When Dr. Phil Shaved His Moustache

I remember the first time it reared it's head. I had been dating Nic for quite a while and was pretty comfortable with the fact that I was going to marry him. I had gone to Walmart to buy some high quality fashionable summer duds on my GAP employee budget. I settled on a pair of elastic waisted blue stretchy capris. We were at his parent's house and I was walking up their purple carpeted stairs and Nic was behind me. He must have wondered how to phrase it, finally choosing: "Whatcha wearing?"

The truth was, I chose those capris out of the granny section. The section where they sell button-up tops with embroidered butterflies and right next door - a dazzling display of mu-mus. I felt safe in the fact I had snatched me a man and now felt okay shopping in the granny section at age 23. I defended myself by informing him that capris are all the rage! They are a perfect mutation of shorts and pants...all the stylish Mormon girls are wearing them now etc... He looked at me and proceeded to tell me about a lady he knew growing up who somehow told herself it was ok to come to church in a house dress with a zipper. I know he was picturing me 30 years from then in my Sunday mu-mu.

I'm talking about The Rut. Did I like how I looked in those capris? Not really. Would I have worn them on a hot date when I first met Nic? Nope. It's just easy to get into a rut. *DISCLAIMER: Do we all need a day in sweats and no makeup? Yes. Do we have to be smokin' hot mamas all the time? No. That's not what I'm talking about.

The other day on Oprah, Dr. Phil was saying everyone should do something that wasn't the norm to feel more alive. To demonstrate his point he shaved off his moustache that he had worn for the last 40 years! I was inspired! (Snort, giggle) Yes I was! When he turned around and revealed his new face, he looked great! He asked everyone to consider doing something they hadn't imagined for themselves. Why not?

What are your ruts? I have my routines, some necessary, some REALLY not. I wondered what I could do with my time that would be better.

Guess what? This girl who hasn't exercised since college recently became a runner....jogger...okay shuffler. For the last 6 weeks I have worked myself up to almost three miles. Never in a million years imagined that for myself. I still have voices that tell me I'm a fool. That I should succumb to the elastic waist band and give up any notion that I can be an active person. That rut feels mighty deep sometimes.

It's exciting to challenge your rut. I want to find more ways to do it. I have more moustaches that need shaving! Why not?

What fleeting dream do you have for yourself that you never thought you could do? Say it! Tell me!

On Being Manly

An innocent little post. ALL I said on facebook was that I was cooking dinner and my husband was playing Taylor Swift songs on Evan's green recorder. What's the big deal, right? Well, he started receiving phone calls at work. Heckling phone calls that put into question his manliness. Impossible!

This morning I was singing in my best soul sista voice in the shower and Nic called me out. Oh yes he did :) How could I throw him under the bus like that? I made him look like he was some wood elf, skipping through the forest playing leprechaun songs on his pan flute! How could I fail to mention that he was working out the notes for Afton who was wanting to play a Taylor Swift song for the school talent show? (Because it wasn't as funny if I said it that way, but I didn't tell him that) Now his friends are calling him and questioning his manliness!

My sister has been threatening to post a video I made of myself in college called "Hot Dance Moves". Now Nic is behind her in this quest purely for revenge. So now I feel I need to call off the dogs by touting my husband's masculine qualities. Why do I feel like I might be more in trouble after this post?

Okay...best thing ever. Couple weeks ago we biffed it by miscalculating what time we needed to be at an important event. We were dying, writhing in embarrassment trying to work up the nerve to call and say basically "we suck". So I told Nic, "Just blame it on me. Tell them I screwed up." I'll never forget him looking over at me while driving with his one hand (sexy MANLY thing he does) and saying, "Babe, I would never throw you under the bus like that, never." MANLY!

It has taken me a LONG time to admit, but I'm pretty sure Nic is quite a bit smarter than me. It's pretty sexy. (Okay, this may not score manly points with the dudes, but I think it is awesome) I caught him up late one night watching calculus videos on You Tube....for fun.

This boy also feels the need to die apparently. Ever seen him on a motorcycle? Every time I see him ride I want to smack him or kiss him...can't tell which.

