Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Rant-a-roonie and a happy ending.

Rant-a-roonie.  You've been warned.

If I told it to you in reverse it would go like this:

 Nic walked in the door and all the kids ran to him and said, "MOM BIT HER TONGUE AND SHE'S CRYING!"

Before that I popped Tylenol for a booming head.

Before that, the container of play-do toys fell out of the cupboard and spilled all over the floor.

  Evan went limp and cried and slid out of his chair about 400 times during the 45 minutes it took to write four words for his homework.

The air conditioner broke.  That's right.  (I can not name any higher level of rudeness than to have the AC crap out on a pregnant woman.)

I did a Scooby-do like slip on some spilled dog food.

Jemma fell asleep at school pick up.  It was 100 degrees and I had to carry her to the ends of the earth (the very last line at the playground) to pick up Afton.

Evan kicked my toe with his fat shoes and ripped my big toenail off.

I discovered a week of bronchitis is not kind on the pregnant bladder.  Over and over again.

I spent a day in the emergency room trying to figure out why I can't eat without pain and nausea for days on end.

I moaned and bawled all night while telling Nic, "I'm not going to the hospital!  They never find what's wrong with you!"

I held the breathing treatment mask over Afton's face and a bucket under her chin for three nights in a row.

Oh yeah, I've been nauseated every single day since Mother's Day.

So when I bit my tongue, I cried.  Sue me.

BUT!  If I could have the opposite experience...

I would drive to Disneyland and check into the Grand Californian Hotel.  I would have breakfast at the Storyteller's cafe.  I would order Caramel stuffed french toast with scrambled eggs and ketchup, red potatoes and milk and o.j..

I would ride Pirates first, Haunted Mansion second, and then Pooh Bear.  I would stop for a caramel apple with peanuts at the Pooh Bear store.  I would make sure to watch the senior citizen swing dancers at the plaza at night.  I would also eat a pineapple float from the stand by the Tiki Room.  (Disneyland is always about the food for me...not just when I'm pregnant:)  I would have Nic push me in a wheelchair the entire time.  When is somebody going to invent an adult stroller?

After my fill of Disneyland, which I'm sure would take at least 6 or 7 days...I would go to Ikea.  To fuel up my body before my shopping, I would eat the Swedish Meatballs with lingon berry sauce.  (Okay...maybe my pregnancy is influencing my food fantasies a tad...)  I would buy window coverings  for my whole house and soft cotton covers for fluffy duvets.  I'd buy huge impractical tropical plants and over-sized art.  Nic would still push me in a wheelchair.

Then I'd drive home to my beach house that was conveniently purchased by surprise for me while I was at Disneyland and unpack my wares.

I'm done crying now.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

I was going to, but...

Do you have a favorite ice cream or candy you cannot trust yourself around?  Like, you know you will eat the entire thing and loathe yourself for it later?  That's how facebook was for me when it first came out.  I was coo-coo.

I've finally found a happy balance.  I don't look at it every day.  Sometimes not even every week.  But I do enjoy it.

I have a friend, Stacie,  in my ward who I enjoy too.  She kept posting things about her California vacation with some fun looking ladies.  When I saw her in Sunday school I told her that I'd like her to take me on her next vacation and introduce me to her people.  She laughed and said she had a good time and then she mentioned something that has happened to me before and it kind of bugs me.  She said when she got together with all of her girlfriends, the conversation had to be worked on a little because each new topic that was brought up ended with someone saying, "Oh yeah, I already heard about that on facebook."  Has that ever happened to you?

It got me to thinking.  I think facebook is fun, especially to keep in touch with old friends you don't see on a regular basis.  But I will say, I kind of miss old fashioned chatting.  And I do HATE that when I'm trying to share some juicy news and everyone already heard it on facebook.  Kill joy.

Well, on Monday I found out the sex of my baby.  I have to admit, my facebook finger was kind of itchy to post it right away.  But I'm not going to.  Not for some self righteous lesson to teach the universe, but as a way of SEEING the smile on the faces or hearing the voices of those I tell.  If you wanna know, ask me next time you see me:)  I look forward to chatting.

Friday, May 4, 2012

That's What I Thought

I picked Afton up at the church the other night.  It was a gorgeous evening, so I rolled the windows down.  The fresh air blew in and YUCK!  The smell of it was so disgusting!  That was my first clue.  Fresh air should not smell disgusting.

Then I felt scatter brained and overwhelmed for no identifiable reason.  I thought my thyroid medicine was wonky.

Then I felt like a 500 lb woman just trying to make it up the stairs. 

The last straw was the 15 minute bawl session I had on the freeway for no reason yesterday.  Nic had that little twinkle of fear in his eye.  That one that silently screams, "Oh my Heavens, WHAT did I marry?"

Sho' nuff.  I'm pregnant.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

I get it, Eleanor.

"I hate doing this. It's very embarrassing. I swear I'm not hustling you and I wouldn't ask if I didn't have to. I just need a little money to buy some food and pay for our room tonight."

A dark haired mother held the hand of her five year old daughter and stood near my car in the Walmart parking lot. She had a flimsy backpack on and her daughter wore a thin sweater and jeans. It was near dark and chilly. I had to admit, the mother did look embarrassed.

Normally when I have someone approach me for money, ashamedly I feel annoyed. Sometimes I avoid eye contact until I absolutely have to speak to them. Sometimes I grumble at how young and healthy they look and how they need to GET IT TOGETHER MAN! Often I run through the inventory of lame things I'm SURE they are going to run right out and buy as soon as they collect enough money to do it. I always look them up and down and scrutinize each detail to assess how much they surely are lying.

