of the time it is difficult to see it this way, but I am forced to dig deep and work hard in order to be what they need and so I am forced to involve God because they are His children as well and he wants us to succeed.

And my calling, it's not mine alone either. He loves the YW and called me to serve them by serving Him.

I think in our culture, 1st Nephi 3:7 sometimes almost becomes trite because it is quoted so often and is always applicable. But last night, as we had scripture study together as a family I noted the few verses before when Lehi spoke of Leman and Lemual murmuring because their father required them to return to Jerusalem for the plates of brass,and that was hard. And I thought of myself.

And it is hard. I live in a nice house, have a nice car, have plenty of food and clothing, but I struggle to do all that my Father has required of me. Sometimes what He has asked seems so overwhelming and I do feel heavy under it's weight, but then I hear conference and am reminded that He will provide a way as long as I am doing what He has asked and the weight becomes light and a way is provided.



So thank you President Monson for again, teaching me who I am and how to be her.

'Of ' The Week

Blogging has become pretty tired. And I'm burned out on life at the moment. The thing is, I like looking back on it and reminding myself and of course I am grateful for the photos.

Blogging is an OK choice. I am trying to step up all the time and make the best choices, but man, it is so hard. Anyway, my compromise is to blog once a week about whatever was noteworthy. A "story of the week", a "photo of the week", a "dinner of the week", you get the picture.


Flowers of the week:




I'm done with my flower garden, it's too hot, it has too many weeds and everything is overgrown. But I do have some lovely bouquets.





Meal of the week:





I made a Nicoise salad with food from my garden and grilled salmon. The potatoes we are growing are so good. I recommend potatoes.

Story of the week:







The Top of Utah marathon was a pretty sorry experience. The first 14 miles went well--a little over an 8 minute average. My knee injury started to hurt around then but I kept pushing through it until 18 and then realized I would probably need to slow down in order to keep going. At 23 my knee wouldn't bend anymore so I walked the last 3 miles and finished with a 4:09. I pretty much accepted it as it happened because I knew that I hadn't exactly followed the doctors orders. After the Ogden marathon I started running 20 miles every other Saturday. I loved it, but on the 3rd time around the cartilage under my knee cap was shot. I saw a sports medicine Dr. and he said to lay off the 20 milers. I didn't do that. Just so you know for future reference: if you haven't been running at least a year, don't run 20 miles every other Saturday. Good times.

About the course, the first 14 miles are really beautiful, after that the course becomes slightly bizarre. It's like someone just decided to run circles (or more appropriately, geometric shapes) around the finish line in order to get 26.2 out of it.

Scary story of the week:

We not only found a black widow (always) in the basement where my children play but also a scorpion. Did you know scorpions lived in Lehi? I do now.

Outfit of the week:

This is slightly frivolous, but here's the deal: I am an ageing mom, I wear a uniform. Every day. Jeans and a t-shirt.

Here is the other deal: I have a closet that houses a collection of cardigans, shoes and skirts that I don't wear. In an attempt to be somewhat hip and youthful I am trying to wear some of the clothes in my closet.

Here was my attempt today:



Magical photography compliments of Lulu.

This week bonanza is something, no?

On The Sunny Side

I'm still walking Norah to and from school everyday and I like it. Is that wrong?

Speaking of wrong: Last Wednesday was awesome. Tuesday I was feeling that luck was on my side. My children, though a slight handful, are beautiful and enjoyable (at times) and I was feeling grateful. Wednesday morning Norah had to be at an important appointment in Provo early in the morning. I woke to vertigo, did my best to feed and dress the children, dropped Lulu off at school and rushed down to Provo with Norah, Abram and Rosemary.

Of course I was late and the appointment took forever and I was (of course) late to pick Lulu up from school. I was about to get on the freeway from Orem when my phone rang (remember I have vertigo), I wouldn't normally answer but it was Lulu's school wondering where I was. The phone slipped from my hand and landed on the ground, as I bent to pick it up I rear-ended a school bus. No children were on the bus and I was going slow but it took an hour to wrap things up, I got a citation: improper look-out and a whole lot of snarkiness from Challenger.

I came home to a dirty house and hungry kids. I picked up a $60 prescription (of course) and committed a cardinal sin: I bought Wendy's for dinner.



And on top of it all the cat has been missing for 5 days; most likely eaten by a coyote. I'm running a marathon on Saturday and have a knee injury and have barely been able to run all summer. And my allergies are through the roof.

Bet you think I'm inspirational now, eh?

But other than that, things are pretty good.

Three First Days

Lulu ended the summer Monday. I placed the uniform on her piece by piece. As the layers grew, she excitedly flapped her arms like a nestling. A deep rolling "Challenger School" escaped her unrestrained smile again and again. She will be fine. School suits her. It's possible that her teacher loves her. And teaches her Spanish. It's only a few hours after all.



Abram started Tuesday. He has been asking if "school is today" all summer. On Monday, at dinner, his large brown eyes fringed with drooping black lashes locked on me. I recognize those eyes. There is a long line of them in variations. Who had them 300 years ago? Were they able to look as sad as Abrams? Will they exist 200 years from now on another little boy? They will be unattributable to what is now and what has passed.
He looks at me and asks, mom will you watch me at school, I'm scared. He seems younger than my others. He probably is-a little lost in the shuffle.
You cannot wet your pants at school, I say. He nods his head, again the big brown eyes. I pick him up, smiling. He says he played games. He sits in his car seat. I get him out and he's wet. I waited until after school he says.



Norah began on Wednesday at a brand-new-directly-across-the-street-already-overcrowded elementary school. We leave the front door and walk down the street.



We all walk together. Somehow the dog has followed. I feel a bit melancholy. Norah isn't so little. She has legitimate fears and time moves quickly without time to appreciate it's passing. I wonder how I got here, at this cross-walk in suburbia. Did I make these choices? I vaguely remember bits.



Norah reminds me. As she changes I change. As her body becomes stronger and more able mine becomes weaker and more tired. She walks in and I turn to face the hill back. I find my son's lost hand and it's like a Carly Simon or Joni Mitchell song. The baby climbs up my hip and the dog barely escapes the wheel of a tractor trailer. I washed my hands of that dog years ago. There are no clouds yet it feels a little unclear. We leave our shoes on the front porch and I sweep the kitchen floor.

Girl's camp starts tomorrow...

So I'm going through closets and dress-up boxes in order to compile this pile for the skit kit.

You get one guess what our theme is.

Just for your FYI, this will be the first time that I will be "away" from my children in 7 years, not counting the luxury stays I had at American Fork hospital and St. Marks while delivering the children I've had over those years.

And if it means going without electricity, showers, and sleeping in tents for 4 days at Blackhawk in order to have this time away, I am so totally there!