He is a different kind of guy. He read Twilight with me. He sings like an angel. He draws and paints. He does not watch ESPN every second of the day. But he's all man:) The most manly thing is that he mans up. He cares for his kids, is loyal to his wife and works his butt off for this family. It's all he cares about. He drives the older car to let his wife drive the nicer one. It's getting harder and harder to find a man like that. So no worries...I can smell his testosterone from here.

Uncomissioned Portrait

I think it is time to get dressed. Afton just brought me a portrait of me entitled, "Mom in her underwear with hairy legs". She has taken artistic liscence because I know my leg hair does NOT look like Daniel Boone fringe. Does it? Does it?

Thumbs up kind of Wednesday

I love the days when things just go your way. Yesterday was NOT one of those days. Today was though. Yesterday was a forgot it was picture day, can't find a mystery diaper in the house before two separate groups of guests arrive, key stuck in the the ignition, string of beads breaking at an annoying time type of day. But today....ahhh...deep breath....a good day.

My hair worked out even though I was in a huge rush. I de-crumbed my car and cleaned out the trunk while the baby slept for once. I picked up Nic from work with my kids and ate at Wendy's. We ran into missionaries and random family members. My salad was much more delicious than anticipated and my once a week diet coke tasted like the nectar of the gods.

I went to Deseret Book and while there I noticed Evan had split from the herd and was examining a beautifully done bust of Jesus. The sculpture happened to be right at eye level for Evan. He smiled and smiled at Jesus and then leaned in and gave him a kiss. (Commence heart melting). I asked him, "Evan, do you love Jesus?" He said, "Yep." Then he gave him once more kiss and skipped away.

Jemma was snoozin' again so rather than move her, I parked at the park and let the kids tackle each other on the grass for a few minutes. I read a book that inadvertently pointed out all the ways I can be a jerk and made me want to instead work on building confidence in others with every encounter. I forget how much power we have in the way we treat each other.

Jemma woke up and I got out of the car and felt that white, warm sun on me that feels like Spring Break. After being cooped up for a few days I love to turn my face straight to the sun and close my eyes for as long as I can stand it. Fills my happy cup.

There were a couple of teenage boys at the park and I spent a good deal of time contemplating how I could politely inquire as to how boy number one keeps his pants up when they are belted around him below his butt cheeks. I formulated many ways of asking, but decided against it in the end.

I heard a country song on the radio about a dude appreciating his old car that still ran, a few bucks in a coffee can, (mine happens to be a peanut butter jar), dinner in the oven, a good woman's lovin' (love that cheesy rhyme), ticker still tickin' , etc... That song was me. It's a good life.

It is what it is

I'm rarely primped and coiffed by kindergarten drop off time. On a normal day I am woken by Jemma before the sun comes up. I moan. Nic goes and gets her and potato sacks her to me. I nurse her and try to sleep. Afton then wakes up at an unholy hour and comes and stares at me. I can hear her breathing through her nose. I can feel her breath on my face. I pretend to sleep. I'm getting pretty good at the subtle fake snore and at not squinting my eyes. Once Jemma starts whispering "ta- ta" and "dee- dee", I know my gig is up. Soon will come the face patting, nose pinching and head butting. Rise and shine.

My mom always tells me that there are keys to successful mommyhood. A couple of these keys include doing at least one load of laundry a day and getting up way before your kids do. I know it's possible because I see the other moms at school show up with a fresh blow-out or damp pony tails. They manage somehow.

I pour cereal and gather backpacks in my p.j.'s. I dress and comb and herd children from room to room. "Did you go pee pee?" "Did you eat all your food?" "Uh-oh, we only have ten more minutes" "You can't wear your snow-suit". "No, you don't need your snow boots." "Yes, I promise you Friday is and has always been a school day".

Two minutes before departure, I take the stairs two at a time and find my clothes that are rumpled accordian style on the floor next to my bed. Exactly where I left them the night before. I always have a fleeting thought of, will the moms notice this is what I wore yesterday? As an afterthought I pull Nic's hoodie we bought on our honeymoon off of a hanger and throw it over yesterday's shirt. Perfect disguise! I look in the mirror and use my knuckles to scrape yesterday's mascara crumbs out from under my eyes. I tell myself, "I gotta get up earlier!"

Drop off, kisses, waves, "See you in a couple hours!" "Run! Don't look back!"