I didn't do it this time. Something in me said that this mom was in trouble. I believed her. I got out my wallet and said, "I don't have a lot to spare, but..."

She assured me it was okay and she was grateful for whatever I could afford. I sorted through my bills and gave her a portion of what I had. She thanked me and hurriedly moved on to the next person, baby girl in tow.

I turned to my basket and crumpled a little inside. It was loaded. I picked up Jemma and buckled her into her expensive car seat in her safe and clean van. I took the several minutes I needed to load the groceries into the back, having trouble fitting it all because there was SO MUCH. I felt like an idiot. Had I not just said, "I don't have a lot to spare..."

I looked around and found the mother skittering from patron to patron, trying to get enough money. She was urgent. She was quick. Night was falling.

I was lead. I drug myself into the van and drove away. I watched her through my mirror. Could I take her home with me? Would she even come if I offered? What would Nic say if I walked in with these two? Would they be to embarrassed to sit at my table and share a meal?

I talked myself out of two U-turns. I systematically stacked up reasons why I should leave her and her daughter there. Then I went home and unloaded my food and ate at my table with my family.

I'm fairly sure I did the wrong thing. I thought about her for days afterward. I know I can't drag home every homeless person I find in the street, but my heart told me this was different.

So, this experience was fresh in my mind today as I drove home from preschool drop-off. I was about 2.5 miles from my house and I saw an elderly woman picking her way across the uneven and rocky dirt. There was no sidewalk for quite some time due to construction.

She was white haired and bent. I slowed down. As I passed her I looked at her face. She looked worried. She looked like it was hard for her to safely walk over the terrain. I kept driving, thinking she would probably be scared if I stopped and approached her. Then I remembered the Walmart parking lot. THAT'S IT! I CAN'T TAKE IT!

I turned around and found her. I pulled up onto the rocky dirt and rolled down my window. The funny part was I said "Excuse me, may I offer..."

"OH YES! I need a ride!" She didn't even let me finish! She hobbled toward my car and barely gave me time to run around to her side and help her in!

She DID need a ride. Girl was OLD! Her name was Eleanor. She moved to Las Vegas at the request of her son. He said he wanted her to be close so he could care for her better. Then he flunked out of AA. Then he found a woman and moved to Virginia. Then Eleanor's husband died. Now she has to walk 5 miles round trip to get her prescriptions. It takes her over 4 hours to do it. She had been walking for 3 hours when I found her.

I thought about how Jesus loved the widows. How he cared for them. I gave her our phone number and asked her to call us if she needs a ride or help in her home. I hope she does.

I hope I learned my lesson. I hope I follow my heart when it nudges me and don't explain away my opportunity to serve. I hope you don't find it distasteful that I shared this story. I hope you don't think I'm tooting my horn. I don't mean to. I just hope it helps you learn quicker than I did.

I hope Eleanor puts her feet up and eats a candy bar.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

It ain't much, but it's MINE!

"Babe, I'm taking a spinning class tomorrow with Mindy." I explained to my husband.

He looked at me doubtfully, "Let me help you out with that. It's a SPIN class. Not a spinning class. You don't want to embarrass yourself on the first day."

The next morning I woke up at 4:45 to make it to my 6:00 class. In hind sight I ask myself...why?! I had been tossing through a weird Christmas Eve-like sleep pattern. I kept waking up wondering if it was time to go to the gym, but hoping it wasn't.

I heard someone post on facebook one time, "The joys of the gym in January." Meaning, when will all these new year resolutioners get off my elliptical? I just knew everyone would take one look at me and know I was one of those people who hadn't been to the gym in ages. Or years. Or decades. Whatever.

I walked in and was surprised to smell it. It smells exactly how I remember. Exactly! Smoothies, sweat, clean towels and shampoo steam.

Embarrassing private thought: "Where in the heck are the elevators? These stairs are making me winded!"

After wandering around, trying to look busy and getting lost twice because of wall to wall mirror confusion, I finally met my friend. She kindly gave me the lowdown on how to get set up for a spin class.

The perky instructor had kind eyes, THANK GOODNESS. She matter of factly looked me up and down and told me my goal was just to make it to the end of the class. Ouch. But, the truth.

The first work out in over a year is a brick in the throat and fire in the lungs. How can two previously obedient and well functioning organs suddenly turn on me and refuse to give me air?
Gratefully, I have the wisdom of many a first work-out to know that the first day is death and it will get better.

Perky instructor was right. I prayed my way through those 55 minutes. I didn't want to fall of that bike or worse...barf.

I have a lot of wishy- washy wimp feelings about the gym. I doubt my determination to get up early. How I hate any hour before 8 am. I defeat myself before I even get started, sometimes.
I worry the health- nut skinny thigh girls will smell the cookie dough seeping from my pores.
I compare, I compare, I compare.

Here's the deal though: Take care of your body, it's the only place you have to live. Be grateful for the mind-blowing creation it is. Don't curse it for the way it varies from someone else's. Be generous to it.

I love to study old people. Really old people. People who poop in a pan in their beds and have had bed head for years. Do you think they'd turn down my strong body because last year's jeans are too tight? Do you think they'd turn their noses up at riding a wave into shore, or a climb to the summit? Heck, do you think they'd refuse to carry a sleeping baby with my arms because they have a little pudge? Nope, they'd relish five more minutes with a body that could carry them anywhere.

I think it pains God when I spend so much time sad about my body. What a punk I am! Get over it sister! Use it. Use it up. It doesn't look like it did when I was 17, but it is forgiving and eager to improve when I treat it right.

Work it. Enjoy it. Love it.