When I got home this morning, Jemma was ready for her nap. I took her upstairs and rocked her. I know when she is asleep because she breaks into a sweat just like her dad. This morning's sleep sweat warmed up her face, turned her cheeks pink and made her smell of the maple syrup I hadn't cleaned off of her face yet. I layed her in her bed. One of her legs had escaped her jammies and was hanging bare outside of the yellow flowered terry cloth. That image was a metaphor for my mom-ness...Everything is fine, people are happy, but nothing will ever be put together perfectly! Amen.

Cat Fight

I was in a sterile-like room with a shower cap and rubber gloves on. I was standing across from my sister. She's five years older than me and she looked ridiculous in her get- up too. We'd driven 45 minutes across town in the rain with a Stake Relief society president in the back seat to go can our beans, dry milk, rice...and anything else we would live on if "the big one" ever hits. I looked around the room. The other women were slightly pot-bellied like me from having babies. There were crows feet, eyes with day old mascara, outdated wedding rings, successful and not so successful attempts at being fashionable. Just a hodge-podge of Mormon women at the cannery.

I thought back to my days as a teenager. I thought I was so, so (did I mention so) so cool. I could barely breathe because of how awesome I thought I was. I laugh so hard now at what I thought made me like that. Clothes? Music? Boyfriends? Good report card? Lame. I was harmless, but so vain. LOL! I'd die if you could see in my head and understand how important I thought I was.

So standing there in the cannery with my sweats and plastic apron, I just started to giggle. Then that turned into laughing. Which turned into uncontrollable laughing which fetched me some wayward glances from the potato pearl posse. My sister said, "What's so funny?"

I laughed more and pointed to her shower cap and then at mine and back at hers. Then I skipped across the packing room and sang, "Wee! Let's go to the cannery!" My sister understood. We talked about being such fierce big haired teenagers with a world of hearts to break and now we are among the leagues of the unglamorous. I saw myself in the reflection of the squeaky clean windows. I was a pretty frumpy lookin' mamasita. Oh...a full circle moment.

Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I love my babies. I love my house that is sometimes clean and I love my bills getting paid on time. I love folding my laundry GAP style and vacuuming my car mats. I love God and singing and praying my guts out to be better. I love my life. It's just not a glamorous life. And the vain me sometimes misses the cocaine-like draw of pointless and meaningless attention. I know...it's a fault. But this is my blog and I can talk about it if I want.

So, this morning while my husband was swishing with Scope, we had a conversation. In that conversation, I told him that all I require is his awe-like reverence for my womanliness. He choked on his mouthwash, getting some on his tie and told me the house wasn't big enough for my ego. For the most part though, he does give me the paparazzi attention I need. (I still want him to gush about how amazing I look when I'm pregnant...and how could I possibly give birth in such a fertility warrior way...and darn if I don't look downright RADIANT!) It's a work in progress.

I guess it is balancing the housewife with the diva in me that sometimes gets in a cat fight. So, I'll wear lipstick when I pick up my kindergartner, and I'll put perfumed lotion on before bed. I'll still use my thumbnails to scrape cereal off of two day old dirty bowls, and I'll doctor diaper rash with stinky creams. I'll sock away food storage because I love the prophet and will do what he says. I'll pray and sing and watch over the blessed rug rats at church in my new calling. I'll write because it's the only thing that is truly my own anymore. Somewhere in there, I hope I find homeostasis.

Ladies, we rock.

Garth (not Brooks)

Garth Abbott loved my husband even when he dyed his hair blue and came to church with it like that. Garth Abbott cares for his 90 year old mother and family member with down syndrome. Garth Abbot has a wife, children, and grand children. He has the biggest meaty hands I've ever shook and an even bigger heart. He was my bishop when I was in college and he gave me acceptance, love and a better view of how much God loves me, loves us all. He knew my name in a sea of faces. He has aggressive cancer. He can't pay for the treatment. You can do a good thing by donating an item, service to an online auction for him or just donate money. Email his daughter-in-law at helpgarth@yahoo.com to see what you can do. I didn't think I had any talent or item to share, but I can make a killer Valentine's Day gift basket! What can you do? Check out the details at thedailyabbott.blogspot.com